The White Vixen (56 page)

Shooting them would buy a lot more time. The thought crossed her mind as she gave them one last look, but she quickly pushed it away. These men hadn’t done anything wrong. They were just a couple of country cops, doing their duty. Besides, if she were captured, she didn’t want a double-murder added to her list of charges. She left them alive, grunting and cursing in the back of the car. A few minutes later, she was on her horse and cantering toward the coast.

She’d seen this farmhouse in the distance as dusk was enveloping the land, and she decided to use it as the rendezvous point. In the darkness, something substantial would have to serve as a landmark. Ian’s voice coming through the night into her radio had thrilled her, driving away the fatigue and cold, if only for a moment.

Her SIS briefing on Argentina came back to her. This part of the country had been settled by immigrants from Wales, and so some pro-British sentiment might be expected here. It was too risky to simply walk up to the door and knock, though, as hungry and thirsty as she was. She hoped the commandos would get here soon.

In the distance she heard the sounds of horses. Jo had unburdened her own horse of its saddle and set the animal free, trusting it would seek out its own kind and join them. She was thinking of the mare, and how sturdy and reliable she had been, when another sound reached her, a rustling of grass. Could’ve been an animal, could’ve been something else. She hunkered back against the tree, drawing her pistol.

There, off to her right, about forty meters. In the dim moonlight she saw a shape moving stealthily through the knee-high grass. If she hadn’t heard the sound of its passage through the field, just barely above the clutter of night sounds, she would’ve never spotted the shape. Twenty meters further on, she saw another one, just a flicker of movement. These guys were good, all ri—

The sound was faint, but distinctive. One who has trained with knives never forgets it, and now it came suddenly from her left, and just in time she brought the Luger up and caught the blade on the short barrel of the gun, sending a chink through the night air. The moonlight glinted off a very large blade, and she grabbed for the wrist she knew had to be holding it, lifting the blade up with her gun hand while her left found the man’s wrist and pulled and twisted it, but this hand was powerful and wouldn’t release the knife. She pulled harder, swinging her body around, driving a right side kick into the man’s armpit, a blow strong enough to dislocate the shoulder of almost any man, but not this one. All she got was a grunt, and then another hand grabbed her ankle and twisted. Jo had to roll with it or risk having the ankle break, so she released the man’s wrist and went with the movement, yanking the ankle free as she fell to the ground hard, right side taking the impact, and despite the pain she continued rolling and was back on her feet. Three shapes were around her now, and she heard the clicking of firearms, saw the glint of moonlight on the knife again, and knew that if these were Argentine troops she was as good as dead.

“For God’s sake, Bickerstaff,” a distinctly British voice said, “put that pig-sticker away. You damn near cut her head off.”

A deep voice rumbled from behind the knife, “Warn’t close to that, Sarge. Only meant to get her attention.” She heard the sound of a long knife going back into its sheath. “Where’s the colonel?”

“Right here,” a very familiar voice behind her said.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Chubut province, Argentina

Monday, April 26th, 1982

Out of sight of the farmhouse, they hunkered down in the midst of a copse of scruffy trees. Jo could hardly believe it was really Ian, and even when she got a look at him in the moonlight, she would have doubted it if not for his voice. In his field uniform, face disguised with camo paint, topped with a green beret and carrying his MP-5, he looked every inch the lethal warrior he was. His men, if anything, looked even more formidable, especially that fellow Bickerstaff.

Ian was all business. When they got into the trees, he sent four men out to guard the perimeter, and then made sure Jo got some food and water. She wolfed down two energy bars and took a long swig from Ian’s canteen. “Thank you,” she said, handing it back to him.

“Now tell me how you got here,” Ian said. She quickly sketched out the events of the past two days near Bariloche, the desperate flight east, the crash landing, and her escape on horseback to the coast. He said nothing, merely nodding now and then, but another man, one she barely recognized as Colour Sergeant Powers, uttered an appreciative oath or two.

