C Box - Below Zero

He located his cell phone on the seat next to him and handed it to Sheridan and asked her to speed-dial Coon. When she connected she handed it over.

“Where are you guys?” Joe asked. “I’ve been following the subject vehicle for half an hour.”

Joe could hear the roar of the props through the earpiece and he could barely make out Coon’s voice. He heard Coon shouting to Portenson that, “Pickett is still in hot pursuit.”

Then: “Joe, can you hear me?”

“Barely.”

“I’d use the radio, but Agent Portenson thinks Stenko may have a scanner.”

Joe shrugged.

“Anyway, the pilot says we’re ten minutes from Pumpkin Buttes. That’s where the cell phone pings have been coming from. Does that make any sense to you? I don’t know the geography around here.”

Joe nodded. “Yup. I’d be able to see the Buttes in my rearview mirror if the sun was up. Right now, we’re headed east on gravel roads through the oil field. I can’t tell you what road we’re on because I haven’t seen a number or a sign. But if you tell the pilot to head due east/southeast from the middle butte you should soon be over the top of us.”

Joe could hear Coon yelling the directions. While he did, Joe checked the coordinates from his dash-mounted GPS and read those to Coon.

“Okay,” Coon said. “We’ve got you located. We’re on our way.”

“Hey,” Joe said. “Are you tracking my cell phone as well?”

“Didn’t I tell you?” Coon asked.

“No,” Joe said, feeling his neck get hot. “You must have forgotten.”

“Don’t say anything inflammatory,” Coon said. “I’ve got you up on speaker.”

“Look,” Joe said, “don’t do anything crazy.”

“Stenko is a dangerous man,” Coon said.

And suddenly Joe visualized the helicopter swooping in over his pickup toward Stenko’s car, guns blazing. Coon and Portenson would love to get Stenko. Capturing or killing a fugitive like Stenko might result in Portenson’s promotion and transfer out of Wyoming, which was what he wanted most.

Joe and Sheridan exchanged glances. She said, “Don’t tell them, Dad.”

He put the phone face down on his thigh to cover the mike. “I might have to,” he said.

She looked away.

To Coon, Joe said, “Promise me you’ll make your presence known to them without any hijinks. Promise me you’ll give them plenty of opportunity to pull over and give themselves up.”

Muffled conversation on the other end. Joe muttered to Sheridan, “I’ve got nothing to bargain with right now. They know our location and Stenko’s location. They can do anything they want and they know it.”

Coon came back, said, “I give you my word.”

Joe said, “What about Portenson?”

“He gives you his word, too.”

Said Joe, “He did that once before. When he broke it he told me, ‘Never trust a fed.’ Put him on. I want to hear it for myself.”

After a beat, Portenson said, “Damn it, Joe. We want Stenko alive and kicking. We need his testimony.”

Joe felt a wave of relief, said, “Okay, then.”

Suddenly, the cab of his truck exploded in white light as the helicopter bathed it with their halogen spotlights. They came swooping down with a roar. Sheridan covered her eyes with her hands and Joe squinted in order to see.

Just as quickly, the spotlights shot ahead up the two-track and found the fleeing vehicle, lighting it up as if it were daylight. Stenko was driving a battered silver SUV with Wyoming plates. Joe could see the silhouettes of two heads in the vehicle, one dark-haired and one light-haired, the dark-haired one driving.

Two people, not three, Joe thought. Who was missing or hiding? Robert?

“Is that April?” Sheridan shouted over the roar of the helicopter.

“Don’t know,” Joe yelled back, as the SUV took a sharp right off the road and bounced through untracked sagebrush. The spotlights lost it for a moment but found it again as the helicopter hovered overhead.

Portenson’s sharp voice filled the night: “You in the SUV… this is the FBI. You need to pull that vehicle over right now and come out with your hands in the air. I repeat, this is the FBI and you need to stop the vehicle immediately and get out.”

Joe felt himself gasp as he saw something come out of the driver’s side window-an arm, a hand, a gun in the hand…

Three heavy concussions from the handgun and three orange fireballs into the sky. The helicopter banked sharply to the left and roared away, the spotlights crazily strobing the distant hillsides. The SUV plummeted into darkness as the aircraft fled.

“Oh no,” Joe said. “I don’t know if the helicopter got hit but Stenko’s trying to get himself killed!”

“And April,” Sheridan cried.

The shots had been wild, Joe knew. The driver couldn’t have aimed so much as stuck the gun out the window and fired. Still, it was provocation enough for the FBI to return fire.

Joe turned off the gravel road into the brush. The tires heaved over sagebrush and Sheridan was tossed around inside, her arms flying. He thought if he could cut the corner and head off the SUV, Stenko might think he was surrounded and give up.

The chopper did a long arc through the sky and came back. In seconds it was once again back over the top of them, this time without the spotlights. Instead, Joe could see what looked like two red eyes like fireflies dancing on top of the SUV. He recognized them as laser sights that were likely mounted on automatic weapons. The FBI could open up any second and cut the SUV-and everyone in it-into pieces.

Panicked, Joe grabbed his cell-which was still connected to Coon and the speaker inside the copter-and shouted, “They’ve got a hostage in the vehicle… a minor.”

Silence. Joe knew what he’d done. Sheridan glared at him. Whether April was actually a hostage or was along for the ride could be sorted out later, he thought.

“A hostage? Who is the minor?” Coon asked, after no doubt being fed the question from Portenson. Joe noted that only one red eye remained on the top of the SUV. He guessed Coon had lowered his weapon while he questioned Joe. Which meant Portenson had not.

“Our foster daughter, April Keeley,” Joe said in a rush of words. “She’s the one who’s been texting my daughter.” In his peripheral vision he could see Sheridan slump into the door.

“Impossible!” Portenson shouted, once again apparently wresting the phone away from Coon. As he did, the second laser eye blinked out on the top of the SUV. “Is this your idea of a joke? Is this aimed at me because I was there when she died, Pickett? Are you trying to say she’s alive and with David Stenson? Come on… I was there.”

“I know you were,” Joe said. “But she claims to be with Stenko. Which is why you can’t attack that vehicle until we figure this out. Do you understand? If you do, the only way you’ll ever get out of Wyoming is as a civilian because you completely botched this thing and got a teenage girl killed. And worse, you’ll never see the end of me.”

Portenson sputtered something.

“I’m not kidding,” Joe said. “Leave that vehicle alone until we can get a visual in the light and see for sure who is in it. We need to make them give it up without a fight so April can get away.”

He tossed the phone aside. The helicopter spotlights came back on and lit up the SUV.

To Sheridan, he said, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t think of any other way.”

That’s when the passenger door of the SUV opened and a female flew out into the dirt, arms out and hands clawing the air, blond hair flying like flames behind her in the harsh beams.

“DID YOU SEE THAT?” Coon shouted to Joe.

“Yup. I’ve got her,” Joe said.