Chapter 34

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

“He has a bomb?” Snake asked into the radio. “Or he’s pretending to have a bomb, so you don’t shoot him and take the money?”

“He was in Green River, Wyoming,” Wolf said.

Snake’s eyes latched onto Wolf. He lowered the radio. “What?”

“He has a friend that lives up in Green River,” Wolf said, making his voice loud so more men could hear. “An engineer sergeant from his Green Beret team. You know, the guys in charge of explosives and demolitions. That’s why he was up there.”

Snake turned and looked down again. He put the radio to his mouth. “Shoot him. We’ll come down and disarm the bomb.”

The response was immediate. “He has a pressure trigger. If he releases it, the bomb blows.”

Snake remained still for a moment, then pressed the button again. “He has the money? You’ve seen it?”

“Yes, sir. ”

“All of it?”

A pause. “No, sir. He says he spent some.”

Snake nodded, pulling the corners of his mouth down. “Okay. Send him up.”

“Yes, sir.”

Wolf watched as the vehicle below lurched into motion again, driving through the truck barricade and making its way up the road.

Snake put the radio on his hip and pointed to the antler building. “Bring the girl to me.”

The man behind Nichols and Brandenburg broke away and ran over to it.

Wolf and Larkin looked at one another, then the two remaining gunmen behind them.

Wolf’s eyes bounced to the handguns holstered on the men’s hips. That would be his best chance to gain control of a weapon.

The man behind him read his mind, pulling the pistol and aiming at Wolf’s face.

“Don’t move, asshole,” he said.

Wolf turned back away quickly, raising his hands to his sides, not wanting to antagonize. He heard the pistol go back in its holster.

The activity among the men shifted in tone. A murmur grew, some of them actually getting on their bikes and tilting them upright. One engine roared to life, then another.

Snake shook his head, watching the chaos.

A few seconds later, the girl emerged, escorted by the third gunman.

Wolf recognized her from the pictures in Mitch and Dolores’s house, but his heart wrenched at how different, how stricken with fear, she looked. She wore a pink outfit, her blonde hair pulled into a ponytail. Her face and clothing were streaked with dirt. She moved fast, doing as she was told, her face twisted like she was about to cry.

“Come on, honey,” Snake said, his voice sickly sweet and repulsive to Wolf’s ears. He held out one hand and pulled his gun with the other.

She tried to slow down, but the man with the rifle pushed her forward, making her stumble onto her knees.

“Get up!” Snake said, snapping. “Come on!”

She got up, now crying.

Desperate, Wolf turned around. The man was still watching him close, gun still aimed directly at his back. Any move and he would be dropped with the squeeze of a trigger.

Another motorcycle started.

All eyes went down the road, watching the bend in the distance for the arrival of Hunt’s car. They didn’t have to wait long. The Honda swung into view, skidding and then straightening out.

More men hopped onto their bikes, kicked up their stands, started their engines, and got out of the way in anticipation of the car’s arrival. One of them tipped over. Another man rode straight into the trees, disappearing behind the trunks.

Hunt swerved toward them.

Another man’s bike fell as he toppled off it into the drainage ditch next to the road.

And then, just before hitting the men at the rear of the group, Hunt swerved at the last second and turned toward the compound. He sped through the parking area, bounced through a puddle, jammed the brakes, skidded sideways, and came to a stop no more than a dozen paces from Snake and Savannah.

The exodus began, with bike noise rising to an eardrum-shattering din as the motorcycle riders sped down the road.

The door of the Civic opened, and Lawrence Hunt emerged. Hair unruly, face twisted in rage, he walked around the hood of the car with an outstretched fist. Clay-like blocks were strapped to his chest, fastened by circles of duct tape. Wires webbed and weaved, coming off the explosives, leading into a cylinder, and running down his arm to a Jeopardy buzzer he held in his hand—the presumed pressure trigger.

Hunt stopped, looking at Snake and Savannah.

Snake held her by the arm; his other hand held the pistol at his side. “Welcome back, Mr. Hunt!” he said over the fading noise.

