The Nightmare Thief

“You know what the score is,” the voice said.

Who was in the car with Wylie? A man, or a woman with a deep voice . . . was it a jealous husband? A former lover? Because the voice sounded on the edge.

“Shut up. Or”—noise—“punishment.”

The recording cut out.

“Damn,” she said.

Punishment.

“We have to get this to the sheriff’s department.”

She ejected the SIM from Gabe’s phone and sealed it in the Ziploc baggie. They hurriedly gathered their gear, and Gabe shouldered his pack.

“Hang on,” she said.

They were too deep in the wilderness to get a signal strong enough for a phone call. But sending a text message required only a weak signal and only for a few seconds. She typed a message to Evan, headed: URGENT. She queued up all the data she’d pulled from the damaged SIM, and pressed Send.

Message failed.

She tried again. Messages placed in queue. Will be sent as soon as possible.

Jo hefted her backpack. The voice on the phone had unnerved her.

And she knew that Phelps Wylie had not been hiking the mountainside when the floods swept down. He had been dragged to the mine at the mercy of a human tormentor.

The speedboat tied up at a harbor on Treasure Island. The men in ski masks shut down the engine and leapt onto the dock. In the abrupt silence, the boat bobbed, water lapping against the hull.

Treasure Island: good omen.

Autumn climbed onto the dock. The ride had been thrilling. It had rattled her teeth. Lark climbed out behind her, followed by Grier and Dustin. A minute later the Hummer came tearing up, followed by a black Volvo SUV. At the sound of the engines a seagull took flight, squawking.

The tall man pointed at the Hummer. “Inside, on the double.”

They ran along the dock and piled in. Inside were Peyton, Noah, and Autumn’s “nemesis,” U.S. Marshal Ritter, aka Kyle the Edge Adventures guy.

Autumn hesitated. “I thought we were broken into separate teams.”

“There’s been an adjustment to the itinerary,” said the boat driver. “First, you get commando training. We’re going to an assault course.”

“I didn’t sign up for training. I get a crime spree. Emphasis on spree.”

The stout gunman climbed into the Hummer, grabbed their overnight bags and purses, and tossed them onto the dock. “Give me your phones. You’re going to boot camp.”

Reluctantly they handed their phones to him. He climbed out and slammed the door. Outside, more masked people scurried around. Somebody opened the baggage compartment at the back of the Hummer and began loading gear. A heavy object landed with a thud.

Haugen watched Stringer and Friedrich shove the heavy duffel bag into the luggage compartment of the Hummer. They slammed the hatch. Autumn leaned toward the window and stared out at him.

Von came over. “What if they figure it out before we get to the compound?”

“We’ve talked about this,” Haugen said.

“They’re not as stupid as I expected, and they’re not drunk enough yet.”

“You quiet them immediately. You do it in front of the group, pour encourager les autres. You film it, so Peter Reiniger will be convinced that we’re serious.”

“And then I get rid of the evidence.”

“Yes. And make sure it’s one of the disposables.” Haugen paused, to be sure Von understood. “Not just the weapon—the one who becomes the lesson.”

The stout gunman climbed into the driver’s compartment on the passenger side. Another man, wispy and blond, pulled off his mask and got behind the wheel. He cranked the ignition, grinding it until the Hummer finally fired up. They got on the Bay Bridge and headed east, toward Oakland. Finally the stout gunman pulled off his ski mask. A head shaped like a pumpkin sat atop his chunky frame. He ran a hand over his hair.

“Greetings. I’m Von, your drill instructor.”

Autumn leaned toward him. “I don’t want an assault course. I want room service.”

“Assault course and spa,” Von said. “Honey, it’s six-star. Don’t worry.”

Dustin raised his head. “As long as there’s booze.”

“There’s always booze,” Von said. “It’s a party.”

Chapter 10

Through the pines Jo saw, at last, the crest of the hill. They’d been hiking back toward her truck for two hours. She was thirsty, and an altitude headache was lurking. The sun darted in and out from between gathering clouds. The air had a nip.

She was itching to get Phelps Wylie’s damaged cell phone to the Tuolumne County Sheriff’s Office, down the twisting mountain road in Sonora. She took her phone from her jeans pocket. No signal. The messages to Evan Delaney remained in the queue to be sent.

“We’re still probably forty miles from the nearest cell tower,” Gabe said.

