Yeah, well, so does this.

Dale hunkered down behind the driver's seat so Joe couldn't see him in the rearview. Okay. He removed his pocketknife and studied his open left hand. The crisscross lines in his palm were supposed to predict things about his life. d.a.m.ned if he knew what.

What the h.e.l.l.

Keeping his hands low, he drew the sharp blade along the heel of his left hand and watched the blood drip onto the floor of the van. He flexed his hand so the blood made a small pool in his palm and then he grabbed at the spare tire mount, then the back door latch, leaving a red spongy pattern of his hand and fingerprints. He searched in his back pack, took out some Kleenex and a surgical glove. He wadded the tissue over the cut, applied pressure. Not the greatest, but it would do for now. Then he pulled on the Latex glove, one he'd worn last night.

With Gordy.

"How you doing?" Joe called back.

"Fine. Just drive."

"We're really going to do this," Joe said.

"Drive," Dale said as he sat back and watched Nina's chest rise and fall. Later, when they were alone together, she'd be awake and he could watch her eyes when he told her what he was going to do. Watch her think about it.

He looked up, at the back of Joe's head. Joe was relieved to think he would soon be free of Dale. He'd head north, cross into Canada. Joe Reed would vanish. He'd be Joseph Khari again. Smiling all the way, a rich man. A big man in Winnipeg.

They came to Camp's Corner. Immediately one of the doors on the garage bay opened and George stepped out and waved them in. Dale got out, looked around, saw nothing but flat green and the anomalous bulge of the Nekoma pyramid floating in a blur of ground thermal.

George looked haggard, dressed in a dirty shirt and shorts, unshaven, and blinking in the sun. He and Joe made quite a pair, both looking so grim and nervous. Joe shifted from his good foot to his bad foot and licked at the scars around his lips. Dale wasn't sweating drop one. They were just foot soldiers in a war, same as Nina. He felt more like Truman-cool, calling the shots.

Hiroshima? f.u.c.k it. Just drop that sucker.

"We gotta do this fast," George said as he looked searchingly at Joe and Dale. Dale made his face stolid and obedient. Like George would expect.

"No one saw us. We're good," Joe said.

"We have to do this fast," George repeated. Dale saw he was antsy now, so near the end. And keyed up about all the things that could still go wrong.

The Roadtrek was parked in the baked shadows, ga.s.sed up, with the new Minnesota plates Joe had stolen off a car in long-term parking at the Winnipeg International Airport. Hopefully they wouldn't be missed for the next few days. Dale planned to ditch the camper and be in Florida by then.

If the prevailing wind patterns didn't change.

George and Joe averted their eyes as Dale carried Nina from the back of the van into the Roadtrek and placed her on the bed that filled the rear compartment. The bungee cords were waiting, laid out on the sheets with a pliers. He used the cords to secure her wrists and ankles to the bed's side boards. He used the pliers to crimp the hooks together. Just a formality. Ketamine would control her.

And Dale had lots of ketamine.

He checked the compartment to make sure he'd removed everything that could be used either as a weapon or a tool. Just a TV and VCR on a wall shelf overlooking the bed. Where she could see it. His own video camera, a tripod, and remote hookup were stacked in the corner. He shook his head. Focus. Focus.

"Dale," George yelled. "C'mon out here."

Keeping his injured left hand well down by his side, he shook hands with Joe, clapped him on the shoulder. "Good luck," Dale said. "You gonna take Mulberry?"

Joe shook his head. "Richmond Crossing. Not as active."

"Smart," Dale said.

George embraced Joe and said, "Look for us tonight on CNN."

"Inshallah," Joe said, with a twist of irony in his torn smile.

"But you don't believe in G.o.d," Dale said, and they all laughed.

Joe got in the van, pulled out on the road, and turned north. George immediately handed Dale two maps: North Dakota and Minnesota. He'd written his cell-phone number prominently on them and traced a route in orange Magic Marker.

"We'll keep in contact by cell. I'll lead, you follow, but not too close. Halfway, we'll stop. I have something to show you."

"The pictures?" Dale asked, smiling.

George nodded, pointed to a circled town on the Minnesota map. He was bouncing slightly on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet, fingering the medallion around his neck. "Here, in Fergus Falls."

"What if I gotta stop to take a leak?"

"Signal with your lights for the next rest stop. But we gotta hurry, get back on the road. Okay."

"Hey, calm down, George. We got time. I told Irv I'd be there by five P.M. P.M."

George didn't calm down. He talked faster. "We drop down to Highway 2, take it to Grand Forks, then drop south on 29, pick up 94..."

Dale grinned, "I got it. C'mon. Let's go."

