Boneyard (36 page)

His jaw clenched as he tracked them with the rifle, following their slow progress. The kid was stumbling every few feet, dropping down and getting yanked back up. Dwight shook his head slightly. Sorry bastard never had a chance. It was a shame. He debated shooting the kid first, to put him out of his misery, but the Captain was a slippery so-and-so and he couldn’t risk giving him a chance to get away.

Dwight tried to remember what he’d read in the sniper guidebook he’d found in a secondhand store. He regulated his breathing, three deep breaths in, three out. He focused on a point fifty feet in front of them, where there was a break in the trees and they’d be silhouetted against the night sky. It was hard to relax the way the book recommended. He felt a flare of rage just looking at the Captain, strolling along there, thinking he was going to get away with it. In a few minutes they were ten feet away from the spot. Dwight closed both his eyes, then opened just his right one. Five feet to go. Dwight inhaled deeply, felt his chest and rib cage lift off the blanket, then squeezed every drop of air from his lungs. One foot left, and his finger eased onto the trigger, cold metal drawing back toward him.

There was a shot, and Dwight jumped, surprised. His head jerked up reflexively, then he ducked down and fumbled for the scope, raising it to his eyes, praying he hadn’t been seen. Both figures had turned and were facing away from him, looking back down the mountain. Multiple flashlight beams danced up the trail, and someone was shouting. He watched, lip curling back as the boy turned and bolted right, the sound of branches snapping as the boy vanished into the trees. The Captain dove after him, curses drifting through the night stillness. Dwight remained motionless, watching as lights burst from the trees on his right where the trail emerged. They bobbed for a moment before cutting right and dashing off in pursuit. He waited a full minute until the last of the clamor had subsided. A flock of bats, startled by the activity, swept up the slope. They passed a few feet over his head, wings beating frantically for shelter. After they vanished he sat up, letting the rifle tilt forward in its tripod, muzzle to the ground. He had an overpowering urge to scream, to beat his fists against something, but he couldn’t let himself get caught. He pondered his options, then carefully tucked the blanket back in his pack and slung the rifle over his shoulder. Staying low, he jockeyed left, parallel to the logging road, heading toward the border.

Kelly swore under her breath as another branch lashed her face. She was tearing through the underbrush, brambles and low-hanging branches snatching at her hair and skin as she stumbled forward. They were racing downhill at nearly a sixty-degree angle; even if she wanted to stop she doubted she could.

The chopper had set them down a mile away, in a field right next to a logging trail. They’d hiked in toward the border, jogging when the terrain permitted it. Then Monica had seen the flashlight up ahead. She broke into a sprint, the rest of them hard on her heels. It had been too dark to see much more than the pinpoint beam that suddenly broke to the right, vanishing into the woods. Kelly could only hope they were chasing the killers, not some poor backpacker who had panicked at the gunshot. Kelly wasn’t even sure who had fired. Back at the chopper landing site she had told everyone to keep their weapons holstered until it was clear they were needed. Obviously someone hadn’t heeded her orders.

She could hear Jake tearing along beside her, and periodically Monica plaintively wailed out, “Zach!” Kelly was pursuing a shadow, trusting her ears more than her eyes, trying to dodge the worst of the brambles her flashlight picked out of the darkness. The helicopter suddenly swept overhead, following her orders to stay on their tail, and as its spotlight beam filtered down she caught a glimpse of a tall, slender man running through the trees. It was Morgan—she could tell by the set of his shoulders. He ducked to the right, vanishing into a clump of bushes. She veered to follow him, and saw Jake correct his trajectory, pulling in front of her.

Sam was having a hard time sucking in enough oxygen. His breath was coming in gasps and gulps, heart whacking against his rib cage as he ran. He was out of shape. Even after ditching the backpack it was hard going. He should have spent more time in the gym, but he hadn’t anticipated getting chased through the forest. It was his own fault, he’d delayed too long in finding alternate transportation. He should have kept another car stored in a safe place for just this eventuality, that way he wouldn’t have had to steal one from the bus station. Gathering that, plus his buried Plan B pack for the border crossing, had consumed a few precious hours, enough time for them to catch up with him. He was so close, too, less than a mile from the border. Sam kicked himself for loosening his grip on the rope and allowing the kid to escape. The whole reason he’d brought the boy along was to have a hostage in case they caught up with him.