He slowed on the trail and took a careful breath. He looked golden in the sunlight. His eyes were warm and full of life. But breathing deeply could still cause him pain, because of scar tissue, gunshot damage, and surgical work. He was trying to get a lungful of oxygen without feeling as if a spear had ripped open his side.

She ran a hand down his arm and squeezed his hand. “Home-stretch.”

The final two hundred yards of the trail zigzagged around pines and October yellow cottonwoods and lichen green rocks, to a clearing beside the logging road. Through the trees she glimpsed sunlight bouncing off the windows of her Toyota Tacoma pickup.

She heard music and voices. She and Gabe exchanged a look.

They walked into the clearing, and Jo slowed. Rock music was blaring from a car stereo, the Kings of Leon promising that your sex was on fire. A gargantuan black Hummer was parked by her truck. Red and yellow flames were painted on its sides. Its hood was up.

A motley group of young people loitered nearby. Young women with carelessly styled hair wearing tired jeans and expensive shoes. Fit young men trying to impress them. And failing—one guy sat on the dirt with his back against the Hummer, head hanging low. He was almost as green as the splotch of vomit a few feet away. A girl in pink velour lay on the backseat of the Hummer, feet sticking out the open door.

Gabe murmured, “Early in the day for so much hilarity.”

Two men were bent over the Hummer’s engine. One wore a baseball cap with EDGE ADVENTURES stitched on it. The other was dressed in black tactical gear. He was wiry and had a dark orange wisp of a mustache, like an overripe peach.

He straightened and said, “Von.”

A third man walked out from behind Jo’s truck.

Gabe didn’t slow or say a word, but as they crossed the clearing he took his hands from his pockets and stepped a foot ahead of Jo. Her internal radar began to ping.

She said, “Engine trouble?”

The man called Von nodded. He too was dressed in tactical black. He was wiping grease from his hands with a rag.

“Hope it’s just the battery, not the starter,” he said.

Peach Fuzz added, “We’re chauffeuring our young guests on their way to a weekend outing. One of them got car sick.”

The young guest in question, the green-faced boy, was, at the moment, crawling alongside the Hummer toward a ditch.

Von nodded. He had a head like a basketball. “We stopped and then couldn’t restart the engine. You got jumper cables?”

Jo’s antennae continued to twitch. Was that why he was snooping around her truck? “Yeah. I can give you a jump.”

She unlocked the truck and got the cables from the crew cab. Nearby one of the girls, a brunette wearing a gold sweater and jeans tucked into what looked like Prussian officer’s riding boots, sulked against the side of the limo.

“This is six-star?” She crossed her arms. “Where—Appalachia?”

Von said, “Gonna get back on the road in two minutes, Autumn.”

She ostentatiously checked her watch. “Two minutes max. Or you get me a helicopter and evacuate us to the Mandarin Oriental.”

One of the young men from the Hummer, who was wearing a Dean Martin–style hat and a sweatshirt with grier printed on the back, wandered near the trees, unzipped his pants, and relieved himself.

“Weekend church retreat?” Jo said.

Von smiled. It looked robotic. “Twenty-first-birthday party. Daddy’s picking up the tab.”

Gabe took the jumper cables. His face was flat and his eyes alert. Jo got in the cab, fired up the engine, and maneuvered the truck grille to grille with the Hummer. Gabe raised the hood.

It took only a minute to get the Hummer started. The starter ground for a few seconds and then the big engine gunned to life, harsh and whiny in the mountain air.

The green-faced young man climbed to his feet. Swerving back across the clearing, he opened one of the Hummer’s doors and grabbed a water bottle. He sauntered over to Autumn and nuzzled her neck.

She pushed him away.

“God, Dustin. You smell like puke.” Gabe glanced inside the open door of the Hummer. Jo saw it too: a gleaming silver handgun with a telescopic sight.

Von said, “It’s a replica.”

The man in the Edge Adventures cap wiped his palm on his jeans and extended his hand. “Kyle Ritter. Don’t worry none about the guns. They’re for show.”

Gabe smiled, as robotically as Von had. “Just wondering what sort of birthday party you’re celebrating.”

Von took a business card from his shirt pocket. “Edge Adventures. The ultimate in urban reality games.”

Dustin walked over, water bottle hanging from his hand. “Yeah, we’re federal agents, guarding our prisoner. See?”

He opened the front door of the Hummer. A rifle was propped on the seat. Jo recognized the curved ammunition clip and tall front sight on the stubby barrel. It was an AK-47.

The girl whose feet were protruding from the Hummer sat up. “Badass. We are badasses.”

