Blood Trail - C. J. Box [39]
Lothar stopped in the shadows, and Joe could tell by the angle of the tracker’s head and the set of his shoulders he was about to receive another lesson in the art of man tracking.
“You’ve got to be quieter,” Lothar said in an urgent whisper.
“I’m trying,” Joe said.
“If he hears us he could set up an ambush.”
“I know that.”
“If we can maintain silence we might hear him first.”
“You don’t need to tell me that,” Joe hissed back.
“Sound travels at a speed of seven hundred and twenty miles per hour, or about eleven hundred feet per second. The forest will slow that down a little, but if we hear something we can estimate distance. And if we see a flash of light like from a headlamp or flashlight, we can use sound and light to determine how to close in on him.”
“So we can light him up and smoke his ass,” Joe said with sarcasm.
“That would be correct. So step lightly.”
WHILE THEY moved through the dark timber, Joe recalled his call to Marybeth. When he told her about seeing Earl Alden’s jet land at the airport and Alden being greeted by her mother, there was a long silence until Marybeth sighed and said, “Here we go again.”
When Marybeth asked when he’d be back, Joe said, “Early tomorrow,” with a kind of heavy sigh he hoped would mislead her into thinking his assignment was benign. As usual, it didn’t work. Under sharp questioning, he told her what had gone on, from seeing Klamath Moore and his throng at the airport to Randy Pope going back to town, leaving Joe up there with Conway, Robey, and Lothar the Master Tracker.
“There are so many things wrong in what you just told me,” she said, “I don’t know where to start.”
“I know,” he said sourly.
“What is Randy Pope up to?”
“I don’t know.”
“I wish you could just come home.”
“Me too,” Joe said. “I operate best on the margins, not in the middle of a team.”
“Having Nate around hasn’t hurt either,” she said.
“True.”
“Joe, be careful. Something about this doesn’t sound right.”
Joe agreed, and asked her to contact Sheriff McLanahan’s office or Phil Kiner and request backup, whether Robey said he needed it or not.
NOW, AS HE shadowed Lothar through the shafts of moonlight in the trees, he wondered whether the shooter was just as aware of them as they were of him. Given the skill and experience the killer had shown (at least on his initial stalk and kill of Frank Urman), Joe didn’t doubt the shooter was fully capable of making a stand and possibly even leading his pursuers into a trap. Maybe, Joe thought, the shooter’s sloppiness was deliberate in order to make his tracks easy to follow. To lure them in. And despite Lothar’s bold talk, Joe had no idea how the tracker would really react in a situation, whether he’d stand and fight or panic.
Joe wished he’d spent more time with Sheridan and Lucy that morning, wished he’d made love to Marybeth rather than inventorying his gear for the fourth time. Wished he wasn’t on a dark mountainside with a man he didn’t trust tracking a killer he couldn’t fathom.
“WANT A piece of jerky?” Robey asked Wally Conway in Joe’s pickup.
“No thanks,” Conway said. “I don’t think I could eat anything right now.”
“I’m just the opposite,” Robey said. “I can’t stop.”
“I guess people react to fear in different ways,” Conway said.
The moon had risen over the treetops and was bathing the top of the pines and the mountain meadows in a ghostly blue-white. Although it was getting colder, Robey hadn’t yet turned on the engine. He kept his window a quarter open as well, so he could hear shouts or shots if there were any. The truck radio was set to a channel Joe fixed for the handheld he had taken with him two hours before. There hadn’t been a report from Joe and Lothar since they walked down the saddle slope. Lothar had told Robey not to expect one until they decided to head back. Lothar also asked him to try not to call them and break radio silence unless it was an emergency.
The longer it went, the more excruciating the wait became for Robey. He wanted to be home in his leather recliner watching