Namir got a break on Monday. He was in the coffee shop, a couple of seats behind Ashland and close enough to overhear his conversation with another man.
They were talking of deadlines and scoops.
And then the question that perked up his ears.
‘You are all set for your camping trip? To Frank Church?’
‘Yeah,’ Ashland laughed. ‘Sara’s looking forward to it. She talks of nothing else. She’s planned everything. Where we will camp. Hike. What we’ll do for food.’
‘You’re going tomorrow?’
‘Yes, and back on Saturday. In time for Sunday service.’
The men rose when Ashland paid the check, and left the café.
Namir didn’t follow. His mind was whirling.
This is it. This is my chance.
He rushed to his room and researched the wilderness, then called his men and briefed them.
They would follow Ashland wherever he went.
The forest was ideal for what he planned.
‘More than two million acres?’ one of his men said, his mouth agape.
‘Yes. No one will hear him scream.’
He bought camping gear for his men in the afternoon and rented four fresh SUVs, different colors so they wouldn’t look like a single group.
At dawn Tuesday, Namir was parked on Ashland’s street, a few houses away, waiting.
The girl tumbled out the door at nine am, turned around and beckoned her father.
Ashland came out presently, lugging two large backpacks.
He dumped them in a red SUV parked on the street. High-fived his daughter, went back to the house, locked it, and returned.
They left shortly afterward, unware that death was following them.
Ashland drove southwest for three hours and finally parked his vehicle in a large trailhead lot at the edge of the forest.
Namir, leading his convoy, hung back, idling just out of sight while waiting for the pair to unpack their gear and begin walking into the forest. Once they had disappeared down the trail, he parked quickly and motioned for his men to follow.
They unpacked their gear swiftly and followed.
They could hear the girl’s laughter in the distance, her voice guiding them as they walked. When the Ashlands stopped for lunch, Namir and his men stopped, too.
Looking back over his shoulder at his men, Namir felt proud of their discipline. Following him single-file, they carried their weapons openly, now that there was no one around.
They made no sound. No crude jokes. All of them intent on their mission.
At six pm, Ashland halted in a clearing.
‘Here?’
‘Yes.’ Sara bounced up and down, holding a hand-drawn map. ‘Right here. The trees are behind us. You can hear a stream if you are quiet. Get to work, Dad.’
Ashland pitched their tent and unfolded their sleeping bags inside. He hung two lanterns, and placed the gas stove in front of the tent.
He put a pot of water on it and was lighting it when he heard footsteps.
A man came out of the treeline, straight toward him.
He was wearing a hat, with shades pushed back on his head. He was armed.
Behind him, more men emerged.
Ashland got to his feet. Armed men were not uncommon in the wilderness.
‘Hello, Kenton. It has been a long time.’