She pitched back on the seat again.

Jo checked the jumper leads. The Hummer’s engine was gunning. “Think you’re all set.”

Gabe disconnected the cables from the pickup’s battery. Jo caught his eye. He was wearing The Look.

Not his laid-back all-is-well look. The other one. It set Jo’s nerves on edge.

He slammed the hood of the pickup. Casually, he said, “Let’s roll.”

Von stuffed the rag in his pocket, his eyes on Gabe. “The weapons are decommissioned.” He gestured at Peach Fuzz. “Friedrich’s an ex-cop, and we have former military on staff. Everything’s cool.”

“Great.”

Gabe leaned into the crew cab and put the cables away. Under his breath he said, “Bullshit.”

He glanced at Ritter. “His gun’s patently a toy, something the guy picked up at a Battlestar Galactica convention. But the others are working firearms.”

Behind him, one of the girls turned up the music and began dancing. Ritter slammed the hood of the Hummer. Von clapped his hands. “Everybody, let’s go.”

Gabe glanced at them edgeways. “I’ve been on one of these role-playing weekends. In Finland, with a bunch of think-tank guys. Executives playing Cold War. One side gets captured by a Russian tank, then out pop the 'Soviet’ invaders—a bunch of Finnish lingerie models in Red Army hats. They had real Kalashnikovs, but it was obvious at a glance they’d been deactivated. The barrels were plugged. The firing pins had been removed. Colored tags were hanging from their muzzles to identify them as 'safe,’ ” he said. “Whatever this game is, it’s a bad one.”

“Let’s go.”

Jo was planning to drive straight down the mountain to the sheriff’s station. When she got there she’d tell the deputies about this drunken rodeo.

Behind her, Dustin stood by the door of the Hummer. “Lark, where’s Peyton?”

They looked around. The blonde in raspberry velour had wandered into the trees.

“Peyton,” Lark called.

Dustin shouted, “Mackie, get back here. We got boot camp. And after that, you got escaped felons to hunt.”

He reached into the Hummer and picked up the AK-47 from the front seat. “Peyton, come back before I come after you.”

He slung the strap over one shoulder like he was Rambo. The muzzle began to come up.

Gabe jumped at him. “Don’t.” He got his hand on the barrel and pushed it down. “Aim the barrel downrange. Never aim it at anybody.”

Dustin spun away. “What’s your problem? The gun’s fake. Fake.”

He ostentatiously swept the rifle in an arc, aimed it at the trees, and pulled the trigger.

The rifle fired. Four shots in a close burst, the sound cracking the air. Orange flame spit from the barrel, cartridge casings ejected, and the rounds hit the trunk of a pine. One two three four, splintering the wood in a rising progression.

The girls screamed. For the time it took to blink, Jo stood shocked. Then she yelled, “Get down,” and dived to the ground behind the pickup.

Gabe lunged at Dustin, twisted the rifle from Dustin’s grip, and shoved Dustin away from him. “What the hell are you doing?”

Dustin stared at the rifle with horror. “Jesus, what—? That thing . . .”

Peyton ran into the clearing. “What was that?”

Autumn clenched her fists in front of her mouth. Her eyes looked like silver dollars. Dustin gazed at her, baffled and terrified.

For a moment, the echo of gunfire stank around the clearing. Ritter looked stunned but hyperalert, as if ready to jump—in what direction, Jo couldn’t tell. Von, his face white, raised his hands calmingly.

“Sorry. It was supposed to be a surprise. My fault,” he said.

Gabe spun on him. “Surprise?”

“Live-fire exercises when we get to the assault training course.” He tried to smile. “That shouldn’t a happened.”

Autumn raised both hands and said, “That’s it. I’m out.”

She stalked toward the back of the Hummer. “This entire thing is screwed. Where’s my phone? I’m calling my dad.”

Von turned. “No.”

She opened the luggage compartment. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

She froze. Then she screamed.

In the luggage compartment, a large green duffel bag had fallen partially open. A body was stuffed inside. A man’s blood-soaked shirt was visible. Autumn lurched back. Friedrich charged, grabbed her by the hair, and twisted her to her knees.

Gabe took the rifle in both hands and brought it up and got his finger on the trigger. But behind him came the sound of a slide being racked on a semiautomatic pistol. Von and Friedrich both had guns in their hands, aimed at his head.

“Put it down,” Von said.

