Midnight Sun by Basil Sands (best time to read books TXT) 📕

“Terrorists,” hesaidinachokedwhimper. “Iknewit.They’refreakin’ terrorists.Arabbastards.Igottacallthecops.”

Hetookouthiscellphoneanddialed911.Ashisfingermovedoverthegreencallbutton,Sammysuddenlyrealizedhispredicament.Thecopswouldaskhimhowheknewabouttheweapons,andhe’dhavetotellthemhowhehadarrivedintheroom.

“StupidSammy,” hemuttered. “Howdoyougetyourselfintocraplikethis?”

Hestartedforthedoor, but aquickthoughthithim.Heturnedback,andusinghiscellphonecamera,hesnappedseveralpicturesoftheroomanditscontents.He’demailthemtotheFBI’swebsitewithananonymousletter.They’dhavetobelievehim.

Sammyputhishandonthedoorknob.Deanobarkedoutside,thekindofbarkhegavewhensomeonewascomingtothedooroftheirhouse.Hisheartleapedinhischestandthehaironhisneckbristled.Amomentlater,voicesechoedacrosstheexpanseofthemainroom.AlumpformedinSammy’sthroat, and hismouthfeltdryandstickylikeafteradozenbonghits with cheap weed.

ThevoicesspokeinalanguageSammycouldn’tunderstand.Heavyandguttural,itsoundedroughandviolent.Thensilence.Sammythoughtheheardfootsteps,lightonthetiles,sneakingtowardhishidingplace.Hespunaroundinapanic.Takingthreefaststepsacrosstheroom,heclambereduptheammunitioncratesuntilhereachedthewindow.Hetwisteditslatchandpusheditoutward.Itswungoutonthehingeacrossitstop.

Sammypropelledhisbodyfromtheshelvingtothewindow ledge.Thedoorintothestorageroomcreakedopen.Hethrusthisbodythroughthewindowandfellheavilyontothegroundoutside.Apainfulwhooshofairburstfromhislungsashelandedonthehardsoil,sendingupapuffofdust.Hedrovethepainintothebackofhismind,willinghimselftosuckinadeepbreathandrisetohisfeet.Heroundedthecornerofthebuilding,barrelingtowardtheparkingareaandhistruck.

Angryvoicesshoutedinthestrangelanguage.Hesprintedaroundthelastcornerofthebuilding.Deanobarkedagainandchargedoutofthetreesafterhim.Adarkshapeloomed.Unabletostop, he slammedintoanoldman,knockinghimtotheground.Sammytumbled,rolledbacktohisfeet,andcontinuedtowardhistruck.Heleapedintothedriver’sseatandthrustthekeyintotheignition.Deano jumped inafterhim,forcingSammy’shandsbackashepassed.TheoldV-8enginecoughedtolifeonthesecondtry.Hethrewitintogearandpunchedtheacceleratortothefloor.Itburstintomotionandhesnappedthesteeringwheelaround,spinningthetrucktowardtheexit.Thetiresspewedgravellikeawaterskier'swakeinahigh-speedturn,sprayingtwomenwhowerenearthetailwithashowerofhard-edgedstones.

Asthetruckswungaround,theoldmanhehadknockeddownglaredathim.Eveninhispanic,Sammyclearlyrecognizedtherageintheman’seyes. Then a poplikeaburstballoongrabbedhisattention. Sammy cried out in shock, a high pitched girly squeak from the center of his throat, as thebackwindowofhistruckturnedintoanopaquespiderwebofcracks.Hiswholebodyflinchedandheletouta another yelpas a second shot sprayed bitsofglass that pepperedhisheadandshoulders.Deanostoodontheseatandbarkedferociouslyatthemenbehindthem.

Sammylookedintotherearviewmirror, wide-eyed.Twoneatholesdottedtheshatteredglassinchesfromhishead.Heglancedatthesidemirroronthedriver's side andsawtwomenstandingbythedoorofthe mosque,onewithabigafro-likehairdoshoutingandgesticulatinglikeananimatedcartooncharacter. Theother,holdingapistolinhishand,rantowardthesideofthetruck.Deano,teeth baredwithexcitement,boundedbackoverSammyandouttheopenwindowasthemanraisedhisweaponandfired.  Thedoghittheground,stillrunning.Sammyhesitatedforhalfasecond,partly wantingtoturnbackandgrabhisdog then realizing he’d be killed if he tried.Deanochargedthemanwiththegunandleapedathim.Sammyflooredthegasandshotoutoftheparkinglot,turningwithasquealoftiresontothepavementofGoldenview Drive.

Theoldtruck’sspringsbottomedoutas the vehicle cameoverahumpintheroad.Sparks exploded fromunderneathasthemetalframe scraped thepavement.Risingoverthenexthillintheroad, Sammy snappedhiseyesleftforalookintothesidemirror.AwhiteAudipulledoutofthe mosque’sdrive,bearingdownonhim,itsfirmsuspensionhuggedtheroadtightlylikearacecar.

“Shit!Goddamn!Shit!”

Tearsrolledfromhiseyes,makingdrivingdifficultashecrushedtheacceleratorpedalallthewaytothefloor.HeglancedatthemirroragainandcaughtaglimpseofDeanorunningbehindtheAudiasifhecoulddosomethingifhecaughtit.SammylostsightofhisfaithfuldogastheneedleofthespeedometerstretchedtowardninetymilesperhourandtheRPMindicatorquiveredintotheredbaratthethree-thousandmark.GoldenviewDrivestretchedforeightmoremilesbeforeitmetRabbitCreekRoad.TheSouthAnchoragepolicestationwasanotherfourmilesaway.Forthefirsttimeinhislife, Sammy begantohopethatapatrolofficerwouldseehimspeedingandintervenebeforethemenintheothercarcaughtupwithhistruck.

ThewhiteAudigainedonhim,growinglargerinhisrearviewmirror.Histruckbarreleddowntheroadatmaximumspeed,climbingagradualincline.Hecrestedasmallriseandthoughthemightgetabreakafterall.Theroadaheaddescendedforseveralmiles.Histruckwasheavy—he mightbeabletogainmorespeedthanthecarandbreakawayfromtheirpursuit.

Withthepedalheldfirmlyagainstthefilthyrubberfloormat,henearlyflewoverashorthill,camecrashingbacktothepavement,then accelerated. Thedownhillslopeindeedallowedhisvehicletogainspeed.Thespeedometerturnedattherateofasecondhanduntilitmetitslimitof120milesperhour.Thesteeringwheeltrembledinhishands, and therustyoldtruckquakedandshookasitshotdowntheroadlikearunawaytrain.ThejunctionwithRabbitCreekRoad came into sightjustbeyondadipinthepavement.

