There were four possibilities. He knew that Yaponchik would not be at the sniper’s nest. He was either downhill finishing off Syd, or running for his Chevy Suburban, or in another good position and waiting to shoot Dar. Or executing some combination of the previous three.

Getting slowly to his feet, banishing the daemon of katalepsis that threatened to possess him, Dar held his rifle at port arms and began moving west through the woods.

25

“Y is for Yaponchik”

Dar’s sniper crawl westward was slow and stealthy and according to the manual. He kept his head down, his mental map of the terrain clear, staying aware of the sun’s position, using every bit of cover and natural camouflage available, his rifle cradled in his arms as he slithered forward slowly on his elbows, belly, and knees. The hundred-yard-per-hour advance would have earned him high marks at Quantico, but Dar soon realized that at this professional rate, he would arrive at the cabin about three weeks after Yaponchik had shot Syd and driven off.

He paused to think about this, using the Redfield to scope the high ground to his right and the clearing to his left, when suddenly a burst of SVD fire and another, much quieter, cough of automatic weapons fire helped make up his mind.

For a second Dar thought that the unmistakable double-cough of the poorly suppressed AK-47 meant that there had been a sixth Russian there, but then he realized that he had underestimated Syd. She may have used up her H&K ammunition, but there were at least three AK-47s in the cabin with her, and the Russians had been carrying extra banana clips out the wazoo. Syd was loaded for bear and evidently she had flushed one.

Yaponchik’s suppressed SVD sniper rifle fired again, soft stutters of three rounds each time, and Dar noted the location. Downhill and to his left about eighty yards. The AK-47 coughed loudly back from the direction of the cabin.

Dar actually closed his eyes a second as he visualized the last few minutes. Yaponchik had gone against Dar’s expectations and had moved downhill—which made sense, Dar now realized. The expert Russian sniper had surrendered the high ground, but had put himself closer to his vehicle while choosing a spot that was probably perfect for picking off Dar as he crept along, paying more attention to the hill above him.

Dar knew that Yaponchik would not have revealed himself to Syd’s view from the cabin doors or windows, which meant that Syd had moved outside the cabin—Dar’s guess was that she had headed out the south door, down the hill, and then back up near the parking lot, probably concealing herself in the boulders there. She must have gotten a glimpse of Yaponchik through the AK-47s optics. Dar realized that he would not have been at all jealous if she had killed the Russian son of a bitch for him, but from the sound of the firefight, Yaponchik was still very much alive.

Dar stood up and ran like hell, crashing through underbrush, tripping and rolling once but never losing his rifle or knife, leaping downhill. He could see the boulder that was his destination and estimated that it was uphill and about fifty yards east of Yaponchik’s position. From there he and Syd could put the Russian in defilade and a cross-fire vector without endangering each other.

Dar slid belly-first behind the boulder as three SVD rounds slammed into the top of it. Yaponchik may not have seen him, but obviously had heard him coming. Good. Dar crouched behind the boulder, ready to fire around its west end if and when Yaponchik returned Syd’s fire. But although the AK-47 coughed twice more, there was no response from the Russian’s sniper rifle.

Shit, thought Dar. He’s disengaging.

There came a burst of SVD suppressed fire from near the parking area, and Dar heard Syd shouting from the distance—“Dar, he’s shooting up our truck and car”—and then more SVD coughs and then silence.

Dar was moving again, sliding downhill, keeping the thicker of the trees between him and the parking area, but trying to flank Yaponchik.

He reached the edge of the cabin clearing and assessed the situation quickly. All of the tires were shot out on the Land Cruiser and Taurus. He could see Syd just west of the cabin, curled behind a protective boulder, but there was no sight of Yaponchik. He whistled once.

Syd saw him and shouted, “He went down the road on foot. I was afraid to come out because I don’t know the range of his weapon.”

“Stay where you are!” shouted Dar. “Keep around the east side of the rock.”

He went to her, moving from rock to tree to rock, sprinting and weaving and dodging through the open areas, hoping that Syd could get off a clean return shot if Yaponchik killed him now.

He made it without getting shot and slid behind the boulder next to Syd. He could see that her face and hands were cut and bleeding.

“You’re hit!” they both said at the same time.

“I’m OK,” they both answered simultaneously.

Dar shook his head and touched Syd’s right arm, looking at the cuts on her wrists and hands. He realized that the lacerations on her face were also much more bloody than serious. “Shrapnel?” he said.

“Yeah. I was behind the door, but there was a lot of steel ricocheting around that corridor when that guy dropped the grenade,” said Syd softly, still crouched low. “There’s blood all over you, Dar.”

Dar looked down at his body armor. “All of this belongs to Zuker,” he said.

“Dead?”

Dar nodded.

“But your side and back,” said Syd. “Turn around.”

Dar did so, feeling the stabs of pain from his right side and the backs of both legs.

“That’s not Zuker’s blood,” said Syd. “It looks like they shot your ass off.”

“Great,” said Dar, feeling suddenly queasy.

Syd actually peeled back some of the rags of his camouflage trousers to look at the wound. “Sorry. It’s a deep graze. The bleeding’s almost stopped. Your ear’s a bloody mess. And what’s with the blood on your side, under your armor?”

“Ricochet,” said Dar. “Just under the skin. Not important. Let’s concentrate on Yaponchik.”

They peered around opposite ends of the boulder, jerking their heads back instantly. No shots. The Land Cruiser and Taurus looked sad sitting there on eight flat tires.

“I think he’s disengaged,” said Dar. “Heading for the Suburban.”

“It’s parked about a half mile down the road…” began Syd.

“I know.” Dar rubbed his cheek, smelled blood, and looked at his hands. He rubbed his right palm against his trouser leg. That did not help.

“If we go after him—” began Syd again.

“Shhh. Give me a second,” said Dar. He closed his eyes, remembering the access road and distances as well as he could. He doubted Yaponchik would be running down the road—the Russian would know that trucks and cars could be driven on their rims, for one thing. Most likely the sniper would be staging a careful, tactical withdrawal, moving from sniper point to sniper point, waiting for any pursuit.

Dar guessed that he still had a few minutes before Yaponchik got to the Suburban. After that, the sniper would be the FBI’s problem. But…

There was one part of the access road visible to the cabin: a hard curve with a steep embankment on the northwest side and no trees on this side. It was about a mile down the driveway, not long before the access road met the highway. A vehicle would be visible in the gap for only a few seconds before turning right back into the trees and then onto the highway. He might have time.

Dar handed his M40 to Syd. “Use this rather than the AK-47 if he comes back.” As he struggled out of his heavy vest, he noticed for the first time that she was carrying binoculars on a strap around her neck. “Where’d you get those?”

“From the Russian whose foot you shot off,” said Syd.