Jo saw Gabe inhale. He was calculating. But the gunmen were too far apart to guarantee he could hit them both before they could get him. And there were too many people in the field of fire.

“On the ground,” Von said.

Gabe put the rifle down and raised his hands.

For a moment the air seemed to tremble. Then the young man with grier on the back of his shirt turned and bolted for the trees.

Friedrich swung his gun and sighted it on the kid’s back. The boy pounded toward the forest, arms flailing.

Autumn and Lark screamed, “No.”

“Friedrich,” Von yelled.

Friedrich fired. The shot blew Grier off his feet.

Chapter 11

Grier dropped to the dirt like a bag of sand. The shot echoed. Blood bloomed through his shirt. Autumn screamed, a loud, continuing wail.

Ritter shouted, “What are you doing?”

Jo lurched to her feet. And found a pistol pointed at her face.

“Don’t move,” Friedrich said.

A quicksilver fear rolled through her. Friedrich looked frantic. The gun was matte black. The bleak eye at the end of the barrel wandered across her face.

She struggled to keep her voice level. “I’m holding still. I’m unarmed.”

Peyton applauded. “Bravo.”

She wandered to the center of the clearing, offering a big, slow handclap. “Give Grier a hand.” She whistled. “Grier, you can get up. Take a bow.”

Autumn pressed a trembling hand to her mouth.

Peyton waved, broadly, at Jo and Gabe. “And welcome our newest escaped convicts.” She laughed again. “Don’t you get it? They’re with Edge.”

Dustin looked like he’d just pissed himself. Noah stood, hands raised, blinking like a strobe light. Gabe was sweeping the scene with his gaze, checking that nobody else with a weapon was behind him. He was looking for an out.

Von aimed his pistol at Ritter. “Get Grier out of sight. Into the trees.”

Ritter cringed across the clearing. He picked up Grier’s feet and began dragging him away. Von casually took out his phone and snapped a photo of the body.

Peyton watched, swaying. Grier’s face dragged along the dirt, painting a trail with blood. Slowly, finally, understanding fired in her eyes. She gasped. Then she ran for the trees jaggedly, arms extended, hands like starfish.

Von picked up the rifle and tossed it to Friedrich. “Get them all in the Hummer.”

He racked the slide on his pistol and charged after Peyton.

Autumn screamed, “No!”

Friedrich shoved her into the Hummer, then swung the gun toward Dustin. Hacking—“Don’t shoot me”—Dustin stumbled in after her. Autumn clutched at him. Friedrich leveled the gun at Noah’s knees.

“Chill, man. I’m going.” Hands out, gesturing for calm, Noah climbed in as well. Lark was right behind.

Friedrich grabbed Jo by the biceps and beckoned Gabe. “You too. Right now.”

Gabe’s gaze was riveted on Friedrich. On Friedrich’s momentum and direction and his jittering gun hand. Jo knew what he was thinking, what he was desperate to signal to her: Don’t get in the Hummer.

If she climbed in that vehicle she was trapped. The quicksilver ran cold in her veins. She balked in Friedrich’s grip.

He shoved the gun against her side and shouted at Gabe. “In, now. Or she gets a new orifice in her rib cage.”

“Don’t,” Gabe said. “Lower the weapon. I’ll get in.”

In the trees beyond the clearing, Peyton’s screams deteriorated into sobbing. Von reappeared, hauling the girl by her hair. She was barely keeping her feet beneath her.

Gabe climbed into the Hummer. Jo stood rigid on the dirt. Friedrich rose on his toes and put his orange mustache near her ear.

“This gun has fifteen in the magazine. If you’re not in the vehicle in two seconds, I’ll start with your boyfriend.”

Jo couldn’t breathe, couldn’t swallow. She climbed into the Hummer.

Von shoved Peyton in behind her, sobbing. The girl fell to her knees on the thick carpet. Lark grabbed her and held her tightly.

Ritter finished dragging Grier’s body to the trees and staggered back, tracked by the rifle under Friedrich’s gaze. Ritter’s eyes looked wild, spinning with shock.

“Hurry up,” Friedrich said.

Von turned to make sure Ritter was cooperating. Jo looked at Gabe. Last chance—the door on the far side of the vehicle. She scrambled across the Hummer.

Friedrich fired the pistol into the backseat. The report was shockingly loud. Fabric flew and cordite stank up the air. The screaming came from all directions.

“What the fuck?” Dustin yelled. His gaze rounded on Jo. “Hold still.”