Chapter5

MansiononGoldenviewDrive

Saturday,June18th

8:30 p.m.

Blueskies,brightsun, and temperaturesthatfeltmorelikeArizonathantheArctichadturnedHaroldandMaureen's wedding intoafantasy.  Arminarm,theygazedatthemountainsthroughthewallofglassintheirfriend’scavernouslivingroom.

Haroldcommentedtohissmilingbride, “Itsureisnicetohaverichfriends.”

Asthepartyworeon,theforty-somethingnewlywedsbrokethemselvesfreefromthecrowdandgotintotheirshinynewmetallic-greenhybridSUV,aweddinggiftfromMaureen’sparents.The highlyefficient lightweight vehiclewaspackedtoitslimitwithweddinggiftsandsuitcasesfulloftropicalclothingandsuntanlotion.HiddenamongtheBermudashortsandHawaiianshirtswereafewverysexybitsoflingeriethatMaureenwassurewouldmakeHarold’sheartrace.

Theyhadtobeattheairportnolater than nineo’clocktomakethetwelveo’clockred-eyeforthefirstlegoftheirjourneytoBoraBoraandtwoweeksofromanceinabungalowonthewater.AsHaroldpulledoutoftheestate’scurveddrivewayontoGoldenview,hescannedleftforoncomingtraffic.Athalfpasteight,thetwenty-four-hoursummersunwasstillhighinthesky.Theroadwasclearasfarhecouldsee.Thatsightwaslimitedbyadipintheroadfifty yards away,plentyofdistanceforsomeonetoslowdown.HaroldputhishandonMaureen’sthigh,andshecaressedhisfingersasheturnedontotheroad.HelookedupintimetoseeMaureen'seyesregisterasparkofhorror.Heturnedhisheadjustas an oldpickuptruckflewupfromthedipintheroadandplowedintotheirthin-skinned Hybrid SUV.

Theexplosivesoundofmetalonmetaljoltedtheairlikeaclapofthunder.Thewedding celebration abruptlyceased.Menandwomenrushedout.Mothersgaspedandgrabbedchildrenplayinginthefrontyard,someofwhomhadseenthewholething.Thankfully,thedistanceobscuredmorethanaglimpseofthegorydetails.

Eight-months-pregnantTrooperLieutenantLonnieJohnsondialed911onhercellphoneasshesprintedtothescene,thelong,pleatedskirtofhermaternitydressflowingbehindherlikeawarningflag.Menfromthepartywerealready in thewreckage,lookingforthevictims.Therewasnoonetorescue.WhatwasleftofthebodieswouldrequireaDNAlabtoputalltherightpiecesineachcoffin.Tornlimbsandbloodybitsofinternalorganslay strewnacrossthepavementamongtwistedsheetsofsteel, jaggedaluminumandsparklingfragmentsofglass.Thedebrisradiatedout like a fan fromthepointofimpact.

LonniehadbeenanAlaskaStateTrooperformorethantwelveyears.Shewasseldomfazedbyscenesofgore,butthishitherdifferently.Betweenthehormonalimbalanceofbeingpregnantandherfriendshipwiththebrideandgroom,shefounditdifficulttokeepheremotionsincheckasshespoketotheemergencydispatcher.

AwhiteAudipulleduptothesceneandseveralmengotout.Theyrushedtowardtheremainsofthetruck.Lonnieturnedtotellthementostayback.Oneofthegroomsmenpickedsomethingup,letoutasickenedgutturalsound,thenbentoverandvomitedontohisglossypatentleathershoes.Lonnieturnedtowardhim,cellphonestillatherear.Heheldsomethinguptoher.Sheputoutherlefthandandhedroppeditin.Ashinynewone-caratdiamondsparkledbrightlyon the polishedgoldbandthatploppedontoherpalm.IttookamomentforhermindtorealizethattheringwasstilltightlyconnectedtoMaureen'sfinger.

***

ThewhiteAudislowedasitpulleduptothemayhem.Menandwomenmilledaboutthroughscatteredchunksofjaggedsteel,rippedaluminum,andbrokenglass.Somedroppedtotheirkneesorstaredinshockfromtheperipheryofthescene.Othersspokeoncellphonesorconsoledoneanother with embraces.Wailsofmourningcastanightmaresoundtrackagainstthemorbidbackdrop,criesminglingwiththeodorofburntmetal,fuel,anddeath.StevenFarrahrosefromthedriver'sseat.Fromtheopposite side of the vehicle cameKharzai,hisbighairbouncingashe twisted to get out of the car.Outofthebackseatclimbedthecousins,LekaandKreshnik,eyesfocuseddirectlyonthedemolishedtruckwithroboticindifferencetothecarnagearoundthem.Thelatterpairjoggedtowardthewreckageoftheburglar’struck.Nearby,amaninatuxedoabruptlyhunchedoverinthemidstofthecarnage.Hisbackarched and amassofvomitsplatteredtheground,makingamessofhisshoes.Asmallobjectinhishandglintedintheeveninglight.Betweenspasmodicwretches,hehandedittoapregnantAsianwomanspeakingonacellphone.Shetookitinherlefthandandclosedherfistaroundit.

“Hey!” theAsianwomancalled to the cousins withthedirectnessofapoliceofficer. “Stepawayfromthere.”

“DearGod,” Farrah said inanupper-classBritishaccent.Hestoppedsearchingthemangledtruckandturnedtowardher. “Hasanyonecalledtheparamedics?”

“Paramedics?” Kharzai muttered,scanningthescene, “There'snotenoughleftforCPRhere.”

TheAsianwomanendedhercellphonecallandmovedherclosedlefthandbehindherback.Sheputherphoneintoapocketofthelargematernitydresssheworeandfromthesamepocketpulledoutabadgeonalanyardwhichsheloopedoverherhead,thesilvermetalshieldrestingheavilybetweenherbreasts.

“IamaStateTrooper. Morehelpisontheway.”

KharzaiglancedatFarrah,hiseyebrowsrisingashelookedbackatherbadge.

“Thedriverofthattruckwascrazy,” hesaid.HisaccentwaspureAmericanmid-western. “Ifyouneedaneyewitnessreport,Stevieherecangiveittoyou.Heflewpastusontheroadbackthere—must’ve beengoingoverahundredmilesperhour.”

“Muchmore,Iamsure,” Farrah said.

Thecousinswerestillnearthewreckageofthetruck.Onereachedtopicksomethingup.Lonniestoppedhimshort.

