—
To the discordant soundtrackof Axel’s pitiful moans and the raucous exit of protesters from the park who wanted nothing to do with the firefight, Joe and Geronimo transferred Nate’s falcons from the transit to the Yarak van.
While they did it, Joe expected the police to show up any second. It was a justified shooting, but still.
No one came.
Axel continued to moan and writhe on the pavement. Joe felt strangely unmoved, as if he were in the midst of an out-of-body experience. It had been that way since he’d landed.
When they were done, Joe punched up the most recent call on his phone.
“This is the 911 emergency network.”
Remarkably, it was the same dispatcher Joe had talked to earlier. He recognized her distinctive voice.
“There are two shooting victims behind the Benson Hotel,” he said. “One is dead and the other one will be if there isn’t a quick medical response.”
“Good,” she said after a long pause. She disconnected the call.
—
Geronimo arrivedat the Sea-Tac Airport in Washington State at three-thirty a.m. and cruised along the curb until he came to a stop outside the terminal entrance. There was very little traffic.
Nate and Joe were booked on the first morning flight to Denver, and then on to Saddlestring. They’d decided to avoid the Portland airport in case an alert had been issued about them.
Joe had booked the flights on his phone while they drove north. He’d used his credit card to purchase the two one-way tickets and he was grateful it had been accepted. Joe wasn’t used to spending that kind of money in one place.
That didn’t mean he was wealthy. But would he soon be? He didn’t know. He’d figure that out when he got home.
“Let’s get this guy back to his wife and daughter,” Geronimo said to Joe. “I’ll deliver the birds to you in Wyoming.”
“Just get gone,” Nate said to Geronimo through clenched teeth as they helped him out of the van. “Avoid Oregon if you can. They might be looking for this vehicle.”
“Which is why we got a rental,” Joe said. “Geronimo will exchange your van for a new one no one is looking for. He’ll load up your birds and my shotgun and hit the road.”
“You were sleeping when we figured out our escape,” Geronimo added.
Joe was still coming down from the adrenaline rush of the shootout in Portland, even two and a half hours later. He didn’t feel like a game warden. He felt like a criminal or a special operator. Geronimo had been much more lucid during the drive and they’d talked out how the three of them should split up to get away. Joe had the distinct impression Geronimo had done this kind of thing before. Geronimo was tactical and efficient in the mode of special operators like Nate. Had he been one? Joe wanted to know more about his background.
Nate put his arm around Joe’s neck, and Joe steered him toward the entrance door, when Nate stopped. He turned toward Geronimo.
“Thank you,” he said.
“My pleasure,” Geronimo said while tipping an imaginary hat. “Maybe I’ll pick up Jacinda on my way to your place in Wyoming.”
“I’d like that,” Nate said. “So would Liv.”
“Who knows,” Geronimo said, “maybe I can learn something about child-rearingandthe bird abatement business.”
Nate nodded.
They turned toward the brightly lit departure lobby.
Joe said, “I think I can make it home before the girls all have to hit the road. And I bet you can’t wait to see Liv and Kestrel.”
“I missed our second Thanksgiving together,” Nate said through gritted teeth. “I don’t plan to ever miss another one.”
“We’ve got plenty of food left over,” Joe said. “Come by with them and have turkey sandwiches. Turkey sandwiches are the best part of Thanksgiving, in my opinion...”
“That, my friend, is a good idea.”
Supporting each other, Nate and Joe limped toward the glass doors in the early-morning mist.