He grabbed her by the collar of her jacket and yanked her back. She fell on her butt on the floor.

Jo sank her fingernails into his wrist. Then Gabe grabbed Dustin’s arm and twisted, quick and sharp.

Dustin let go. His eyes shone like cracked marbles. “What’s wrong with you?”

Von shoved Ritter into the passenger compartment, climbed in after him, and slammed the door. Friedrich jumped behind the wheel and put the huge vehicle in gear.

The Hummer lurched forward, tires spinning, and slewed across the dirt in a brown swirl of dust. Von braced himself on the seat, pistol raised. Dustin’s chest rose and fell. His gaze was frightened and resentful. Peyton cringed into a ball on the backseat, sobbing, fingers jammed in her mouth. Beside her, Kyle Ritter stared at Von, his face blank and hard.

Autumn sat rigid, blinking like an otter in the sunlight, fingers clenching the plush red seat. Lark and Noah had tumbled to the floor beside Jo. They looked like stunned fish.

Von held the gun steady. “Everybody lock your hands behind your head.”

They cinched their fingers behind them. The narrow road rose up the mountainside. Friedrich accelerated. The Hummer had power, but in the altitude the engine labored. The trees whipped past. Von wiped his hand under his nose.

He gestured to Jo and Gabe. “Pockets. Empty ’em.”

They threw their phones across the limo. Von scooped them up.

He nodded at Gabe. “Back pocket too, hombre.”

Reluctantly Gabe took out his folded buck knife and slid it across the carpet to him.

“Nobody move. Not a muscle.” Von climbed over the bench seat into the driver’s compartment.

Peyton’s sobs subsided to whimpers. Autumn was shaking. “Grier.” She turned to Dustin, buried her face against his shoulder, and cried. He whispered in her ear, “Quiet.”

In the driver’s compartment, Friedrich shot Von a crazed look. “What do we do?”

“We keep driving. We get there, and then we deal with it.”

“You know that Dane’s gonna flip,” Friedrich said.

“Shut up.”

“And Sabine’s gonna have your balls for breakfast.”

Jo’s stomach was cramping. Von, Friedrich, Dane, Sabine. They were being kidnapped by the damned Trapp Family Singers.

Ritter looked stunned. “My first scenario. I can’t believe it.”

Gabe said, “You work for Edge Adventures?”

“Started this week,” Ritter said.

“You see this gang before today?”

“No. Just Mr. Coates, the head guy. And I don’t know where he is.”

He’s in the luggage compartment, Jo thought.

The asphalt ran out and the road became packed gravel. It kicked under the tires, loud and insistent. The Hummer bumped over a rut and everybody jostled against one another.

Von leaned toward Friedrich. Low and hard, he said, “We can’t just dump them by the roadside.”

Ritter whispered to Jo. “I thought something was wrong when these people showed up. They seemed surprised to see me.”

They crossed a bridge. The tires droned on the concrete. Jo caught a glimpse of whitewater in the river below.

Dustin inhaled. “We gotta do something.”

Noah, the quieter of the two college boys, murmured, “What?”

Von turned and stared at them. The gun loitered in his hand. “Keep quiet.” He turned back to Friedrich. “This is a clusterfuck of major proportions. We got three people we never counted on and the kids know what’s happening. We have to keep going. All we can do is get to the location and lock everybody down.”

Friedrich shook his head. “We’re screwed.”

“We’re screwed worse if we toss them out someplace.”

Friedrich glanced in the mirror, and Jo’s stomach gripped. She was afraid he was thinking, Only if we toss them out alive.

The Hummer boated over the gravel. The road was curving up a steep gorge. The tires ran along the road’s edge, close to a drop-off.

“Just don’t slow down,” Von said. “Volvo’s two hours behind us. We get there, we lock everybody down, we think it through.”

Dustin gritted his teeth and hissed, “We should jump them.”

Gabe gave him a slow, considered look. “What are you talking about?”

“We outnumber them. We can take them by surprise. Get control of the car.”

Peyton shook her head, quick little movements. “No,” she whispered. “Grier. No, no, no.”

The road curved strongly, following the river in a hard continuous turn. Everybody slid toward the left side of the limo. The vehicle bumped over the uneven gravel surface. The trees grew thick on the right side of the road. The mountains rose behind. The gorge yawned on their left.

Jo scrambled onto a seat and buckled her seat belt. Autumn watched and did likewise.

Dustin lowered his voice to a sharp whisper. “We can swarm them.”