Solemnly, George shook Dale's hand and stared into his eyes. Dale figured George was in danger of trading his dope-smuggler cool for a bunch of holy-warrior bulls.h.i.t. Whatever. Then George turned and got into his Lexus. Dale shut the door, got in the Roadtrek, checked Nina in the back. She was still in the K-hole. He pulled the big camper outside, went back, shut the garage door, got back in, and put it in gear. As he pulled on the road, he watched the sun glint on the back of George's silver Lexus.

Imagine that, cool old George getting fl.u.s.tered, and me getting cooler and cooler. Like now...

Dale grabbed his cell phone off the pa.s.senger seat. First he held his breath, then he started panting as fast as he could until he was gasping. When he sounded like he was hyperventilating, he punched in 911. Funny about numbers, wasn't it? Nine-one-one. Nine-eleven.

Dale thought for a moment. Okay...Karen Fremuth would be on duty at the SO. Dale had gone to school with her older sister. Hopefully she would recognize his voice.

"Nine-one-one."

He held the phone close to his chest, rasping in a loud whisper. "Help. Oh s.h.i.t it hurts. He shot Ace. You gotta help. And this girl..."

"Calm down who is this where are you who was shot!!!"

Dale grinned. Karen's starting to sound like old George. Now she's the one who had to calm down. "It's me, Dale. Dale Shuster. Joe Reed, that f.u.c.king Indian went crazy, he shot Ace...at the bar."

"Dale? Your brother Ace? You have to talk louder, I can't hear you."

"I can't. I'm in the back of his van in the back of his van on a cell, me and that women Ace was with. s.h.i.t, he's taking us...going north on Richmond..." on a cell, me and that women Ace was with. s.h.i.t, he's taking us...going north on Richmond..."

"You mean Pinto Joe?"

"Pinto Joe, a brown GM van. Oh s.h.i.t, no, no..."

Dale ended the call. That'd teach Joe to point guns at him. They knew Joe's van at the sheriff's office.

All h.e.l.l was about to break loose!

Chapter Thirty-four.

Barry Sauer was sitting three miles east of Langdon, parked on the side of Highway 5 watching the cherry-red 'Cuda grumble off the shoulder. He glanced at the file on his MDT screen. He'd just tagged Kyle Shriver doing seventy-five in a fifty-five. Fifteen years ago he'd given Kyle's old man about the same ticket for about the same margin over the... three miles east of Langdon, parked on the side of Highway 5 watching the cherry-red 'Cuda grumble off the shoulder. He glanced at the file on his MDT screen. He'd just tagged Kyle Shriver doing seventy-five in a fifty-five. Fifteen years ago he'd given Kyle's old man about the same ticket for about the same margin over the...

"Jimmy, Barry, Lyle: Dale Shuster just called." Dispatch at the SO came on the radio yelling, so blown-away excited she skipped the ten codes, "... Dispatch at the SO came on the radio yelling, so blown-away excited she skipped the ten codes, "...and was he freaked. Said Joe Reed shot his brother Ace and maybe some woman at the Missile Park and sounds like Joe kidnaped Dale...maybe shot him, too. EMT is started..."

The voice on the radio changed. Norm Wales had taken over the mike. "Where is everybody?" "Where is everybody?"

"Yeager. Two north."

"Lyle. On Main. Headed for the bar."

"Sauer. Three east," Sauer croaked as the adrenaline thickened his throat. He whipped the cruiser around, tires fliging gravel, then hammered the gas as he headed into town. Pins and needles played hopscotch up and down his spine-the deja vu running with the acceleration. Sauer croaked as the adrenaline thickened his throat. He whipped the cruiser around, tires fliging gravel, then hammered the gas as he headed into town. Pins and needles played hopscotch up and down his spine-the deja vu running with the acceleration.

Last week. Really cranking, lights and sirens to an accident, and this deer...

Doing sixty now, sixty-five...

His skid marks were still carved into the road surface headed toward the Pembina Gorge, panic hieroglyphics about what happens when an 02 Crown Victoria with a Interceptor package and a 351 Cleveland engine with high-performance fuel injection and two-hundred-dollar Eagle GT tires doing 120 miles an hour...

...mature running whitetail, weighing 200 pounds...

The nylon air bag was in his face like an air fist. Everything went steam white from the hot blast of nitrogen that powered the inflation; add the cornstarch coating from the bag, which wound up in his teeth. d.a.m.n deer drove in the grill and the radiator and pushed them back into the engine. Crammed the b.u.mper back into the left front wheel...

Coming up on town...driving his sergeant's car today. s.h.i.t! s.h.i.t!

