Page 2 of The Hijack

The Australian man to my right held on to the headrest in front of him, blood trickling down his cheek from where his head had hit the glass. I reached for his hair, grabbing a fistful and slamming him back into the window.

This time, the glass did shatter, and the armed gunman pitched forward, out of the car. I reached around his body to unlock the door, pushing it open with the body still draped across the divide.

There was barely enough time to dive to safety before the car plummeted. I heard the trio screaming bloody murder and saw the ass of the Australian man bent over the window of the open door. His feet thrashed as the momentum of the car took him down.

I couldn’t see the driver or the American, though I was sure neither of them had escaped. Hitting the pavement hard, I rolled to a stop several feet away, in the middle of the lane of traffic. Luckily, the road was so remote, there were no other cars to run me over.

The wound in my chest tore slightly bigger with all the excitement. Pain pulsed through my upper torso, lighting me up like a Christmas tree. It was a long moment before I heard the crash of the vehicle hitting the ground. There was a whoosh, and then a bright light from the cliffside, indicating that the car had exploded.

So much for those bad guys.

Peeling myself up off the ground, I discovered that the weight of my body didn’t help the pain. Looking down, I saw that there was a bullet hole in my shirt, stained with black, crusty blood. It was a good sign that my blood was clotting. That would protect me in the long run, although I still needed medical attention.

I turned to look back up at the road, wondering how far we were from my safehouse. But that wasn’t an option, because even if I could reach the cozy chalet, it had been compromised. There was no telling if Regg had left agents there to scoop me up, or if the structure even remained standing.

I had to find Clark, and the hideout was the last place I’d seen her. But she was resourceful. If she had been captured, like me, they would have taken her far away. If she was on the run, she would wait for me and get in touch when the coast was clear. In any event, I decided not to attempt to return to the place where she had gone missing. There was only one way forward, and that was down.

I needed to find a doctor and get myself cleaned up. Afterward, I could check in with...I almost thought of Regg. For years, he’d been my point of contact with MI6. If this had been an ordinary assignment, my first priority would be to check in. But now I was in uncharted territory.

Without knowing who was playing for Regg and who was playing for the British public, I couldn’t contact anyone. Two of the other assailants in the car with me had been American and Australian. That meant that people within the CIA and ASIS were likely also tainted. And I couldn’t reach out to any of them without risking exposure.

I had a few personal contacts who might be able to help. There were also a few assets that I had personally developed over the years who would be open to an exchange of information for the right price. I still had options.

Staggering into motion, I tested my ability to walk gingerly at first. Every time I came down with my right foot, pain shocked my system. I adjusted to favor my left foot, only putting half my weight down on my right each time. It wasn’t a recipe for winning a race, but hopefully it would get me where I needed to go. Just a few miles and I could find someone willing to help.

Chapter 2

Theo

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THE SUN WAS FALLING, and the wind picked up. There was still snowpack on the ground, which meant I had a long way to go before reaching the valley. Ordinarily, civilization rested in the foothills or between the peaks where the water flowed and the land could be cultivated. I was heading in that direction, but it took me forever.

I had no survival equipment on me, though I did have my training. I knew that if night fell and I was unable to reach help, I could bury myself in the snow to create a warm cocoon. Sled dogs did that in frigid temperatures, allowing the very thing that most people would try to avoid to provide them comfort through the night.

I estimated that I was traveling at about four miles per hour. It wasn’t dismal, but it wasn’t effective either. I needed to pick up the pace if I was going to make it out of the woods in time. I hadn’t seen another car all day. I had no way of knowing if I was even still in Sweeden, or if I had been transported to another Nordic country while I was asleep.

Just as the last dying rays of light snuck away, I found a fork in the road. One path lay down the mountain in the same direction as I had been traveling. The other path diverged into the forest itself, indicating that there might be something there worth investigating.

Maybe a house or some other kind of building where I could take shelter had been installed halfway up the mountain. I was tired, thirsty, and weak from the beating I’d endured at Regg’s hand and the fight in the car. If I could even find a power station, or a cabin with a roof, I would be much more comfortable. My expectations lowered from finding a physician and a telephone to simply finding a place to sleep for the night.

I moved up the driveway, feeling like a zombie with one foot slower than the other. I had no weapon and no communication device. It occurred to me that if this was a house I had found, its owner might not appreciate the company. I debated hiding in the bushes along the roadside and sneaking up on whatever lay beyond. But that would only serve to alienate a potential source of assistance, if I could convince whoever might be up there to help me.

So I walked down the middle of the road, my hands down by my sides. There was nothing I could do about the awkward shuffle I’d perfected, but I could demonstrate that I was unarmed. It worked. A moment later, a gentleman who looked to be about forty years older than me appeared from farther up the drive.

He carried a shotgun. It wasn’t an old-fashioned variety either, but a newer model that told me he knew his way around an armory. He hoisted it to his shoulder, staring down the barrel at me.

“Stop right there,” he said in perfect British English.

“Theo Wells,” I identified myself. “MI6.” It was a risky proposition letting a stranger know that I was a spook. But I was at the end of my rope, and it was one of the only cards I had left to play.

The man thought about it for a moment, then lowered his weapon. “You’ve been shot?” he asked as if it was the most natural question in the world.

“Yes, sir,” I replied, holding my breath.

“Come on,” the man said reluctantly, waving me forward like a bouncer into a club.

I exhaled in relief, following him up the rest of the drive to a stark mountain cabin about half a mile off the main road. Waiting for us on the porch were an older woman and a younger man, potentially the wife and son of the gunman.