“I had to contact you,” Jo said as she finished. “That’s why I made for the coast instead of Chile. The Argentines have changed their plan. They intend to launch the nuclear strike from an alternate air base, not too far from the original base.”

“Damn!” Ian said. He pulled a map from a thigh pocket and a flashlight from his web belt. The red lens of the flash cast an eerie beam onto the map as he spread it out on the ground. “We should be about here,” he said, pointing at a spot about two kilometers in from the coast and three south of the Ninth Brigade base. “There are no other air bases within a hundred kilometers.”

“Baumann said they’re using a small strip about ten klicks north of Ninth Brigade,” Jo said.

In the dim red light, Ian’s eyes glared at her. “Do you trust his word?”

She took a deep breath. Was it possible that Willy would have deceived her? Was it possible, even, that this was all part of Bormann’s plan? She dismissed it. Something about Baumann had told her he was telling her the truth. “Yes,” she said. “What he said about the alternate site made sense.” She quickly described the diversionary attack.

“All right,” Ian said. He looked at the man squatting next to him. “Captain Hodge. I’ll take two men with me and Major Geary here to check out this alternate base. You take the rest of the men to the primary target.”

“Right, sir. Who do you want?”

“Garrett’s trained on the Stinger, so I’ll take him, along with Bickerstaff. That leaves you with Powers and his Stinger, plus the rest of the squad.” He checked his watch. “Nearly 1130 local. We’d best get moving. When you’ve finished your attack, get to the extraction point and get on the sub. We’ll radio for pickup from our spot on the beach north of you. We won’t have time to get to you on foot.”

Hodge never flinched. “Aye aye, sir. Can you make this other base in time?”

Ian shook his head. “We’ll have to get some transport somehow. The farm should have a lorry or a car of some sort.”

“Contact with the locals, Colonel?”

“Can’t be helped. If it’s another thirteen klicks to this launch site, we’ll never make it in time on foot, especially since we have to go around the main base. We’ll have to risk it.” He looked at Jo. “You need a change of clothes, I think. I have a camo undershirt you can put over that one you have on. I’ll see if anyone else brought a spare pair of trousers.”

A few minutes later, Jo was cinching a baggy set of trousers with a length of rope. The other marines had melted into the darkness. “Here,” Ian’s voice said, and in the dimness she saw him holding out a garment. She took it, and as she brought it up to her head to slip it on, the odor of his perspiration struck her, so familiar from their time in Bermuda…She flung herself into his waiting arms, and stifled a sob.

“It’s all right, Jo. I’m here,” he said, holding her tightly.

“My God, Ian.” Everything seemed to be smashing down on her now. Her capture in Buenos Aires, the encounter with Bormann, their escape, the flight, the crash…She willed herself to move beyond it, summoning up every ounce of her ki. “I never thought I’d see you again,” she murmured into his chest.

He kissed the top of her head. “Jo, we have to get moving. Time is short.”

“I know,” she said, pulling herself away. She slipped the shirt over her head and pulled it down. It had taken a mighty effort, but her discipline came through. “The farm likely has a dog,” she said.

“We’ll deal with that.”

There was indeed a dog, and it started yelping when they were still fifty meters from the barn. Ian waved at Bickerstaff, who drew his long knife and vanished around the back of the barn. Sheep were bleating, but suddenly the dog was silent. Jo tried not to think about what the big sergeant had done with his knife. “Garrett, phone lines,” Ian whispered. The Welsh corporal nodded and headed toward the house, hugging the shadows.

Ian and Jo made it to the pickup. No lights had come on in the house. Unlike farms Jo had seen in the States, this one didn’t have a yard light, thankfully. Ian took a quick look inside the cab with his flashlight. “Caught a break,” he whispered. “Keys are in it.”

Bickerstaff appeared out of the darkness, then Garrett. “Lines are cut, Colonel,” the corporal said.

