Page 54 of Shadows Reel

“That’s what I hope.”

“If we get them back, will you still want to find Soledad?”

“Yes. But it might be delayed a while.”

It was obvious to Nate that it wasn’t the answer Geronimo wanted to hear.

“I’m giving up Thanksgiving dinner and football at home,” Geronimo said.

“Me too.”

“Our ladies aren’t very happy with us as it is. I’d hate to think this adventure is a waste of time.”

Nate said, “If I get my birds back, it’s half-successful.”

“I want full-successful.”

“We’ll see.”

—

The road deterioratedas they drove north from Baker City, and Nate had to slow down. He used the mapping feature of his phone to get to the physical location of Wingville, although he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d have a strong cell signal.

He nearly missed the turnoff to “Wingville Ranch” because the sign for the place had fallen off its mount and was now propped up against the pole. He slowed even more as he turned onto a rough two-track dirt road.

“These guys are in the middle of nowhere,” Geronimo said.

“I think they like it that way,” Nate said.

The terrain was treeless and high. The road took them over an undulating series of soft benches. At the crest of each hillock, Nate searched for the ranch headquarters itself. He wanted to surprise Smisek and Prentice with his arrival. He didn’t want to tip them off that he was coming.

As he topped another grassy hill, he saw a collection of buildings far below in the bottom of a swale. Nate hit the brakes and backed up until he could no longer see the compound—and where someone down there couldn’t see him.

“Hold tight,” he said to Geronimo.

He got out of the van and walked up the road with a spotting scope mounted on a short tripod. There was a set of recent tire tracks in the dust of the road. Someone had been just ahead of him.

Nate crept to the summit and kept low. He didn’t want to skylight himself and be seen. He set up the scope and leaned into the eyepiece.

The ranch headquarters was entirely in the open. It reminded him of his own compound in Wyoming. There was no way someone could drive to the buildings below without being seen and tracked from a great distance. Nate assumed Smisek and Prentice had picked the location for exactly that reason, as had Nate. It was mimicking the defense mechanism of a pronghorn antelope: stand boldly in the open so as to see potential predators long before they could get there.

The compound was a collection of outbuildings surrounding a Victorian two-story brick ranch house in the middle. He could see the snout of a Jeep poking out from one of the outbuildings, and the back of a pickup was next to it. Someone was home, but there was no Mercedes transport visible.

There were several satellite dishes on the roof of the ranch house that he guessed were for internet access. The brokerage of falcons was now largely done on the web, and even in such a remote location it enabled them to communicate with potential buyers anywhere in the world.

A small, shallow creek serpentined through the swale floorand through the corrals next to the house. The creek was choked with brush on both banks, which were relatively high, and he could see only a few openings with water.

Nate nodded to himself and went back to the van to lay out his plan to Geronimo.

—

Forty-five minutes later,Nate gently splashed down the middle of the ankle-high creek and pushed through brush that seemed determined to choke out the sun. Geronimo followed and cursed under his breath at the hazards. The temperature was in the low sixties and there was a slight breeze from the north. It was much warmer than it had been in Wyoming or Colorado.

They’d hiked down the side of the hill far upstream from the compound. He’d chosen to approach on foot via the creek bed because it was the only route available that couldn’t be watched easily by someone in the house.

“I’ll need new boots after this,” Geronimo said.

—

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