Page 55 of Shadows Reel

The creek widenedas they approached the headquarters, and the brush became more sparse. Nate couldn’t get any lower to stay out of sight. He turned to Geronimo and gestured toward the side of an old barn fifty yards away.

“You ready?” he asked.

Geronimo indicated he was.

Nate broke into a run with Geronimo just a few feet behindhim. They dashed to the barn in the open, hoping no one would glance through a ranch house window and see them. The barn would hide them from the house if they made it.

They made it.

Nate stood with his back to the barn wood and Geronimo joined him. Geronimo reached into his coat and drew his shotgun out and held it down the length of his thigh.

“I think we’re good,” he said.

Nate waited until his breath returned to normal after the sprint, then sidled down the wall toward a four-pane window. He dropped below it and then slowly raised up to see inside.

He motioned to Geronimo to come over.

The interior of the barn was dark except for natural light that came from the windows and a discolored fiberglass covering on the roof that served as a skylight. On the floor of the barn were long rows of wooden crosses pounded into the dirt. Thin leather straps hung from the Ts of the crosses and the ground was spattered with splashes of white.

In the background were lights on stands and plywood panels painted primary colors.

Nate whispered, “This is where they keep the birds they’re going to sell. Jesses are hanging from those crosses to keep the birds in place. You can see that they photograph them against different backgrounds and they post the shots to their site on the dark web.”

“I see that,” Geronimo said. “But where are your birds?”

“I hope there’s another mews in one of the other buildings.”

“Or they aren’t here at all,” Geronimo said. Nate noted theslight elation in his voice. He obviously didn’t want to be done with their mission.

—

They looked in the windowsof two other outbuildings. One was a smaller mews, but the crosses were just as empty. The other building was filled with typical ranch junk: broken-down pickups, a tractor with three flat tires, an old trailer wagon that had probably come with the place.

Nate was frustrated and angry. He said, “I think it’s time to pay a call on Smisek and Prentice.”

“Will they be armed?”

“What do you think?” Nate said. “They’re outlaws running two illegal operations: falcon smuggling and gunrunning. They’re hated by legit falconers and targeted by federal wildlife agents. They’re probably paranoid as hell.”

Geronimo checked the loads in his shotgun, even though he’d already done that before they’d left Nate’s van.

“Lead the way,” he said to Nate.

—

Nate approached the back doorof the ranch house slightly from the side, moving from Russian olive bush to Russian olive bush. He kept his eyes open for movement from behind the windows and storm door and he swept his vision across the back of the house for trip wires or motion sensors. He didn’t see any.

He made his way across a flagstone patio toward the back concrete porch stairs. Geronimo stayed with him.

They pressed themselves against the brick wall on the back of the house and listened. There was a slight murmuring sound inside. Nate guessed it was from a television or radio.

He reached up and grasped the storm door handle. It wasn’t locked. He eased the door open and stepped between it and the back door. Geronimo held the storm door open so it wouldn’t slam shut on them.

Nate held his weapon next to his temple as he peered through the door’s window into the kitchen. He could see two plates on the table as well as silverware. A pot of something was on the stove and a red light glowed on the control panel.

“They’re home,” Nate mouthed to Geronimo.

Geronimo mimicked knocking on the door and raised his eyebrows in a question.

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