Countdown - Iris Johansen [128]
“You don’t seem upset about it.” She studied his face in the lights of the dashboard. His expression was tense, alert, and, good God, eager. His eyes were gleaming with excitement and he looked like a boy going off on a great adventure, she realized in shock.
“Why should I be upset? I don’t mind the snow. Reilly had me taught to perform my function in all kinds of weather. He always said that no one expected attack by an enemy when they were already being attacked by nature.”
“But then, Reilly will be expecting it.”
“Perhaps. But he thinks we’re still back at the Run. There’s a road branching off to the right just ahead.” He squinted, trying to see out the windshield. “Take it. About a mile down the road you’ll see a shack.”
She stiffened. “Reilly?”
“No, it’s an old hunting shack. It’s a run-down ruin of a place, but there’s a propane heater and you’ll be able to keep warm until you get someone to come. There’s a fireplace too, but don’t light it. I don’t think anyone could see the smoke in this storm but you wouldn’t want to take the chance.”
She could see the shack now, and it was as dilapidated as he’d said it would be. Boarded-up windows and a front porch that had missing planks. “And this is where you’re dumping me?”
“It’s the safest place I know. And it’s only safe if you’re very careful.”
She pulled over in front of the shack. “How close are we to Reilly’s place?”
He didn’t answer.
“Jock, you promised me. I have to be able to tell Trevor where he is. You’ve got your head start. Now, dammit, give me the information I need.”
He nodded. “You’re right.” He got out of the SUV and moved toward the front door. “Come in. I have something to collect and I don’t have much time.” He gave her a faint smile. “Can’t waste that head start.”
The furniture in the lodge consisted of a rickety wood table, two chairs, the propane heater Jock had mentioned, and, tossed in a corner, a moth-eaten sleeping bag. Jock lit the heater and then unrolled a state map on the table. He pointed to a spot in the north central corner of the state. “That’s where we are now.” He took off his gloves and skimmed his finger along the map to a spot near the Montana border. “That’s where Reilly’s headquarters is located. It used to be an old trading post, but Reilly bought it, remodeled, and added another two thousand square feet. The new addition is half underground, and that’s where Reilly’s personal quarters are located. He has a bedroom and office with a special records-filing room. Adjoining it is his favorite place, the antiquity room.”
“Antiquity?”
“He has an office with shelves containing all sorts of artifacts from Herculaneum and Pompeii. Records, ancient documents, books. Coins. Lots and lots of books of ancient coins.” He tapped another spot. “There’s a back door leading from this office to the helicopter landing pad.”
“How many of his men are there?”
“Usually only one or two guards at the most. The main training camp is across the Montana border. The only people who occupy the house are Reilly, Kim Chan, and the training prospect Reilly is most interested in at the moment.” His lips curved in a bitter smile. “His favorite.”
“Like you.”
“Like me.” He pointed at the camp across the border. “But if he gets a chance to call the camp, a swarm could come across that state line like killer bees. Tell Trevor not to let him make that call.”
“Surprise?”
“It’s hard to surprise him. He has video cameras in trees all over the woods surrounding the post and land mines planted at regular intervals. There’s a security room at the house where the cameras can be monitored and the land mines activated. Any stranger approaching would be an easy target.”
“But could he see them coming in this snowstorm?”
“Not well. But maybe well enough.”
“And only a couple sentries?”
“Sometimes not even that when I was here. With the video cameras it’s not necessary.” He moved toward a paneled wall across the room, placed his hands at two points, pressed, and a six-foot