“Don'ttouchanything,” shecommanded.Thentothecrowdingeneral, “Everyone,pleasegobackupontothelawn,anddon'tpick up anythingelse.There’s nothingyoucando.Thepoliceareontheway—they’ll sortitallout.” SheturnedtoFarrah. “Yousaidthistruckpassedyoubackthere?”

Sirenswailedinthedistance.Thecousinsmovedawayfromthepiecesofthetruck.Thecabwashalfimploded, the engineblocksittingonthefrontseat.Theremnantsofthedriver were justasmearofredjellyacrosstheseatandwindow

“Yes,ofcourse. He wastheonlyoneontheroad.” Farrahlookedatthecarnage,shakinghishead. “Simplyawful.MayIaskwhowasintheothervehicle?”

“Anewlymarriedcouple.Theywerejustleavingfortheirhoneymoon.”

“Oh!Thatishorrible.” Farrahclosedhiseyesandpressedathumbandforefingerintothebridgeofhisnose.

Kharzaishookhishead.AnunexpectedmemoryofLeilaflashedthroughhismind,involuntarilyraisingmoistureinhiseyes. “Atleasttheydiedtogether,” he said.

AcolumnofpolicecruisersturnedfromRabbitCreekRoadontoGoldenviewDrive,followedbyastreamoffiretrucks,ambulances,andanewsvan.ThecousinslookedatFarrah.Henoddedtowardtheirvehicle,andthepairwalkedbacktoit.

“Again,Iamsosorryforthetragedy,” Farrahsaid. “Iwillsayprayersforthedeadandforthesurvivingfamilymembers.”

Theparadeofemergencyvehiclesstoppedandmedicalcrewpouredintothewreckage.Awomaninasmart-lookingskirtsuitjumpedfromthenewsvanandbrisklywalkedtotheedgeofthesite,turnedherbacktothescene,andwaitedashercameramanhoistedthedevicetohisshoulder.Kharzaimaneuvered himself out of view of the camera,raisinghisfingerstohiseyesandwipingawaytheall-too-realtearsthatcontinuedtorise.Normallyinasituationlikethis,hewould have actedapartverysimilartowhathewasdoingrightnow,butthefactthathewasunabletocontrolthisfloodofemotionangeredhim.

“Well,there’snothingwecandohere,” hesaid. “I’llgobacktothecar.”

AsKharzaiwalkedaway,Farrahsuddenlyrealizedthecamerawaspointedathim.Thecameramangaveasignal,andtheladyreporterstartedtalking.AsthecamerapannedthesceneoftheaccidentFarrahdiscreetlyrepositioned,cursinghimselffornotgettingoutofitsdirectviewquicker.

“IwillneedtoseeyourID.” Lonnie motionedtowardsKharzaibeforehegotfar. “Yoursandthoseothertwomenaswell.”

“Ireallydon’tknowanythingmoreaboutthisunfortunatesituation,” Farrisstarted.

“Sinceyourfriendsenteredtheaccidentsceneandtouchedwhatispotentiallyevidenceincriminalinvestigation,Imustinsist,” shesaid.

“Oh,well,wecertainlydon’twantanytroubleinthatregard,Trooper,” Farrisreplied.

Heproducedhiswalletandremovedadriver’slicense.Hecalledouttotheothertwomeninalanguagethat,judgingbyherexpression,thepregnanttrooperdidnotunderstand.Shetookhiscardandwavedoveroneofthepoliceofficers, who madehiswaythroughthemess.Theothertwomenapproached,fishingouttheirIDcardsastheywalked.Whentheydrewclose,Lonniecaughtawhiffofbodyodorthatsmelledlikevinegarandstalebread.

“UnitedKingdom,” Lonniesaid,lookingatthepinkcreditcard-sizedlicenseFarrahhadhandedher. “Areyouvisiting?”

“I'mhereforafewmonths.Iworkfortheoilindustry.”

“Who?”

“Ibegyourpardon?”

“Whodoyouworkfor?”

“Acontractor who worksformultipleoilcompanies.”

“Whatisyourcompany’sname?”

“Idonotwishtoinvolvetheminanytrouble.”

“Iunderstandthat,” Lonniesaid. “But it maybenecessarytocontactyoulaterasawitness,andsinceyouarenotfromhere,wewillneedalocalcontact.”

“IworkforTech-Cor.Ihaveacompanymobilephone,” hereplied. “Iwillbewithinreach.”

Theofficerapproachedthem.He looked young, probablylessthanayearfromtheacademy.

“Yes, ma’am?WhatcanIdoforyou?”

“I’mTrooperLieutenantLonnieJohnson,fromFairbanks.Iwasattheweddingandcalledintheaccident.Mr.Farrah,” shepointedtohim, “andtheseothermenclaimtheywitnessedthedriverofthepickup going atconsiderablyhighspeedjustpriortotheaccident.Here’s hisID.”

Theofficertookitandwroteinformationfromthecardontoanotepad,thenaskedfortheman’scontactphone.Farrahgavehimanumber,butnothisrealone.Theofficerheldouthishandtothecousinsandtooktheircards.OnehadanOregonlicense, andtheotherhadonlyanImmigration and Naturalization Service GreenCard.

“DoyouspeakEnglish?” heaskedthetwomen.

“Ido,” saidLekawithaheavyaccent. “CousinKreshniknotspeakEnglish.Hecomefromoldcountry not far ago.WecomewithStevenforjob.”

“Okay,” saidtheofficer. “Intheeventweneedtogetholdofyou,whatisyournumber?”

“WesharingSteven’smobile,” Lekasaid.

“Isee.” Theofficernotedthatonhispad. “Okay,youtoo.” He gesturedtoKharzai.

Thefuzzy-hairedman,stillkeepinghisbacktothecamera,pattedhistrouserpockets,hisbreastpocket,and thenfelthispantspocketsagain.

“Ruh,roh,” hesaid with an innocent grin. “LookslikeIleftmywalletbehind.Sorry,officer.”

“Whatisyourname,then?”

“SamuelMcGee,” Kharzaireplied.

***

LonniewatchedthethreemenwalkbacktotheAudi.Sheturnedtotheofficerbesideher. “Givemeanevidencebag.”

“Excuseme,ma'am?”

“Ineedanevidencebag,now.”

Shepulledherlefthandfrombehindherback.A thinlineofbloodseepedbetweenherfingers.Theofficer,ashockedlookonhisyoungface,quicklyproducedaplasticZiplocbagfromhisutilitybeltandshedroppedintheweddingring that hugged tighttotheknuckle. Itglittered back, areflectedflashofsunlight against the blood smeared appendage.

Chapter6

HoodLakeFloatPlanePort

Anchorage

MondayJune20th

3 p.m.

