“Maybe,” Grant said. “Maybe not. We’ll be in Afghan airspace, and the Afghans are on board with our trip, being a rescue mission and all.”
Brock gave the CIA officer a wary side-eye. “A rescue mission?” He shook his head and settled back in his seat. “You should have led with that.”
The pilot in command, an Army warrant officer named Avery, half turned from the right seat. The engines were already whining, and he spoke over the intercom, doing one last safety check with his crew chief.
All good in back and gauges in the green up front, he lifted off.
“As rescue missions go,” Grant said, “this one is… unique.”
Chavez groaned, staring into the trees behind the hotel. “Are you seeing this?”
The young woman they believed to be Medina Tohti led her Han Chinese friend to two saddled horses she’d apparently left tied to the top of a corral. A half-dozen trail horses from the hotel concession munched hay off the muddy ground inside the fence, ignoring the two saddled animals outside. All of them were Mongolian ponies, short and stocky, still woolly from a long winter.
Medina climbed aboard a small bay, the man on a slightly larger sorrel the color of a new penny. He spoke nonstop as he brought his horse up to walk beside the woman’s, illustrating various points by waving his hands or shaking his index finger.
Medina listened dutifully, fur parka ruff tilted to one side, taking in every word as they clomped down the muddy trail to disappear into the dusky forest.
Chavez breathed out hard, blowing a cloud of vapor, sounding like one of the horses. “I was never a cavalry soldier.”
Yao started for the corral the moment the two riders were out of sight. “Didn’t you ever go to summer camp?”
“I grew up in East L.A.,
“These are trail-ride horses,” Yao said. “We’ll probably have trouble getting them to go.”
All the animals looked to have been fed and watered and turned out. The wranglers, too, had gone home for the night. The saddles were all locked up in a wooden shed, but that didn’t matter. They didn’t have time for that anyway.
“Mounted operations…” Chavez muttered, picking what he hoped was the gentlest of the beasts — a cow-hocked gray with winter fuzz around the muzzle that made it look like a bearded old man.
Yao found a lead rope and attached it to the halter of a stout little mouse-colored horse, forming makeshift reins. Facing the animal’s ribs, he put both hands on its back and then pressed himself up, throwing a leg over.
“Damn it!” Chavez said, trying to follow suit, but resorting to using the rails to climb aboard, even with the short horse.
“There’s a technique to it,” Yao said, leading the way out of the gate.
“No kidding,” Chavez said, wishing for some mode of transportation that had wheels instead of hooves. He spun the little gray in two complete circles before finally getting it pointed in the same direction as Yao.
Five jostling minutes later, Yao raised his arm to a square and made a fist, cavalrylike. He listened for a moment, shoulders hunched against the cold.
Chavez brought his gray up next to the other horse, pulling back on the lead rope. He needn’t have. The gray didn’t intend to leave its buddy for one minute.
“What is it?” Chavez said. Snow drifted down through the evergreens, melting as soon as it hit the mud and moss — a spring snow. The tracks were easy to follow, and fresh enough that water was only now seeping back into them. “You think they’re running a surveillance-detection run on horseback?”
Yao slouched easily on his horse, legs dangling, scanning, patting the animal periodically on the side of its broad neck to keep it calm. “Nah, they’re just riding home. We need to give them a minute, though. Our horses want to catch them, so we’re getting too close.” He gestured forward with the tail of his makeshift reins, causing the horse to flick an ear. “Smell that?”
Chavez sniffed the cold air, catching a hint of woodsmoke and the slightly sweet barnyard stench of more animals.
“A cabin,” he said. “Gotta admit, you’re shattering my cowboy stereotypes.”
Yao kept his focus through the trees. “Don’t know a thing about cattle,” he whispered, sounding an awful lot like an Asian Gary Cooper. “We should move in a little closer with the horses and then go the rest of the way on foot.”
“Sounds good,” Chavez said. “Nothing yet from Lisanne. I’d like to make contact with Medina as soon as we hear what’s going on in town.”
“Yep,” Yao said, still sniffing the air. “I’ll make a call to my contact and confirm our boat.” He gave his horse another pat on the neck. “I’d hoped to hear back from Clark by now about the daughter. We’re gonna need something to keep Medina Tohti from shooting us in the face when we go to the door.”