He’d hiked these woods a few times before, and knew that the gully they were racing down soon dropped into a sheer chasm. If they pinned him down there, he was trapped. He heard a noise off to his left and cut that way, darting after a shadow.

Zach heard yelling from behind. He kept his feet high as he ran, legs pumping, trying to avoid fallen branches and roots. If he fell now he was done for. When he’d heard those voices behind him his heart had leaped, and for the first time in hours he’d felt hope. And then when he’d twisted and yanked forward, expecting to get snapped back by the rope, it had mercifully released and he’d dashed into the woods. He was holding on to it now as he ran, praying it didn’t get tangled on something. The whomp of a helicopter was almost as loud as his own gasping breath. He could swear he’d heard his mom’s voice, but was too terrified to stop. The worst thing would be to get caught again after experiencing this burst of freedom. He was so close now, he had to get away.

As he ran, the forest was intermittently illuminated from above, chopper rotors sending up squawks of avian protest in the trees. He heard another noise to his left, something smaller scampering through the bushes, and he veered away from it. The trees suddenly vanished and he was in a clearing, the slope canting forward. A few feet farther he realized why and tried to shift his weight, hurling himself in the opposite direction. The sudden weight change sent him spinning out. He landed hard and rolled on his side, tumbling downhill, howling as his arms were yanked up and his feet skidded down. His heels dropped over the edge, the ground giving way to empty space, nothing but yawning darkness rushing up to greet him. As he screamed, he felt the rope around his arms tauten. He gasped, both from relief and pain. Slowly, he was pulled back up to the edge of the cliff.

The voices nearby suddenly stilled. Glancing up, Zach saw a familiar form silhouetted against the night sky. The chopper cleared the trees, spotlight groping around the precipice until it fixed on the two of them. Zach winced in the sudden brightness. He could hear heavy breathing, wheezes that matched his own.

“Let him go, Morgan!” a voice called out. Female, but not his mother.

The man bent low over him. His voice was still raspy from running. “How awful, to have come so close,” he said in a low murmur. His eyes glittered as he straightened, a small pistol digging into Zach’s temples. “Don’t do anything foolish, Agent Jones.”

Sam Morgan sounded preternaturally calm as he held the gun to Zach’s temples. Kelly felt Jake take a step forward and raised her arm to stop him. Just then Monica exploded out of the trees behind them, with Doyle hard on her heels. She came to a stop beside Kelly. “Jesus, Sam, don’t hurt him!” Monica wailed, her voice choked and gasping.

“Sorry about this, Monica. I always liked you.”

The crazy thing was, he sounded genuinely repentant. “Christ, Morgan, what are you thinking?” Doyle asked. With one arm Kelly impatiently waved for him to be silent. She edged forward, gun in one hand, flashlight in the other. “Look around you, Sam. There’s no way out of here. Border patrol is mobilizing, we’ve got a chopper overhead. Drop the gun and let the kid go.”

“What, and spend the rest of my life rotting in prison?” he sneered. “No, thanks. If you really think there’s no way out, I might as well just kill us both.” He jerked his hand upward, as if preparing to shoot, and Monica wailed. “Of course,” he said pensively, “we are just a short ways from the border.”

“I can’t let you cross the border,” Kelly said firmly.

“Why not? As you said, the border patrol is mobilizing. Might as well let them make the arrest. Either way you have me.”

Kelly stared him down. In actuality, border patrol had said it would take an hour to get anyone out there, and that had been forty-five minutes ago. The park wasn’t an official checkpoint, so there would be no station, no guards posted to stop him. And she wasn’t permitted to cross the border herself.

“Let him go,” Jake murmured at her side.

“Canada won’t extradite for death penalty offenses. If he crosses, we’re not getting him back,” Doyle said.

“Please, Kelly,” Monica hissed. “Please, it’s Zach.”

“I’ll be right on his tail,” Jake said under his breath. “He’s not going anywhere.”

Morgan called out, “Some people would consider it rude not to be included in your conversation. I bet Zach thinks it’s rude, don’t you, Zach?”

The boy squeezed his eyes together as the pistol danced in front of them. Kelly watched as a tear slid down his cheek. “I love you, Mom,” Zach said in a broken voice.

