"I'm worried about the dust storm moving in," said Jose. "The western route adds close to three hours to the trip."

"We'd be moving away from the storm."

"Until we turn north. This one is going to sweep well into California. If 93 is clear, I want to shoot straight up from Phoenix. We should be able to reach Kingman before the storm hits. I'd feel a lot better about getting stranded in Kingman than along the side of the road."

"I'll get Vegas station moving," said Jeremy, glancing south on the highway toward Quinn and Alpha. "You're really going to make them run the whole way?"

"I'm hoping they'll be too tired to punch me in the face when they get here," said Jose.

"I don't know, they look like they're in pretty good shape."

Jose shot him a sideways glance.

"Hey," Jeremy said. "You made the right call. Mission comes first. Neither of them is a stranger to that concept."

"I know, but it doesn't make it any easier to face them," said Jose. "Or the rest of the crew."

"They understand the stakes, or they wouldn't be here. The crew believes in you. Believes in what you're trying to accomplish," said Jeremy. "If you think Fisher is the key to our mission, then protecting Fisher is the mission."

"I wish he was a more willing key."

"He'll come around," said Jeremy, taking out his satellite phone.

Jose hoped so. He'd staked everything on it, effectively setting in motion a series of irrevocable events. Money had changed hands. Promises had been sealed. Costly equipment had been purchased. They wouldn't get a second shot at this.

He walked about thirty feet north along the highway toward the battered SUV that had kept the Fishers alive. Through the dusty, bullet-chipped rear pa.s.senger window, he caught a glimpse of Keira leaning her head back. He presumed she was holding Owen, since he didn't see the boy outside the vehicle. Hugging him fiercely, he imagined, after what they had been through this morning.

The SUV looked barely serviceable. He wished there was an easy way to get the two of them out of the line of fire. Maybe he could charter a private jet to fly them out of Las Vegas to any destination they chose-so long as it was without Nathan.

Jose approached Nathan and Jackson, who were busy emptying the cargo compartment.

"Why are you off-loading?" said Jose. "We're leaving immediately."

"You might want to ask Bravo."

"Where did he-" started Jose, hearing a curse from the un.o.bserved side of the vehicle.

He stepped behind them and glanced around the back of the vehicle. Bravo held a lug wrench firmly with two hands, loosening the rear right tire.

"Can the tire go another twenty miles?" yelled Jose.

Bravo didn't stop turning the wrench. "I have no idea how they lasted this long."

"They?" he said, not liking the sound of that.

"Both rear tires are f.u.c.ked. Didn't you notice? If I turn the engine on, you can hear the onboard compressor working overtime to keep the pressure at the minimum. The run-flats were designed for one or two holes, not twenty."

"How long to change them?" said Jose, kneeling next to him.

"Twenty minutes? Maybe faster if we get everyone involved. They're a little more complicated because of the self-inflation system."

"We don't have twenty minutes. Transfer everything to the other vehicles. Including the spare."

"You have room for seven more pa.s.sengers?" said Bravo, dropping the wrench to the road.

"We'll have to make it work," said Jose, standing up to locate Jeremy.

He spotted him in the brush next to one of their hidden cars on the other side of the highway, speaking on his phone.

"Jeremy!" he said. "We need to pack everyone into the three remaining vehicles. This one is a no go!"

Jeremy nodded brusquely, continuing the call for several seconds before putting the phone away. "Vegas station is sending two cars south. It'll take them close to four hours to clear the entire route to our decision point north of Phoenix."

"We'll probably arrive at the same time, if we don't run into problems. The back roads around Tucson or Phoenix will take some time," said Jose. "I want to be on the road in under two minutes."

"We can make that happen," said Jeremy before turning to speak into his headset.

Vehicle engines roared to life all around them. Jose returned to Nathan.

"Nathan, is everyone all right?"

"A bit banged up, but considering the circ.u.mstances-yes."

"Excellent. I'm glad to see our modifications held up against heavy gunfire. We're not out of the woods yet."

"Where are we headed?" said Nathan, eyeing him skeptically.

"Vegas," said Jose. "That's our new base of operations."

"Yours or CLM's?"

"Both, eventually."

"I presume you didn't choose Vegas for its inexpensive real estate?"

"What can I say?" said Jose. "The Hoover Dam is my new favorite tourist site."

Nathan cracked a grin and extended his hand. "I owe you a second thank-you, even though you followed us."

Jose shook hands with Nathan.

"Just a precaution, and a lucky one at that. We can talk about this in detail during our four-hour, partially air-conditioned drive north. Right now I have to take care of a few things before we take off," he said, turning to help the team reorganize the cars.

"One last thing," said Nathan.

Jose stopped and faced him. "Yes?"

"David rides with us."

"Sure," said Jose. "If he doesn't mind driving."

"I'm sure David won't mind driving, especially if it improves his chances of staying alive."

The mild-mannered water reclamation engineer was even more perceptive than he'd imagined. Nathan's car would be the most protected vehicle in the convoy.

"You're critical to our plan, Nathan," said Jose.

"So is David. You need to consider him just as important if you want my help. We ride together."

