He’d been on the road many times before and tried to recall the landscape, the features, and the turns. The Gros Ventre Range was to his right, the Snake River Valley to his left, and beyond the river the jagged sawtooths of the Teton Range. The highway was on a flat bench skirting the river valley.
Nate guessed the Tahoe would continue to Moran Junction, then take U.S. 26/287 over Togwotee Pass via Dubois and on to the Bighorn Mountains.
Before the road crossed the river and wound through pockets of timber, there was a long straightaway of three to five miles. Long enough to make sure there was no one coming, or behind them. Long enough, if he gunned it, to make his move. He didn’t want them to leave the park and get as far as the junction, where the route over the mountains became narrow and heavily wooded. Plus, it would likely be snowing harder.
Nate pried the fingers of his right hand from the wheel and reached across his body for the grip of his. 500. He drew it out of the shoulder holster and laid it across his lap.
He said to Haley: “Hold on, roll down your window, keep your eyes open, and duck when I tell you.”
He could tell she wanted to question him, but she swallowed her pride and cranked down the window. Cold air and whirling snow filled the cab.
“Here we go,” he said, flooring it. His rear tires fishtailed slightly, then gripped through the snow to the asphalt, and they shot forward.
The taillights ahead of them started to widen. His engine howled, but he doubted Cowboy Hat and Trucker Cap would hear him coming before he was on top of them. In his peripheral vision, he saw Haley dig back in her seat and grasp the handhold on the dashboard as if it would cushion an impact.
But just twenty feet before he plowed into the back of the Tahoe- he could suddenly see the smudge of white from its back hatch-Nate hit his headlights, clicked them to bright, and swung his Jeep to the left into the oncoming lane.
The brake lights on the Tahoe flashed quickly-no doubt Cowboy Hat was temporarily blinded-and Nate roared up beside the SUV so they were rolling down the road side by side.
“Duck!” he yelled to Haley.
She went down.
He extended his revolver straight out away from his body, aimed at the Tahoe, and looked over.
Cowboy Hat turned his face to him as well. He was blinking from the unexpected blast of light and his mouth was slightly open, as if he was about to say something. Nate saw a face that was chiseled by bone and fashionably stubbled. His view within the scope trembled crazily, but when the crosshairs paused for a half second on a spot between the brim of the cowboy hat and the man’s left eye, he squeezed the trigger. The roar of the gunshot was deafening inside the cab of the Jeep, and a four-foot ball of orange flame leapt between the two vehicles.
And just as suddenly, the Tahoe dropped away.
“Oh my God!” Haley screamed into her arms.
“Stay down.”
Nate pumped his brakes to slow the Jeep and prevent an icy skid in the snow, while at the same time noting the sweep of errant headlights in his rearview mirror as the Tahoe left the road.
After a three-point turn, Nate sped back to the scene. He found the Tahoe on its side in the sloped bottom of a sagebrush-covered swale, the top tires spinning in the air and the moist ground churned up behind it. Nate switched the Jeep into four-wheel drive and drove through the fresh gaping hole in the right-of-way fence, his headlights on the underside of the Tahoe. There was no movement from inside. The rear hatch had popped open in the rollover, and the gear bags, the suitcases, the plastic tubs, and the unsheathed Barrett rifle were slung across the snow.
He drove around the vehicle until his lights framed the dented hood. The inside of the front windshield of the Tahoe gleamed bright red, as if it had been painted with a large bucket of blood. He hoped the slug hadn’t taken off Trucker Hat’s head as well.
Keeping his lights on the Tahoe, Nate stomped on his emergency brake and leapt outside the Jeep with his weapon in front of him. Snow stung his eyes and gathered on his coat and hair. He could smell the sharp odor of leaking gasoline mixed with the sweet smell of crushed sagebrush.
As he approached the Tahoe, he heard a thump from inside, and suddenly there was a heavy-soled footprint in the blood on the inside of the windshield. Then another thump, and another footprint. A football-sized star of cracks appeared on the glass. He waited.
It took two minutes for Trucker Cap to kick his way outside.
Trucker Cap crawled out into the snow on his hands and knees. His face and clothing were covered in blood, and it took him a few seconds to realize headlights were on him, and that Nate stood between the headlights of the Jeep with his gun out.
“Oh, fuck me,” Trucker Cap said. “I didn’t think I’d ever get out of there. His head just… blew up.”
Nate kept his eyes on Trucker Cap as he called over his shoulder, “Stay down, Haley.”
From behind him, he heard her say indignantly, “I’m not a dog.”
He ignored her and gestured with the muzzle of his gun toward Trucker Cap. “Don’t move.”
“Are you the guy?” Trucker Cap asked. His voice was thick with shock as he stumbled to his feet. “Are you the guy who did this?”
Nate could see his bright teeth through the gore on his face.
“I told you not to move,” Nate said, and lowered his revolver and blew Trucker Cap’s right knee away. The man shrieked and fell straight down in a heap, moaning and writhing in the snow.
“You’re going to answer a couple of questions,” Nate said, approaching the wounded man, hoping Haley had obeyed and wasn’t watching what was going to happen from the Jeep behind him. “I’m not asking you to answer questions,” he said. “I’m telling you what’s going to happen.”
Trucker Cap groaned from pain and rolled to his back. He grasped his shattered knee with both hands, and blood pulsed out from between his fingers.
“You should have known this was coming when you went after my friends,” Nate said.
Nate thought of what Haley had said earlier: Like I haven’t seen ugly.
He quickly closed the gap to the man and rolled him over with his boot. As he did, Trucker Cap’s jacket hiked up and Nate saw the grip of a. 45 Heckler amp; Koch semiauto tucked into this belt. He snatched it out and tossed it over the top of the Tahoe.
“Any more weapons?”
“God, no,” Trucker Cap moaned. His eyes were closed tightly.
Nate dropped to one knee next to Trucker Cap and patted the man down with his free hand through his clothes. His hand came away sticky with blood, and he wiped it clean in the snow before reaching back and gripping Trucker Cap’s left ear. He gave it a vicious twist, and the man’s eyes shot open.
“I’m going to bleed out,” the man said.
“And what’s the downside?” Nate asked. Then: “Three things, or I rip your ear off.”
Trucker Cap’s eyes narrowed on Nate’s face.
“One: how many operatives were on your team? Two: why is Nemecek coming after me now?”
Trucker Cap’s mouth twisted into a defiant leer. “Why should I tell you? I heard what you did over there, you fucking traitor. When he gave us a chance to come after you, we jumped on it, you son-of-a-bitch.”
Nate ripped his ear off and tossed it over his shoulder like an apple core. Trucker Cap howled, and Nate waited for the man to catch his breath. While he did, he reached across the man’s face and grasped his other ear.
Nate said, “Everything Nemecek told you is wrong, but it doesn’t surprise me, and I don’t have the time or inclination to convince you otherwise. But now I know how he convinced good men to go rogue with him. Now back to the three things…”
Trucker Cap said, “But you only asked two.”
“Oh,” Nate said, “the third. I want you to make a call when we’re done here. If you do exactly what I say, you might survive this. If you don’t, I’m going to pull you apart with my bare hands until you’re begging me to kill you. Got that?”
Nate became aware that Haley must have watched, because behind him he could hear her sobbing.
