But the roar continued, louder, nearer.
The cyclists would soon reach the curve! Bent over, Savage rushed from the woods toward the road. Akira, who'd brought the walkie-talkie from the car, blurted instructions in Japanese.
At the same time, Savage reached the Toyota, yanked open the driver's door, and flicked the headlight lever. Once! Twice!
Satisfying himself that the flashing glare—aimed toward, reflecting off, the trees on the far side of the curve—would be visible to anyone approaching, Savage ducked behind the Toyota, ready with his Beretta in case these motorcycles were a subterfuge, themselves a trap.
Two bikers swerved into view. As the glare of their headlights revealed the Toyota, the bikers abruptly reduced speed and stopped behind the car, their engines rumbling. Savage stayed behind the Toyota, cautious. The bikers turned off their engines but left their lights on, aiming them toward bushes. The reflected illumination was sufficient for Savage to see the two young men on the motorcycles, but their helmets and Plexiglas visors concealed their faces. Not that Savage would have been able to recognize them—they'd been wearing face masks the first and only time he'd met them, the night before at Taro's dojo.
As they took off their helmets, revealing their shadowed features, Akira spoke in Japanese from the cover of shrubs at the side of the road. One of them answered, and Akira emerged, telling Savage, “It's all right. They're ours.”
Savage lowered the Beretta. The bikers shut off their headlights.
Akira approached and spoke again in Japanese. After hearing their replies, he turned to Savage. “They didn't pass Shirai's motorcade when they drove back.”
Savage tensed. “Then we were right. The motorcade stopped down the road beyond this curve. Shirai's guards suspected they were being followed and set up a trap. They'll be tired of waiting. They're probably stalking us right now. We have to—”
“No.” Akira sounded baffled. “The bikers also looked for cars parked along the road, especially near this curve. But the side of the road is deserted.”
“How? That's impossible. Shirai's men must have found a place to hide the cars. Taro's students missed them.”
“The bikers assure me they were meticulous. They're certain. No cars are hidden along the road.”
“Well, that motorcade didn't just vanish. It has to be somewhere,” Savage said. “No disrespect to Taro's men, but we don't have a choice—we need to check for ourselves.”
In a crouch, Savage crossed the road, followed by Akira. Staying close to bushes, they proceeded warily around the curve and continued down the road, prepared at any moment to dive toward the cover of the forest.
But the farther they crept along the road, the more convinced Savage became that Taro's students were right. When they reached the next curve, Savage was certain. The motorcade was definitely not hidden along the shoulder.
Then how the hell—?
His attention was so fiercely directed toward the opposite side of the road that he wasn't sure what made him look up. Perhaps his subconscious had detected and warned him about a vague detail in his peripheral vision. For whatever reason, he glanced up toward the mountain beyond the road and felt a chill when he saw the small glow of headlights far up the bluff. Three sets of them, so distant and diminished, they resembled flashlight beams. Turning right, then left, they curved higher, dimmer.
“Jesus.”
Akira stared up in the direction of Savage's gaze. His murmur needed no translation—a curse in Japanese.
At once they hurried across the road. There was always the chance that the cars had left guards behind, that the headlights far up the mountain were intended to be an enticement, to tempt Savage and Akira into getting careless, to force them to hurry and lure them into an ambush, so Savage continued to aim his Beretta toward the murky forest, prepared to shoot at the slightest sign of trouble.
But instead of guards attacking from the forest, what they found—midway along this section of road—was a narrow lane flanked by dense bushes, its entrance so carefully disguised, so seemingly natural, that it blended with the landscape. Savage frowned toward the blackness beyond the lane, then jerked his gaze up toward the top of the mountain, though from this perspective the trees prevented him from seeing the faint, ghostly headlights getting smaller as they curved along the lane toward the summit.
“Sure as hell, they're not sight-seeing,” Savage said.
“A meeting perhaps. So sensitive it requires a remote location and utmost secrecy.”
