An idea came to him.
He slowed, crossed the bridge designed for tractors and picking equipment, and stopped on the other side.
He popped open the door and ran back.
The ditch was a good twenty feet across, the ties extralong and supported by a center post. They sat side by side, designed, he knew, to be movable, other center posts spaced along the canal. He’d also spent time moving ties from one location to another.
Dust from the road on the other side of the ditch began to clear.
He heard the growl of an engine.
Coming closer.
The ties, about four inches thick, were arranged two together, four feet apart, just enough width to accommodate tires on either side of a chassis. He ran onto the bridge and dislodged one long pair from their rails, shoving them down into the ditch.
Then the other pair.
His muscles creaked under the strain.
He retreated to his side of the bank and slid two more from their perch.
Twenty feet of air now separated him from Simon.
Dust on the other side cleared.
He saw the car.
———
SIMON KEPT A CLOSE WATCH AHEAD.
Rocha was speeding down the lane between the trees as fast as they could go thanks to the limited visibility. But luckily, it appeared the fog was dissipating.
Then he saw.
Tom Sagan stood on a far bank before a wide ditch. A bare post rose from its center. Rocha had seen it, too, slamming the brakes, tires grabbing the earth. The car slid to a stop, his seat belt holding him in place.
Rocha cursed.
He stared out the windshield.
“Shut off the engine.”
———
TOM RETREATED TO HIS CAR AND FOUND THE GUN. HE KEPT THE driver’s-side door open, both it and the car between him and Simon. Sure, one of them could wade across the ditch, but he’d shoot them dead before they made it to the other side.
Standoff.
Just what he wanted.
A warm breeze flayed his skin, raising gooseflesh across his neck and chest.
“All right,” Simon called out to him. “What do you want?”
“My daughter.”
He stayed low, staring out through the open window frame.
“I realize you have your gun, and you chose your place to take a stand with care. We will not challenge you.”
The other man stood beside Simon and never moved.
“I should shoot your friend,” Tom yelled. “He touched my daughter.”
Neither of them moved.
“He was doing his job,” Simon said. “What I pay him to do. My lawyer failed to do hers.”
“I want Alle, then you can have what I have.”
“She’s not here.”
“How did that son of a bitch you pay get here?”
“He flew all last night.”
He was listening.
“She is in Vienna. If you want her, that is where you will have to go.”
Austria?
“That is where I live. But maybe you already know that. After all, you were a reporter.”
“Go screw yourself.”
