They were on cell phones, each with a Bluetooth bud in his ear. They had satellite phones, but the regular cells were easier so long as they had a signal and military-grade GPS units.
“No joy.”
Meaning Pike didn’t see the vehicles. Stone had a better view, and was using binos.
“Van’s backing out-”
The dingy van crept into Pike’s sight line as Stone said it. Pike started the Jeep, and nosed toward the street.
“Got’m. Cole on board?”
“Affirm. Man, you gotta check the driver. This is one ugly fucker.”
The van left the Burger King and turned onto the highway, heading away from Pike.
Pike said, “Coming your way.”
Pike gunned his Jeep out of the Shell station, and turned onto the highway at the first intersection. He lost sight of the van when he slowed for oncoming cars, but slalomed between traffic and quickly caught up.
“Eight lengths back. I’m by a yellow eighteen-wheeler.”
“Looking.”
Pike was still settling into a groove when the van’s right-turn indicator flashed. They had gone less than a mile.
“Blinker.”
“Shit, I don’t have you.”
“Las Palmas. West side.”
“I’m looking.”
Pike slowed to put distance between himself and the van. A horn blew behind him, then another, but Pike braked even harder, hanging back as the van turned onto a street between large, undeveloped lots. It stopped in plain sight of the highway.
Pike left the highway, but turned in the opposite direction, watching the van in his sideview mirror. A hundred yards later he turned into a parking lot surrounding a home furnishings outlet.
“They stopped at an empty lot.”
“I see’m. They’re out of the van. Dude’s checking him. Shit, right out in the open.”
“I’m north. Set up south.”
“Rog. Doing it.”
Pike knew the search wouldn’t take long and it didn’t. Cole and Wander climbed back into the van, and once more rolled south on the highway, then east, leaving the monied areas of Rancho Mirage and Palm Desert behind for the working-class neighborhoods of Indio.
Pike and Stone changed positions frequently so Wander would not notice a single vehicle lingering in his mirror. Pike had fallen back when Jon Stone’s voice came in his ear.
“Blinker.”
Pike was seven lengths behind Stone’s Rover. Five sedans, two pickup trucks, and a biker on a chopped Harley were scattered between them. Stone’s left-turn indicator blinked on, and Stone spoke again.
“Turning left at the Taco Bell.”
“Yes.”
“I gotta slow. Tighten up.”
Pike nudged the Jeep closer.
The van turned past the Taco Bell into a mixed area of small residential homes and light-business properties. This made following more difficult because there was less traffic, so Stone dropped farther back. Pike followed two blocks behind Stone, noting parallel streets on his GPS in case he had to maneuver.
Stone said, “Blinker. He’s stopping. Three blocks up. I’m stopping, too.”
Pike made an immediate right, jumped on the accelerator, and screamed left onto the parallel street, watching for kids and oncoming cars. Five blocks up, he jammed the brakes, turned left twice, and finished on the original street, slow-rolling in the opposite direction. The gray van sat in a driveway three houses ahead on his left, waiting as the garage opened.
Pike said, “Yellow stucco on your right side. Address three-six-two.”
The houses along the street all sported light-colored composite roofs over stucco, with attic vents on the gables, two-car attached garages, and weathered chain-link fences. Most of the houses showed trees and some kind of vegetation, but the yellow’s yard was parched sand and rocks.
Stone rolled forward as Pike crept past the house. The garage door was open, but a large green SUV filled the garage, leaving no room for the van. Pike glimpsed Cole climbing from the passenger side as he passed.
“Garage open. They’re getting out.”
“Got’m. Wander and Elvis. They are in the garage. The door’s coming down. Stand by-”
Pike turned right at the first cross street, and made a fast K-turn. He stopped short of the intersection with a view of the house. Stone would have done the same at the next cross street.
Pike’s view allowed him to see the garage door, the front door, two front windows, and two side windows. The windows were closed, and the shades were down. All the shades in every window, none showing even an inch or two gap at the bottom.
Pike rolled down his window, and recalled the Masai hunters he knew in Africa. He wondered if they could hear the house speaking. He stared at the house, and listened.
Pike was in position for less than five minutes when the garage door jerked into motion.
“Jon.”
“Yep.”
The door was still climbing when Wander ducked under and returned to the van.
Stone said, “You see that fuckin’ eye?”
“See Elvis?”
“Just the geep.”
The door rumbled down.
“Was anyone in the garage?”
“Negative. Just the geep.”
Wander backed out of the drive and departed past Pike, leaving the way he arrived.
Stone said, “What the fuck?”
They waited. One minute. Two minutes.
“You think they have hostages in there?”
Pike didn’t answer.
“Think al-Diri’s in there?”
“Shh.”
Three minutes after Wander departed, the garage door jerked to life again, and once more climbed its rails. When the door was open, a dark green Ford Explorer carefully backed out. The windows were so dark they looked black.
Stone said, “Field trip. What do we do now, follow or stay?”
The garage door closed. The garage was now empty, but this didn’t mean the house was empty.
The Explorer backed to the street, then departed past Jon.
Pike said, “See anyone?”
“No, man. Not through that glass. You think he’s in there?”
Elvis.
“Don’t know.”
“Say again, what do we do?”
Pike stared at the house. There was no way to know if Elvis was inside or gone.
“Take the Explorer. I’ll sit on the house.”
“On it.”
Pike watched the house, and strained to hear voices no one could hear.
