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Hers were the only footprints visible in the area. Snow would have fallen between the time Jonah left and when she arrived, making her assumption right that it had been at least twenty-four hours since he’d been there, as snow tended to fall nightly and disappear in the daytime during that time of year.
She made her way to the back of the cabin and the small woodpile stacked waist high. A light sheen of sweat covered her skin as she moved all the wood, exposing the secondary trapdoor she’d built into the ground. She brushed off dead grass and dirt to reveal the rusted iron strongbox she’d buried.
The lid protested as she pulled at it, and eventually gave way with a sound similar to nails on a chalkboard. A sigh of relief she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in escaped when she saw the items inside it had been untouched. A secondary cache of money, a new ID, extra hunting knives, a .9mm pistol with an extra magazine, and a long-range rifle.
She worked quickly, outfitting herself for easy access to her weapons, and then assembled the rifle and strapped it to her back. The sun was barely visible above the trees and she still hadn’t found the last coordinate marker.
With fierce determination, Eden searched the cabin looking for the last number. She stopped in front of the body Jonah had laid out so precisely and tried to get into the mind of a brilliant criminal.
The position of the body was purposeful. Jonah had laid the man out for burial. The head was facing east, an important detail in many religious ceremonies. She was missing something important.
She knelt by the man and said a small prayer, wishing his soul safe travels into the afterlife, and then she went about the task of searching his body. His hands were empty and there were no marks on his skin discernable to the naked eye. And then her eye caught the glint of metal on his chest, reflected in the last rays of the sun.
“Thirteenth Infantry. 13 North. That should do it.”
Now she just had to figure out how to navigate her way across the Bering Strait and make sure she did the last thing Jonah Salt would ever expect.
ChapterThree
It turned out the last thing Jonah would expect her to do was to come in by water.
The coordinates he’d left her led her back into US territory, north of Nome, Alaska. The exact location was in the middle of the water, and there was nothing nearby except oil rigs, tankers, and a smattering of whaling and fishing vessels.
The time frame Jonah had given her had been just enough for her to find a plane and fly herself back into the States. There was one advantage to such an isolated area—it was easy to enter and leave without notice. She landed the seaplane she’d “borrowed” some ways out from shore and used the inflatable life raft in the back of the plane to paddle to shore.
Salt would expect her to come for him by land, to set up a trap and take him out as he made his way back onto soil. She’d never be as good as him on the water. It was just fact, and he knew it. Jonah had gone through BUD/S training with the SEALs, and was mentally and physically at home at sea. He’d never expect her to come at him from the water. Eden would only have one shot to catch him by surprise.
Stars glittered unusually bright in this part of the world. By Alaska standards, Nome was a large town, but it still had a population of less than four thousand people. She looked through her night-vision goggles, getting the layout of the land. The town itself was nestled on a small flat area of land, but the surrounding areas were hilly and the terrain difficult. A thick covering of snow blanketed everything and it smelled as if more could be coming. She’d be able to assess better in the daylight.
Fishing and whaling boats were scattered haphazardly—different makes, models and sizes—and hooked to rough-hewn docks along the shoreline. They floated lazily in ice-crusted waters, well used and rusted with age. There wasn’t much movement in the town, but the docks were already busy with those getting ready to take their boats out.
Eden paid a fisherman named Jerry—who in her opinion needed to head back home and sleep it off—handsomely for the use of his boat. It was smaller than the others along the shoreline, more maneuverable, and the engine sounded smooth and fast when he started it up. Jerry might be a drunk, but he took good care of his equipment.
She set out on the cold and choppy waters, the sea black as pitch, and the stars and a sliver of moon the only light in the sky. Droplets of icy water splashed on her face and clothes and her breath clouded white with every breath she took. The wind cut like a scalpel and made her joints stiff if she stood still too long.
The coordinates Jonah had given her were programmed into her watch, and she turned the engine of the boat off when it buzzed on her wrist, telling her she’d arrived at her destination. She still had half an hour to prep and get set up. Now she only had to wait and watch, and hope she hadn’t miscalculated Jonah’s expectations of her.
The darkness was both her friend and her enemy. She’d be concealed for a time, giving her the edge she needed. But it would make the shot she’d have to take even more difficult, despite the infrared scope on her rifle.
The long shots weren’t her specialty. She could make them, but to be accurate she needed time and intense concentration. Almost perfect conditions. The choppy water and harsh winds were going to be a factor, and she had to make the shot count.
She set up her rifle and scanned the waters through her scope, flexing her fingers to keep them loose. A tanker almost completely concealed the Zodiac anchored next to it. She would’ve missed it completely if she’d been set up to take the shot on land. That’s what he’d been hoping for. He wanted to draw her out. There wasn’t a good place for cover on land. There were no trees to speak of and hiding in the hills would’ve made the distance too great to make an accurate shot.
It was obvious he’d come early to do whatever task he’d assigned himself—nothing good if his past was anything to go by. But Jonah had planned to be finished by the time he’d given her and then he’d expect her to fall into whatever trap he’d set for her. Because he thought he knew her, understood her. When what he’d really done was underestimate the strength of her anger.
The water rippled just before he broke the surface next to the Zodiac and she watched as he rolled in with the experience of hundreds of missions at sea. He spit the rebreather out of his mouth and tossed it in the bottom of the boat. The water and winds were cold, so he kept the neoprene mask pulled down over his face.
She didn’t need to see his face. She recognized the way he moved—the relaxed movements that spoke of someone completely at ease in the water. She recognized the breadth of his shoulders and the cruel slash of his smile as he checked the time at his wrist. He was waiting for her, and as if he’d read her mind he picked up his infrared binoculars and looked toward the shore.
He lay flat in the Zodiac and it was then he picked up the rifle that had been lying at the bottom and tried to set his sights on her.
“You son of a bitch.” As if her words had carried the distance across the water, he turned and his gaze met hers through the binoculars. She took the shot before he could roll himself back into the water.
She’d aimed for the center of his chest, the largest target she had, but her aim and his movement had altered the course of the bullet and she’d seen it enter his shoulder instead.
Her only hope was that the bullet had hit something vital. She crawled her way back to the engine and started the boat up, not caring that Jonah could see her now. Gunfire sounded and she heard the ping as a bullet glanced off the side of the boat. She’d gotten him in the right shoulder, so he’d be shooting left-handed. He wasn’t as proficient using the other hand, but he was still pretty accurate.
Her only goal was to get back to land. He’d have to spare precious seconds to stop and bind the wound so he didn’t lose too much blood, and those seconds were what she needed to make her escape.