“In the middle of nowhere? At night in a forest on top of a mountain? Even I'm not that paranoid,” Savage said. “Shirai's too busy to come this far and waste this much time for a meeting that could easily be arranged in equally safe, closer, and much less primitive conditions. Suppose he has to relieve himself? I can't imagine that arrogant politician pissing in the woods. … And then there's the long drive back to Tokyo. No matter if he manages to sleep in the car, he'll still be exhausted.”
“This lane,” Akira said.
“It must have a purpose. No one would clear it, maintain it, and disguise its entrance just to provide access to a view from the top of a mountain.”
“Something's up there.”
“A building,” Savage said.
“That's the only explanation I can think of. “ Akira pressed a button on his watch, producing a digital glow. “What time is it? A little after eleven. Shirai plans to spend the night up there.”
Savage's veins throbbed.
As if thrust by electrical current, each man began to run, racing along the road, charging toward the curve beyond which the two bikers stood guard against potential assassins stalking the Toyota.
Though Savage sweated from exertion, he also shivered, but not from the damp chill of night in October in the mountains. Déjà vu again made his mind swirl. “A little after eleven? But isn't that just about the time we reached—”
“The Medford Gap Mountain Retreat,” Akira said, running next to him. “It's all a lie. We never—”
“Went there.” Savage breathed.
“But I remember it so—”
“Clearly.” Savage rushed. His heart beat so fiercely it made him sick. From fear. From rage. “It's happening—”
“Again.” Akira increased speed.
“But it never happened the first time!” A premonition scalded Savage.
“Tonight,” Akira said.
“We'll find out why.”
They rounded the bend, racing toward the Toyota. The two bikers stepped from bushes, Akira blurting instructions to them as he opened the Toyota's trunk.
The light inside the hatch showed Savage two knapsacks. In Tokyo, where Taro had arranged for them to use this car, Akira had explained that Taro always made sure to equip a surveillance vehicle with emergency kits. Weapons. Microwave, infrared, and voltage detectors that in turn would warn about intrusion detectors. Dark clothing. Tubes of camouflage grease.
“Should we use the lane?” Savage quickly put on a black pajamalike garment over his clothing.
“We have to assume that the lane is monitored,” Akira said.
“Yes.” Savage smeared camouflage grease on his face and hands. “The lane's too tempting. Too easy. We'd be in the open. An obvious perfect trap…. So we have to do this the hard way.”
“Is there any other way? Ever?” Akira examined a pistol he withdrew from a knapsack.
“Not that I know of. Upland? Right? We climb the mountain?”
Akira made sure that the pistol's magazine was loaded. “Yes. Upland. We climb. Can you manage that?”
“Are you saying you want to race? How much do you want to bet?”
Akira pulled back the pistol's slide to chamber a round. “Our lives.”
“In that case—I know I'd outrace you—I suggest we do this cautiously.”
“Hai.” Akira thrust the pistol into a holster on the hip of the garment he'd slid over his clothes.
“Ready?” Savage asked.
br /> “Not yet.” Akira turned to Taro's students and spoke to them in Japanese.
Savage waited, nerves primed.
The students responded. Akira nodded.
“What?” Savage asked.
“I told them to wait,” Akira said. “But first, while we climb, one of them will drive the Toyota to the nearest village. To leave it there. In case Shirai's men check the road along the lane. Taro's other student will follow the Toyota on his motorcycle. They'll return on the bike and hide. If we don't reappear by tomorrow night, they'll report to Taro.”
“And Taro will avenge us,” Savage said.
“He's my sensei. My substitute father. He'll destroy”— Akira swallowed—”whoever killed me.”
“Enough. No talk about dying. The hardest part is the climb. The rest is …”
“I'm not a Christian. But I'll use your Western word,” Akira said. “Salvation.”
“Yes,” Savage said. “The end to our mutual nightmare. The start of peace.”
Savage strapped the knapsack onto his back. For another eerie moment, he felt as if he'd been here before—but not approaching the Medford Gap Mountain Retreat, instead preparing to infiltrate Rachel's husband's estate and rescue her. With a shudder of terror, he sensed that everything was coming full circle. Then his rage again insisted. If a circle was being completed, as well for months he'd felt that he'd been trapped in a maze … like the one on Mykonos. Except that this maze was in his tortured mind.
