Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
The guards take their positions. Two next to Marlena, two behind us. The doors close with a heavy thunk and the pitch of the rotors changes, noise filling the cabin until conversation becomes impossible without headsets.
Marlena has one. She doesn’t offer us the same courtesy.
I watch the landscape tilt and fall away as we lift off. The cabin shrinks to a dark speck against the white, then disappears entirely. Nothing but wilderness in every direction. Mountains in the distance, their peaks lost in low clouds. Frozen lakes scattered below us, flat and gray.
No roads. No buildings. Nothing.
I catch Hailey’s eye. She’s watching the terrain too, and I can see her mind working. Calculating distances, memorizing landmarks. Probably building a map in her head the way I am. Old habits.
Liam sits on Hailey’s other side, staring out the window. He’s quiet and carrying bruises from his time with Marlena and guilt that runs deeper than the bruises, but his eyes are tracking the guards, the exits, the positioning of weapons. He’s in the game. Hurting, but in.
I feel the knife against my ribs every time I breathe. Hailey’s coat has the ammonia rig sewn into the lining. Liam has the second steak knife, passed to him in the huddle while Hailey blocked the camera’s sightline with her body.
I want to hate him. Part of me does. He sold us out, made deals behind our backs, got us into this mess in the first place. But watching him now, zip-tied and silent, the bruises on his face from our fight still dark against his skin, I can’t muster the energy.
We’re past blame. We’re in survival mode now.
The flight stretches on. One hour, then two. Marlena makes small talk through hand gestures and exaggerated lip movements, pointing out landmarks like an overeager flight attendant. That mountain. This lake. She mimes antlers at one point, then shrugs theatrically when we don’t react.
Eventually she pulls out a laminated card and holds it up for us to read: THE TERRITORIES ARE BEAUTIFUL THIS TIME OF YEAR. HARSH BUT BEAUTIFUL. PERFECT FOR HIDING THINGS YOU DON’T WANT FOUND.
She flips to another card: I HAD THESE MADE SPECIALLY.
Then another: BECAUSE I KNEW YOU WOULDN’T TALK TO ME.
And another: IT’S FINE. I TALK ENOUGH FOR EVERYONE.
She winks at Hailey.
The helicopter begins descending around the two-hour mark. Below us, a makeshift airstrip emerges from the white. Just a cleared field, the snow packed down and marked with orange flags. A cluster of buildings sits at one end, low wooden structures with caved-in roofs. Old mining camp. Abandoned for decades by the look of it.
We touch down hard enough to rattle my teeth. The pilot cuts the engine and the rotors begin their slow wind-down, the noise fading enough that I can hear again.
“From here, we snowmobile.” Marlena stands, adjusting her parka. “Which, full disclosure, is my favorite part. I had a whole PowerPoint presentation about the route but Kenny said it was ‘too much.’ ” She air-quotes with her fingers, then gestures at one of the guards. “Kenny is no fun. Don’t be like Kenny.”
Kenny’s demeanor doesn’t change.
She claps her hands together. “Okay! Let’s go find my diamond!”
The cold outside is brutal even with the winter gear they’ve provided. My fingers go numb in minutes despite the gloves. The guards load us onto snowmobiles without wasted movement. Me with one, Liam with another, Hailey riding behind Marlena.
I memorize the configuration as we pull out. Guard in front, guard behind, the rest flanking. Military convoy formation. Standard protection detail with standard weaknesses.
If I can find an opening.
The convoy heads into the wilderness.
I watch for opportunities as we ride, scanning the terrain through the face shield of my helmet. Frozen forest. Rocky outcrops. Ice-covered creeks that we cross without slowing. The terrain is rough, the snowmobiles bouncing over hidden obstacles, but our captors handle them like veterans.
They probably are. This isn’t some amateur treasure hunt.
My hands are still bound. My muscles are cramped from sitting in the helicopter. I’m surrounded by armed guards on unfamiliar terrain in subzero temperatures with nothing resembling an exit strategy.
I’ve been in worse situations.
I’m having trouble remembering when.
We ride for what feels like forever. Ninety minutes, maybe more. The cold works its way through every layer until I stop feeling my feet. The landscape blurs into sameness, white and gray and white again, broken only by the occasional rocky outcrop.
Then the convoy slows. Stops.
We’re at the base of a cliff face, massive boulders tumbled at its feet. It looks like every other rock formation we’ve passed, but Marlena’s driver cuts the engine with the confidence of someone who’s arrived exactly where he meant to.
Marlena bounces off her snowmobile. “Oh my god. Oh my god, this is happening.” She grabs one of her guards by the arm. “Derek, are you seeing this? Five years. Five years, Derek.”