on his hip, facilitating a fast draw.
He studied Erick and Adam. They still were sitting on the roadside boulder, facing the road and the hill beside it, not the spectacular view behind them: the rocky valley and gushing river at the bottom of the ten-story cliff. When Adam turned, Shaw could see that, yes, he did have the pistol; sitting had pushed the grip slightly out of the pocket of the close-fitting jeans. This was good for Shaw. Adam’s Smith & Wesson featured a hammer, which was notorious for catching when one drew it quickly.
The suspects were speaking to each other. Then conversation paused at the sound of a default ringtone. Adam pulled out the mobile to take the call. He looked around, orienting himself and noting a road that branched off Old Mill. Shaw’s impression was that the boys were expecting someone driving from that direction. The Rand McNally was in the car but he called up the GPS map on his phone. The road was Highland Bypass: narrow but a good shortcut to Snoqualmie Gap.
This added a complication. Who was coming to meet the suspects? How many were there? If Shaw’s undercover theory was right, might they be armed extremists?
How long until they arrived?
And when would Welles and his deputies assume the young men had slipped out of their trap—or figure that Shaw had lied for one reason or another? A half hour tops, he guessed.
No time to waste. He’d have to get to the young men, disarm Adam, and zip-tie their hands. Then, into the Kia and get the hell out of Hammond County.
I deal in information, not citizen’s arrests …
Not this time.
Picking his footsteps carefully, Shaw worked his way down the hill to the road on whose wide shoulder the two sat. From behind a tree, he assessed the scene. To approach them straight on, either from across the road or from the asphalt itself, he’d have to cover an unprotected field of fire. He’d be some distance away when he’d call for them to surrender, which might encourage Adam to draw and shoot. He was probably a better shot than Adam but that wasn’t certain, and in any event the last thing Shaw wanted was a firefight.
Odds of success with that option: thirty percent. Not good enough.
Stay under cover and just call for them to surrender?
No, they’d shoot or run, probably both. The cops would hear the gunfire and move in, guns ready. Dodd would move to high ground and target them with his heavy weapon.
That tactic had only ten percent success rate.
Take them by surprise, from behind?
Yes, the best option.
Of course, that approach carried a complication of its own: “behind” was essentially a cliff face a hundred feet above the rocky valley floor.
When the boys were looking away, Shaw, crouching, hurried across the road and peered over the edge. The face was not a smooth sheet of vertical rock. It cantilevered downward at a forty-five- or fifty-degree angle to the rocky floor below. There were ledges and shelves and outcroppings along the way.
Shaw recalled a book he’d read as a boy about warring Native American tribes. Flinging enemies from cliffs was a popular way for tribal people in mountainous regions to dispatch their victims. Let gravity do the work. Saves arrows and effort. The human body can withstand an impact of about thirty-five to forty miles an hour if the surface you land on has some give. You achieve that speed in about ten to twelve yards of free fall. Farther than that, combined with a rock landing, you’ve pretty much had it.
Never tense up in a fall.
Ashton would remind the children of this rule before he had them jump from eight-foot-high ledges onto the ground. You would have far less damage from impact if you went rag-doll limp. Shaw had been on a reward assignment one time when a kidnapper tried to escape from him by leaping from one roof to another. He missed and fell thirty feet to the grass. The man was uninjured, except for a broken pinkie. The EMS tech confirmed that a likely reason for this was his completely relaxed state—thanks to half a bottle of vodka.
If Shaw lost footing, he would tumble the hundred-foot length of the cliff face. Possibly fatal but more likely, he foresaw, broken bones. The fact was he would prefer death to a cracked back or neck—and being forced to live out his life the opposite of itinerate: chairbound.
He would go over the side, execute a free solo descent for about ten feet, then climb sideways and ascend behind them. He’d move in fast, disarm Adam and have them zip-tie each other’s wrists.
If he wasn’t heard, wasn’t spotted.
And if he didn’t fall.
He had no chalk or climbing shoes. He knew how to climb barefoot but he needed to keep the Eccos on. If it came to a pursuit on the gravel-strewn road, he wanted the protection.
He estimated this approach to offer a seventy-five percent success rate. Importantly, of course, the twenty-five percent failure possibility incorporated more than simply not collaring the boys; it embraced a debilitating if not lethal tumble to the valley floor.
But no other choices.
So get to it.
Now.
Shaw looked down, studying the face he would have to negotiate to come up behind Adam and Erick.
It was what climbers loved: craggy and cracked. He now did what all good climbers do first: planned his route. He lay on his belly and backed toward the edge, his feet finding outcroppings he’d noted before and memorized. Descending from the top of a cliff was always more difficult than ascending; you can’t brush or blow off the dirt covering hand- and footholds. Without chalk on your hands, even a faint dusting of soil can be deadly. Shaw usually rappelled to the ground, rather than climbing.
He started down. Farther, farther, his feet searching for places to support his weight. His hands gripping rocks and branches to hold him in case his shoes slipped. Finally he was far enough over he could look down, which was a huge relief. Now, thanks to rocky protuberances, two- to three-inch cracks and a conveniently placed—and sturdy—branch, he descended the eight feet to the ledge.
Then he moved sideways slowly to the spot just below where he estimated the suspects to be. The ledge angled downward and the boulder on which they sat was at this point about twenty feet above him. He looked up and plotted his climb. He reached up and brushed soil from a handhold, then gripped and pulled himself up. He kept his hip against the rock, which brings the shoulder close too, which in turn meant that his body stayed vertical—the best way to climb. He was edging with his feet, and using cracks into which he’d insert his hands and spread his fingers and palms. Then he’d bend a knee, find a foothold and straighten his leg to move up a foot or so at a time.
Not too fast. Fast is noise. Fast is mistakes. Fast is the black muzzle of a gun awaiting you at the crest.
He came to a smooth portion of the face that was about five feet square. On a normal climb, he would “smear”—use the soles of his shoes for traction by keeping the heel down and pushing the rubber hard against the face. You need good handholds for this, and while there were adequate
