No Hesitation

by Kirk Russell

  “You were right,” she said. “He skipped the Mexico ride. Are you home? How are you feeling?”

  “I’m in Mountain Springs checking on a tip. I’ll call or text you if there’s anything to it. I see planes in the air.”

  “The ban was lifted early this morning. What’s in Mountain Springs?”

  “One of the Dalz tips. I’ll text it to you when we get off the phone.”

  I texted her, then talked with the woman receiving the delivery. I asked if she’d seen anything unusual the night before or this morning. I showed my creds and said we were looking everywhere. She hadn’t seen anything but would ask around and wrote down my phone number.

  I slowly drove the few roads in Mountain Springs as I turned over the reasons why Dalz might be here. Whoever called in the tip stayed anonymous. Nothing I could do about that, but I had hiking gear and danced around my initial idea of hiking up the Mountain Springs trail before calling Jace back.

  “His decades-long habit is to leave alone,” I said. “It’s probably how he’s survived for so long.”

  “Okay, but what do I tell Mara?”

  “Give me a little more time. I’ll call you back within an hour. I’ll check around some more. If there’s nothing more, I’ll head to the office.”

  I didn’t go unnoticed. People were nervous in the way they were after 9/11. A guy in a utility company pickup had eyes on me as I drove by. I turned onto a Williams Ranch Road and followed it past several houses. Straight ahead was a fenced utility yard with warning signs, but to the right and left of it were unpaved roads.

  I took an unpaved fork knowing that soon ahead there was another fork I’d go right on. I took that second turn and the road steepened. I put it in all-wheel drive and climbed a short, steep grade to the trailhead. As the track leveled off, I saw the remains of a campfire with a lot of broken glass around it. A lone vehicle, an older model Jeep Cherokee with New Mexico plates, was there as well. Maybe it belonged to a backpacker or day hiker. It could be a geologist’s vehicle, or even a developer scouting view lots, although the last made no sense given it was government land ahead. That was fatigue working against me.

  I parked, got out, and gathered my hiking gear, then had a thought and made a call to a firefighter friend who’d once worked these mountains. He picked up, saying, “I figured you’d be down at the river pulling bodies out. Sounds like you guys got them all.”

  “Not all of them. Hey, I’ve got a question for you about Mountain Springs Peak and the surrounding mountains. How often are helicopters up on top?”

  “Not often, but it does happen.”

  “Can land on top?”

  “Oh, sure, it’s flat enough. Usually it’s someone scouting who isn’t paying for the ride. Sometimes it’s a rescue.”

  We talked more as I looked through the windows of the Jeep Cherokee. It was worn and tired. Nothing of note was visible inside—no wrappings, dirty coffee mugs, sunglasses slipped onto the floor mat, gear, or anything—but maybe the owner tucked everything away out of sight to prevent a break-in or keep items marginally cooler.

  When our call ended, I adjusted the straps on my daypack, still debating hiking up or just driving the unpaved road as far as it went before becoming trail. I decided to walk despite the physical struggle it might become. If I drove and Dalz was there, he might assume it was someone allowed to drive there, possibly law enforcement. I didn’t want to send that signal. I walked the road then turned onto the summit trail. As I did, I called Jace.

  “Can you make a couple of calls for me?” I asked.

  “What’s the huffing?”

  “I’m on the Mountain Springs Peak Trail.”

  “There were hundreds of tips on Dalz yesterday. What was it about that one?”

  “It’s far enough away from Vegas and helicopters sometimes land on top of the peak.”

  “Helicopters can land on plenty of other mountains.”

  “Yeah, but the road to get here is clean and easy, and the trail up isn’t long. Hardly anyone lives in Mountain Springs. It checks a lot of boxes, Jace. And since the ban is lifted, a helicopter could get up. There’s a Cherokee parked near the trailhead that probably belongs to a hiker, but I’m going to hike up and take a look.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I know it’s not much to go on. But it’s the combination that makes this a good jumping-off spot. This wouldn’t be his first choice. It would be a fallback escape route. He’d have one. I had him trapped in Croatia, and he was ready.”

  “What about you hiking? That seems sort of crazy on such a longshot. Are you okay?”

  “Going up will be fine, coming down will be harder. The hike won’t take that long. I need your help with the helicopter companies.”

  “But with your back—”

  “I know about my back, just make the calls.”

  “Give me the mountain again.”

  “Mountain Springs Peak. He would have booked ahead anticipating the missile launch might shut down air traffic, so there’s a chance he called again early this morning when the ban was lifted, just to make sure his ride was still coming.”

  “You’re saying he knew the helicopters would get shot down, so he came up with a plan of his own.”

  “What I’m saying is he wouldn’t trust the people who hired him. From TV, Internet, whatever, he’ll know the escape helicopters were shot down. We’re still trying to identify bodies and searching for anyone we missed, so that makes this morning the day to escape.”

  “I’ll make the calls and brief Mara, but he might pull you off,” she said.

  “He might, or I might be too far up the mountain for cell service.”

