Blood Trust - Eric van Lustbader [93]
“I remember.” Naomi was acutely aware of the wariness in her voice.
“I don’t want to have to do that again, Naomi. Because this time I might fail.”
She gave him a wan smile. “Forget it, Pete, it’s D.C.”
He didn’t laugh.
“Pete, we’re partners; I shouldn’t have to ask this. Do you have my back?”
“Isn’t that what partners are for?”
She nodded. “Now are you going to drive or am I going to leave you here?”
* * *
“DENNIS, ARE you okay with this?” Jack asked, as Thatë, at the head of his dirty half dozen, led them along the roundabout route he had first suggested, east, then north, then northwest toward Tetovo.
“Do I have a choice?” Paull grumbled. “I fucked up, Jack. I don’t know what got into me. I should’ve listened to your instincts.” He shook his head. “But to be led to Arian Xhafa by this kid.” Paull glared at Thatë trekking easily and confidently up ahead. “I mean, this kid should still be sucking up his mother’s milk, for Christ’s sake.”
“He didn’t have a mother,” Alli said.
They both looked at her.
“At least,” she continued, “a mother he remembers.”
“Boo hoo!” Paull parodied crying.
“You never even gave him a chance,” Alli said hotly.
“And you gave him too much of one.” Paull jerked his head. “Let’s just hope he didn’t kill any of my men when he escaped from the plane.”
“He didn’t,” Alli said.
“He told you that, did he?”
“Bite me.” She extended her middle finger at him and, picking up the pace, wound her way through the Russians to walk beside Thatë.
“Thanks for that,” Jack said.
“A word of warning,” Paull shot back. “The next thing you know they’ll be making the two-backed beast and then you’ll never be able to pry them apart.”
Jack considered for a time as the forest slid past them. Off to their left, they could hear the watercourse that marked the far end of the valley. Over the ridge beyond lay Tetovo.
“I remember hearing about a man who turned so sour on life he wouldn’t believe a boy who rang his doorbell was his long-lost son.”
Paull scoffed. “I know how this ends: he turns the boy away only to find out later that he was, in fact, his son.”
“No,” Jack said. “Against his better judgment, he takes the boy in, feeds him, clothes him, gives him a soft bed to sleep in. The two spend a week together, then another and another. Gradually, the man’s guard lowers as he comes to appreciate the boy, then to mentor him. He realizes that, in the end, it doesn’t matter whether this boy is his blood son or not.
“One night, he’s awakened by unfamiliar sounds. He goes down the hall to his son’s room. The door is open, his son’s clothes are laid out, the bed is made just as it had been before he arrived. Grabbing a gun, the man goes down to the first floor and turns on the lights.
“Someone is sitting in his easy chair. This shadowy figure calls the man by his Christian name, even though the man is certain he’s never seen the stranger before in his life.
“‘Don’t you recognize me?’ the stranger says. As he stands up, a pair of enormous black wings unfold from points on either shoulder.
“‘Where’s my son?’ the man shouts. ‘What have you done with him?’
“‘I?’ the devil says. ‘I have done nothing with your son. He’s dead—dead and buried years ago.’
“‘You’re lying,’ the man says. He’s shaking with anger.
“‘You may think so,’ the devil says. ‘But the fact remains he’s not here. He never was.’
“All at once, the man breaks, falling to his knees. ‘Why? Why?’ he cries out.
“‘Because,’ the devil says, ‘life is hell.’”
Paull moved his assault rifle from one arm to another. “Does this piece of crap have a moral?”
“You know the moral, Dennis,” Jack said. “Why do you think that life is hell?”
Paull made a sour face. “What, have you suddenly found God?”
“My only compact,” Jack said, “is with my daughter.”
Paull came up short and turned. “What are you talking about? Your daughter is dead.”
“The dead never leave us, Dennis. At least, their spirits don’t.” Jack looked him in the eye. “I suspect that’s what you’re struggling against.”
* * *
ANNIKA DEMENTIEVA sat in the first-class