Reamde

“Just a little update for you. I can’t say everything I’d like to, because of where I am. But I found them, and I’ve been hanging out with them, and oh so much has happened in the magical world of T’Rain while you have been getting your beauty sleep.”

“You physically found them,” she said, sitting up in bed. Outside, it was still dark, and she could see the lights of downtown Vancouver out the windows of her room. “You’re where they are.”

“Yeah. Courtesy of the Philippine Air Force and a lot of favors that had to be called in.”

“That is splendid work,” she said. “I knew you were smarter than you looked and acted.”

“Just as dumb as everyone thinks, actually. Just a matter of following a big fat easy lead.”

“Have you had a chance to talk to them?”

“In a manner of speaking. I’ve heard their story. Quite a yarn. That’s not important now, though.”

“What is important now, Seamus?”

“There may be some action at your end today. Thought I’d let you know.”

“In Vancouver?”

A pause. “Shit, I’m sorry, I forgot you went to Vancouver.”

“So … the action is going to be in Seattle?”

“Maybe. As a by-product of what just happened, we got a photograph of one of Sokolov’s henchmen there. A few days after the main thing went down, he went back and broke into Peter’s place and stole a rifle out of a gun safe.”

“What does that have to do with—”

“Nothing,” he said.

“That’s what I thought.”

“It’s a total red herring, as far as finding Jones is concerned.”

“So why are you waking me up to tell me about it?”

“Because I thought you were still in Seattle, working with those FBI agents,” Seamus said, “and I just wanted to let you know…”

“… that they were going to be dealing with this.”

“Yes.”

“That the investigation down there is going to get derailed and distracted by this red herring.”

“Yeah.”

“Thank you,” she said. “As it happens, I’ll be doing something else today, though.”

“And what might that be?”

“Driving up to Prince George to look for strategically located security cameras. Begging their owners to let me see footage.”

“Have fun with that.”

“What’s on your agenda, Seamus?”

“Figure out what to do with this traveling circus.”

RELUCTANT AS SHE was to give the jihadists credit for anything, Zula had to admit that they showed commendable restraint when it came to talking on the radio. Perhaps it was a Darwinian selection thing. All the jihadists who failed to observe radio silence had been vaporized by drone strikes.

There was no walkie-talkie or phone chatter from the time Jones left the camp with his three comrades until two and a half hours later, when Ershut and Jahandar trudged up the hill, looking winded but satisfied. In the meantime, the other members of the expedition—everyone except for Zakir and Sayed—breakfasted, prayed, and packed. The latter activity seemed to consume a great deal of emotional energy. It looked like every family-leaving-on-vacation meshuggas Zula had ever witnessed in the developed world, blended with a healthy dollop of desperate-refugees-striking-out-for-Sudan. The only thing missing was yelping dogs and crying kids. These men were not being helped any by the fact that each of them was obliged to carry lots of weapons. Washing the dishes and tidying the kitchen area at the base of her tree, Zula had a central viewpoint on the resulting arguments and the ruthless prioritization that flowed from them. It all seemed to come down to: pound for pound, what would kill the largest number of people? Bricks of plastic explosive ended up being given high priority. Guns too were highly thought of. Ammunition, somewhat less so; it seemed that they were expecting to purchase a lot of it in the States. Which Zula had to grant was a very reasonable plan. Unless their weapons used really weird bullets, they’d be able to pick up everything they needed in sporting goods emporia. Bullets, being made of lead, were heavy; and it seemed that heaviness was very much on their minds as they hoisted their packs off the ground, staring off into the distance, thinking about what it would be like to carry this up and down mountains for several days.

In another sample of the weird and profoundly distasteful emotional involvement that had been coming over her of late, Zula actually became anxious that they wouldn’t be ready in time. She didn’t think she had Stockholm syndrome yet, but she was beginning to understand how people got that way.