A dozen miles into the interior of the bay from the small coastal village, the speeding fishing boat entered the narrow mouth of an inlet.
Bouthier, no fan of things nautical, was glad for the Dramamine he’d taken as they rocked around a jut of pale ice-coated rocky shore.
The stony coast they zipped past was feldspar mostly with bits of quartz in it. Bouthier could tell by the hard gray fragments of it, the angular grain. Though he appeared to be a meathead, Bouthier knew a few things. He had actually planned to be a petroleum engineer like his daddy before he had gone into the service.
He turned his attention to the boat. It wasn’t a trawler, but it wasn’t exactly a rowboat either. There was enough room to lash the two snowmobiles to the gunwale, and the wheelhouse on it was able to fit the four of them along with all their gear and the two-man boat crew.
Bouthier blew into his hands and rubbed them as he watched Captain Pete trim the throttle. He, like his son, Young Joe, standing beside him at the wheel, wore his long dark hair in braids. They were genuine Alaskan native Tlingit Indians.
Of course, they were, Bouthier thought as the vessel carved them a dogleg right back to the south through the inlet toward the grizzly hunting area.
You had to have Indian scouts if you wanted to head ’em off at the pass.
Bouthier checked his watch.
“Hey, Joe. What’s the name of the bay again?” he called over.
“Disenchantment,” Young Joe said, turning.
Bouthier smiled.
“Perfect,” he said, winking at Llewellyn beside him. “Word of the day.”
Young Joe turned and came over to them with a map.
“We’ll arrive in about twenty minutes right here to put you in,” he said, pointing.
“How will we get the snowmobiles off? There’s a dock?” Bouthier said.
“Yes. Then see here, you just head in due north five miles and right here in off this trail is where you can set up your ambush. Right here where the trail’s tight.”
“They’ll be coming that way? You’re certain?” Llewellyn said.
The Indian nodded somberly.
“They have to,” he said. “The mining road is the only way in from their base camp. And around the end of it here is where the guides always set up a minicamp to stalk.”
“That’s a pretty confident plan, Joe. You know about ambushes, do you?” Llewellyn said, winking at his buddies.
“A bit,” the boyish-looking black-haired Indian said, calmly blinking at him. “I walked point in the mountain division in Afghanistan. Plus, I’ve hunted this area since I could crawl.”
“What you hunt?” Grabowski said from the other bench.
“Moose mostly,” the Indian said.
“Moose. Oh, I love me some moose. You cook it?” Nevin said.
“Hey, moron, can it, would you?” Bouthier said as Young Joe left to stand back next to his father.
Llewellyn leaned over.
“Been meaning to ask you, bro. Why are we here on this assignment?” he said.
Bouthier looked at his tall homely partner, at the comically high reach of his knees as he sat. Bouthier, who didn’t like anyone, sort of liked Llewellyn. The Detroit native was quick on the uptake and quite good in a tight spot. He especially liked the fact that for all the man’s size he was very quiet when he needed to be.
What was crazy was he wasn’t even military. He was former Company, an analyst of all things. Rumor was, before that he’d been a shoe-in for valedictorian at West Point but got kicked out for trying to slit a roommate’s throat during an argument. Bouthier wholeheartedly believed this story.
“You didn’t read the report?” Bouthier said.
“Of course, I did. But I mean, why us specifically? Us four. We’re all usually team leaders. We never work together. Plus, we were all taken off other jobs. I’ve never been taken off another job before. You?”
“No.”
“We’re also all getting double bonuses for this one. You ever get a double before?”
“No,” Bouthier said again.
“Exactly. And we’re probably the best operators in the firm.”
“Not probably the best,” Bouthier agreed. “We are the best.”
“They need a dream team for one guy and his kid?” Llewellyn said. “Who the hell is this guy?”
“I don’t know, but I hear he likes to play pretty rough.”
Llewellyn looked around at the four of them, the armory piled at their feet.
“No one’s this rough,” he said.
Bouthier calmly looked out at the desolate vista as they entered a narrow channel. On both sides was nothing but more rock. Bouthier examined it. There was more limestone here, argillite. All of it was sparse and windswept. It was like boating through a cave tunnel with the roof ripped off.
“That’s pretty much what I said when they told me about the job,” Bouthier finally said. “You know what they told me?”
“What’s that?” Llewellyn said.
Bouthier slipped out his karambit and slowly shaved at the edge of his thumbnail with its razored sickle. He did this nervous habit quite often, and the nail bed there was red and raw and calloused with scar tissue.
“You better watch your ass with this guy,” he said, licking at his thumb.