Afterthreedayssurroundedbythemoststunningnaturalbeautyshehadeverseen,breathingaircleanerthanshehadeverimaginedpossible,HildegardFarris’sfaceglowed.Shehadneverbelievedscenerylikethatwasreal.She'dalwaysassumed that whatshe'dseeninpaintingswasfromtheartist’simaginationorthatonlinepictureshadbeen Photo-Shopped.LivingherentirelifeeastoftheMississippiRiverandneverfarthernorththanCleveland, shehadonlyknownhazy,humidsummersandcold,wetwinters.

Thesapphireblueoftheskiesandthecrystallinewatersofthelakesandrivershadstunnedher.Photographingwildbears,wolves,sheep,coyotes,lynx,andmoosetookhertoawholenewlevel.Hildefeltasthoughshehadbeenonanotherplanet.AstheplanetoucheddownonLakeHood,shewasexcitedtoseeLonnieagainand brimmed over with a desire to sharethewondersshehadseen.

LonniewaitedfortheminMarcus'strucknexttothedock.Astheplanepulledin,sheclimbedoutandwalkedacrossthewoodplankstowheretheplanewouldbemoored.Marcussteppedoutontothepontoonwhileitcoastedintotheslip.Hetossedthelinetohispregnantwifeandshesquattedtosecureit,herroundbellyforcingherlegsapartasshereachedforthetiedown.Astheygotofftheplane,HildeandMikewereallsmiles.ThemoodfizzledwhentheysawLonnie'sexpression.

“Hey,baby,” Marcussaid, “youokay?”

“HaroldandMaureenaredead.”

“Huh?” Marcus'smouthhungopeninshock.Hestammered, “Whatareyoutalkingabout?”

“AccidentSaturdaynightastheywereleavingtheweddingfortheirhoneymoon.Someidiot T-bonedtheircarandruinedtheirhappilyeverafter.”

“DearJesus,” Marcussaid.

“That'shorrible,” Hilde said.

“Areyouall right?” Mike asked.

“Yeah.It’sjust...” Shetrailedoff.

“Let'sgetunloadedandbacktothehotel,” Marcus said. “Wecantalkaboutitthereaftereveryonegetscleanedup.”

Thetriowascoveredinthreedays’ofcampgrime.Theirexcitementdoused,theysuddenlyfeltexhausted.Theyunloadedtheplaneandpackedthebagsintothetruck.LonniedrovebacktotheCaptainCook,whereabellmanhelpedtakethebagsup.Insidetheirroom,LonnielayonthebedwhileMarcusshowered.Whenhecameout,shestaredathimfromthebedwhereshelayonherside.Wearingnothingbutathickwhiteterryclothtowelaroundhiswaist,hecrossedtheroom,slidontothebed,andlaynexttoher.

Shegentlystrokedhisbrownskinwiththetipsofherfingers,runningoverthenetworkofscarsthatcrisscrossedhiswashboardabdomenlikeasheetoflacesewnbyadrunkenweaver—the artworkofwarleftbyanIraqiroadsidebomb.Tearswelledinhereyes.Hepulledhertohim,ascloseasherbellyallowed.Sheburiedherheadinhismuscularchestandtheemotionaldamburst,hersorrowtakingitsnaturalcourseunfettered.Severalminutespassedbeforethesobbingslowedandshewasabletospeak.

“Theywerejustmarried.Notevenoneday,” sheconvulsedwithmoresobs. “They waited so long to find each other. They weresohappy.Thenthatmanhadtoruineverything.”

Marcusheldhercloseandlethercry.Lonnieseldom let herself take things to heart regardlessofthegoreshesawonafairlyregularbasis.Beforebecomingalieutenant,shehadspentmorethansixyearsonpatrolasaregulartrooperandthenfourasaninvestigator.Bloodymurders,suicides,andscoresoffatalmotorvehicleaccidentswerepartofthejob.Herpromotiontwoyearsearlierhadtakenheroffpatrolsandintoasupervisoryrole,andthelastfewmonthsofthepregnancyfurtherrelegatedhertomostlydeskwork.Betweenthehormonesofpregnancyandthegenuinestressofseeingagoodfriendkilledbeforehereyes,theloadhadbecometoomuchtocarry.Shecriedinhisarmsuntiltheybothdriftedintoanexhaustedsleep.

***

Atfiveo'clocktheyawoke,stillcuddledtogether.Theygotup,hedressedandshefixedherhair.Blessedwithnaturallysmoothskin,Lonnieworeverylittle, if any, makeup,sogettingreadytogooutwasafairlyquickprocessforhermostofthetime.Theymadetheirwaydowntothelobby,wheretheymetwithMikeandHilde.ThegroupwalkedoutthefrontofthehotelontoFourthAvenueandmadetheirwayoneblockwesttoSimon&Seafort’srestaurant.Theyhadnotmadereservations,andthehostesstoldthemitwouldbeathirty-minutewaitunlesstheywerewillingtodineinthebararea.Therestaurantwassmokefree,andattheearlyhour,thebarwasquieterthanthediningroom.Mostofthenoiseintherecamefromtwolargeflat-screenTVshangingabovethebar,thesoundbackgroundmurmursofabaseballgameandthelocalnewschannel.

TheychoseatablenearawindowthatframedMt. Susitnaacrosstheinlet.Themountain is locallyknownasSleepingLady,duetothefactthatfromcertainangles,itlookslikealong-hairedwomanlyingonherback.Theyorderedandmadesmalltalkoverdrinksastheywaitedfortheirfood.Theconversationdriftedfromthephoto hunttobabiesandtheFarris'sdecisiontotryhavingchildren.Hildewasthirty-nineyearsold,andfeltlikeitwasnowornever.Lonniewasaboutthesameageandencouragedhertogoforit;shewouldnotgetmanymorechances.

Dessertandcoffeecame.Hildeheldaspoonofrichchocolatemousseinfrontofhermouthandsmiledassheimaginedcradlinganinfantinherarms. She knewLonniewasright—this might beheronlychance.Menopausewasnotfarinthefuture,andifshewaitedtoolong,she'dbeinhersixties,lookinglikeagrandparent,whenherchildgraduatedhighschool. Mike had a child of his own with his first marriage, but that wife and their toddler son were both killed in a drive-by shooting two years earlier. While she never felt that she was a replacement for his former family, Hilde did feel that it would be good therapy for Mike to have another child. SheleanedbackagainstherseatandabsentmindedlyglancedupatoneofthemassiveplasmaTVsabovethebar.Thelocaleveningnewswasplaying,thesoundbarelyaudibleabovethedinofthecrowdwhichhadgrownsignificantlysincetheyhadsatdown.

