Cover Of Night

He’d ditched the Idaho plates and replaced them with Wyoming plates; then, when he’d gotten back to Illinois, he drove around until he found a vehicle identical to the rental he was driving and replaced the Wyoming plates with ones from Illinois.

He’d paid for this sorry room in cash, giving a fake name, used only drive-through burger joints for his food or had Chinese delivered, and every day he’d checked his account with his BlackBerry.

It wasn’t going to happen. The tenth day had been yesterday. He should have gone to the FBI then, but he’d decided to wait the full day. Today he’d teach Salazar Bandini he should have paid more attention when Jeffrey Layton told him something.

It never pays to dis the man who does the books.

He had his story all worked out, what he’d tell the FBI. When he’d found the hidden files he’d been alarmed, especially when he saw the names there. He’d downloaded the files to a flash drive, but Bandini had found out, and since then lavton had been running for his life. He’d finally shaken Bandini’s men off his tail, and he was certain the FBI would be very interested in what was on the flash drive. They might wonder why he hadn’t simply picked up a telephone and asked to be taken in, but he had an answer for that: he’d heard Bandini had a source in the FBI, and he couldn’t be certain that whoever arrived to pick him up wasn’t the source. He had actually heard that, so he wasn’t lying. He’d figured that if he turned over the flash drive in front of several agents, that would prevent the evidence – and him – from disappearing.

Not that he didn’t plan to disappear anyway. They’d probably figure Bandini had gotten to him. He didn’t care, didn’t care if they needed him to give a deposition or anything like that. What they did with the information on the flash drive was up to them; Layton figured they could get a conviction on several counts even without his testimony.

Not his problem.

He would love to be a fly on the wall and watch Bandini go down, but he had to protect himself. He had his spot all picked out. He had his new identity set up. Life would be good – not as good as it could have been if Bandini had come through with the money, but good enough.

Alter shaving, he dressed in one of his suits, very precisely chosen for the middle-of-the-road, nonentity persona they projected.

They were good suits, but not expensive. Tasteful, but not stylish. Those suits allowed him to blend in, to become almost invisible. He hated them.

At precisely’ ten o’clock he checked out of the motel and drove to the local FBI office on Dearborn. He should have known better; he should have taken a taxi, so he didn’t have to look for parking. He hated looking for parking: it was such a waste of time. He drove around for several minutes, looking, passing by several parking lots with "open" signs because they were farther away than he liked. He didn’t want to park so far away that the walk would make him sweaty, because that wasn’t the impression he wanted to give. Wait, maybe it was. Maybe sweating was a good idea. Maybe that would make him look nervous.

Yes. That was a good idea. With that in mind, he look the next parking opportunity that presented itself.

He had a two-block walk to the Dirksen Building, where the FBI was located. The warm, humid September air brought out an immediate sweat. Then he had to go through security, then reception proved a roadblock. By the time he got what he wanted, which was at least two special agents from the racketeering division or whatever they called it, he had almost stopped sweating, and he was annoyed. All that effort, and the effect was lost.

He took the flash drive out of his pocket, held it up to show them what it was, then tossed it to the nearest agent. "Salazar Bandini’s private books," he said brusquely. "Enjoy."

There were about seven inches of snow on the ground, but the weather had cleared and the air was like crystal. To the right they could see the far mountains and part of Trail Stop’s paramecium shape. The snow line was about a thousand feet down; the valley was still snow-free.

Cate had given up trying to convince Cal to return with her. His reasoning was sound. The snow and ice had changed everything. The trip they had estimated would take them four days would now take at least six, and that was if they had no trouble along the way. They couldn’t take any route that would go over rock because of the ice. The ice might or might not melt; they didn’t know the weather forecast. And if the weather warmed and the ice and snow did melt, it would cause another problem.

They had brought enough food and water for only four days, for two people, and a day and a half of those provisions were already gone. If they continued, they would run out of food about two days before they reached Creed’s cabin.

Their lack of sufficient clothing was also a problem. They had gambled and brought only the minimum because of the load they were already having to manage while climbing, and they’d lost. There was no way they could continue.

Cate agreed with all that. It was Cal’s solution that worried her.

He was sending her back alone. Going back would be much taster than climbing up, because she could rappel down the rock. She could easily be back in Trail Stop in a few hours.

He was going after the men with the rifles.

She’d pointed out that he would be traveling alone through some very rough country, that he would be in snow, that he didn’t have the right clothing, and that the dangerous conditions still existed. At some point he would have to cross the stream and he would get wet and cold; all her original objections still applied.

He didn’t agree. He said that knowing Mellor was after something specific, something he thought Cate had, made all the difference in the world. If Mellor was willing to go to these extreme lengths, then they had to assume he would stop at nothing and neither would he be willing to wait very long. He couldn’t afford to wait very long, because keeping an entire community isolated and under attack was an iffy thing; he couldn’t control chance or outside interference. Marbury could return with more questions. A repair crew from the power company could show up. Anything could happen.