Behind him, Butch Roberson hissed: “Get moving!” and the three of them sprinted across a rock- and grass-covered field toward the shelter of a broken cirque of rocks that looked to provide cover.
Farkus had glanced over his shoulder as he ran and saw a rose-colored ball of flame roll up from the dark sea of trees several miles away to the northwest. The explosion looked to have happened in the timber short of the valley floor they’d come through the afternoon before.
Safely in the rock formation, Butch ordered Farkus and McLanahan to get down. They sat with their hands bound and resting between their knees while Butch Roberson climbed up a coffin-shaped outcropping with a squared-off top large enough for him to pace back and forth. He seemed to be planning their next move, Farkus thought. Either that, or Butch had been seriously thrown by the explosion.
As Butch paced on the top of the rock, his reverse silhouette could be seen only because he blocked out the wash of creamy stars in the sky. Then Farkus could see a glimpse of the ambient light of the satellite phone lighting up Butch’s cheek.
“What was it?” Farkus asked McLanahan.
“Something big.”
“Thanks, expert,” Farkus said.
McLanahan gestured toward Butch, who was activating his phone.
“Maybe he’s had enough,” McLanahan said. “Maybe Butch is ready to give himself up.”
“What the hell did you idiots just do?” Butch yelled into the handset.
Because Butch was above him holding the handset tight to his face and walking back and forth on the rock, Farkus could only hear one side of the conversation.
“Don’t try to tell me that was the helicopter, Batista. What do you take me for? I was a Marine. I flew in helicopters. I know the hell what one looks like and sounds like, and that wasn’t a helicopter. .”
Then: “Stop it with your lies. You sent another drone, but this one was loaded for bear. Don’t deny it, you liar. Do you know what you did? You blew up a miserable loser I’d sent away. I can’t say he was an innocent man, because he wasn’t. His name was Jimmy Sollis, and he’s the one who gut-shot that hunter. But you killed him, Batista. .”
Then: “I had a feeling you’d try something like this, but I was stupid enough to think you’d just divert your men to the signal and chase the wrong guy. I never thought you’d be stupid enough to blow him up with a missile because of a phone he carried in his backpack. Now you’ve got real blood on your hands, Batista. How does it feel?”
Then: “Stop it, just stop it. There was never going to be a helicopter, was there? The whole thing was a lie, wasn’t it?”
Then: “You’re treating me like a goddamned terrorist-firing missiles at me without ever looking at me face-to-face. That’s how you people are, isn’t it? You don’t return calls, you don’t talk to actual citizens because what they say might make you uncomfortable. And you do this the same way, don’t you? Everything at a comfortable distance, where you never have to get your hands dirty or worry about someone actually fighting back. .”
Then: “So what’s next? Are you going to drop bombs on me? Hit me with a nuke? The drones I’m familiar with are MQ-1 Predators and they can only pack one Hellfire missile, and that’s the one you used to blow the hell out of Jimmy Sollis. .”
Then: “So you’ve shot your wad, Batista. Now you’re going to have to decide if you want to face me one-on-one like a man, or are you going to send that helicopter you promised?”
Farkus turned to McLanahan. He said, “There isn’t any helicopter, is there?”
“Nope. There never was.”
“I wonder if this changes our strategy?”
McLanahan shrugged. “I’d guess we’ll keep heading for that canyon. What I can’t figure out is why he called them. Now they’ll get a fix on this location.”
Farkus shivered. He hadn’t thought of that. He wondered how long it would be before a missile came screaming at them out of the sky.
“Let’s hope Butch was right that they only had one for the time being,” McLanahan said. “But that doesn’t mean they won’t order up some more.”
Farkus barely heard him because as he watched, something strange was happening to Butch Roberson. He had started to glow.
“Look,” Farkus whispered.
Where before Roberson could be seen only because his form blocked out the stars, he was now bathed in slight orange. Farkus could see Butch’s features and clothing. When Farkus leaned to the side and looked out at the forest from between the rocks, he saw that the trees had begun to glow orange as well.
“Oh my God,” Butch said into the handset. “Now look what you’ve done.”
Without giving Batista a chance to reply, Butch powered down the handset and threw it down the mountain. Farkus heard it strike a branch, then hit a rock a beat later.
“Let’s go,” Butch said to them.
“What’s happening?” Farkus asked. “What’s out there?”
Butch Roberson shook his head. He said, “First they put up fences and blocked all the roads to the public. Then they sat on their butts behind their desks and watched pine beetles kill millions of trees for thousands of miles.
“Now,” Butch said, his face a mask of weariness, “they’re going to burn it all down and maybe us with it.”
“The missile started a fire?” Farkus asked.
“That’s what he’s saying, genius,” McLanahan said sharply.
29
Joe urged Toby down the mountain in the dark but let his horse choose the route. Toby chose well and stayed on a well-established game trail that skirted most of the hazards and kept them out of situations where they’d need to back out. It was mindless riding except for the occasional branch Joe had to duck under, and he spent the next two hours letting facts and questions about the situation float through his mind, hoping they would somehow string together into some kind of plausible thread that would explain why he was there and what he was doing and what Butch Roberson had set in motion. He’d learned over the years to let his subconscious work on problems, and more often than not it had led to good results. Thunderclap-like revelations came not when he was puzzling them over or talking them out, but while he was putting up elk-fence on a rancher’s hayfield or cleaning out his garage or taking a shower.
So he focused on the task at hand-getting down the mountain in the dark and relying on Toby to get him there-and let his mind try to make order out of disorder.
The rapid response by the EPA the same day of resuming construction of Butch’s home still nagged at him. It was as if someone on-site had been poised and ready to make the call. Pam had not identified any business competitors or personal enemies whom she thought capable of such an act, and Joe couldn’t imagine someone in the valley harboring such hatred toward Butch-and such patience-that he or she wouldn’t be known. Everybody knew everything about each other in Saddlestring, and word would have been out if someone was gunning for Butch, Joe thought. So it must have been someone unknown to Butch, or someone he’d never suspect-and someone who had the power to fire up Batista.
Then there were the acts that followed the murders; acts that seemed desperate and out of character for Butch. Burying the two agents on his own land, then disposing of their car in the canyon. Neither was well thought-out, and Butch must have known that both would quickly be discovered within days if not hours. Both pointed straight at Butch, except something didn’t jibe in the sequence for Joe.
Butch didn’t come off as a runner, Joe thought. After shooting the agents, it seemed much more in character for Butch to drive to the sheriff’s office and turn himself in. Or even turn the rifle on himself. But to run?
And who lent a ride to Butch as far as the Big Stream Ranch? Was it an innocent, or someone complicit in the murders? As far as Joe knew, no one had stepped forward to admit they’d given the newly infamous fugitive a ride.