Page 82 of Shadows Reel

“I’ll explain in the car.”

“What do we do with him?” Viktór asked, gesturing to the cop with the muzzle of the shotgun.

Viktór could see László’s mind work and he was horrified by what would likely happen next. But László said, “Bring him with us.”

Then, in Hungarian so the cop couldn’t understand, he said, “I have an idea how we can use him.”

“Okay, we use him,” Viktór replied. “But we don’t kill him. We can’t kill a cop. If we do that, everyone will be looking for us. Everyone. We’ll never get home.”

Viktór could tell that László thought otherwise. But maybe, for once, he was listening.

Deputy Schuster looked back and forth between the two brothers as they spoke. “Where are we going, fellas? Or are you going to let me go?” he asked.

“Shut up,” Viktór explained.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Seattle

Even through a torrential downpour that lashed the black walls of trees in waves bordering the highway and sluiced down the borrow ditches with the look and force of miniature whitewater rivers, Nate and Geronimo could see the emerging nighttime glow of Seattle ahead to the west. It was an hour away from midnight.

Nate was still behind the wheel. Geronimo was working through Tristan’s phone, finding items that caused him to hum and moan and exclaim, “Holy shit.” His face was illuminated by the screen of the phone in the dark.

“What?” Nate asked.

“I’m using Signal with Tristan’s log-in,” Geronimo said. “Our pal Axel is still ahead of us and he’s announced his arrival to the antifa assholes and BLM folks in Seattle.”

“How far ahead?”

“His last post was nineteen minutes ago. He’s leaving another cache for them and he’s posted the coordinates of it. Have you ever heard of the Gum Wall?”

Nate shook his head.

“It’s in an alleyway real close to the public market center downtown. Just like Denver—he chose a place to stash weapons within easy reach of where the street action is planned, but out of view of the cops.Ifthere are cops, anyway.”

“Why wouldn’t there be?” Nate asked.

Geronimo shrugged. “Sometimes the mayors of these cities are spooked, so they tell the cops to stand down. Sometimes they send them in only when it’s too late. You never know.”

“How far away from the Gum Wall are we?”

Geronimo swept away the Signal screen and pulled up the mapping application.

“Twenty-five minutes if we push it,” he said.

“He should still be there,” Nate said, feeling a surge of anticipation course through his limbs.

Twenty-five minutes.

Although he risked hydroplaning over the standing water on the highway, Nate goosed the accelerator and grasped the wheel tight.

—

They’d driven fromPendleton to Seattle via I-84 to I-82, and they’d soon merge onto I-90 to enter the city from the east. Their only stops had been to buy gasoline, fast food, and a charger so Tristan’s phone wouldn’t go dead en route.

They’d crossed the Columbia River hours before, and as they neared Seattle, the pine trees got thicker and closed in on them, and the interstate seemed more like a tunnel than a highway. Traffic was sparse that time of night.

The rain was mist at first and it obscured the mountains, but it picked up in volume and intensity as they drove. Nate was astonished by the amount of water falling from the sky and he guessed it was comparable to a summer’s worth in Wyoming. The wipers could barely keep up, and the thrumming sound of rainwater produced by the tires on the van created a kind of white noise that forced them to shout inside.