“Please, Kelly…” Monica begged.

“What do we do, Agent Jones?” Sam Morgan said.

Kelly debated. Bureau policy was very clear. In this situation, she was supposed to keep him engaged until a negotiator arrived, then cede control to them. The problem was she knew they didn’t have that kind of time. She’d radioed for backup when they found the car, but those units were still at least ten minutes away. And Morgan was clearly not planning on sticking around for long. For now, they were on their own. She took another half step forward, keeping her gun steady, pointed at his chest. “Just stay calm, Sam. Let’s talk this through.”

“Are you still hitting on me?” He shook his head in rebuke. “Agent Jones, I thought I made it clear that I’m a married man. Why don’t we start by getting rid of the helicopter.”

Kelly glanced up. There was nowhere for the chopper to land. At the moment, all it did was provide light. She decided there was no real harm in having it hang back. She waved for the pilot to retreat. They all waited as the chopper swung left, hovering over the woods a hundred yards away. She drew a deep breath as the rotor noise diminished. The pilot had warned her he’d have to leave soon to refuel—she just hoped he had enough to provide support until reinforcements arrived.

“All right, now why don’t you just let the boy go,” she said, the sound of her voice suddenly loud in the stillness.

Morgan cocked his head to the side. “You know, I think I will,” he said. Kelly held her breath as he stepped toward Zach and bent down. It looked as if he was untying the boy’s hands, then with a swift motion he jerked the rope up and away. She lunged forward as she realized what was happening, but it was too late. She heard Zach’s scream reverberate off the cliff’s walls as he tumbled backward into the void.

Thirty-Seven

Kelly rushed to the cliff edge, but Monica got there first, her shriek searing a hole in the air. Kelly leaned forward, peering down, but all she could see was a black pit. In the confusion Morgan had sprinted the twenty feet to the trees. Kelly looked around wildly, saw Jake and Doyle vanish into the woods after him. Monica was trying to scrabble down the cliff face. She’d turned and flipped over onto her belly, reaching down with her toes to find a purchase. She was muttering under her breath, “Mommy’s coming, Beenie, don’t worry, Mommy’s coming.”

Kelly had a split second to decide whether to continue the pursuit or to keep Monica from tumbling down after her son. She knew what McLarty would say: it was her job to stay on the suspect, she should have already raced into the woods after Morgan. Not doing so exposed her to disciplinary review if he escaped.

With one last glance toward the tree line, she tucked her gun in its holster and grabbed hold of Monica’s arms, catching her before she continued her descent. Kelly leaned back with all of her weight and forced her voice to be soothing. “Listen to me, Monica, you can’t go down there. I’ll get the chopper back, we’ll have him look for Zach.”

Monica struggled against her for a minute, then went limp. Kelly straightened and snatched the radio from her belt, keying it to the band the chopper pilot was tuned to. “The hostage went over the edge. I need you down there, now.”

The helicopter swept back into sight, spinning a hundred and eighty degrees so that it faced them as it descended, the spotlight panning the sides of the cliff. About twenty feet down the light picked up something, a lump of clothes and flesh. Kelly heard Monica catch her breath. “Is that him?” she asked in a small voice.

Kelly wrapped her arms around her, both to comfort her and to prevent her from trying to climb down again. “Let’s just sit here and wait, help will be here soon.”

Monica refused to move, staring down at the remains of her son.

As they watched, the lump suddenly shifted. “He’s alive!” Monica cast about wildly. “Tell the pilot we need some rope, I have to get down to him!”

Relief flooded Kelly’s chest. She braced Monica with one arm. “You’re staying here. I’ll have a rescue chopper called in. Don’t worry, Monica. We’ll get Zach out of there.”

An hour later, Kelly was perched in the back of a forestry service SUV, frowning into her radio as she kept track of the manhunt. Monica and Zach had been loaded into the rescue chopper. Zach was in and out of consciousness and had broken several bones. She’d seen his face before they loaded him up, pale from shock and fatigue, small red scratches forming a complicated map of dried blood. Monica’s forehead was creased with worry as she rubbed his uninjured hand over and over while murmuring to him. Kelly prayed he’d survive, but the paramedics didn’t seem confident.