“Then we all want the same thing,” Gus said.
“Not entirely,” Mathis said. “Not unless you’re secretly harboring a yearning for a stint at Gitmo.”
“Agent Mathis,” Shawn said soothingly. “Special Agent Mathis. Very Special Agent Mathis. What my rock-happy friend is saying is that we have a common goal. We all want to catch the person who committed these crimes. If we work together, we can figure it out before the rescue chopper shows up.”
“There’s not going to be a rescue chopper,” Mathis said.
“Once we use one of the beacons, there will be,” Shawn said.
“You’re not using the beacons. Nobody is. One of those four lawyers sucking down sorrel soup is a murderer and a traitor. That person has given up all rights to be free in civil society. So whichever one it is, he or she is not going back to civilization except in handcuffs.”
“I understand that,” Gus said. “But there are three other lawyers, as well as the two of us and you, and we haven’t murdered or, um, traitored anyone. What happens if we get to the end of the trail and you still haven’t figured out who the bad guy is?”
“I’ll sacrifice you all and myself if that’s what it takes,” Mathis said. “The spy is never going to walk free again.”
“Say,” Shawn said. “I’m not suggesting that the knock on the head has left you the slightest bit crazy or anything like that. But it sounds an awful lot like you’re talking about letting five innocent people die so you can catch one criminal.”
“Is that what it sounds like?” Mathis said. “Then I guess that must be what it is.”
“You can’t do that,” Gus protested. “You work for the government. You have rules. Laws. Statutes. Regulations.”
“None of which applies in the wilderness,” Mathis said. “There’s only one law out here. And that’s me.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Gus lay wide awake on the feather bed, staring up through the darkness at the tent ceiling. He thought back to the start of this day, when his only problem was that Shawn wouldn’t share his theory of who’d killed Ellen Svaco. Somehow he’d managed to convince himself that that had been a problem worth getting worked up about.
That was before he’d found himself on a five-day nature hike with a quintet of psychopathic lawyers, one of whom was also a murderer who seemed to have no compunction about killing to keep his or her identity a secret. At least two people were already dead, and Gus couldn’t imagine why the killer would feel any hesitation to continue with the spree.
But now even that seemed like the good old days. Because that killer was likely to attempt murder only if it looked like he or she was about to be revealed. Mathis, the FBI agent, had claimed he’d kill them all if he didn’t unmask the killer. Which meant that someone was going to try to kill Gus, Shawn, and who knew how many others no matter which way things worked out.
There was a light snore from the bed next to his. Shawn was sleeping peacefully-as always. And he’d eaten well, too, knocking back two bowls of soup and at least three helpings of lamb, along with a couple of chocolate souffles. Nothing seemed to bother him-not their impending doom, or the impossibility of their situation, or guilt at having gotten them into this death march in the first place. Even when Gus had told him the entire story of his long search-and-rescue mission, starting with his baffling discovery upon stepping out of the bathing pavilion, through the searches of the other sleeping quarters and the supply tent, through his treacherous journey across the rocky hillside, Shawn sounded more entertained than impressed. By the time he was done, Gus suspected he’d hit the wrong person with the rock.
He was feeling around on the ground next to him for something to chuck at Shawn when he heard noises from outside. It was a rustling, followed by the sound of a zipper being undone. It took Gus a moment to realize that it was coming from the supply tent behind them. Maybe one of the servers had decided that sleeping outside was no fun and was going to make a bed among the next morning’s food.
Or maybe it was the next morning. Gus’ heart sunk at the thought. He could tell through the sleeping tent’s fabric that it was still dark out, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t soon be time for them to be yanked out of bed. He hadn’t slept at all, and now he’d have to get up and face another endless day on the march. Nothing could be worse than that.
Except what happened next.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The walls of the tent lit up with blinding flashes of light, and the air was filled with gunfire. Gus could hear Jade screaming. This time there was no chance it was a cry of happy surprise.
Shawn sat up in bed. “What’s happening?”
Another burst of gunfire lit up the tents, tearing holes in the nylon at the top.
“Is it the killer?” Gus whispered.
There was another blast of gunshot, this time from the other side of the camp. And then an answering burst from the first side.
“Not unless he’s brought friends,” Shawn said, grabbing his clothes from the side of his bed and sliding into his shorts.
Gus grabbed his own clothes and started to change out of his pajamas. Even as he was doing it, he didn’t know why. It wasn’t like the hiking clothes would wick bullets away from his skin like water. But he felt much readier for action as soon as his shorts were zipped. “Maybe he’s fighting it out with Mathis,” Gus said, pulling his shoes on and tying them tight.
“Mathis isn’t Melvin Purvis, and the killer isn’t Baby Face Nelson,” Shawn said. “And a tommy-gun battle seems a little out of scale for the crimes involved here.”
“Then, what?”
Shawn slithered out of his bed and crawled to the tent’s front flap. “One way to find out,” he said.
“Don’t!” Gus whispered. “They’ll know we’re in here.”
“There are three sleeping tents spread over a few hundred feet of ground in the middle of thousands of acres of wilderness,” Shawn said. “I suspect they’re going to think to look in here no matter what.”
“Then let’s not be here when they do,” Gus said. He gestured to the far corner of the tent where two walls met the floor, then crawled over to it. He tried to lift the tent wall off the floor section, but it was so tightly sewn on it might as well have been one piece of nylon.
Outside, the air was filled again with another burst of automatic gunfire, and now in the silences between they could hear male voices barking orders.
“Get out of there!” one of the voices yelled from across the camp. “You’ve got one second before I blow your brains out.”
“They’re rounding up the lawyers,” Shawn whispered as he slid in next to Gus.
“They’ll be coming for us next,” Gus said.
“Maybe not,” Shawn said. “We’re not lawyers.”
“Even if that would make a difference to whoever is blowing up the camp, how are we going to prove it to them?” Gus said, still trying to tear the nylon open.
“Good point,” Shawn said. “It’s not like we can show them the lack of a license. The bar association should really offer certificates of non-lawyerhood.”
“We can suggest that to them if we ever get out of here alive,” Gus said, giving the nylon another yank. It was no use. A grizzly bear could probably tear this tent open, but thoughtless hunters had nearly wiped them out a century ago, and now you could never count on finding one when you needed him. And even if you did, he’d be more interested in knocking over suburban garbage cans than helping innocent people escape from insane killers. And when you came right down to it, that was what was wrong with nature.
“Are you all right?” Shawn said gently. “Because you look like your brain is spinning out into some kind of reality-deflecting rant.”
“I’m fine,” Gus said. “At least I would be if there weren’t people firing automatic weapons out there.”