Reamde

“I’m not sure how that phrase translates into Chinese or Hungarian,” he went on. “What I’m trying to say is this. We are going to see my boss, who happens to live on the other end of the country. We have to drive because I can’t get you guys on a plane without IDs. We happen to be in striking distance of a place where I think Jones might be crossing the border. Last time I logged into T’Rain—which was about half an hour ago—Egdod was still wandering across the desert, followed by a couple of hundred coup counters and curiosity seekers. Which supports my theory.”

“It does?” Yuxia asked.

“Okay, never mind the part about Egdod. You either believe it or you don’t. I happen to believe it. Anyway, I called this dude who has a chopper.” Seamus patted the brochure for the dude in question, which was sticking out of his back pocket. “He is willing to take me up there to fly over the area. I’ll only be gone for a couple of hours. We’ll be on the road by midafternoon. Chances are we can still make Missoula tonight. You guys can hang out here, see a movie, whatever. Just don’t get arrested or do anything that would call attention to your complex immigration status.”

“I want to come with you,” Yuxia said.

“There’s not enough room in the helicopter.”

“The brochure says it can carry up to four passengers,” Yuxia said, and pulled another copy of the same brochure out of her jacket pocket.

During the awkward silence that followed, Seamus happened to look up and see Csongor and Marlon gazing at him expectantly. The waffle seemed to have been forgotten.

“The big one can take four,” Seamus admitted. “I had my eye on the little one.”

“What is it exactly you think you’re going to be doing?” Csongor asked.

“Flying over the area I’m interested in. Taking pictures. Getting a feel for it.”

“How would our being in the helicopter prevent you from doing that?” Marlon wanted to know.

Seamus shrugged. “Maybe it wouldn’t.”

Yuxia asked, “Are you just lying to us?”

“Why would I lie to you?”

The waffle maker squealed again.

“You’re acting weird,” Yuxia said. “Are you expecting to, like, land the chopper and have combat with Jones?”

“No, I am not going to have combat with Jones. That is not what this is about.”

“Good,” Yuxia said, “because if that is your plan, you should warn the pilot.”

“YOUR WAFFLE IS DONE!” shouted a peevish breakfaster from across the room.

Yuxia elbowed Seamus out of the way, figured out how to open the waffle iron, and deposited its steaming load onto a plate. The squeal stopped.

Csongor wanted to try it now. He picked up a minicarafe of waffle batter and poured it into the appliance and watched broodingly as it infiltrated the valleys between the bumps.

“Of course,” Seamus said, “if I believed that there was any chance whatsoever of getting into a firefight with jihadists, it would behoove me to say so to the pilot.”

“Behoove it would!” Yuxia agreed.

“So it is totally safe,” Csongor said.

“As safe as flying around in a chopper can ever be,” Seamus agreed. He did not actually believe a word of this, but he had been cornered.

“Whereas if we stay here, there’s a chance that we’ll get into trouble,” Csongor pointed out. “You are responsible for us.”

“Alas, yes.”

“If the chopper has a breakdown, you get stuck up north, then we are here with no car keys, no hotel room, no ID…”

“Okay, okay,” Seamus said. “You can come with me and stare at trees from a great height all morning.”

RICHARD HAD SEEN that tool and its holster before. He was pretty sure it was the one Chet always wore on his belt.

It was about five feet in front of him. When he was finished emptying his bowels, he rolled forward onto his knees, then to all fours, stretched out, and coaxed it up off the ground with the tips of his fingers. Then he pushed himself back to a squat. He set the multitool down on the ground next to his foot, then picked up the Ziploc bag containing the roll of bumwad and pulled that open.

He could hear some of the other jihadists emerging from their tents in the campsite, a couple of hundred feet away. If they behaved true to form, they would begin the day by estimating the direction of Mecca, then kneeling on their camping pads and praying.