‘The hitting on you or the snake?’
She looked at him, and managed a brief smile. ‘Both.’
‘Come on,’ he said, ‘we need to find out where we are.’
Lopez squatted back down beside him and pulled out their map from one of her webbing pouches. In the fading light the map was not easy to read, but Ethan did not use his flashlight.
‘We’re here, southeast of these hills,’ Ethan said. The map showed where a series of long dried-out streams had joined another, larger flow where they now were, which then split once again ahead of them. ‘They’re probably following a track each, all still heading roughly southeast.’
Lopez traced a finger along the map.
‘Dammit, Ethan, there’s nothing out here at all until Artesia, and that’s seventy miles away. We’re going to be a long way from any supply line.’
Ethan nodded, looking up toward the horizon. New Mexico was divided into life zones: lower Sonoran, upper Sonoran, transition, Canadian, Hudsonian, and arctic-alpine. Each contained its own vegetation and terrain, with shrubs and grasses giving way to piñon, juniper woodland, sagebrush and chaparral then ponderosa pine and oaks mixed with conifers, aspen and spruce forests on the higher ground. And their quarry could be hiding out in any one of those varied terrains.
‘We’ll have to move quickly,’ Ethan agreed. ‘As you just found out, we’re not the only living things out here.’
Ethan had already spotted pronghorn antelope and ring tails. He knew that black bears roamed the higher ground too, formidable creatures not averse to attacking humans if hungry or provoked. Tarantulas, coral snakes and rattlers infested the deserts wherever one traveled, and could end a life in a flash of fangs.
Ethan scanned the map directly south of their position.
‘There’s the town of Hope, but that’s almost as far. The rest of it’s just wilderness.’ He squinted up at the sun now setting behind the seemingly lifeless hills and valleys. ‘They must have another vehicle stashed out here, or horses perhaps.’
Lopez nodded.
‘Or they’re really hard core, and intend to stay on foot and take their time getting to wherever they’re going.’
Ethan was about to reply when something caught his eye, a flicker of movement up on one of the valleys, stark against the bright orange sky. He didn’t move, slowly folding the map and slipping it into his webbing pouch while looking at the ridge above with a fixed gaze. Lopez sensed his sudden tension.
‘You got something?’ she whispered, as motionless now as he was.
‘Something just sky-lined itself up there to the right of us,’ he whispered. He was about to write it off as an animal or bird of some kind when it moved again, the unmistakable shape of a human head bobbing as it hurried down the hillside.
‘There’s another one,’ Lopez said, nodding across to their left.
Ethan felt a sudden chill as he realized they were in the floor of the valley with the surrounding heights occupied by people unknown.
‘They’re trying to ambush us,’ he said finally. ‘Must have spotted us a while back when the sun was still high enough to illuminate the valley floor.’
‘What are we going to do about it?’ Lopez intoned, looking nervously up at the hills and betraying her city-girl roots. ‘We’re exposed here.’
Ethan reached slowly around and slid his Bergen off, setting it down beside a bush.
‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ he said. ‘If they were competent enough to launch an ambush, they wouldn’t have revealed themselves so easily. We’ll go and have a look.’
An instant later, the deafening report of a gunshot thundered down the pass, echoing off the hills around them as they hurled themselves face down onto the ground.
44
Butch Cutler strode into his hotel room, tossed his key-card onto the bed and gratefully dragged his shoulder holster off. Since he’d been assigned to USAMRIID after leaving the Rangers he’d always felt somewhat uncomfortable carrying a weapon around in public. Not that he was afraid to use it — just that somehow being armed while surrounded by civilians just didn’t float his boat. He laid the weapon down on the bed and yanked off his tie before loosening his shirt and looking at himself in the mirror next to the bed. He looked older now, gray-haired and maybe a little haggard. Once upon a time he’d felt invincible, a soldier in one of the finest combat regiments on earth. Now he just felt weary, a hired hand in powerful men’s games.
Butch poured himself a well-earned drink, and was about to slump into an easy chair when a knock sounded at his door. Without really thinking about it, Cutler was on his feet with his gun in his hand, moving silently across to stand to one side of the door with his back to the wall. Never peer through the peep-hole — block the light, and an assassin has only to shoot straight through the door.
‘Who is it?’
The voice that replied sounded feeble and strained.
‘I’m here on behalf of Colonel Donald Wolfe. My name is Jeb Oppenheimer.’
Cutler frowned uncertainly.
‘He too busy to pick up the phone himself?’
‘He’s not aware that I’m here,’ came the reply. ‘I was hoping that perhaps we could speak privately?’
Cutler thought for a moment, then turned and unlocked the door before snapping it open and pointing his pistol into the wrinkled face of an old man a foot shorter than he was. In an instant, Cutler caught sight of four heavy-set men standing guard nearby.
‘Don’t worry about them,’ Oppenheimer said, gesturing at them with his cane. ‘They’re here to protect me, not to attack you. Can we speak inside?’
Cutler turned aside as Oppenheimer limped his way into the hotel room, his entourage of four guards following him. Two moved to stand outside Cutler’s room, while the remaining two followed the old man inside and closed the door behind them.
‘My apologies,’ Oppenheimer said, ‘for the intrusion. There’s no need for your gun — I wished merely to know how the USAMRIID investigation is proceeding.’
Cutler, his pistol still in his hand, strode across the room and picked up his drink. He cast a glance at the two heavies guarding Oppenheimer, and felt reassured. Both were exuding all the menace of cartoon characters, standing with straight backs and their hands clasped before them, trying to look tough but failing. Both were young but neither looked military, more like nightclub bouncers than close-protection specialists. More to the point, standing as they were in the manner of Mafioso henchmen meant that, if they were armed, they wouldn’t reach their weapons in time to stop Cutler putting a bullet in both their brains. As he had learned long ago, bravado was no match for already having your weapon in your hand.
‘You could have called to find that out,’ Cutler said to Oppenheimer, not putting his gun down. ‘What do you want?’
Oppenheimer leaned on his cane.
‘Your help, Mister Cutler. You are leading the investigation at USAMRIID for Colonel Wolfe, and I believe that I may be able to assist you.’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ Cutler said, taking a long sip of his drink. ‘We have the situation under control.’
Oppenheimer raised an eyebrow.
‘Is that so?’ he asked rhetorically. ‘And what about Ethan Warner and Nicola Lopez?’
‘What about them?’
‘They are hindering your investigation, are they not?’
Cutler chuckled, and drained his glass before speaking.
‘By now Warner and Lopez will have left the state,’ he said. ‘They’re not a problem.’
Oppenheimer shrugged.
‘If only that were true. However, I have it on good authority that they were last seen traveling out into the desert somewhere south of Glencoe.’