“This is five kilos of military-grade C-4,” Hunt said. “Five kilos. Anything within seventy-five meters will be vaporized if I release this pressure trigger.”

“Which means your little friend here would be vaporized along with us.”

“Let her go. Or I’ll do it.”

Snake looked down. “You think that’s a good idea, Savannah?”

“Don’t you talk to her!” Hunt stepped forward.

Tears streamed down Savannah’s face.

“Where’s the money, Larry?” Snake asked.

“It’s in the car.”

“Go get it. And we’ll have a trade.”

Wolf heard footsteps behind him and turned. The man who had escorted Savannah was now walking quickly toward the remaining few motorcycles .

“Hey!” Snake said. “Stop!”

The man ignored him, breaking into a jog.

“Shoot him.”

A shot rang out, and the man dropped, landing in a motionless heap.

The man behind Larkin had turned and fired. The guy behind Wolf stared in horror at his dead friend; his aim pulled off-kilter and away from Wolf’s back.

There was more commotion when Nichols stepped up behind the shooter, pulled the handgun from the man’s holster, aimed, and shot him in the head.

The man behind Wolf gained his composure, turned quickly, and shot Nichols. Nichols buckled to the ground.

The action was like a strike of lightning, impossible to predict or react to, and Wolf found himself crouched in the same spot, every muscle in his body tensed for action.

Brandenburg ran, his weight wobbling back and forth as he got up to speed, making his way toward the antler building.

“Get him,” Snake said.

This time, when the man behind turned to aim, Wolf lunged, his back spasming with pain as he pushed with all his might from his legs, arms outstretched to grab the gun out of the man’s holster.

Larkin moved too, pushing up on the barrel of the man’s gun, sending a three-shot burst into one of the buildings.

Wolf pulled the pistol from the man’s belt and shot him in the head, then turned and aimed at Snake.

Snake ducked down behind Savannah.

“Let her go,” Wolf said.

“Let her go!” Hunt said, stepping close to Snake and brandishing his fist in his face. “I’ll do it! I swear, I’ll do it! ”

Snake swatted Hunt’s hand aside like it was an annoying fly.

“You know what?” Snake shoved Savannah away, grabbed Hunt’s hand that held the detonator, and then shot Hunt in the head.

Hunt fell. Snake, wrapped up with him, also fell.

“Savannah! Run!” Wolf waved her over.

She ran, screaming bloody murder as she hurried toward him.

“Get her out of here!” Wolf yelled to Larkin.

Larkin sprinted forward, meeting her halfway, grabbed her, then turned and ran past Wolf like an NFL player with a picked-up fumble.

“Haha! I got it!” Snake yelled, still hunched over Hunt. “It’s my detonator now! How about that!”

Wolf aimed when he saw Snake had dropped his own pistol but lowered it, seeing there was no sense in shooting him now.

Snake turned to him, a demon’s smile stretching his mouth. “Shoot me! Do it! Come on!” He held the detonator now, raising it, his thumb pressed. “Your choice, pig!”

Wolf backed away, looking down at Nichols.

The deputy had fallen back atop the biker he had stolen the pistol from and killed. He was in a reclined position, using the man under him like a pillow. His eyes and mouth were open, his chin painted crimson.

He blinked. And then looked at Wolf.

The pistol was still in Nichols’s hand.

Nichols’s mouth twitched. “Go.” He gargled the word.

Wolf ran.

Spikes of fire hammered into his vertebrae as he sprinted as fast as he could up the slope, passing between two of the buildings and into the trees.

“Up here!”

He searched, hearing Larkin’s voice, and saw an arm waving from behind the nearest granite outcropping, another fifty yards away.

Wolf put his head down and pumped his arms, flinging aside the gun, not needing the dead weight or the worry it might go off.

He swerved behind a tree and, against his own will, looked back down. Between buildings, Nichols was lying motionless. A moment of silence stretched between Wolf’s heartbeats as he filled with doubt that the man had been able to live long enough.

Then, fire spat from the deputy’s hand.

And an impossibly fast cloud of wood and earth plowed uphill, punching him flat.