Gotta make a decision here. In his trunk, tucked in with his emergency gear, he carried an M-14 semiautomatic rifle with a twenty-round magazine. If he stopped to take it out, how much time would he lose? He glanced at his speedometer. Already going seventy. In his trunk, tucked in with his emergency gear, he carried an M-14 semiautomatic rifle with a twenty-round magazine. If he stopped to take it out, how much time would he lose? He glanced at his speedometer. Already going seventy.

No M-14, he decided. He loosed the safety strap on the holster that held his .45. The radio squawked: "Joe driving that brown metallic van?"

"Where is he?"

"Bet he's headed for the rez."

"Don't figure. He can't outrun us on the flat."

"If he just shot Ace, he's probably not thinking real clear."

Then they got a break from a local game warden.

"Norm, this is Phil Lutes. Monitored your traffic. I'm out on Richmond just off 5 and the sumb.i.t.c.h just turned off the highway, heading north...I got him. I got him. Just turn onto Richmond Road going north. That's him, brown GM van, kinda metal-flake brown."

"Hey, people, you got that? He's heading for the border. I'm calling customs to get the Canadians up. But remember-no pursuit into Canada."

"We got it."

Then a transmission stepped on the others, persisting through the static. "Norm, it's Lyle." "Norm, it's Lyle." Lyle was out of breath, shouting. Lyle was out of breath, shouting. "I'm at the bar. Ace and a woman are down, shot." "I'm at the bar. Ace and a woman are down, shot."

"Lyle. Secure the scene for EMT."

"They don't need no ambulance. They're dead, Norm."

"You monitor out there?"

Sauer put his foot on the floor, picked up his radio mike, called it in to the state net. "Milton Tower, two-five-nine. Langdon nine-one-one has a double shooting, two confirmed dead, suspect running north on Richmond Road in a brown Chevy van. Am in pursuit. Request backup." "Milton Tower, two-five-nine. Langdon nine-one-one has a double shooting, two confirmed dead, suspect running north on Richmond Road in a brown Chevy van. Am in pursuit. Request backup."

"Milton ten-four."

Sauer switched to his shoulder mike. And I got the fastest car. And I got the fastest car.

Two miles north of town, closer in than Sauer, Jimmy Yeager did not step on the gas first thing. Thinking Joe probably had a shotgun in his van, or maybe a deer rifle, he popped the trunk, jumped out of his cruiser, and unclipped his M-14 from the inside roof of the trunk. He inserted a twenty-round mag of 7.62 NATO rounds, advanced one to the chamber, set the safe, and stashed the big rifle in the pa.s.senger foot well.

Don't want to get outgunned.

Yeager got back in, put the cruiser in gear, locked his seat belt, and stamped on the gas.

Roaring past the city limits, Sauer was thinking it might be smarter not to go to noise yet. Play it stealthy. But he was coming upon the four-way stop on north 1, and he was already doing seventy-five, eighty. So as he blew past the line of brand-new Border Patrol Tahoes parked at the Motor Inn, he hit the lights and the siren.

The whoop of the siren brought Broker up to an instant sitting position. He reached over and felt the empty bed next to him. He saw the gun belt on the table, got up, read the note. As the siren receded in the distance he got a real bad feeling. He grabbed for his clothes.

Sauer made his second decision. He'd shot past the Richmond turn and was beginning to brake to catch the next road. "Where is everybody?" "Where is everybody?" he yelled in the radio. he yelled in the radio.

Sheriff Wales answered first: "In back of you, coming outta town." "In back of you, coming outta town."

"I'm going to parallel west. Try an' get ahead of him."

"I'll come up Richmond. Get on his tail."

Sauer tightened both hands on the wheel and manhandled through a skid. Turning, rear end sliding out. Caught a piece of the far ditch and threw clods of dirt. Oh s.h.i.t. s.h.i.t. Gonna flip. Oh s.h.i.t. s.h.i.t. Gonna flip. Amazingly, he didn't. Got her stable and back on the road, rattling along. Amazingly, he didn't. Got her stable and back on the road, rattling along. "Jimmy?" "Jimmy?"

"Parallel east of Richmond and I think I see him."

"Okay." Sauer blinked sweat. Sauer blinked sweat. G.o.dd.a.m.n, I hope n.o.body's on this road ahead of me. "I'm going to try to get ahead of him." G.o.dd.a.m.n, I hope n.o.body's on this road ahead of me. "I'm going to try to get ahead of him." He glanced at the speed. He glanced at the speed. Holy s.h.i.t, does that 140 mean 140? Holy s.h.i.t, does that 140 mean 140? Nothing under the accelerator but f.u.c.kin' floorboards now. Nothing under the accelerator but f.u.c.kin' floorboards now.