Sancho glanced back at McGroder as I bundled up, and we watched the fire bank itself and dwindle even further in the face of the sleet/snow and cold. The Basquo’s voice was tight. “I think he’s gonna make it.”
“He’s tough, but you need to keep him talking.”
“Yeah, I know.” Sancho’s dark eyes reflected the waning fire as he spoke. “What’re you going to do?”
I sighed. “I’ll take a sweep between here and Boulder Park to make sure the convicts are not in a ditch. If they aren’t, Iron Cloud will have a better chance of seeing them on his way up. No word from Joe or Tommy on the Ameri-Trans van?”
“No.”
“What about Beatrice Linwood’s Blazer.”
The Basquo looked grim and then tried to put a good face on a situation that had none. “They didn’t say anything, but if this Beatrice Linwood lives in Ten Sleep, wouldn’t they have seen her?”
“Call them back and ask them to check it.”
“I will.” He bit the inside of his lip, a habit he’d picked up from me. “What are you thinking?”
I pulled out my pocket watch and read the time: creeping up on ten o’clock. “I’m thinking that an awful lot of our bad eggs just got out of the basket, and I’m afraid they’ve got one of ours with them.”
“What do you mean?”
“There are only two bodies out there, and the cargo door was open. I think he took whatever was behind the seats and the woman agent, Pfaff.”
“Why in the hell would he do that?”
“She’s the one he’s been talking to, and he’s going to need insurance.” I hustled back to the bar and placed a hand on McGroder’s shoulder; he was definitely looking better. I glanced at the can of root beer Sancho had found on the shelves. “You want another sip?”
The agent grinned. “Only if you’ve got something stiffer.”
“No such luck.” I cleared my throat. “I’ve got bad news; it looks like you’re going to make it.”
He laughed slightly. “So, what’s the good news?”
“I think he’s got one of your agents.”
The grin faded. “Kasey Pfaff?”
I nodded. “All the roads are blocked on both sides of the mountains, but I’m going to make a quick loop a little west of here. I’m hoping they’re in a ditch, so I might be able to round things up quick.”
“He’ll kill you.” He said it like taxes.
I patted his shoulder. “I’m kinda hard to kill.”
“Yeah, I know. I talked to a buddy of yours who’s in the Bureau-guy by the name of Cliff Cly. But still…”
My turn to grin. “Let me guess: Cly was reassigned to the licensing office in Nome, Alaska?”
“Something like that; he says you punch like a mule kicks.”
I shrugged. “He’s overly kind. Look, McGroder, I’ve got to get out there.”
His voice took a different tone, and his sable eyes focused on me unlike they had before, as his hand grasped my sleeve. “I’m not screwing around here, Sheriff. Listen to me. If you go after him alone, he’ll kill you. Wait for backup and…”
I took a breath and leaned in. “I’m just going up the road a bit.”
His face remained immobile. “You’ll never come back.”
I smiled at him, but it was one of those moments when everything freezes in time. I could hear the coolers laboring away, the sleet on the roof, and the last few dying sounds of the fire outside. You know those moments are a signpost, something telling you that you shouldn’t go any farther-the ones you try and ignore.
As I hurried toward the door, the Basquo intercepted me. “Hey, are you sure you want to do this alone?”
“Yep, I’m sure. I’m sure I don’t, but there isn’t anybody else for the job.” He started to interrupt, but I cut him off before he could get going. “With your experience in corrections, you have a lot more medical training; if he goes into cardiac arrest, you might actually be able to do something about saving him.”
He studied me, knowing full well I wasn’t telling him everything, including the promise I’d made to his wife.
He was holding something out to me.
“What’s this?”
“It’s my daypack with supplies. I found some stuff behind the counter-candy, granola bars, a couple of cans of pop, some chips, chewing gum…”
I took the bag and slung one of the straps onto my shoulder. “Well, at least my breath will be kissing-sweet.” He stared at me. I swear Vic was the only one who got my jokes. “I’ll be right back.”
“They took all the satellite phones that the Feds had except this one that they must have missed; they’re these Motorola Iridiums, high-end Fed stuff that might have about thirty hours of power left in them, so take this one.”
I didn’t take it. “Then you have no phone.”
He glanced at McGroder. “They know where we are.”
I still didn’t take it.
He handed me his cell phone that he had carefully wrapped in a Ziploc bag. “Well, at least take this-maybe you’ll find a signal.”
I took the phone but balked when he tried to hand me his Beretta. I patted the. 45 on my hip. “I’ve got a weapon. Anyway, in this weather they might come back.” I took a deep breath of the warm air. “Do me a favor-call Ruby and report in. Tell her what’s going on but don’t make it sound too dramatic. Also, have her see what she can come up with on Beatrice Linwood’s record.”
“Got it.” I didn’t move, so he shoved the. 40 back in his holster. “Look, when Benton was moving their stuff into our van, he put a gun case in the back section. It wasn’t long enough to be a full-fledged rifle, but it looked longer than the Mossbergs they were carrying, so I asked him. He said it was one of those Armalites with laser sights.”
I snorted a laugh. “Great.” I nodded and put a hand on the metal bar that stretched across the door. “If I find the vehicle, I’ll get it and a satellite phone. Keys?”
He nodded toward the Suburban. “They’re in it.”
“How trusting of you.” I smiled, but he didn’t smile back.
It was, as the Basquo had said, like driving on greased goose shit, and now it was really dark with a skim of snow on the road that made it even slicker. The Suburban was heavy, and I started slowing before Willow Park but still locked the wheels in a left-hand turn that resulted in my sliding into the crusty snow at the side of the road and knocking over one of the ten-foot reflector poles.
“Well, hell.”
I threw the Chevy into reverse and easily backed off the roadside onto the snow-covered asphalt. I hit the brakes and could feel the whole truck slide backward an extra four feet.
“Wonderful. At this rate I’ll be in Ten Sleep by Memorial Day.”
I dropped the gear selector down into D and pulled back into the flow of things, slowed a little, and was able to keep the Suburban on the road as my mind raced ahead. All the signs pointed to Beatrice Linwood and Shade being in cahoots-the bobbypin keys in the sandwiches, her turning west instead of east, the fact that she hadn’t been able to keep her eyes off of him at the lodge-but the Ameri-Trans van was another story. Why hadn’t it arrived at Joe Iron Cloud’s or Tommy Wayman’s roadblocks at the base of the mountain? The snow continued to collect on the conifers, and they began looking like rib cages in the contrast of light and dark as I thought about all the loose strings.
It was after I’d made the last curve before hitting the downslope that I saw lights shooting up at an angle. It was a steep embankment alongside a relative straightaway, but there was something odd about the reflection. As I got closer, I could see that it was not one vehicle in the barrow ditch but two.
I crept the Suburban to a stop about thirty yards away, cut the motor, and put on the flashers along with the Lite-Brite-the name my daughter Cady had given the emergency bars on the roofs of my assorted cruisers. I directed the spotlight at the vent window-a term from my own youth-and illuminated the wreckage.
It was Beatrice Linwood’s Blazer and the Ameri-Trans convict transport van. From the slush marks and the point where the two vehicles had crashed their way through the snow piled by the road, I was pretty sure that she had driven into their vehicle at the front driver’s side. With her greater velocity, she’d been able to push the much heavier step van into the ditch, where it had partially rolled over and now lay on its side.