  The pain was strong down my left leg and sharp near my spine, but I’d brought a pair of retractable walking sticks, and they helped. About a quarter of a mile up the trail I spotted a man well ahead and above me. I didn’t feel any surge of adrenaline, but his long, lean build could fit. I kept on slow and steady. At this hour Jace might be leaving messages on helicopter services’ voice mail, but that wouldn’t slow her. She’d figure out a way to get through. She was nothing if not tenacious.

  I got several more glimpses of the man ahead. He was alone. I called Jace an hour later when I took a break.

  “I told Mara,” she said. “He said he hadn’t heard from you, but he’s okay with it as long as you do not engage if you spot anyone.”

  “He thinks it’s a waste of time?”

  “I don’t know what he thinks this morning. He’s not happy. He said to remind you that you have the active duty physical coming up and not to hurt your back hiking up since we can check the mountaintop in a few minutes with a helicopter.”

  “What did you learn from the helicopter companies?” I asked.

  “There’s a guy counting on a ride who called twice yesterday and again early this morning, but he’s got a little dog and a wife with bad knees who can’t walk downhill.”

  “Bad knees and a wife who can’t walk downhill?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s not a threesome that’s going to hike up a mountain in August heat. What time is that pickup scheduled for?”

  “An hour from now.”

  “Then it’s got to be the guy ahead of me. He’s well ahead, but he’s about the right height. No dog. No wife with bad knees.”

  “How long before you’re at the top?”

  “Half an hour. I’ll call you before I summit.”

  “I’m heading your way,” Jace said, “in case this turns real. And I’ll make sure there’s plenty of backup.”

  I exaggerated fatigue by leaning into the poles as I got higher. I knew the man was watching. He’d tuned in to me but was clever about it. I stopped, turned around, and looked back down the trail as if contemplating giving up, then drank from a water bottle, doing my best impression of a hik
er flagging from early heat and altitude. I took photos of Potosi Mountain then looked down at my phone to admire my artistry.

  I turned and started up again knowing he was tracking my progress but guessing he still hadn’t made up his mind about me. The pain was worst where the trail turned to loose rock and sand. I moved more slowly then stopped as Jace called again.

  “How close to the summit are you?”

  “Close, and no, I’m not going to close in. He’s watching. He’s wearing a green knapsack. It’s not large but weighs something. He’s got gear in it, maybe ammunition, maybe worse. It could be Dalz. I think it’s Dalz, but I’m still too far away to say for sure.”

  “What are you wearing?”

  “The same jeans as yesterday, a green, long-sleeved T-shirt, and the same hat and sunglasses. I’ve got a pair of walking sticks.”

  “We’ve only talked to four of seven helicopter tour services. I still want to check the others, just to be sure.”

  “Are other agents helping?”

  “Yeah, we’re on you, Grale. We’re not going to let anything happen to you before Mara or Esposito can fire you.”

  I laughed. “You’re not pulling any punches this morning.”

  “I like it when you don’t feel sorry for yourself, so I’m coaching. I’ve never worked around anyone better than you.”

  “Save all that for my funeral. I’m not dead yet.”

  “Hang on,” she said. “There’s another message. Okay, uh, it looks like the helicopter is about ready to go up, and they don’t want to wait or the pilot will be late arriving.”

  “After all flights were shut down last night? It’s okay, he can be late. Ask him to leave fifteen minutes late and fly one mountain over and circle that one for a while when he gets here. He’ll look stupid, but it’ll buy me time. I’m almost to where I can say and be one hundred percent sure it is or isn’t Dalz. I’m that close.”

  “Hang back, don’t get close, and we’ll get on the road to you.”

  The helicopter arrived thirteen minutes later. The hiker watched it fly past and circle the next mountain over, and I watched as he pulled his phone out in frustration. I moved closer, but I did it gradually, stopping several times to take photos. I slowed, stopped, rested, and then continued toward him. But adrenaline was kicking in. He was tracking my progress, and I was watching his every move. We were headed to a moment.

  The helicopter pilot still circled the wrong mountain, but it wouldn’t take Dalz long to figure out what was going on. By now he’d have given the helicopter service the correct coordinates. I called Jace with my back to him.

  “Ask the helicopter service to call and say the pilot is circling because he’s got a mechanical problem and doesn’t want to risk anyone by flying over Mountain Springs Peak. They’re sending another helicopter. It’s on its way or almost. He might believe that. And yeah, it’s Dalz.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “It’s him.”

  “Jesus, you’re right there with him?”

  “I’m far enough away.”

  Her voice rose. “Don’t do anything, we’ll get it all rolling! Keep your distance.”

  Jace hung up, and I knew the wheels were in motion. I sat down on a large flat rock with my back to him and after a few minutes I turned to face him and lay back on the rock. The rock’s warmth eased the pain. A breeze promising even stronger heat later in the day swept across the summit plateau, and I let my hat cover my forehead, resting it on my nose in a way that let me still see him. He’d slipped his backpack off and may have gotten something out before putting it back on. He did something, but I couldn’t make it out without standing and staring.

