Chapter 14 - Blood on the mountain pass
"Prep the Gulfstream," Richard ordered, the fury in his voice vibrating the glass fixtures on the ceiling. "We are leaving Colorado now."
"Boss, the storm is clearing, but the mountain pass is still treacherous," Sal warned. "The local roads haven't been plowed, and if Russo knows Mark failed to report in this morning, he'll have watchers on the Interstate."
"Let them watch," Richard roared. "Let the whole world watch! Bring the armored Suburbans around front. Noah travels between Viktor and me. If anyone so much as looks at that truck sideways, put a bullet through their throat."
Within twenty minutes, the convoy of three black, up-armored Chevy Suburbans rolled out of the lodge's iron gates, cutting through the foot-deep snow on the private mountain road. Inside the middle vehicle, Noah sat bundled in a thick cashmere coat, wearing oversized aviator sunglasses to protect his sensitive eyes from the glare of the morning snow. He held onto Richard's sleeve with both hands, refusing to let go.
Viktor sat in the front passenger seat, an automatic rifle resting against his knee, his eyes scanning every ridge, every pine tree, every blind curve of the winding pass.
"We have a tail," Viktor said calmly, looking into the side mirror.
Three hundred yards behind them, two heavy-duty plow trucks with tinted windows had pulled out from an abandoned logging road, accelerating rapidly despite the icy road conditions.
"Sal, floor it," Richard commanded, pulling Noah down onto the floorboards between his legs, using his heavy, Kevlar-lined coat to completely shield the little boy. "Noah, stay down. Close your ears and count to fifty."
Noah nodded frantically, curling into a tight ball against Richard's boots, clamping his small hands over his ears.
The first plow truck rammed the rear escort Suburban, spinning it off the narrow mountain ledge. The vehicle flipped violently down the ravine, exploding in a fireball that sent black smoke billowing up against the white snow.
"RPG on the ridge!" Viktor barked, kicking open his door even as the Suburban drifted around a hairpin turn at fifty miles per hour.
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A rocket screamed through the frigid morning air, detonating the asphalt twenty feet in front of the lead vehicle. The explosion sent shrapnel ripping through the trees. The front Suburban lost control, slamming into the rock wall and blocking the forward lane.
They were trapped between the sheer granite cliff and a three-hundred-foot drop into the canyon.
