Beyond that, Will was clueless.

One stopped beside a tree, took out his phone. He was looking at the longitude and latitude on a map. A pin showed that they were close to the right coordinates. He nodded for Will to follow him. Will looked up into the trees. The canopy was thick. A helicopter team wouldn’t be able to see down into the forest. If the pilot dropped low enough to use the thermal imaging camera, One would take off, Will would have to chase him and Sara would be lost forever.

One dropped his phone into his pocket. A dirt bike was flat to the ground. Tao Tao DB20 110. Air-cooled, single cylinder four-stroke, street-legal, but no license plate. The plastic seat raked back like a fin over the rear wheel.

One had done a piss-poor job of covering the bike with leaves and broken limbs. He started clearing them off. Will didn’t help him. He thought about taking his hands out of his pockets. The two agents behind the store would’ve followed them from a distance. They were on foot, but to Will’s thinking, that was not the biggest problem.

Two helmets. One bike.

Will knew how to handle a bike. What worried him was the thought of One’s arms gripping his waist while they rode through the forest. Whatever thing that was torn inside of Will’s ribcage was not getting any better. He had four emergency aspirin in his pocket that Amanda had sealed in a plastic pouch. Will knew from experience that it would take at least half an hour for the medication to kick in.

One was a foot shorter than Will and at least fifty pounds lighter, most of it baby fat. If Will rode on the back of the bike, either the plastic fin would break off or the front wheel wouldn’t touch the ground.

Pulling a Patrick Swayze helping Demi Moore at the pottery wheel would not be ideal for either of them. Will was mindful of the several inches that One through Four had kept between them in the van. They clearly had firm ideas about what gay looked like, and none of them were going to cross that line. At least not in front of their friends.

One’s problem was Will’s solution.

He scooped up a helmet. He asked One, “You gonna go butts to nuts with me on this thing, little Princess?”

One’s mouth went slack. “No, man. Shit no. I’ll hold on to the seat.” He added another, “shit” to prove he was serious.

Will buckled the helmet strap tight under his chin. There was no guarantee he wouldn’t hit a rut or spin out over a rise. If that happened, One would instinctively grab on to Will and Will would probably end up driving them into a tree.

One struggled to lift the one-hundred-pound bike. Will didn’t help him, and not just because Jack Wolfe was a dick. If he was going to pop one of his ribs, it would not be to help this junior Nazi idiot save face.

The kid finally managed to lever the bike up onto two wheels. Will got on. He waited for One to get settled behind him. The muffler was directly under the seat, so it was going to be interesting to see what happened first: either One was going to fall off the bike or the flesh was going to melt off of his fingers.

Again, this was a One problem.

Will put the gear in neutral. He engaged the electric starter, glad he wasn’t going to have to deal with a kick start. He revved the engine, letting it screech like a cat. If the agents in the woods had lost him, they would know where he was now. He was glad he wasn’t the one who was going to have to tell Amanda that they had lost Will again.

One pointed into the woods. Will twisted the throttle about an eighth of an inch and slowly let out the clutch. The rear tire slid out. One’s hands went to Will’s shoulders, which was an option that had not occurred to either of them until now.

Will drove into the woods, leaning into the roller-coaster turns around the trees. He gave the throttle a little more throat. He used his fingers to coax out the clutch’s sweet spot. The bike picked up speed as he ran through the gears. He wondered if the bike belonged to One. They would get to the end of this ride eventually. Faith would locate the dirt bike if she had to walk every inch of the forest. Amanda would crack the kid open like a walnut.

And Will would find Sara.

The bike caught air as they crested a hill. The forest peeled away. They were traveling through farmland, which gave way to more forest, then One pointed again and they were following the clear-cut strip for high-voltage power lines. Will gave up on worrying about the pain in his body. He let out the clutch, figuring the best way to endure the ride was to get it over with as quickly as possible. One’s fingers dug into his shoulders. The kid’s ass kept popping off the fin. Will was so intent on moving forward that he didn’t register One furiously tapping his shoulder to slow down.

The road came up quickly. The bike lurched against the rear brake. One’s face popped against the back of Will’s helmet. He slid to a stop, used his heel to drop the kickstand, peeled his aching fingers off the grips.

One stumbled from the bike. His lip was bleeding. His face had gone white. He looked like he couldn’t decide whether to throw up or piss himself.

Will took off his helmet. He counted three houses. The lots were at least five acres each. Will looked at his watch.

3:58 p.m.

Faith would be panicked. Amanda would be furious. Especially when she realized that he wasn’t going to turn on his tracker.

“There he is.” One wiped his mouth. Blood smeared across his chin.

Will looked up the road. Two was the only kid he hadn’t seen today, but it wasn’t Two who pulled up in a white van.

Gerald rolled down the window. He told Will, “In the back, Wolfe.”

Will opened the rear doors. No seats, just a bunch of racks with painter’s supplies. At least the air conditioning was on. Will climbed inside. One shut the doors. The big boy got to ride up in the front this time.

As with the other van, the windows were blacked out. There was a cooler with ice and water. Will drank two bottles in quick succession. He rubbed the ice along the back of his neck. He dug into his pocket and found the pouch of aspirin. The plastic bag was wet from his sweat. The tablets had turned mushy in the heat. He considered for a moment what all this moisture was doing to the battery in the tracker. He bit off a chunk with his teeth and washed it down with cold water.

Will closed his eyes. He leaned back his head. He gamed out what would happen when those doors opened again. Gerald was going to shoot him. Gerald was going to take him to Dash. Dash was going to shoot him. Dash was going to welcome him to the IPA. Sara was being held somewhere else. Sara was being held wherever they were taking him.

Dear Heavenly Father, we ask for your blessing in this time of need.

Will felt the temperature slowly drop to a bearable number. The rural feel of the terrain did not change. Gerald was using backroads, some paved, some gravel. Gravity told Will they were heading up. Or maybe Will had no idea and Gerald was driving around in circles.

Almost an hour had passed when the van finally stopped. The gear went into reverse. The van swung around, then the engine was cut. Will had heard dirt kicking into the side panels. They had left any semblance of a cleared road a few miles back.

5:03 p.m.

One opened the doors. Will felt like the sun was reaching into his brain. He squeezed his eyes closed. He scooted along the floor of the van until his feet found the edge of the bumper. Will could only look down at the ground as he waited for his eyes to adjust. The van wasn’t the only vehicle that had driven in this area. Deep tire tracks indicated a box truck had recently backed into the grass.

A box truck had backed up to the motel where Sara had left him the message.

One said, “Cool, right?”

Will rubbed his jaw. He looked around.

Beside him, One did the same. He was something between a sponge and a shadow.

Will walked, so One walked. He had to double-step to keep up with Will’s longer stride.

Will had to stop caring about One. They were clearly in a staging area. Five black vans were parked in a row. Two dozen AR-15s were in a rack. Three men were loading magazines, 55 grain, full metal jacket with a lead core and a gray, polymer-coated steel case. The FMJ didn’t expand on impact like a hollow point, so you could hit your target, then accidentally hit another target downrange.