Videoofacaraccidentplayedacrossthescreen.Astheannouncerdescribedtheevent,Lonnie'spregnantformsuddenlycameintoviewonthescreen.HildetappedMikeonthearm and helookedup.MarcusandLonnielookedaswell,butLonnieturnedawayoncesherealizedwhatitwas.SheglancedtowardHildeandsawtheFBIanalyst’sfacemorphintoashockedexpressionasshestaredatthescreen.

“Iknowthat man,” Hildesaidinaharshwhisper.

LonnielookedupjustintimetoseeStevenFarrahflashpasttheedgeofthescreen.

“Him?” she asked.

Hilde'sfacecolored.

“Howdoyouknowhim?” Mike asked.

Sheleanedclosertothetable, lowering her voice. Theothers bent toward the center and focused on what she said.

“He'sonthewatchlist,” shewhispered. “Addedjustafewweeksago.SokolAlbajani.”

“Yousure?” Mike asked.

“YouknowIneverforgettheirfaces,” shesaid,pursingherlips. “ThatisSokolAlbajani.”

“Whoishe?” Marcus asked.

“Amid-rankingofficerintheSonsoftheSword,an al-Qaeda-affiliatedterroristgroup.”

Lonnielookedbackatthescreenasthevideosequenceplayedasecondtime.Farrah'sface crossedthescreenashespokewithher.Thewordswerenotaudible,butsheremembereditall.

“HespokewithaBritishaccent,” shesaid.

“HeisBritish,” Hilde replied. “Idon'trememberifhewasbornthereornaturalizedasaninfant,buthegrewupthere.HechangedhisnametoStevenFarrahasateeninschooltostandoutless.Therewasalotofracialviolencein Manchester atthetime.SincehewasCaucasian,thesimplenamechangeworked to relieve him of the torture a lot of immigrants kids are put through.”

“Areyousureaboutthisguy?” Marcus asked. “Maybeit’sjustsomeonewholookslikehim.”

“No.Itishim.” Hildeshookherheadasifexpellingdoubt. “It'smyjobtorememberpeoplelikehim.Ilookatthatlisteverydayandsupervisegroupsthatcomparetheimagestothosepickeduponsurveillancecameras.Iknowthefacesofallthecurrenttopfiftymostwantedterroristsoutthere,andthatmanisoneofthem.”

“What'shedoinghere?” Mike asked.

“Thepresident,” Marcus said. “Yourfriendtheotherdaysaidthepresidentwascomingforthepipelineopeningthisweek.”

“I'vegottogetholdofToniaandletherknow.” Hilde pulledouthercellphoneandthumbedthroughthecontactslistuntilshefoundTonia'snumberandpressedthedialbutton.Itrangfourtimes,and thenwenttovoicemail.Shetriedagainandgotthesame.

“Let'sgobacktothehotel,” shesaid. “Maybewecanfindherorherpartnerthere.”

Theypaidthebillandlefttherestaurant.  Atnearlynine p.m., itwas still asbrightasitwouldbeatfiveintherestofthecountry.DarknesswouldnotreturntotheAlaskannightsuntilmid-August.Astheywalkedthetwoblocksbacktothehotel,Hilde'sphonerang.Shepulleditfromherpurseandanswered.

“Hello?”

“It'sTonia.” Loudrockmusicpumpedinthebackground. “Youfinallycallingforthatdrink,girlfriend?”

“No,we'vegotasituation.Wejustsawawatchlistsuspecthereintown.”

“Youwhat?” Toniashoutedintothephone.

“WejustsawamanIrecognizedfromthewatchlist.” Hildecuppedthereceiver.

“Hilde,thisconnectioniscrap.Ican'tmakeoutwhatyou'resaying.You'rewatchingaband?”

“No,aterrorist!”

Theothersgaveheralook.Hilderememberedshewasonthesidewalkandloweredhervoice.  ThesoundofacrowdednightclubfilledthebackgroundonTonia’sendoftheline, and aburstoflaughterexplodedinthephonespeaker.

“I'llcallyouwhenIgettothehotel,” Tonia shoutedoverthenoise. “OryoucanmeetmehereatHumpy'sBar.Bringyourman. I'vegotLurchasadate.”

“I'llcometoyou,” Hilde said.

“Loveyoutoo!” Tonia replied.

Hildegaveanoddlookasthephonewentsilent. “Idon’tthinksheheardawordIsaid.”

Marcus'struckwasparkedafewstallsintotheCaptainCook'sparkinggarage. They climbed in, and a momentlatertheywereheadingeastonSixthAvenue.ThemodernarchitectureofthePerformingArtsCenterloomedahead,seemingmassiveamidstthescatteringofbuildingstylesrangingfrompresentstate-of-the-arttopost-WorldWar I salt-boxcottagesthathadbeenturnedintotouristshopsandfine-diningestablishments.JustbeyondthePAC,asmallcrowdmilledbeneaththecloth-coveredawningofHumpy'sAlehousethatjuttedfromabovethesixties-styleglassstorefrontnearthecorner of SixthandF.Thethumpofelectricjazzechoedthroughthecanyonoftallbuildings,boomingintotheopenwindowsofMarcus’struckwhentheystoppedforthelightatGStreetnearlyablockaway.Astheywaited,anenginerevvedandawhiteAudiscreechedaroundthecornerjustasthelightchangedfromyellowtored.

LonniereachedupandtappedMarcusontheshoulder. “It'sFarrah,” shesaid. “That'sthecarFarrahwas driving when I saw him before. Followhim!”

Marcuspulledaheadwhenthelightturnedgreen.HildetriedtophoneToniaastheypassedthebar,butonlygot the Secret Service agent's voicemail message. She said for Tonia to call her when she got the message.

“We'llgetholdofherlater,” shesaid.

ThecarturnedleftatAStreetandMarcuscontinuedafterit.TheAuditraveledatthepostedspeedlimitastheycrossedtheShipCreek BridgeheadingtowardthePortofAnchorageshippingterminal.TheroadwasemptyexceptfortheirvehicleandFarrah’s.Marcusslowedthetruck.TheywerenearlyahundredyardsbehindtheAudiwhenitcontinuedpastthelastturnoffbeforetheport.Farrahwaslockedinwithonlyoneroadout.MarcusturnedrightattheLoopRoadexitastheAudi'staillightsdisappearedbehindthehillthatobscuredtheport’sguardpost.Onceoutofsight,hepulledtothesideoftheroad.

“Lonnie,takethewheel.Parkovertheresomewhere.” Hepointedtoarowofrail yardwarehousesabouttwohundredyardsaway.

