Greg Bear - Mariposa

Curteze snorted. "What the hell was any of us thinking? We're out here upholding the honor of an agency that no longer exists, breaking every known law, in the middle of a state that's pretty much been abandoned by a government that's spent itself dry twice over. We're pissing off a guy who supplies decent paychecks to ninety thousand locals. Christ, you'd think we'd have better things to do."

"Shut it," Kapp said.

The boy was awake now and sitting up in the backseat, cradling his arm. William looked in the rearview mirror and saw his eyes gleaming like a trapped animal's-fright and trauma catching up.

None of them had eaten in many hours.

"Where are all the little birds?" Kapp asked, rubbing his nose, trying to keep from picking it. Their noses were dry and crusted, no matter that it was night and they were sucking down bottled water at every opportunity.

"They don't need them. They know right where we are," William said. "They're waiting to assemble a posse."

Curteze looked up at the headliner and made a face. "Posse," he said.

"They're coming to take me back?" the boy asked, and his hand pinched the seat in front of him.

"Not if we have anything to say about it," William said.

He leaned back and closed his eyes. He was supposed to have been informed by now of the next step-another chance to locate and retrieve Nabokov. But nothing had worked as planned.

Vengeance is mine, saith Axel Price and all of his rich cronies. Do unto us-or let it be perceived that you do unto us-and we will give you a fair trial and then ship you to the Walls Unit in Huntsville.

The boy's defense had been mounted by Justice Department attorneys, the very finest, but prosecutors-and not used to playing criminal defense, certainly not used to playing that game as currently allowed in the Lone Star state.

Little Jamey's attorneys had been threatened multiple times during the trial. One had his motel room firebombed by young men in pickup trucks, never identified, much less apprehended.

The judge had ruled against nearly all of the defense motions; she owed her seat to popular vote and the people owed their livelihoods to Axel Price, and she wasn't about to contradict his wishes, expressed or intuited.

The boy never had a chance.

Right now, Texas felt even more exotic than Mecca.

"Time for plan B," William said.

"Great," Kapp said "That's El Paso over there. We should have hit the state line hours ago. We should be having burgers and a beer in New Mexico."

"I can't go back," the boy said. "You guys know what that would mean." Suddenly he sounded very grown-up. "My father visited me a month ago. He said this was the worst thing he could possibly imagine-that they were going to execute his son for an accidental shooting. He said it was vengeance and not justice."

The agents in the truck watched the darkness. Low clouds had moved in and reflected some of the light from El Paso. Otherwise it was pitch-black. The truck still made a decent heat signature, of course. High-altitude birds could target them at any time.

Price had Hellfires on his drones, just like the military. Why were they still alive?

Because blasting federal agents to little bits-even agents whose agency didn't have a name any more-might look bad even for Price. No need to start a range war out here-or a new civil war. More precision action was called for-finesse, caution; hence, the delay.

Or Price was playing a crafty game of checkers, waiting to scoop them up when he could make two jumps at once.

Just as he had scheduled Little Jamey's execution to impress his gathering allies. And what did that reveal about his allies?

Calling them jackals might impugn the jackals.

"We're turning around," William said, gripping the wheel. "They know where we are, but they haven't got their act together yet. So let's drive back to Lion City."

Curteze shook his head low and wide like a cow. He groaned, then kicked at the door until the moment passed.

"That was good," Kapp said.

"Fuck you."

"There's a big meet under way," William said. "They're flying in politicians and bankers and oil sheikhs and corporate execs from around the world. They've hired hundreds of cars and trucks to transport all their guests from the airport to deluxe accommodations on the campus and at Price's ranch. The sooner we get lost in that crowd the better. They don't dare take us down in public-bad for business."

"You know too much, Agent Griffin," Kapp said, in a sinister Asiatic voice. "Who's playing who here?" He opened the door and got out. "I'm the speed demon on these rough roads. You drive like a pussy. Let's swap again and get the fuck out of here."

William swung down from the driver's seat. "Wait a sec." He went to the back and brought out a small bag.

"What the fuck is that?" Curteze asked, stretching.

"An earth-current transceiver," William said. "Interference won't block its signal-I think."

"That's not in our plan," Kapp said. "Where'd you get this shit? Who's out there listening?"

"There's a listening station outside Lion City, and supposedly there's another near El Paso. But we're way outside the normal range. Last chance." William kneeled and plunged the stake into the soil, using a small hammer to pound it deeper.

Then he hooked the battery to the amplifier and the telephone handset.

William's finger started clicking. After a couple of minutes, the answer came back in Morse. Tongue poking from between his dry lips, he penciled the words on a notepad from his shirt pocket, then read them back.

Surprise-Kunsler had been doing some last-minute thinking. Maybe the snakes hadn't made it to their target.

He kept the handset to his ear as he said to Curteze and Kapp, "I'm going back to the airport. But you're not. Your best chance is to walk. We're as close to El Paso as we're going to get. You'll just be a couple of heat blips-and the border is crawling with those. You'll blend in with the Mexicans."

"You're shitting me!" Curteze said.

William frowned-no more clicks but a tinny, scratchy voice. He waved his hand for silence.

"Highway too dangerous. Evade and hide. Ditch your vehicle. Wait outside Lion City airport. Then push through. I think you'll know when-still being arranged. That's the best chance. We're coming in. Be swift, be patient. And be there…"

The transmission faded into static, then the dots and dashes resumed, signaling an end to the message.

He barely recognized Kunsler's voice.

Nothing about Nabokov-nothing at all.

"We're out of options," William said.

Kapp was dismayed. "Jesus, you want us to walk in the dark?"

William flung up his hand at the sky glow. "There are the lights."

"That's nuts-"

His last words.

A bullet sang out with a melon-splitting thunk and the top of his head blew out over the truck. He dropped and piled up on the dirt, legs out, arms splayed, like a puppet with cut strings. He did not even jerk.

The boy cried out and Curteze held him down, out of the line of fire.

"Inside!" William shouted. He had already dropped the handset and climbed back into the truck to start the engine. As Curteze pushed Jamey into the backseat and then jumped on top of him, William notched the truck into grinding reverse, then spun the wheel, almost toppling the Tahoe as they bounced through a deep rut.

The cabin pitched and slammed right and left.

William continued the circle. Best to make a lot of dust. No looking back. Kapp was gone, the airport was miles off, and that likely meant they would still die-and then be erased from West Texas, the U.S. of A., this hard old world-never to be seen by anyone again.

Maybe Nabokov was already dead.

Goddamn, he had never thought Price would take it this far.