He was unwilling to deal with either complication.
Not with Alison Siegler and the boy out there waiting.
The thought sharpened his purpose, quickened his step. He fell into a rhythm, making decent time. The sun dominated a blue and cloudless sky, warming him enough to break a sweat despite the temperature. He stopped at intervals to eye the mountain across from him, mentally charting courses and backup courses, noting potential positions the sniper might take and the blind zones of those respective positions.
The Third Commandment: Master your surroundings.
He’d just started up again when a loud crack announced itself and a football-size chunk of bark flew out of the tree trunk to his side.
Evan halted. His breath wisped from his mouth once, twice.
He took a small step forward, and another rifle report sounded. Wood splintered overhead, and then a heavy bough rushed down, crashing a few feet in front of him.
He paused again, oriented upslope, trying to zero in on the sniper’s position. He stepped to the left. This time he saw the muzzle flare an instant before the round kicked up dirt to the side of his boot.
The sniper was herding him down the slope toward the chalet.
Knowing he was clearly visible in the scope, Evan raised a hand: Got it.
Turning around, he started down the mountain.
He kept on in the direction the sniper had indicated, moving swiftly. Once he’d crossed a ripple in the mountainside, he knew he’d moved out of range of the scope. Rather than continuing down, he carved along the hillside, keeping to the dense trees. The pine air tingled in his mouth, his throat. At last he circled to the rear of the barn.
Bellying down behind the tree line, he peered through the trunks at the back door about fifty yards away. Two of the narcos patrolled the barn at intervals, the Dobermans trotting alongside. Evan watched and timed them.
In the tower beyond, the guard scanned the woods with his scope, holding his radio to his face with increasing frequency and agitation. A few minutes later, a contingent of three guards exited the barn and jogged into the forest to the north. Though it wasn’t yet dusk, they wore night-vision goggles pushed up high on their foreheads in case the hunt went long.
Evan watched them go, then waited for the patrol to rotate one more time. When they passed, he broke cover and darted for the barn.
The first ten paces left him in full view of the tower, but the guard there stayed focused on the northern slope, rifle scope pressed to his face. Evan sprinted for the cover of the barn, at last falling under its shadow.
The rear door was unlocked. He cracked it, peering inside, wind whistling across the back of his neck. The G-Wagons and the Rolls were parked among a scattering of mechanic’s tools. The gear lockers rimming the interior sported hefty padlocks. Though he could see no one, he heard the echo of voices somewhere inside.
Footsteps crunched the fresh snow along the adjacent side of the barn — the patrol returning. The breeze carried the sound of the dogs’ panting, and then plumes of breath wisped around the corner a few feet off the ground.
Evan slid into the barn, eased the door closed.
The open space was broken only by a small box of an office that was little more than two thin walls and a flimsy door in the corner. Through the interior window, he spotted movement, so he hit the floor and lay still, breathing grease fumes.
Cold air drafted beneath the rear door, blowing against his face. He heard the patrol approaching and tensed in case the guards detoured inside. The sounds grew near, and then shadows dotted the gap beneath the door — broad blocks for the men’s boots, flickering spots for the Dobermans’ paws.
They passed.
Evan rolled behind the nearest G-Wagon, then rose to a crouch and peered through the vehicle’s windows into the office. All he could make out now was a sturdy arm leaning against a cabinet, the back of the hand tattooed with a too-wide grin.
A voice carried over. “What is he planning?”
It sounded like Nando.
He heard Despi answer from somewhere in the office. “I don’t know.”
Nando again. “Will he wire the money tomorrow?”
“He won’t tell me.”
“What does he tell you?”
“Nothing. He tells me nothing. He is a hard man.”
“Maybe you’re not good enough. Maybe we need to replace you. With your sister.”
If Despi replied, Evan couldn’t hear it. His eyes picked across the scattered gear, finally lighting on what he was looking for.
A car jack.
The one he’d spotted Samuel using two days earlier to prop up the Rolls-Royce.
When the handle was turned, the scissor jack cranked open into a diamond, but when closed it was relatively thin. Thin enough, he hoped, to hide beneath his bulky sweaters and smuggle back into his room. Given that Manny and Nando no longer came within twenty feet of him, he had a decent shot. He just had to sneak back to the woods, circle around, and then emerge casually from the tree line.
But first he had to get his hands on the jack. It rested in the open just beyond the hood of a Mercedes, three steps onto the wrestling mat.
If he made a move for it, he’d be briefly but completely exposed.
“We send a man by her apartment now and then, watch her watering her tomatoes on the balcony,” Nando was saying in the office. “Beautiful hair, just like yours.”
Despi’s reply was muffled by the walls.
Evan crept from cover. One step, setting his boot down silently, rolling from heel to toe. Another brought him onto the blue rubber mat. He leaned over, reaching for the jack. His fingertips had just reached the metal when the door flew open and Despi filled the frame, her face burning.
Dex and Nando remained behind her in the office, though their gazes were not yet lifted.
Despi stared at Evan, trying to process his being here.
Crouched over the jack, he stared back.
Her expression held a mix of dark emotions; it was unclear which would win out. Keeping his eyes locked on hers, Evan started to retreat behind the hood of the G-Wagon, moving out of Dex and Nando’s view.
That’s when he heard the rear door open behind him.
Claws scrabbled against the concrete floor. The Dobermans erupted in snarls. He was hidden between the two big SUVs, but not for long.
Despi remained unmoving as a statue in the doorway, her lips slightly parted, one hand still raised from when it had shoved open the door, her eyes flared wide. She blinked, swallowed hard.
He held up his hands and nodded at her: Go ahead.
The dogs’ barks grew louder. On the far side of the G-Wagon, the narcos shouted in Spanish. He sensed movement behind Despi, Dex and Nando drawn toward the commotion.
Evan gestured at her more firmly: Do it.
She raised her arm. Pointed at him. It took two tries for her voice to work. “Here! He’s here!”
She’d done an admirable job conveying panic.
Nando knocked her aside, barreling past her, his heavy coat flicking high in his wake. Already he held the transmitter aloft, pinching the button with his thumb.
Evan registered barely a half thought—Oh, fu—and then the current surged into him, radiating through his head and torso.