And tonight he intended to escape.
14
They entered the forest. Clouds drifted, freeing a three-quarter moon, its illumination helpful. But Savage and Akira didn't need it. Because they both wore infrared goggles and aimed infrared flashlights ahead of them. The beams, invisible to unaided eyes, cast a green glow through the trees when viewed through the goggles. The trees were remarkably similar to those in the mountains of Pennsylvania: chestnuts, oaks, and maples, many of their leaves having fallen. As Savage climbed higher, he saw pines, their resin scent reminding him of turpentine. But the predominant odor came from the damp, spongy earth beneath him, a loamy smell that widened his nostrils.
The ground was soft, carpeted with dead leaves and pine needles, but while they eased the pressure on Savage's feet, they also made it difficult to climb without making sounds. Whenever possible, Savage stepped on slabs of rock. The slope was gentle at first but soon became steep, and he felt the weight of his knapsack bite into his shoulders. His right shoulder, the one that had been injured by the blackjack, continued to ache. He worried that its stiffness would impair him in case of a fight and stopped briefly to swallow several painkiller pills that he took from a bottle Taro had given him. Working higher, he felt sweat trickle down his back. At the same time, paradoxically, he noticed puffs of misty breath come out of his mouth, the cool night air condensing them.
Akira led the way. They emerged from trees and discovered a grassy plateau. Crossing it quickly, they reached another wooded slope. The next ascent was more difficult, steeper, with boulders and deadfalls obstructing their progress through the forest. Because they didn't have compasses and a terrain map, they had to stop periodically, look for a break in the trees, and stare up toward the top of the mountain, correcting their course. The landscape became more rugged. They waded through icy streams, crossed razorback ridges, climbed walls of rock, and finally rested.
Above, the mountaintop was a hump against the increasingly clouded, starless sky. Savage took off his infrared goggles to rub sweat from his eyes and felt puzzled that the moon seemed inexplicably brighter. The peak of the mountain appeared to have a halo. The illusion made him frown. With a start, he suddenly realized that the halo wasn't caused by the moon but instead by something on the mountain. Lights. There were lights on top. We were right, Savage thought. There's a building on the summit!
Akira noticed as well. With stronger resolve, he gestured upward, eager to continue. Savage wished that Taro's emergency kits had included sturdy ridge-soled boots for outdoor walking, but there'd been no way to anticipate their ultimate destination. Urban obstacles had seemed more likely. As it was, Savage's street shoes provided no traction. Often their smooth leather soles came close to slipping off a rock and making him topple backward. He placed each step with caution. Briefly a game trail provided an unimpeded way through dense trees up a slope, allowing them to quicken their pace. Abruptly the trail disappeared, and they struggled through brush.
Under Savage's black pajamalike garment, his other clothes now clung to him, sweat-soaked. But after the long drive to reach these mountains, his muscles enjoyed the exercise, the strain on them perversely satisfying. He reminded himself that this climb would have seemed just a hike when he'd endured the final “hell week” of his training in the SEALs. He forced himself higher, resisting exhaustion. Indeed the closer he came to the mountaintop, the more adrenaline fueled his body. His need to reach his destination, his desperate urge to find answers, to end his nightmare, gave him ever-growing strength.
He paused again with Akira, this time not to rest but to take off their knapsacks and prepare their intrusion-detector sensors. Savage noted with approval that the voltmeters and microwave monitors that Taro had given them did not have glowing dials, a target for snipers. Rather they came equipped with earplugs. If sensors that gave off microwaves or an electrical field were ahead of Savage and Akira, a muted wail through the earplugs would warn them but not give away their position to sentries.
