Coates sat across from Gray and lifted the bottle of beer he had been nursing. He resumed peeling the label off with his thumbnail. His half-filled glass was near his elbow. A tray of cold cuts and a dish of apples were also on the table. He sipped the beer.
"The FBI has learned that his name was Andy Ellison, the one Trusov killed in the booby-trapped house," the detective said. "Why do you suppose the Russian went to all the trouble to pick him up in the helicopter and take him along for the ride, when all Trusov was going to do was slit his throat? Any warm body would've worked to draw us into that house."
Gray replied, "A sniper works anonymously, seldom with an audience, except his spotter. Maybe Trusov needed an audience for his cleverness, even some poor fellow he was going to murder."
Coates nodded. "Yeah, maybe."
"Or perhaps the Russian just wanted to talk, to unburden himself a little."
"He doesn't strike me as the talky type."
Gray said quietly, "We all need someone we can let go a little with, even snipers."
Behind Coates, Adrian Wade tapped at her computer keyboard. Lights in the room were low, but her hands and documents and notes were under an orb of illumination from a nightstand light. The fire on the grate was crackling.
Coates looked across the table at his friend. "You can let go with me, Owen. Are you holding up all right?"
Gray lowered the rifle to the table near several tubes of camouflage grease paint. He glanced over at Adrian, then back to the detective. "No, I'm not."
"You getting any sleep?"
"Not much." Gray's voice was the ghost of a whisper. "And I'm not keeping my food down." He wiped his upper lip with a finger. "A couple of times out in the woods I've found myself bent over, heaving away. My stomach feels like some farmer is turning it over with a mule and plow. I look back now, Pete, and I don't know how I did two tours in Vietnam."
"We older guys can't take it."
"I'm terrified." Gray let out a long breath. "My children have been orphans once and I'm afraid of leaving them orphans again. And I'm afraid for myself. I don't want a bullet to find me. I'm so frightened I'm having trouble swallowing."
Adrian Wade flicked off her light and rose from her desk. She walked over, her hands at the small of her back as she twisted out a kink in her muscles. She sat next to Coates, then lifted an apple from the basket.
She must have been listening, because she said, "You don't need to be afraid yet, Owen."
"The mad Russian isn't after you, so perhaps you aren't the best judge of whether I should be afraid." He smiled quickly to take offense from his words.
She brought the apple to her mouth, but instead of biting into it, she said, "Nikolai Trusov wants one thing in this life, and that is to re-create the day you shot him. Brick by brick, board by board, he is reconstructing that day."
"Do you think he wanted Owen to return to Idaho?" Coates asked. "Was that part of his plan?"
"He had Owen's high school yearbook, and so he knew Owen came from Hobart. So Trusov might have guessed Owen would return to Idaho. But I suspect that the precise location where Owen went after Trusov chased him from Manhattan didn't matter to the Russian as long as it was wilderness. Trusov needs wilderness as part of his plan."
She took a tiny bite of the apple, more a gesture, and went on. "Look at what he has done so far." She brought up her other hand to count off with her fingers. "First, he has chased you from the city into the wilderness. Idaho isn't Elephant Valley but it's still bush and forest. Second, he has forced you to return to your old profession of sniping. Third, he has stolen your Vietnam weapon, and he is going to insist you use it, not some other rifle."
"What's he going to do with my old Winchester?" Gray asked.
"He is going to somehow present it to you. And that's what I mean when I say you don't need to be afraid yet. That day in November 1970 won't be fully re-created and he won't begin the duel until you are using your Marine Corps sniper rifle. That's why he stole it from the museum. And fifth, we know that he is carrying with him a Mosin-Nagant sniper rifle, the one he used in Vietnam, or one identical to it."
Gray stared at the sniper rifle.
"Trusov would import tropical birds and bamboo and potted palms if he could. But he is going to settle for what he can get."
"Does Trusov have any more rules I ought to know about?" Gray asked.
Adrian pointed at the MILE. "He isn't going to allow you to use technology you didn't use in Elephant Valley. No lasers, no parabolic listening devices, no night vision goggles."
"What if we don't follow his rules?" Coates asked.
"He'll continue to kill anybody standing next to Owen until Owen understands his message and agrees to his rules."
Coates stepped to the couch in front of the fire and sank into one end of it. Adrian followed him, tucking herself into the other corner of the couch, leaning against the armrest. She kicked off her shoes and tucked her legs under her. Her blue-striped shirt was open to the second button. Her light-blue jeans were tight at her ankles. After a moment, Gray followed. He lifted a log from the box and threw it onto the fire before sitting between Adrian and the detective. Gray spread his legs, hooking a foot under the coffee table leg. Adrian was watching Gray.
"I think Nikolai Trusov has been telegraphing his movements." She spoke between bites of the apple.
"Wanting us to know his progress toward Idaho?" Coates asked.
"Sure. He is keeping ahead of the law but not particularly hiding his progress. He has left fingerprints everywhere. He has let himself be spotted a couple of times. For example, he didn't have to eat in that cafe in Mentor. His picture had been in the papers throughout Minnesota. He must've known he'd be spotted."
Coates agreed by nodding.
"And more than that," she continued. "The violence he inflicted on that gas station attendant in Cleveland was a message to us. He didn't need to do that. He could have flicked that fellow aside with the back of his hand. Trusov is too steady and professional to get carried away in trying to fend off some kid. He was telling us what we can expect if we don't go along with him."
"A long-distance message," Coates agreed.
The flames worked noisily at the wood. A charred log fell onto the embers, sending sparks up the chimney. The air was crowded with scents — fire smoke, old cedar, garlic from their pasta dinner, and Adrian's distinctive aroma, an eerily arresting and confounding fragrance.
When the telephone rang, the detective rose to cross the room to Adrian's desk. He carried his beer glass with him. After a moment he dropped the handset onto the receiver and walked back to the couch. "A sporting goods store near Butte has been broken into. A smash-and-grab. Trusov left his prints again."
"What'd he get?" Adrian asked.
"A .30–30 deer rifle and a .22, two shotguns, ammunition, three dozen hunting and fish-cleaning knives, some climbing rope, baling wire, and some cold-weather clothing. A cap, a pair of boots, that sort of thing. What's he want with the knives and rope and wire? And so many weapons?"
"Traps," Gray answered. "Protecting his hide and his routes with nasty surprises. Same thing I've done around here."
The detective rubbed the back of his neck. "Owen, I had hoped we wouldn't have to get to this because I thought we'd catch Trusov before he got here, but tomorrow you'd better start teaching me the lay of the land so I can help you when the time comes." He headed toward Gray's childhood bedroom. "I've got the bottom bunk. I'll be asleep in ten seconds." He disappeared through the door.
When Gray started to rise from his chair, Adrian's hand on his shoulder stopped him.
She asked, "Do you want to talk?"