“I went down the road until I could see the house,” Gonzo said softly. “I thought I saw a light once through a window, but when I looked through the scope I couldn’t see anything. The house is dark, and nobody’s moving that I could see.”
“Is the rancher’s pickup there at the house?”
Gonzo nodded. “It’s parked in front. He’s there, all right. Another car is there, too. I’d guess it was the banker’s.”
“Maybe they’re sleeping,” Newkirk said, his voice a croak. “Maybe they don’t even know they don’t have power. Maybe the Taylors aren’t even there.”
Singer and Gonzalez both looked at him, said nothing, dismissing him. Newkirk closed his eyes, tried to shut out the hurt of humiliation, tone down the pounding in his head.
“Could you see another way out, besides this road?” Singer said. “The map shows a road out to the south, but it’s a hell of a long way to get to the highway.”
Gonzalez shook his head. “You mean if they walked out? Or took another vehicle? I don’t think so. There’s a big meadow in back of the house, and I could see it pretty good through the scope. I couldn’t see anybody on foot, and I didn’t hear any motors.”
Singer processed the information, rubbed his nose with his index finger while he did so.
The radio came to life. “This is USGID-4 in Boise for Sheriff Ed Carey. Come in, Sheriff Carey.”
“The chopper pilot,” Singer said, looking at the radio.
“This is Sheriff Carey.” He sounded wide-awake, Newkirk thought.
“The chopper’s fueled and ready, and we’ve got clearance,” the pilot said. “We’ve got just about everybody on board.”
“Well,” Carey said, “come on up. I’ll start a pot of coffee. When do you think you’ll be here?”
The pilot said, “ETA is 0600.”
“About an hour then,” Carey said.
“Roger that.”
“An hour,” Singer repeated.
“I wonder if Carey told him about this place?” Gonzo asked. Singer shrugged. “I doubt it. That would make too much sense.”
“What if they come over the top of us on the way to town? I think we’d be right on their flight path,” Gonzo said. “Or fly straight here? Shit.”
Singer rubbed his nose again. “We can use this to our advantage,” he said.
Newkirk wondered how.
Snatching the mike from the cradle, Singer keyed it and spoke, “Sheriff, this is Singer. Do you read me?”
“Yes, Lieutenant,” Carey answered. “I didn’t realize you were on the frequency.”
Newkirk listened for skepticism or anger in Carey’s tone. He heard neither, only a profound bone-weariness.
“Yes, Sheriff,” Singer said. “I’ve been monitoring communications. Right now, our position is directly across from the Rawlins Ranch. We think he has them in his house.”
Silence. Newkirk could imagine Carey, suddenly confused, wondering what to do next.
“Sheriff, we’ve cut off the power and communications to the subject’s home. We’re waiting for him to come out.”
“For God’s sake, Lieutenant,” Carey sputtered, “who authorized you to do that? Who do you have there with you?”
Newkirk saw the faint smile form on Singer’s lips. “Sergeant Gonzalez and Officer Newkirk are with me. Officer Swann is here, too. He checked himself out of the hospital so he could be of service. As for authorization, no one, sir. We took it upon ourselves as deputized officers. We want to make sure the subject doesn’t escape before you and the FBI arrive.”
“What if he’s listening to us now?” Carey said.
“I repeat, all power and communications have been cut off. There’s no way he can hear us, Sheriff.”
“Oh, yes, you said that. I don’t know, Lieutenant…”
“Would you like us to withdraw, sir?” Singer asked reasonably. “We can do so, but we risk the possibility of the subject escaping, or further hurting those kids and the mother. But we’ll withdraw if you give us the command, sir.”
Newkirk found himself marveling at Singer’s ability to turn Carey any way he wanted. The sheriff couldn’t risk making another mistake.
“I’m just not comfortable with you up there,” Carey said, his voice hesitant. “We don’t know if we’ve got the right guy.”
“Again, sir,” Singer said, “we will withdraw upon your command.”
“You shouldn’t have gone up there in the first place without talking with me.”
“I’m aware of that, sir. It was a decision we made after we saw Mr. Swann in the hospital, beaten within an inch of his life by the subject.”
Gonzalez turned away from Singer’s window, and Newkirk could hear him snort with laughter.
The radio remained silent for a few moments. Then: “Okay, Lieu-tenant. But stay put. Do not engage the subject in any way until we get there. I repeat, do not engage the subject.”
Singer looked up, made an exaggerated face of disappointment. “Roger that, Sheriff. We will remain in place without engagement unless the subject confronts us.”
“Hey, I didn’t say anything about…”
“Roger that, Sheriff,” Singer said, talking over him, then hanging up the mike and reducing the volume to zero.
“Okay,” Singer said, looking at his watch. “We’ve got about an hour before dawn.”
Singer looked up. “Gonzo, you ready?”
Gonzalez nodded. Newkirk could see starlight reflect from his teeth.
“Newkirk?”
“Sure, Lieutenant.”
“We’ve been given our hunting license,” Singer said. “Let’s go finish this. Gonzo, do you have the bolt cutters in your truck?”
Monday, 4:55 A.M.
JESS NOW LAY on top of the rock ridge he had explored as a child, amid the slate, the dampness of the grass long since soaked into his jeans and ranch coat. His scoped.270 hunting rifle was next to him, as was the Winchester.25-35 saddle carbine and a box of bullets. He watched the sky lighten, felt the dawn breeze start to move along the ground with an icy pulse. He thought about how Monica and Hearne had been connected all of these years. How he’d hoped, as Monica told him the story, that it had been J.J. He was surprised how he’d unburdened himself to her in the barn like that. How his words had tumbled out as if he’d rehearsed them. Of course he’d said too much. But by saying what he had he felt somehow cleaner now, pleased he had a mission. It felt good.
His heart hardened when he saw the riderless horse cantering across the meadow toward the barn. He could see the saddle had slipped upside down, and could see the stirrups flapping as the horse ran. He knew how unlikely it was that Jim Hearne, ex-rodeo cowboy, had been bucked off.
Jess knew what it meant. He thought about Annie, and Monica. Jim Hearne had been a good man.
But now, they were on their own.
A BRANCH snapped up in the timber, in the direction of the road. Shortly after, a rock was dislodged, and he heard it tumble down the hill until it stopped with a pock sound against a tree trunk. He didn’t see anyone in the darkness of the timber, but he knew someone was up there, scouting.
Now there was a ping of metal, faint but distinct. And familiar. It was the sound of a link of chain being cut.
A moment later came the throaty sound of engines starting. Jess shifted where he lay and studied the timber where the road was. No headlights winked through the trees. Either the vehicles hadn’t begun to come down the road, or they were rolling with their headlights off. He guessed the latter.
He looked quickly toward his house. It was dark and still. He wondered if Monica and Villatoro could hear the vehicles idling.
There was no way to stop it now.
Monday, 5:10 A.M.
NEWKIRK NERVOUSLY rubbed his thumb along the wooden hand-grip of the shotgun on the seat next to him. It was still too dark to make out the two-track road, and the trees on each side of him were so dark and tall that it felt like he was moving through a tunnel. They were creeping down the hill, the Escalade in four-wheel-drive low so the lieutenant wouldn’t have to apply the brakes and flash brake lights. How could Singer even see where he was going?