“MikeandIwillgoinonfootandseeifwecanIDyourman,andmaybefigureoutwhathe'supto.” Marcusreachedintothepocketinthedoorandgrabbeda set ofcompactSteinerPredator®binoculars,thenrealizedhewasgettingaheadofhimself. “Uh,assumingthat'sokaywithyou,Mike.”

Underthespelloftheadrenaline-lacedslow-motionpursuit,noonehadspokenastheyfollowedtheAudi.

“Youdon’tevenneedtoask,bro,” Mike said. “Ihaven'thadagoodrushinalongtime.”

Ablueminivantaxipassedthetruckandcontinuedup and aroundtotheGovernmentHillneighborhood.Onceitwasoutofsight,thetwomenjumpedoutofthetruckandjoggedacrosstheemptyhighwaytowardtheport'sentrance.ThewomenmovedtothefrontseatofthetruckandLonniedrovearoundtheexitramp,and thenpulledintotherailyard.Shemovedthetruckthroughtherowsoflong,darkwarehousesuntiltheyfacedAStreetagain,withaviewof the only avenue from which any vehicles could comeoutoftheport.

Chapter7

Port ofAnchorage

Monday,June20th

9:30 p.m.

TheAudihadlongsincepassedthroughtheguardpostthatprotectedtheentrancefromthehighway.Whilethecontractedsecurityatthegatewasarmed,theywerenotlikelytobeaformidabledeterrenttoprofessionals.Regardless, the two men took the long way around ratherthanrisksurprisingahalf--awakerent-a-copwithagun.

Marcusled the way alongawoodedescarpmentthattracedthecontouroftheportaccessroadbelowthem.Thetwenty-foot-highridgehadbeencreatedbythe1964GoodFridayearthquakewhentheareapresentlyinhabitedbythecityportdroppedthatmanyfeetfromitspreviousheight.Nature’swrathofdecadesearlierhadbeenrathergenerous,asitturnedout.Thedestructiveforcesendedupprovidingthe retired Marines withgoodconcealmentfortheircurrentmovement.

Fromthetopoftheescarpment,theviewoftheportgroundsstretchedallthewaytotheclusterofcargoshipsdockedinshallowwaterjustbeyondtheland'sedge.Laidoutinrowslikeamilitaryformation,bundlesofpipeandsheetmetalboundinclearplasticwrapreflectedbeamsofangularsunlightlikerandomlyscatteredlaserflashes.Aneight-foot-highfencetoppedwitha triple-layer straightrunofbarbedwireboundedtheportproperty.Marcusliftedthebinocularstohiseyesandscanned.ThespecialdesignoftheSteinerlensesgavehimafocusedfieldofviewfromtwentyyardsawaytoinfinity,negatingtheneedtorefocusfornearandfarobjects.Withinafewseconds,thetailoftheAudicameintoview,mostlyconcealedwithinaclusterofmassivewhitetanksmarkedasaviationfuel.

Twosecuritycamerasstareddownfromatopthestructures.Oneslowlyrotatedninetydegrees,stoppingbeforetheywereinitslineofsight,thenturnedtheotherdirection.Theotherstartedtorotatebutstopped,jitteredinplaceforasecond,thenturnedbacktoitsstartingposition.

Marcuspointed the broken camera outtoMike. “Gottalove it whenfolksrelyontechnology.”

Afewyardsfromwheretheystood, theperimeterfencetwistedveryclosetoapartofthecliffwhereatallsprucetreehadcollapsed,smashingthebarbedwireandbendingthefencetohalfitsfullheight.Usingthespruceasabridge,theycrossedintotheshipyard,carefullyavoidingthesharpedgesof the brokenbranchesthatjuttedrandomlyaroundthemlikejaggedclaws.Totripandfallononeofthosespikescouldleaveanastywound,orworse.Carelessloggersorhikersalikehavebeenseriouslyinjured,evenkilledbysuchroughappendageswhentheyslippedwhileusingafallentreeasabridge. An unluckyfatherandsonhad recently losttheirliveswhenthetopofasimilartreefellontheircampsiteastheysleptduringawindynight.Thesearchandrescuethatfoundthemseveraldayslaterhadaverydifficulttimeuntanglingthebodiesfromthenumerouspuncturingbranches.LicensedwildernessguideslikeMarcushadbeenrequiredtoundergoadditionalannualtrainingtomakesuretheywereawareofthedangers.

Onceoverthefence,theyjumpedthefivefeettotheground,landingwithawhumpinthehard-packeddirt.Mikeletoutasoftgrunt.

“ThatwasaloteasierwhenIwastwenty-five,” hewhispered,hisfacetightwithagrimaceofpainastheshockshotthroughhisknees.

Outsidetherangeofthecameras,theyjoggedtowardtheAudi.Astheydrewnear,theysawthatitwasparkedinfrontofasquat,corrugated-metalbuildingstuffedbetweenthefueltanks.  Itsenginetickedsoftlyasitcooled.Thebuilding,abouttwelvebytwelvefeet,wasnotbigenoughtohidemanypeople.Asolitarywindowaboutasinglesquarefootin size next to asoliddoorbrokeupthemonotonyofhorizontallinesinthewallfacingthevehicle.Marcusstoleforward,Mikerightbehindhim,watchinghisback.Marcuscautiouslypeeredthroughthewindow.Theinteriorspacewascomprisedofbarewhitewalls, a grayconcretefloor, and a whiteacoustictileceiling. Oppositetheentrance was anopeningthatledtoastaircasewhichdescendedintoasubterranean level thatpresumablystretchedbeneath a portion of the ground for a considerable distance.

Avoiceechoedupfromthestairwellinthetinyroom.Marcuscaughtabriefglimpseofthetopofaman’sheadasheclimbedthesteps, stopped,andshoutedbackdownthetunnel.

“It’sinthebootofthecar.”

MikelookedatMarcuswithaquizzicalexpression.WhileMarcushadunderstoodwhatthemansaid,ittookamoment for his mind to register that the words the man had spoken were not English.IntheMarines,Marcushadbeentrainedasalinguist,aswellasasniper. He was fluentinfourlanguagesbeforeenlisting, and theCorpsdecidedduringtheYugoslavconflictoftheninetiesthatheneededonemore.Thatlanguagewastheoneheheardnow,Albanian.

TheAlbanianspeakercontinuedupthestairstowardthedoor.Thetwomen quietly hustled around thesideofthebuildingasthedoorswungopen.

Feet crunched on the gravel out of sight behind the building. Mike tapped Mojo on the shoulder and hissed. “Someone’s comingaroundtheotherside,”

They took several quick steps and movedbetweentwoofthelargewhitefueltanksastheguardcamearoundthebuilding.Farrahwalkedoutthedoorandtowardthecar.Asheopenedthetrunk, one of the port security guardsroundedthebuildingandcalledout.

