Part 3
Atlas dropped from the rock shelf without a bark.
He hit the searcher from the side, driving the rifle toward the ground before the man could turn. Mara followed immediately, wrenching the weapon away and forcing the man facedown among the ferns. Atlas held the padded sleeve at the forearm, firm and still.
“Out.”
The dog released and backed off. Mara checked his teeth and forelegs with two quick passes of her hands. No blood, no limp. Only then did she secure the man’s wrists with his own plastic restraints, remove the radio clipped to his vest, and drag the rifle behind the boulder where it could not be reached. She did not point it at anyone. One mistake with a loaded weapon in tight woods could turn a rescue into a funeral.
The man glared up at her. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”
“I’ve heard that twice this morning.”
His radio crackled. “Nolan, report.”
Mara recognized the tall man’s voice.
She pressed the transmit button. “Nolan is alive. The shipment is photographed, the serials are transmitted, and federal agents are on the way. Put down your weapons and walk to the center of the trail.”
A pause followed. Then Vale answered, calm and almost amused. “You’re alone.”
Mara said nothing.
“If you had a team,” he continued, “you wouldn’t be talking. You’d already own the road.”
He was testing her, listening for breath, background noise, uncertainty. Mara switched the radio off.
Behind the cedar, Wade whispered, “That’s Grant Vale.”
“You know him?” Mara asked without looking away from the trail.
“Only his voice. He arranged everything.”
The restrained searcher laughed into the dirt. “He arranged you, too.”
Wade went still. His eyes found Mara’s, and for the first time he seemed to understand that she was not the most dangerous person on the mountain. She was simply the only one still trying to keep him alive.
The man turned his head enough to see him through the leaves. “You really thought he was paying fifty grand and letting three local thieves drive home? You were the story they planned to leave for the police.”
Cal cursed under his breath. Neal began pulling at the tarp strip around his wrists.
“Stop,” Mara said. “Panic is how he gets what he wants.”
The radio sounded again, this time on the open channel. “Nolan, if you can hear me, stay down. Mercer, you and your friends were hired to deliver a truck, not create a crime scene. Come out now and we may still finish clean.”
Wade’s face changed as the meaning settled in. He had threatened Mara, tried to take Atlas, and drawn a gun. Yet when he looked toward Vale’s voice, he looked less like a predator than a man who had finally seen the edge of the hole he had dug.
Mara checked the satellite communicator. RESPONSE TEAM TWELVE MINUTES OUT. A second line appeared beneath it: TEAM APPROACHING WITHOUT LIGHTS OR SIRENS. MAINTAIN COVER.
Too long.
The second searcher moved through the trees below them. Mara caught only pieces of him: a sleeve between trunks, the muted shine of an optic, the bend of a branch recovering after he passed. He was circling toward the cedar from the downhill side.
She pointed Atlas toward a narrow game trail leading behind the boulders, then signaled him to stay. The dog obeyed, but his eyes remained fixed on the approaching man.
Mara crept to the far end of the rock shelf. She tossed a pinecone downslope. The searcher’s rifle shifted toward the sound, but he did not chase it. Instead, he crouched and waited.
Good, she thought. Patient was harder.
Then Cal groaned. The searcher snapped toward the cedar and saw the toe of Wade’s boot beneath the salal.
“Found them,” he called.
Vale and the remaining man came uphill at once. The searcher cut the tarp strip and dragged Wade into the open by his jacket. Cal and Neal were left bound to the tree.
Vale arrived with his rifle angled across his chest. Up close, he looked less like a movie villain than a tired executive on a difficult job. That made him worse. Anger could make a man sloppy. Vale seemed governed by calculation alone.
He pulled Wade to his knees beside the pickup.
“Where are the keys?” Vale asked.
Wade looked toward the woods, then caught himself.
Vale noticed.
“Whoever is out there,” he called, “you have something of mine and I have something of yours.”
“He’s not mine,” Mara answered from behind the rocks.
Wade flinched.
“No,” Vale said. “But you treated his injuries. You hid him. That tells me enough.”
He lowered the rifle muzzle against Wade’s shoulder. “Come into sight. Bring the keys. Leave the dog where he is.”
Atlas stood behind the boulder, silent and rigid.
Vale looked directly toward the place where the dog waited, as if he could feel him there.
“You have one minute,” he said. “After that, I start with Mercer…”
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