“Right,” Ian said. “Jo, get inside and take the wheel. Shift to neutral. Lads, we want to push this buggy out of the yard and down the road a bit before we start her up. Won’t do to wake the house before we’re off.”

Jo opened the passenger door, and the rusty hinge creaked so loudly Jo thought it would wake the dead, not just those sleeping in the house. She willed it to be quiet. Slipping inside, she climbed over into the driver’s seat. The truck was a Ford, twenty years old if it was a day, with a stick shift. Jo found the emergency brake, made sure it was released, then pressed in the clutch and shifted to neutral. The truck began to move. She turned the wheel hard right and the tires began crunching over the dirt and gravel. The truck squeaked like it hadn’t been moved in years. Jo risked a glance back at the farmhouse. Still dark.

Fifty meters down the long driveway, Jo heard a pair of thumps from the box behind her, and the passenger door swung open. Ian jumped inside. “Let’s go,” he said, panting. Jo turned the key, gave the accelerator a little push as the engine coughed and sputtered, then caught. She shifted into first gear and the truck lurched ahead and stalled.

“Sorry,” she said. This time she eased the transmission into second gear smoothly. “Not a word about woman drivers,” she warned Ian.

“Did I say anything?” Ian unfolded his map. The red flashlight cast an eerie glow in the cab of the truck. “It looks like Highway 25 is the best way to go north. It stays about five kilometers west of the air base.”

“They might have roadblocks out. It’s been awhile since my plane went down, so they know an enemy agent is in the area.” She looked over at Ian in the ghostly red light. “I’m glad you’re here, Ian. If it had to be anybody, I’m glad it’s you.”

He gave her a smile, his teeth shining in the dark of his camouflaged face. “Steve McQueen said it in a movie: ‘We’ll find some dumb son of a bitch to do it.’ And they did. By the way, don’t worry about the dog. I could tell you were upset about that. We brought along a piece of raw beef that was drugged. Just for this sort of eventuality.”

She sighed with relief, pushing aside the incongruity of being concerned about a canine when she had already killed two men on this mission, with perhaps more to come. Fatigue was starting to creep back inside her. The rations and water she’d gotten from the marines had helped. She’d have to draw on what reserves she might have and hope for the best.

***

Colonel Gerhard Schmidt wasted no time as he left the provincial police station. Captain Winkler knew from his commander’s demeanor inside the station that he was not pleased, but he refrained from any comments. Businesslike and professional as always, Schmidt merely asked questions. The stares he gave the police captain did little to conceal his true feelings.

The two officers climbed into the back of the Mercedes staff car. As soon as the doors slammed shut, Schmidt ordered the driver to return to the base. Winkler took a surreptitious glance at his watch. Nearly midnight, and it was at least another half-hour to the base. He waited for the colonel to start letting off the steam he knew was building. It didn’t take long. Schmidt may have been promoted to full colonel after the battle on the Island of the Penguins, but his personality hadn’t changed one bit.

“Incompetent imbeciles!” Schmidt exploded. “An enemy agent is loose in the area, they have two men missing for six hours before they’re found, then two more hours before they think of notifying the nearest military authority. God help us.”

“It was evident that they didn’t believe a woman would be much of a problem,” Winkler said.

Schmidt scoffed at that. “Well, they have found out, haven’t they? I spoke with…some people,” the Werewolves officer said carefully, knowing that Winkler wasn’t privy to Bund business. “They assured me this woman is as dangerous as any man. More so, in fact. She has already been responsible for the deaths of several key people here. The two policemen should pray to their Virgin in thanks that the American spared their worthless lives.”

“Could she be a threat to the base?”

“Ordinarily, I would say not. One person, lightly armed if armed at all, even one as competent as this one is, should not be a concern to us. Despite what we see in their movies, the Americans are not supermen. Or superwomen,” he said, giving Winkler a glance and a sly grin. “However, we have to be prepared for any eventuality. It is possible that she has compatriots in the area.”