“Mr.Farrah,how’sitgoingdownthere?”

“Comingalong,George,comingalong.”

“Youguysgonnabelongtonight?”

“LekaandKreshnikwillbeafewhours,” Farrahreached in the trunk and picked up a box. “I’mleavingsoon,though.Why?”

“JustcheckingsoIcanletthenextshiftknow.”

“Yes,thecousinswillbeheremostofthenight.Lotsofupgradestodo,” Farrahshutthetrunkandmovedbacktowardthebuilding.

“Well then, I'll let you get back to work so you don't get stuck here too long. Haveagoodone,sir.”

“Youtoo,George.”

ThedoorshutandtheguardspokeintohisradioashepassednearMarcusandMike'shidingplace.Thepairheldstoodcompletelystill,notevenlettingabreathescapewiththeslightestsoundasthemanmovedby.

“They’regoingtobeworkingallnight,Farrahsays.Justthetwins,though.He’sleavinginabit.”

“They’recousins,nottwins,” camethereplyovertheradio.

“Whatever.Theylookalotalike,theytalkthesame,andIcan’tunderstandawordeitheroneofthemsays.”

“Anyway,getbackoverhere.Ineedtotakeabreak,” saidthevoiceontheotherend.

“I’msupposedtowalktotheendofsectionsevenonrounds.”

“Finishitlater.Igottatakeacrap.”

“Again?” saidtheguardwithavoicethatwashalfchuckle,halfexasperation. “Whatdidyoueat,bro?”

“Mywifeistryingtomakemehealthy,” saidthedistantvoice. “Allthesedamnedvegetablesshekeepsforcingdownme,Ithinksheplansformetoshitmyselfthin.”

“Sucks to be you, dude,” saidtheguardwithaslightlaugh. “All rightythough,I'montheway.”

Theguardtrottedawayatajog,hisfootstepsmakingahigh-pitchedrythmicscratchashecrossedthegravellot.Thesoundofhisstepsfadeduntiltheambientnoiseoftheportwastheonlysoundthatrumbledinthedistance. AnexcruciatingsilencehungaroundthebuildingasMikeandMojowaitedtilltheyweresurethecoastwasclear.Theywentbacktothefallentreeandclimbedout,returningthewaytheyhadcome.

Chapter 8

Alaska Railroad Maintenance Yard

Anchorage

Monday,June20th

10:05 p.m.

Silencelaythicklikeablanketaroundthewarehousesattheendofthetraindepot.Pastelshadesofpinkcoloredtheeveningsky,sparklingacrossthetightclusterofglasshigh-risehotelsinthedistantdowntowncenter.Itwasafterteno'clockandthesunstillhungabovethehorizon,lullingthecityintoastrange,half-awakefeeling,anoddcombinationofthebrightintensityofearlyeveningandthequietnessoflatenight.Theangleofthelightstretchedshadows,creatingdarkcrevassesbetweenbuildingsandinlowspotsontheground.Inafewhours,sometimearoundmidnight,thesunwoulddescendjustbeneaththehorizon,renderingtheskya flat, dull, not-quite-twilight for several hours asitcircledthetopoftheglobe and risingagainbeforefive a.m. tofullbrightness.

Theclankandscrapeofrailcarsontracks,therumbleofenginesandthevoicesofworkmenfloatedfromthedistanceonthewarmeveningbreezethatwaftedthroughtheopenwindows.Neitherwomanwasastrangertospendinglonghoursinplacesjustlikethis.Surveillanceoperationswere usuallylittlemorethanlongperiodsofstayingawakeandwaitingwiththeknowledgethatwhatyou were waitingfor was not likely to happenwhileyou were watching.

“So.” Hilde'svoicebrokethesilence. “HowdidyouandMarcusmeet?”

“Atahighschooltrackmeetin1984.”

“Really?Andyou'vebeentogethersince?”

“No.” Lonnielookedoutthewindow,letoutasigh,andadjustedherpositioninafruitlesssearchtofindapointbothsheandthebabyagreedwascomfortable. “Wefellapartforalongtime—nearly fifteenyears.”

“Fifteenyears?” Hilde’seyeswentwideassheturnedtolookather. “Whatbroughtyoubacktogether?”

“Fate.” Lonnieputherhandonherbelly,remembering. “Marcusproposedtomein1989.HewasstationedinNorwayatthetime,andhadinvitedmetojoinhimtowatchtheBerlinWallcomedown.Hehadaringandeverything,andIwantedtomarryhim.Butselfishme,IwasnotwillingtosharemyhusbandwiththeMarines.Ididn’twantachaplaincomingbytotellmehowmyhusbandwasagreathero who gavehislife for thegloryoftheCorps,savingsomethird-worldvillageinacountryI'dneverheardof.”

“That’snotselfish.” Hilde turned tolookbackoutherwindowtowardtheroad. “That’sveryunderstandable,actually.”

“Iguess,” Lonniesaid. “MarcuswasaverygoodMarine. As I understand it, heandMikeworkedtogetherprettyfrequentlyaroundthattime.Anyway,wekindofbrokeupshortlyafterthat.Imean,hestillwrotetomeandall,loveletters,evenpoetry,tryingtowoometochangemymind.AndIkeptwaitingforhimtocometohissensesandgetanormaljob.Neitherofuswaswillingtochange,though,meespecially.HewasexperiencingapureadrenalinelifestyleintheMarines,jauntingaroundtheworldtowarsthatnevermadetheeveningnews whileIhadmy'normaljob'teachingmathtobunchofhormone-crazed teenagers at my old highschoolinFairbanks.”

“Youwereahighschoolteacher?”

“Yeah,nearlyfiveyears.”

“Metoo,” Hildesaid. “Notthatlong,though.Aftertwoyears,Icouldn’tstandit.TheboysseemedtobeunlikeanykidsIrememberedfromschool—one half of them were stonedoutoftheirmindsallthetimeinclass,and the other half seemedtothinktheyhadachanceof sleeping with me.”

“Youshould’velearnedtheevilKoreanAjummastare,” Lonniesaid.SheturnedtowardHildeandfrozeherfaceintoanexpressionthatcouldmakeagrownman begin to stutter infear.Sheonlyhelditformomentbeforesofteningbackup,herfacebrighteningwithagrin,amischievoussparkleinhereyes. “Theboyswerealltooterrifiedtoflirtwithme.”