"Very well," said Jose. "Get your family ready to move. We have a tight schedule. The New Dust Bowl has sp.a.w.ned another dust storm, and it's headed this way."

As if on cue, a sudden blast of warm wind swept across the highway, flapping his checkered shemagh scarf. Jose searched the partially cloudy sky east of the highway, bothered by the unexpected gust. The horizon revealed nothing unusual, the storm still a few hundred miles away. He reminded himself to check the weather again once they got moving. Weather patterns across the Wasteland states had become hopelessly unpredictable over the past decade, and micro dust storms had been known to rise up in advance of the ma.s.sive New Dust Bowl events. Getting stuck this deep in cartel territory during a sandstorm would be a problem.

The sound of dragging footsteps drew his attention south, to the two men who had risen from the ashes of their sacrifice down the freeway. Jose rubbed his chin, absorbing their tired looks as they approached. He started to speak but was cut off by Alpha.

"Don't you dare apologize for making the right decision," said Alpha, bending over to put both hands on his knees.

David grabbed his as well and looked up at Jose, breathing heavily. "I'll take an apology."

"No, you won't," said Alpha, standing up to gulp some air.

"You weren't in the backseat," said David. "Statistically, I was far less likely to survive."

"I'm just glad the odds worked out in your favor," said Jose.

"Me, too," said David.

PART V.

CHAPTER 50.

Stuart Quinn pressed "Send" on his satphone, trying Jon's number one more time before Blake drove them into the subdivision where he had been staying. Stuart didn't like risking the exposure, but they had to investigate. The call went to voice mail again.

"All right. Let's get as close as we can without drawing attention."

They slipped into the neighborhood.

"It's the second left after this turn."

"Got it," said Blake, easing them through the stop sign onto Hillview Way.

Stuart's hopes sank as soon as they straightened onto Hillview. A marked police car coming from the opposite direction turned where they were headed, followed closely by an unmarked car. Neither vehicle stopped at the intersection.

"I think we should pa.s.s on the drive-by," said Blake.

"Agreed," said Stuart, reaching into the backseat to retrieve his laptop.

Hopefully, he still had access to the Homeland Secure Data Network through his current job at the Joint Intelligence Task Force. His sudden request for vacation hadn't raised any eyebrows as far as he was aware, but he couldn't make any a.s.sumptions with Cerberus involved. They appeared to have a knack for framing people.

A disturbing thought crossed his mind. He'd just a.s.sumed that nothing had gone wrong with his job back in DC, since his encrypted phone could still access the DTCS satellite network. One of the first things they would do if his security clearance had come into question was sever his connection to the network-unless they wanted to track him. He shook his head. Now he was being paranoid. Or was he?

Blake drove them past the turnoff into Jon's friend's subdivision, both of them glancing uselessly into the neighborhood. The town house in question was a few streets removed from the entrance.

He opened the laptop and synced with his satphone, typing in a series of pa.s.swords to authenticate his access. He was connected to his JITF portal moments later.

"I'm in," said Stuart.

"Try to access something sensitive," said Blake.

"I'd rather not raise any red flags while I'm on vacation."

"You always access the cla.s.sified portal when you're fishing?"

"I've never been fishing in my life," said Stuart, navigating through the JITF system to the Homeland Secure Data Network. "But I do like to make sure the neighborhood is safe when I rent a place."

"Dare I ask?" said Blake, craning his head to take a look.

"This is cla.s.sified," said Stuart, turning the screen away from him.

"Really?"

"Just f.u.c.king with you," he said, turning the screen as far as he could and typing. "I'm checking the Joint Fusion Center's a.s.sessment and a.n.a.lysis Network."

"Uh-huh," mumbled Blake. "Sounds like hocus-pocus."

"It kind of is. They take everything, from everywhere, and combine the data to identify incidents of interest and emerging threats. It's shared across law enforcement and intelligence agencies."

"Social media surveillance?"

"That's a small part of it," said Stuart, typing search parameters for Missoula.

Stuart clicked "Submit," hoping the search would come up empty. He wasn't surprised by what he saw, but it still cut through him like a knife. Several data points intersected to confirm that Jon Fisher had been killed at the town house. He didn't say anything, fighting back the tears welling in his eyes.

The first point originated on social media from a neighbor reporting multiple gunshots. Several 911 calls immediately followed. The digital transcripts of those calls were already available. The most d.a.m.ning evidence came from the Missoula Police Department's executive summary of the responding officer's findings. By state and federal law, they were required to submit the summary within thirty minutes of the first officer's arrival. The summary identified the victim by driver's license and retired military ID card as Jonathan Fisher, p.r.o.nounced dead on the scene by paramedics with a gunshot to the head. Significant bloodstains found on patio, along with bullet pattern, indicated a two-way shootout, with a possible second victim. At least he got one of them.

"I'm really sorry, Stu," said Blake.

He took a deep breath, his grief flashing to anger-and back. All he could do at the moment was nod in response to Blake and let the reality of Jon's death sink in while they drove toward the university area. After a few minutes, he felt level enough to talk without exploding.

"They'll go after Leah next."

"How do we stop them?" said Blake.