It took Nate ten minutes to tell the story. As he did, Kennedy’s reaction changed from intense interest to seething outrage. Red bloomed on his cheeks, and beads of perspiration appeared across his forehead.
“Holy Mother of God,” Kennedy said, when Nate was done. “It’s worse than I imagined.”
“That’s who I’m dealing with,” Nate said. “And what I’ve been dealing with for all these years. I hate that all of you’ve been dragged into it.”
“Nate,” Kennedy asked, his tone softening. “How have you kept this to yourself?”
“No choice, because I’m responsible for what happened, too. And the result.”
Nate heard Haley descending the stairs heavily, likely with her suitcase. He rose to go help her, but Kennedy pushed his chair back and blocked his path.
“You can’t blame yourself, Nate.”
“I do,” he said, attempting to step around the chair. Kennedy was quick and rotated the wheels sharply and pushed back into the doorway. Mid-morning sun lit up his face from the window above the sink.
“Oscar, let me by.”
“We need to talk about this. No one can shoulder the burden of what you’ve just confessed.”
“I’m just going to give her a hand with her suitcase.”
“We need to talk-”
Oscar Kennedy didn’t finish his sentence because his head snapped back violently and his hands fell limply to his sides and there was a simultaneous crack-pock sound inside the kitchen. Blood and matter flecked the wall behind Kennedy from floor to ceiling, and Kennedy slumped in his chair.
Nate instinctively dropped into a squat and fought an urge to cover his head as he did so. He wheeled and saw the neat dime-sized hole in the glass of the window above the sink, then dived toward the chair to push his friend out of the view of the window.
From the stairwell, Haley called out, “Hey? What was that?”
Nate shouted, “Sniper! Get down now!”
On his hands and knees, he scrambled into the computer room, pushing Kennedy’s chair in front of him. Nate hoped to God the injury to his friend wasn’t as bad as he thought it might be.
But it was. When Nate rose to look he saw how much damage a. 50 caliber armor-piercing sniper round could do to a man. Then he looked up and saw Haley in the stairwell, almost to the bottom of the threshold, clutching the handle of her suitcase with both hands. When Haley saw Kennedy’s splayed-out body in the chair, she dropped the suitcase and screamed, covering her face. The suitcase tumbled down the last four steps.
“I said, Get down! ”
Still shrieking, she sat straight back on the stairs, her face still hidden by her hands.
Nate retrieved his rifle as he ran through the mudroom to the back door and then pressed the lock-release mechanism. Once he heard the click and the door was free, he kicked it open rather than fly through it into the grass.
Wondering if the shooter would anticipate his exit from the house and fire again. But there were no shots. Did the shooter even know he was in the house?
He kicked the door wide open a second time-no reaction-and followed it out on the third, hitting the ground and rolling until he could find cover behind a tree trunk.
When he raised the rifle to where he thought the shot had come from-a V in the brush on the northern horizon-he clearly heard a motor start up and a car roar away. Forty-five seconds later, it was gone.
He stood up, bracing himself against the tree. Only then did he realize he’d landed on his injured shoulder, and the pain screamed through him. But not as loud as the screaming from Haley inside the house.
Nate thought of Oscar Kennedy and spun around with pure rage and cried out: “Goddammit!”
Then: “Come on, Haley. We’re going after them.”
19
Dusk came quickly on Teton Pass as Nate crossed the border from Idaho east into Wyoming. He had ruthlessly scoured Victor, Swan Valley, Driggs, and Tetonia for any sign of the assassins throughout the afternoon and into the evening. His only lead had come from the manager of the Rendezvous Motel in Driggs, a spindly old tattooed galoot openly wearing a shoulder holster, who said two men had checked out early that morning after a ten-day stay.
Their descriptions fit: mid-twenties, hard, businesslike, no small talk about the weather. The manager said he pegged them for mountain climbers or hunters based on the number of gear bags they possessed, but they’d claimed they were in the area to look for work in construction. Apparently, several multimillion-dollar resorts were being built on the Idaho side of the Tetons. The manager said the men were unusual in that they kept odd hours and were often gone the entire night. Also, they requested their rooms not be entered and made up during the day. The owner said they shared a late-model white Chevy Tahoe with Colorado plates. Their names on the register were Bill Wood and Tom James, and they paid seven days in advance with cash and daily after, as if they knew they might have to leave at any time.
Nate peeled off several twenties and gave them to the manager for the information and made him promise he wouldn’t clean the vacated rooms right away. The manager agreed with astonishing speed.
“Where are we going?” Haley asked, as they climbed the mountain. A heavy horizontal curtain of storm front reached across the sky from north to south, devouring the jagged range of mountain peaks as it came. From their elevation, they could see it coming, and it had no end in sight.
“Jackson Hole,” he said.
“Why?” she asked. She was apparently cried out and slowly coming back into the here and now. Throughout the day, while Nate drove from small town to small town and crept around mom-and-pop motels, she’d sat in the passenger seat of his vehicle and wept. He’d offered water and food, but she refused both. As with Alisha in the past, he marveled how her tears seemed to slowly expunge the tragedy from inside her, how it seemed to help her recover. He envied the phenomenon but could not imagine replicating it himself. His release, he knew, would come another way.
“Jackson is a choke point,” he said. “I don’t know which road they took to get back into Wyoming, but they’ll have to go through Jackson to get to the Bighorns. They may stop, or they might drive right through. But my guess is they think they’re home free. Their mission is accomplished, and it’s time to take a breather before they reconnoiter with their team leader. So they might not be looking over their shoulders right now.”
“Why not?” she asked. “Don’t they know we might be chasing them?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so. I don’t think they knew I was there, and I’m the primary target. If they knew I was in the house, they would have held off for a shot at me, or stuck around to hit me when I came out of the house.”
He explained that by approaching the compound from the back through the timber that morning, he likely couldn’t be seen from where the assassins had set up a mile away, facing the front of the house.
“A mile away?” she asked. “I don’t know much about guns, but isn’t that a little far?”
“No,” Nate said. “Not with the kind of weapon they used. You saw that hole in the window, didn’t you?”
She nodded.
“It was a perfectly round hole. It didn’t even shatter the glass. That round passed through the so-called bulletproof glass and through Oscar’s head and through the other side of the house. I’m pretty sure it was a fifty caliber round and the shooter has a specialized sniper rifle. We used them overseas. It’s accurate at two thousand yards. The shot that killed Oscar wasn’t even that far.”
“This is just so unbelievable,” she said. “All of it. I can’t believe this is happening.”
Nate said, “It is.”
“Why did they kill them all? It’s so cold-blooded.”
“Two reasons,” Nate said. “They thought our friends knew my secret, and if they were allowed to live, they’d leak it. Especially Oscar, since he had the contacts and his computer network. If Oscar decided to broadcast the