Despite his satisfaction with Taro's professionalism, Savage felt troubled, however. Because this equipment was the same type he'd used when he'd infiltrated Rachel's husband's estate. It seemed as if he'd been here before, gone through this before. The clouds thickened. Rain began to hiss through the forest, oddly reminding him of the storm he'd used for cover when he'd rescued Rachel. Memory, real and false, haunted him. The Mykonos estate. The Medford Gap Mountain Retreat. Shivering, he scowled toward the glow on the peak.
Time. Yes. Definitely time, he thought. To cancel the past. To hell with the past. The present mattered. And the future. Rachel.
With fierce resolve, he restrapped his knapsack onto his shoulders and adjusted the microwave detector's earplug. Akira did the same with the plug for the voltmeter. Savage studied him through his infrared goggles, aiming his flashlight. Akira, eerily green, hardened his jaw muscles.
Savage nodded firmly, the message clear. Let's finish this.
15
Their arduous climb had taken two hours. Relentless, determined footsteps had brought them forcefully to a clearing a hundred yards below their objective. But now caution overcame urgency. Savage and Akira took for granted … No need to bother discussing it. Both just knew, as one, that they had to creep instead of stride, to examine every obstacle, to heighten their senses, to anticipate threats. Sensors would no doubt surround the glow on the mountaintop. Sentries, perhaps with dogs, would likely patrol.
Muscles compacting rock hard with tension, Savage stretched out his left arm to aim his microwave detector and skirted the clearing, hugging the trees, avoiding the obvious trap. The rain fell harder, colder. Akira snuck next to him, matching Savage's steps, extending his voltmeter, prepared as Savage was to jerk up a hand in warning the instant he heard a wail from his earplug.
The glow on the peak intensified as Savage neared it. Through his infrared goggles, he studied the trees for closed-circuit cameras, scanning his infrared flashlight across the forest. He reached a chain-link fence and reminded of the fence at Mykonos, felt doomed to repeat the past.
The fence, green through Savage's goggles, had no boxes on its posts, no wires, no vibration sensors. Uneasy, Savage climbed it. Akira landed beside him. The rain increased. They crept higher.
Savage suddenly knew what they'd find next, and his premonition worsened. He was right! Ahead, through the trees, the next obstacle was another fence, but this fence did have boxes on its posts with wires from one to another!
It's the same setup
I found on Mykonos, Savage thought. The man who designed Rachel's husband's defenses also designed them for Shirai! Do Shirai and Papadropolis know each other? Coincidence?
No! Nothing's a coincidence! Everything's connected! Mykonos! Medford Gap! Kamichi! Shirai! Papadropolis! It's all a pattern!
Déjà vu and false memory! We thought we were free, but our every move was controlled. Predicted.
We're rats in a maze. A labyrinth. And with every dead end, we were forced to run for—guided toward—the most promising path, the line of least resistance.
Here. On this mountaintop.
Like Rachel's husband's estate. And Medford Gap. And …
Savage reached for Akira, determined to grab him, spin him, and urge him back down the mountain. We've got to get away from here. It's a trap! It's what Shirai wants! We were tricked into coming here! It's …
Akira sensed—and spun from—Savage's grasp. Even through his goggles, Akira's glare of confusion was vivid. He spread his arms. What? he wanted to know.
Savage couldn't risk revealing their position by speaking. Frantic, he motioned that they had to leave.
Akira spread his arms again. He shook his head in confusion.
Savage almost whispered hoarsely, We have to get out of here.
But the sounds past the fence made him freeze.
On the peak.
Amid the glow.
Shots. The rattle of automatic weapons. The crack, crack, crack of pistols. The boom of shotguns. Men screamed. Wails pierced the night.
Drenched with rain, Savage spun toward the fence. The shots—the shrieks—persisted. Jesus. Savage lunged toward the fence. Shirai was being attacked! If he dies, Savage thought, if we don't get there in time, if we don't protect him, we'll never know …
A pistol barked. A machine gun burped. More screams.
No!
Savage resisted the impulse to grab the fence. Control! He had to keep in …
A hand's length away, he stared at the fence. At the post before him.
And cringed. The box, the vibration sensor. The wires that led from this box to another. They'd been severed! Some-one got here before us! Savage thought. A hit team went after … !