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THE SNOW CONTINUED to fall, but it was no longer a flurry. The clouds were spreading apart, and the skies were clearing. Widow knew this meant that Shepard would be getting anxious for news on Jacobs. So far, all they had was no terrorist cell, no Jacobs, and no sign of a weaponized Ebola. Instead, they had a dead mercenary, who was apparently supposed to have been dead years ago, and an unknown Mexican boy.
Widow asked, “What the hell is going on?”
“I don’t know, but I think your CIA agent is lying to you,” Amita said.
“I know he’s lying. But what about?”
“What do you think?”
Widow said, “I think he’s telling the truth about Jacobs. And he might be telling the truth about the terrorists. Someone is definitely attacking us. But I’m not sure about the Ebola thing.”
“Maybe his ass is on the line for something else. Maybe he’s just using you because you aren’t affiliated with them. Plausible deniability,” Amita said.
“Makes sense.”
“Call him back and ask him. Confront him.”
Widow said, “No. Better if we find Jacobs ourselves. Get the truth.”
Just then, Amita’s radio burst to life. The radio waves were working again. The storm had ceased enough to allow for the antennas to receive transmissions. Amita’s father had returned to the station house after the last call with Shepard and was now on the channel. He wanted to check the radio.
He said, “Amita. You guys come inside.”
Amita acknowledged with an affirmative, and they headed back inside.
They reached the double doors and found Red Cloud waiting for them just inside the entrance. He said, “Ray Collins who lives up there on the mountain just came down. He’s in back, and he’s scared. He’s spouting off something about an intruder in his house.”
Widow said, “Where does he live exactly?”
“He’s the closest neighbor to Jacobs’ house,” Amita said.
“We’d better talk to him.”
They went into the community center, following Red Cloud. Inside, the people were either fully awake or waking up. They sat on the floor or on cots, side by side. There were folding chairs along the back walls with people sitting and facing each other, deep in conversation.
Red Cloud said, “He’s over there.”
He pointed to a short, bald man with a long dark blue sweater and thick boots caked in snow. Widow figured he must’ve run from his house and marched straight to the community center.
Amita walked over to him first, greeted him, and patted his shoulders. She had genuine concern in her eyes. Widow thought she would make a fine police chief someday.
She had brought him a coffee, and a blanket spent some time talking with him. Not asking questions. Not interrogating him. Just making him feel comfortable—safe.
Amita asked Collins to explain what was going on, now that he was calmer.
Widow figured that he must have frantically burst in on the large group of sleeping people, waking everyone up, probably startling them. And that’s why everyone was awake.
Widow could see on their faces that they were all confused and scared.
Ray Collins still had some fear left in his voice. He described a scene where a large explosion woke him. The Jacobs’ house, Widow presumed. About twenty minutes after that, a man with a gun barged into his house. He didn’t recognize the guy. He said the guy’s face was covered in blood and snow and grime. But he said it was strange because the intruder knew his name.
The guy made him wait for a while. Then he took the keys to his truck, even though it couldn’t be driven because of the snow. And finally, the guy just let him go. Told him to run and not come back for a few days.
Amita didn’t wait for any more of the story. She pulled Widow by the arm and said into his ear, “We’d better get up there. Must be one of the bad guys.”
Widow shook his head and said, “I doubt it. Why would he let Mr. Collins go?”
Amita stayed quiet.
Widow said, “I think we’ve found Jacobs.”