Firewall by Andy McNab

flashlight went into my snow pants pocket.
    Val was trying to work out what I was up to. He was looking at me in the same way as his woman had done in the hotel, as if there was no danger and nothing was happening that might affect him. He appeared to think he was just a neutral observer.
    I started ransacking the cupboards, looking for thermoses and food. I was out of luck. It looked as if we'd both had our last hot drink and cracker for a while.
    I picked up my mug and downed the last of the coffee as I walked over to him. I put his mug in his hand and indicated that he should do the same. He was soon busy maneuvering his head around the post to meet his hands while I took candles and matches from the cupboard under the sink and threw them into one of the bags.
    Once I'd stuffed the comforters on top and done up the zip, I cut him free, motioning him to put the bag on his back. He knew what I meant and used the two handles as if they were straps on a knapsack.
    I put on my black woolen hat and ski gloves, then picked up the shovels from the table and used them to guide him out of the door. I walked behind, hitting the light switch. I left the scanner on the table. It would give our position away to use it out there.
    I held him as I got the keys from the Volvo. It was my only transport out of here and I wanted to make sure it stayed that way. Once through the garage door we followed the well-worn track in the snow toward the lakeshore. It was pitch-black out here and bitterly cold. The wind was much stronger now, swirling snow stung my cheeks as we moved forward. The helis wouldn't be up around here in this wind.
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    5
    A small Wooden hut housing the wood-burning sauna stood about one hundred feet away along the frozen lakeshore. Beyond it was a wooden jetty, which stood about three feet above the ice.
    The Chechen was still ahead of me, leaning into the wind and half turning from the waist to protect his face from the driving snow. He stopped when he got to the sauna, perhaps expecting me to motion him inside. Instead, I sent him round to the right. He obediently stepped out a few feet or so along the jetty.
    "Whoa. Stop there," I shouted. "Stop, stop, stop."
    He turned round, and I pointed with my pistol down at the frozen lake.
    He looked at me quizzically.
    "Down there. On the ice, on the ice."
    Very slowly, he got down and sat in the snow, then rolled over, tentatively prodding the ice to make sure it would take his weight. I knew it would. I'd been messing about on it for the last two weeks.
    Once he was standing I got him to move out of reach while I clambered down, in case he decided he'd had enough of this game and wanted to play stealing cars and driving home.
    Prodding him along the ice with the shovels I paralleled the lakeshore.
    By taking this route we wouldn't leave any sign from the house, but it meant we were more exposed to the wind. It was just a matter of leaning into it until we'd covered the five hundred feet to the treeline. Once there, we carried on for a bit before I gave him another shout.
    He turned again, awaiting new instructions, his head tilted against the wind screaming across the lake. I could hear his labored breathing and just make out the shape of his face as I pointed at the trees to our right. He turned toward them and started to move as the wind buffeted the backs of our jackets.
    The snow was no problem at first, no more than about two feet deep, but soon it was up to our waists. He did all the work plowing through it; I just followed in his wake as his boots crunched down until they met compacted surface, lifted up and did the same thing all over again.
    We moved another hundred and fifty feet about thirty feet inside the treeline and that was enough. We were in direct line of sight of the house.
    Having spent my childhood in South London projects, to me the countryside had always been just a green place full of animals that hadn't yet been frozen or cooked. I hadn't been into all