  Something else occurred to me as he moved out of view, and I sat up and scratched my back as I freed my holster clasp. Dalz had started down off the summit and was walking almost straight at me. He deviated away in the last fifty feet. He was long-legged and looked different than I’d remembered. More muscular and older but that made sense. I’d always thought we’d had the age wrong.

  I didn’t move from the rock, and he didn’t look at me again until the big sweeping turn down off the mountain gave him a view of me again. He only glanced at me. But he did. A few minutes later he’d dropped out of sight.

  I called Jace and said, “He knows. He made me and is on his way out, meaning he’s given up on the helicopter ride. Where’s the backup you’ve asked for?”

  “Some are just arriving but asking for clarification on the directions. Others are en route.”

  “Straight up the paved road then right at the fork and round and up to where they see my Bu-car. They can call me.”

  “Don’t hang up, I’ll be right back.” After a few minutes Jace clicked back on and said, “Lead vehicle is on the dirt road with three agents. We’re getting a helicopter up. Mara wants you to confirm again.”

  “It’s him. It’s definitely Dalz.”

  “Hang back, there are a whole lot of agents on their way.”

  58

  I didn’t hang back but was slow coming down the trail. Dalz might hear the click, click of the walking poles. I hoped so. I hoped it worried and distracted him as he tried to focus on escape. If he’d recognized me, then he knew more FBI agents were on their way.

  I lost sight of him as he rounded the curve that fell along the southwestern face, but up ahead was a rock overhang with a rock underneath and room enough to sit. I’d thought about resting there out of view on the way up. As I closed in, I stopped using the walking sticks. I carried them and approached as quietly as I could.

  Ten seconds later, there he was. I was face to face with Frederic Dalz and asking, “Okay if I sit in the shade beside you for a few minutes?”

  Talk about surreal, but that’s where we were at, and I rolled with it.

  “Sure, sure, okay,” he said.

  I knew he’d recognized me. He shifted away from me as I sat close enough that he wouldn’t be able to lift his right wrist without me clamping down on it. I took a deep breath and said, “It was beautiful up on top. Tight under here, though.”

  “Yes, but it’s you.”

  I saw the start of a smile, and he started to slide to his left, maybe readying to stand. Then he stopped. He was uncomfortable with the closeness. I felt that. It was visceral for him and the move away was almost involuntary. We went several seconds in silence before Dalz spoke. It was in a tone like we were two old friends encountering each other after a long absence. “How did you find me in Croatia?”

  “Your mother.”

  After a moment he said, “Ah, of course.”

  His hair was darker, his face more lined than I’d expected. He was definitely older. He had an accent and a deeper voice than I’d imagined.

  “Where would you go?” I asked. “What’s left for you?”

  He didn’t answer but studied me. Undecided still, I thought.

  “Let’s not reach for guns yet,” I said. “You know so much, there might be another way. And with a helicopter and sharpshooter closing in . . . On the open slope you wouldn’t have anywhere to hide.” I pointed below and down the slope. “You can see more vehicles coming. See the dust rising? They’ll close the road, the pass, everything. What have you got that’s big enough to trade? Who was behind this?”

  “I don’t know. I was told I had to go.”

  “Then you do know.”

  “I could make a guess, but where would that get me?”

  “You would need names. There would need to be proof.”

  “They were very careful.”

  “I’m sure they were. No one made it to Mexico. Most died last night. A few are trying to get down the river, but they’ll be captured. That makes you more valuable. But they’ll want decades of everything.”

  “I can give a very long list of names that will never be found.”

&n
bsp; “Can you live in a prison cell without anything?”

  He turned and looked in my eyes for the first time. I drew a very quiet breath. He was poised, getting ready. I’d have to be very quick. I felt the small movements, the shifts he made as he tried to hold my gaze.

  “Why is it that after a bombing you return and watch the wounded dying?” I asked.

  “I need to see it but not in the way you think. Do you want me to explain?”

  “At some point.”

  I pulled off my sunglasses and placed them on a rock to my right.

  “Did you kill Desault?” I asked.

  “He knew I would wait and find him.”

  “Did he ask you if you were the devil?”

  “He asked to pray so maybe. He was praying when I shot him.”

  Down on the dirt road, agents came into view, and Dalz’s voice became a little faster as he watched them cross through sunlight.

  I pointed at a black speck in the sky. “That’s one of ours.”

  “How did you know to come here?” he asked.

  “There was a tip call. Someone in the area recognized you and called in. I knew you wouldn’t go out with the others. I decided it had to be a helicopter, probably off a mountaintop so we couldn’t converge and trap you. The pilot who missed the mountain was directed to by us.”

  “It was you,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “Desault needed to see my wrists to believe I was human. These scars on my left wrist are from the fire when the hotel burned in Lebanon.”

  Most likely he was trying to draw my eye, but I looked. He slowly lifted his left hand and exposed burn scars at the wrist and his ring finger holding down a button with a wire snaking from it. No doubt the other end of the wire was in the daypack he wore.

  “If I lift my finger, we die. The bomb is quite powerful. I propose this: you drive me to Mexico, and I go away and you never hear of me ever again. I’ll disappear. I’m going to stand now,” he said before I answered.