Hildeletoutalaugh. “That is one scary look! I’llhavetogivethatatrysometime,buttobehonest,I’veneverbeenabletolookmean,nomatterhowhardI work at it. That's why I never made it as a field agent.” She paused for a moment as the sound of a loud metallic clang echoed across the yard.  She glanced out the back window toward the source of the sound, but saw nothing. As the stillness returned, she continued the small talk. “Sowhatmadeyoujointhetroopers?”

“Oneofmyfavoritestudents,areallygoodstraight-A girl,diedfromadrugoverdoseataraveparty.Thatwasthefinalthingthatdrovemetogetmoreproactive.”

“Wow,that’ssosad.”

“Yeah,well,sincethenIsawalotworse,sister,believeme.” Lonniestretchedherlowerbackandcontemplatedgettingoutofthecar,butherfeetwere swelling andshedidn’twanttostand.Sherelaxedasbestshecouldandwenton. “AfterIgraduated from thestatetrooperacademyandstartedonpatrol,IbegantounderstandtheconnectionMarcushadwiththeMarines.Itwastoolittletoolate,though.Justaswewerestartingtomakeup,Marcus’swholeunitwaswipedoutonapeace-keepingmissioninAfrica.Hehadbeendeclared “missinginactionandpresumeddead.”

“Oh,myGod,” Hilde said. “That’sawful.Obviouslyhesurvived,though,soitwasokay,right?”

“Hecameoutofthejungletwomonthslater,readytoleavetheCorpsandmarryme.” Lonnielookedtowardtherowsofwarehousebuildingsacrosstheparkingarea,silentandcontemplative.Thesoundofalargehammer repeatedly poundingmetaldriftedtowardthemliketheringingofabell. “ButIhadgivenhimupfordead.ThechaplainhadcomelikeIfeared, except tohismotherinsteadofmesinceweweren’tmarried.”

Lonnietookadeepbreath,thenletitoutwitharesignedsigh.

“AndIwentoutandgotdrunkandactedlike a whore.”

LonnieglancedoveratHilde,whosecheekshadreddened,ashockedexpressiononherface. Hilde blinked a few times and opened her mouth, but the words didn't seem to form.

“Sorrytoburstyourbubble,ifyouhadoneaboutme,” shesaid. “IwasamonthpregnantandnewlymarriedwhenIgotaletterMarcussentfromNewGuinea.Ididn’tevenhavethegutstotalktohim.JustlefthislettersunanswereduntilsomeoneelsetoldhimwhatI’ddone.Wehadnocontactformorethantenyearsafterthat.”

Hildestaredather.Afteralongofsilence,shemumbled, “You’vegotanotherchild?”

“Thebabymiscarried.Acouple of yearslater,myplayboyhusbandleftmeforateenagedAirForcefloozyandIendedupburyingmyselfinacareerofbeatingthecrapoutofbadguys.”

“How…when…” Hildestumbledoverthewords,strugglingtograspthisnewdepthwithwhichshewasgettingtoknowLonnie. “HowdidyouandMarcusfinallygetbacktogether?”

“AfterheretiredfromtheMarines,hecamehomeandwekindagottossedbackateachother,thankstoapolicecall,ofallthings.”

“Yourlifesoundslikeamovie,” Hildesaid.Motionhighintheskycaughtherattention.Sheglancedupandsawaneagle,itsmassivewingsspreadwide.Itfloatedinalong,lazyarconacurrentofairseveralhundredfeetabovethem.Evenatthatdistance,itstilllookedhuge.

“I don't know about that. But things turned out pretty good in the end … so far at least,” saidLonnie.  “So how about you and Mike, howdidyou two meet?”

“Fateaswell,Iguess. It's kinda complicated as well. HeandmybosswereoldbuddiesintheMarines.Mike'sfirstwifeandson...”

“Gotyoursidearm?” Lonnie blurted,instantlyderailingtheconversation.

“Huh?”

“Ifnot,there'soneintheglovebox. Getitoutnow.” Lonniereachedintoherpurseandproduceda.45caliberGlock39pistol.

Hildeturnedtowardherandsawwhy. More than halfadozenmenwalkedoutfrombehindawarehousebuildingonLonnie'ssideofthetruck.Dressedinbaggybluejeansandwhite T-shirts,mostsportedtattoosthatcoveredtheirarmsandwriggledoutoftheircollars.Piecesofpipeandshortbaseballbats swung at the sides of many of them.Pistolbuttsjuttedfromacouple of waistbands. One man flipped a long butterfly knife back and forth in his hand, the metal handles snapping rhythmically with each flick of his wrist. Theirfeetcrunchedonthegravelsurfaceoftherailyardastheycrossed.

“Whoarethey?” Hildeasked,hervoicerisingwiththetension.

“Localgang,” Lonniesaid. “Getreadywiththegun.Glovebox.It'schambered.Getitout,butkeepitbeneaththewindowfornow.”

Themenencircledthetruck.HildediscreetlyopenedthegloveboxandfoundaSmith&Wesson4566,.45caliberpistolontopofthecar'sregistrationform.She recognized the weapon as one that many FBI agents had carried in the past. She’d fired one a few times but the power and kick of the large caliber were too much for her. She preferred her personal side arm, themuchsmallerSIGP232. Hildeslidthemean-lookingweaponoutofthespaceandhelditlow. Theweightoftheblued steel feltcoldandawkwardinherhand.Shewasananalyst,notanoperative.Sheonlyqualifiedonherownweapon,onceayearandwasn'tsureifshe'devenrememberhowtouseitifthingsgotcrazy.Herheartsmackedagainsttheinsideofherribcage.

“I'mnotafield agent,justsurveillance.” Hervoicerattledwithnervoustension.

“Youknowhowtouseoneofthese?” Lonnieaskedwithoutlookingbackather.

“Yeah,butI'venevershotanyone.”

“Praywedon'thavetotonight.Gotyourbadge?”

“Inmypurse.”

“Getitout,butkeepitdowntoo.”

OneofthemenapproachedLonnie'ssideofthetruck,stoppedseveralpacesaway,andraisedhishandsabovehisheadinarecognizablegang-stylegesture.Theotherpunksprobablythoughtlookedcool,butanyone with half a brain would’vethoughtlookedlikeanunderfed,hairlessorangutanwavinghisarmsatabunchofflies.

“Hey,baby,” hesaidwithageneric “urban”accentthatwasnotnativetoanypartofAlaska, an obviousimitationsomethinghe'dseenontelevision. “Whatcha'doin'inmyyard?”

“Twohotchickslikeyouparkingouthereatnight?” another said. “Mustbeacoupleoflezziesleftoverfromthefagotparadegettingitoninthere.”

“Ooh,Iwannawatch.” saidathirdman.

“How’saboutIgiveyousomemanflesh,” saidtheleader, a pistol hanging loose