Reamde

“The place we’re going is in the general vicinity of Bourne’s Ford, Idaho,” she said.

“Bourne’s Ford, Idaho,” he repeated.

“I can’t give you a specific landmark. I’ve never been there.”

They had become stuck in traffic behind a semitrailer truck that said WALMART.

“Just find the nearest Walmart,” she suggested. “There’s got to be one within thirty miles. I’ll meet you in the sporting goods department between noon and half past. I’ll just keep going there every day until you turn up.”

Sokolov pulled the long gun case out of the backseat and laid it across his lap. He opened it up to reveal the weapon. By popping out two pins he was able to break it down into two pieces, neither of which was more than about a foot and a half long, and by collapsing the stock he was able to make it shorter yet. He placed both pieces of it into his knapsack—a new purchase from the Eddie Bauer store in downtown Seattle—and then transferred a lot of other odds and ends that were rattling around loose in there: a few cartridges, two empty clips, some cleaning supplies.

“You really think you’re going to need that?”

“Is matter of responsibility,” Sokolov said. “Can’t leave in abandoned car. Anyway, is evidence too—fingerprints of Igor.” He zipped the pack shut and looked at her. “You get out at bus stop, I will liquidate car.”

“What are you going to do with it?”

“In the forest, back up there, are, what do you call them, places where hikers pull off road, go to beginning of path.”

“Trailheads.”

“Yes. I think it is normal to park a car in such place for several days. It is legal. Will not draw attention. But it is off the road. Not obvious. I will go back, park at such place, hike down.”

“Then what?”

“Hitchhike.” Sokolov paused for a moment. “Is dangerous, I know, to take ride from strangers. With assault rifle in backpack, not so dangerous.”

They had been passing signs on the road that appeared to designate bus stops. After a few more miles they found one that was conveniently situated next to a parking lot where they could pull out of traffic. Olivia walked over to the bus stop and checked the schedule and verified that a bus would be along in another twenty minutes to take her into the nearby town of Wenatchee. She went round back of the SUV and rapped on the rear window. Sokolov had already moved laterally into the driver’s seat. He popped the tailgate. She hauled it open and pulled her bag out of the back. For a moment, their eyes locked in the rearview mirror.

“See you,” she said.

“See you.”

She slammed the tailgate, hoisted her bag onto her shoulder, and walked to the bus stop. Sokolov put the car in gear, got the SUV turned around, and headed back up the way they had come, keeping an eye peeled for trailheads.

GIVEN THE REMARKABLE length and diversity of Csongor, Marlon, and Yuxia’s enemies list, the five-block stroll from the hotel to the U.S. embassy was one of the more stimulating experiences of Seamus’s recent life. Not because anything actually happened—he’d have known how to behave, in that case—but because he had no way of telling whether any of the people who passed them on the sidewalk or cruised past them in cars, jeepneys, and motor scooters were gun-toting assassins bent on retribution. He reckoned he could have covered the distance in about half the time if he had simply slung Yuxia over his back in a fireman’s carry and hoofed it with the long-legged Csongor and Marlon keeping pace. Not a one of them was under six feet two, and they all seemed to get the idea that hanging around in the open was not the preferred strategy. Yuxia was a different matter, not because she was tiny (she could move as fast as any of them when she had a mind to) but because she insisted on viewing this as a fascinating exploratory junket into a new and unfamiliar world, and an opportunity to establish cross-cultural relations with as many as possible of the hundreds of people she encountered on the street. Most of these conversations were gratifyingly brief, possibly because Yuxia’s interlocutors kept stealing uneasy glances at Csongor and Seamus, who tended to bracket the girl and stand with their backs to each other and their hands in their pockets scanning the vicinity with disconcerting alertness. Meanwhile Marlon did his bit by chivvying her along, muttering to her in Mandarin, as though playing the role of a nervous, irritable boyfriend.