Exhaustion had trumped anxiety and Briggs was stretched out inside the tent, hard asleep.
Hawke took a small, careful sip from one of their two bottles of water but that brief taste did little to satisfy the dryness in his mouth and throat and nothing at all to satisfy the gnawing hunger in his belly. Daylight was trying to come through the thick set trees and Hawke didn't know whether it was the sunrise or something else that caused their persistent stalker to give up his circling some time after five. There had been a steady movement in the brush off to Hawke's right, well beyond the downed Jet Ranger and then the sounds gradually decreased until he heard only the fire consuming wood and Briggs' steady breathing.
He decided that the birds this far north must be late risers because the morning wake-up call didn't start until nearly six.
Hawke stretched his legs, slowly, carefully. Briggs had strapped part of the tail rotor blade on the outside of Hawke's right leg and an almost flat stick on the inside and tied the makeshift brace together with a silk tie that might have been white yesterday but looked closer to a mottled khaki now. He might not be mobile, even with the brace and Briggs' cane, but Hawke was determined to be useful. Before Briggs had agreed to rest, he'd helped Hawke outside the tent, handed over Hawke's gun and chronograph and fetched the water, tool kit, first aid kit and his briefcase. As soon as it was light enough to see, Hawke was going to fix the satellite phone and get them out of the woods before they had to spend another night wondering exactly what was out there, watching them.
The stack of papers from the briefcase had dwindled but about half remained unburned, kept in place with a large rock, and probably in reserve as a kindling supply as well as to keep the amount of ash down. Hawke picked up the rock and glanced through a few sheets of the case file Briggs had been reading in the helicopter.
Armen Cole was a former Firm agent who'd gone rogue and now wanted to come in but was unsure of his welcome. Or he was sure of it and didn't like what awaited him. Hawke knew that Cole had contacted Archangel indirectly, through mutual contacts in foreign agencies and a meeting had been set across the Canadian border in the city of Lethbridge. Archangel had not wanted the exploratory meeting with Cole to be known inside the Firm, so no Firm transport, no Firm assistants, just Hawke and a Santini Air chopper. The meeting might have been unofficial but based on previous experience, Hawke was sure that Briggs had scheduled specific check-ins with Marella. Whether Marella knew the meet point or their flight path was something Hawke needed to ask when Briggs woke up.
The pages were out of order and it was frustrating to try to put together a cohesive narrative but the file was a good distraction from the pain in his ankle and the hunger he had no way to satisfy. And reading the Firm's file on Cole was certainly more productive than his gloomy musings on the possibility of a quick rescue.
"You do understand the meaning of the word 'classified' that's stamped in red on the top of every one of those pages, don't you?"
Hawke looked up from his reading, and waved the page he was holding at the man kneeling at the edge of the tent, still rubbing sleep from his right eye.
"Yeah. What I don't understand is why you were even going to meet with this guy. He's scum."
Briggs gave a small shrug, glancing around the tiny campsite as if he was hoping that somehow Hawke had magically produced coffee.
"He has information that would be useful. Plus it's always somewhat satisfying bringing someone back from the other side whenever possible."
Hawke scowled. "And thanks to him, we're…" he waved a hand at the Jet Ranger, its cabin resting on an angle and held in position by three tree trunks, rotors askew, one snapped, and a tail in pieces on the ground.
"Cole is personally responsible for considerable mayhem, and quite possibly the capture or death of four of my agents but as far as I know, he does not possess the ability to influence the weather or create storms at will."
Briggs stalked in the direction of the Jet Ranger and Hawke watched him all the way to the helicopter and then watched him yank open the hatch to the back passenger section a bit harder than was necessary.