information it would be around the world and back within a few minutes and it would destroy Nemecek and The Five.
“The second reason was to eliminate anyone who might help me out. War is still just a numbers game. It is cold-blooded, but that’s what it is. Kill more of them than they can kill of yours. And if possible, kill them all.”
“What are you going to do to them if we find them?”
“What do you think? Revenge is something I’m good at. I enjoy it for its purity.”
She shrunk away from him, shocked.
“And to further reduce their numbers,” he said. “Two can play at this game.”
Once they started climbing the mountains and Idaho was in his rearview mirror, he borrowed Haley’s cell phone and called the Teton County, Idaho, Sheriff’s Department.
“I need to report a murder,” he said to the dispatcher.
“Come again?” she said. He heard a slight click and knew the dispatcher had engaged the recording device.
“Two men using the names Bill Wood and Tom James murdered the Reverend Oscar Kennedy in his own home this morning with a sniper rifle. They’re also responsible for the deaths of Gabriel Cohen, Jason Sweeney, Mike McCarthy, and Aldo Nunez, all former Special Forces vets. And an innocent named Diane Shober. You know the names from the case files in your department, but these weren’t accidents. Wood and James stayed the last week at the Rendezvous Motel in Driggs, room eight. Make sure you get a forensics team there to collect hair, fiber, and DNA samples to help determine the true identities of the killers-”
“Please slow down,” she said. “Where are you calling from?”
“That’s not important,” Nate said. “You can listen to the tape afterward. What is important is that Reverend Kennedy’s body is taken care of and his family notified. He was a good man.”
“What is the name of the reporting party?” she asked.
“That is all,” Nate said, and closed the phone.
Haley shook her head. “That’s why you told the guy not to clean their rooms. So there would be DNA samples.”
“Right,” he said. “If they were there for ten nights, the room is crawling with their residue. The cops will find enough to positively ID the killers-provided their DNA is on file somewhere. Which may be a long shot. I don’t expect them to ID our bad guys right away, but they’ll send a car out to Oscar’s compound. I can’t stand the thought of his body unattended all night.”
“Neither can I,” she said, and her eyes again filled with tears.
After a few minutes, she reached toward Nate to retrieve her cell phone.
“No, sorry,” he said, and rolled down his window. He extended the phone outside and flipped it down and back under the back tires. The crunch sounded like a car door being closed.
“Hey!”
He said, “They can track us from the call I just made or at least figure out what cell towers sent it.”
“How am I supposed to function without my phone?”
He grinned wolfishly. “Welcome to life off the grid.”
They summited the mountain, and the lights of Jackson Hole splayed out beneath them in the valley.
Jackson in October was predictably empty. The throngs that packed the wood sidewalks in the summer were gone, and those wearing skiwear and fashionable snow boots were yet to come. It was the time of the year when the Mercedes, Lexuses, and BMWs of tourists and seasonal residents gave way to the muddy four-wheel- drive pickups of elk hunters, but in much smaller numbers. The town seemed to be resting and recovering, and many of the retail stores downtown were closed until winter and skiing resumed.
But not the bars. Nate located the white Tahoe parked at an angle on the side of the Wort Hotel. He drove past it, with Haley pointing out the Colorado plates, and kept on going.
“Aren’t you going after them?” she asked, confused.
“Yes.”
“Then where are we going now?”
“I’m taking you to the airport so you can fly back to North Carolina, or wherever.”
She sat back hard in her seat as if slapped, and crossed her arms over her breasts. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said.
“Sure you are,” he said. “Do you need money for the ticket?”
“I need you to shut up and turn around. I was there when these guys destroyed my world. I’ve got to see this through.”
He took a long look at her. In response, she set her jaw and tipped her head back. Her eyes caught and reflected passing lights. Lovely, he thought.
He said, “If you stay with me you’ll either get killed or wind up in prison. This isn’t a lighthearted choice.”
She waved his words away and clamped her hand back under her arm. “But I’ve made it. I’m sticking with you and seeing this through. I want to see the men who did this. I want to see them go down.”
He slowed the Jeep but kept it rolling down the highway. They were clear of the southern town limits, but the lights of the town sparkled in his rearview mirror. The National Elk Refuge was on his right, and he could see the first of the arrivals out on the moonlit pasture.
“If you stay,” he said, “you have to do whatever I tell you. This is my operation, and I’m good at these things. I don’t want or need your advice or your questions.”
She didn’t respond immediately. After a beat, she said, “Okay. But you have to understand I’ve never done anything like this before. Never. Cohen was trying to teach me how to use a handgun, but I didn’t like it.”
“I’m not letting you near a weapon,” Nate said. “And remember to fight against your first instinct.”
“My first instinct?”
“To talk,” he said. “When things get hot, I need you to listen to me and do what I tell you, and not yammer on. Repress that first instinct. Can you do that?”
“Of course,” she said, obviously insulted.
“Good,” he said, slowing down to begin a U-turn back to town, “because I think I like your company.”
As they drove, she shot her arms out and settled back in her seat. “I thought for a brief moment I liked yours,” she said, “then I found out what an asshole you can be.”
The Wort Hotel stood on the corner of Glenwood and Broadway in the heart of Jackson, and it stretched the length of the short block. Constructed of rough stone with eaves and gabled windows, it looked like a regal 1940s matriarchal ghost amidst the gussied-up faux-western storefronts. The Silver Dollar Bar had its entrance on Main, and as Nate and Haley cruised by, they could see men with cowboy hats at the bar and smaller groups of hunters sitting at tables. They didn’t slow down as they drove by.
“Did you see our boys?” she asked.
“No.”
Nate turned on Glenwood and passed the Tahoe and continued on across Deloney and backed into a dark alleyway and turned off his motor. From there, they could look out the front window and see the back bumper of the Tahoe jutting out into the street. There were fewer than ten other cars parked, and plenty of spaces. It was an entirely different feel from the busy summer and winter months.
“How can you be positive it’s the right car, or that the bad guys are inside?”
Nate shrugged. “I can’t.”
“Do you want me to go in the bar and look around?”
“No. They might recognize you. Those bastards were up there in the trees for days looking down at the compound through binoculars or a spotting scope. They might have seen you.”
“Oh,” she said, then hugged herself. “It creeps me out to think they were up there all that time. Just waiting for us to finally open the curtains.”
“Lots of patience,” Nate said. “But no surveillance is perfect. The longer it goes on, the more there’s a chance for a mistake. Like not seeing me come down to the house this morning.”
