Eden in Winter by Richard North Patterson

Author:Richard North Patterson
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Quercus Publishing
Published: 2014-07-13T12:00:00+00:00

TEN

Before the morning brightened, Adam and Steve Branch took off for the Pakistani border, leaving Rotner and Hamid behind.

The Mitsubishi was baulky starting. The problem was electrical, Branch concluded – that was why the dashboard lighting went in and out. Putting up the hood, he did a hasty fix on the wiring, his demeanour focused but untroubled. Adam was beginning to like the laconic Seal; Branch struck him as a highly skilled version of a certain American type, the man who could fix things and was undaunted by a challenge. There was comfort in this. For the next few hours their fates were intertwined.

Adam felt less certain about their vehicle. The electrical problems might recur, and the S.U.V. had a right-hand drive with a gear shift operated by the driver’s left hand, something neither man had experienced. Electing to find this amusing, Branch volunteered to drive. It became Adam’s job to keep watch to the front, back, and sides, ready to react at the first hint of trouble. Both men had A.K.-47s beneath their seats.

They passed through the outskirts of town, Adam noting the pedestrians or peddlers along the patchy dirt road, then a cluster of stooped labourers making bricks with mud, clay, and hay, laying them out to dry in the sun. Without turning, Adam said, ‘Wonder how many centuries they’ve been doing that.’

‘No way of telling,’ Branch responded. ‘But we could drive past here decades from now, and their grandkids will be doing the same damn thing. Here, a century lasts a thousand years.’

Adam nodded. ‘No joke. One guy I met in a remote village thought I was a Russian, even though they left here with their tails dragging twenty years ago. This place has a certain timeless indifference.’

They were in the countryside now. The dips and heights of the terrain became steeper, the rocks and potholes more punishing, sending jolts up Adam’s spine. They began fording shallow creek beds, the first few dry before they slowed to a crawl for another, this one swollen with water. Briefly, their tyres spun, spattering rivulets of muddy water on the front and side windows. Branch jerked the gear shift, rocking the S.U.V. back, then forward, straining for a purchase on the mud beneath. ‘Don’t like this for the wiring,’ he observed. ‘Getting wet won’t help a bit.’

Looking out the window, Adam hoped that the S.U.V. would not get stuck here in the open, leaving them exposed. The tyres kept grinding until, mercifully, the four-wheel-drive skidded forward on to dry land, a last stretch of rolling terrain before they hit the mountains. ‘Got a football team?’ Branch enquired.

‘College or pro?’

‘College, to start.’

‘Not much to say,’ Adam confessed wryly. ‘I went to Yale.’

Shifting gears, Branch shot him a look. ‘I can see the problem. What about pros?’

‘I used to follow the Patriots.’

‘I’m a Cowboys guy,’ Branch said with satisfaction. ‘“America’s team” – a stadium that looks like Disney World, and cheerleaders with perfect teeth and artificial boobs. Only one who’s had more plastic surgery is the owner.

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