The Hunter and the Prey
2055 Words
The semi-truck appeared in the rearview mirror at 9:47 AM. Too fast. Too close.
Vance had been watching it for the past five miles. It hung back, then surged, then hung back again. The driver was nervous. Or eager.
“That truck is not a truck,” he said.
Echo looked up from her laptop. “What do you mean?”
“The weight distribution is wrong. It's riding high. Empty cargo bed. No reason for a semi to be empty on this route.”
“Could be a delivery returning from a run.”
“At 9 AM on a Wednesday? Empty rigs run at night. That's when rates are cheap.”
Echo twisted in her seat. “How can you tell it's empty from here?”
“The way it bounces over the seams in the pavement. A loaded rig stays flat. That one is hopping.”
She stared at him. “You notice things like that?”
“I notice everything. It's kept me alive.”
Vance pressed the accelerator. The Ford Fusion climbed to eighty-five. The semi matched.
“They're not even trying to hide now,” Echo said.
“Because they don't have to. On this stretch of road, there's nowhere for us to go.”
He was right. The highway was carved into a mountainside, rock wall on the left, sheer drop on the right. No exits for the next twelve miles. No shoulders. Just two lanes of asphalt and a hundred-foot fall.
The semi was fifty yards back now. Its headlights loomed large in the mirror.
“Brace yourself,” Vance said.
“For what?”
The semi's engine roared. The truck surged forward, closing the gap to twenty yards.
“He's going to hit us.”
Echo grabbed the dashboard. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious. Pun intended.”
Vance waited. Ten yards. Five.
At the last second, he yanked the wheel hard left. The Fusion swerved onto the gravel shoulder, scraping against the rock wall. Sparks flew.
The semi thundered past, missing them by inches. Its driver leaned on the horn – a long, mocking blast.
Then the truck's brake lights flared. It was stopping. Blocking the road ahead.
Vance didn't stop. He slammed the accelerator, swerved back onto the highway, and aimed for the gap between the semi's trailer and the rock wall.
It was narrow. Too narrow.
The Fusion's side mirror shattered against the trailer. The passenger door scraped concrete. Echo screamed.
Then they were through.
“Hold on,” Vance said.
He cut the wheel again, hard right, sending the Fusion into a controlled slide. The tires smoked. The car spun one hundred and eighty degrees, facing back the way they came.
The semi was still blocking the road ahead. But now Vance was behind it.
“What are you doing?” Echo shouted.
“Changing the game.”
He drove straight at the semi's rear. The driver was still getting out of the cab, probably expecting Vance to run the other way.
The man's face went white when he saw the Fusion bearing down on him.
Vance slammed the brakes. The car stopped inches from the man's legs.
He was out of the car with his Sig raised before the man could blink.
“Hands on the truck. Now.”
The man complied. He was in his forties, overweight, wearing a trucker cap and a stained flannel shirt. Not a professional. A local. Someone paid to do a simple job.
“Who hired you?” Vance asked.
“I don't know his name. Paid me five grand in cash. Said to run a truck off the road. That's all.”
“What did he look like?”
“Tall. Dark hair. Suit. Looked like government.”
Rennick's man. Of course.
“Where was he going to be after the job?”
The trucker hesitated. Vance pressed the Sig into the back of his neck.
“Butte. Said to meet him at the Copper King Hotel. Room 412.”
Vance stepped back. “Get in your truck. Drive north. Don't stop until you hit Canada. If I see you again, I won't ask questions.”
The man scrambled into the cab. The semi's engine roared to life. It pulled away, tires kicking up gravel, and disappeared around the bend.
Echo was standing by the Fusion, her face pale. “You could have killed him.”
“I didn't.”
“You could have killed us.”
“But I didn't.” Vance holstered his Sig. “Now get in. We have a detour to make.”
“To the Copper King?”
“To warn Flint. If Rennick's man is in Butte, he's not waiting for us at the Iron Skillet. He's setting a trap.”
Echo got back in the car. Her hands were shaking. “You're insane.”
“No. I'm just not afraid to die.”
“That's the same thing.”
Vance started the engine and pulled back onto the highway. The semi was already out of sight.
“Maybe,” he said. “But I'm not dead yet.”
---
They drove for three more hours without incident. The landscape changed from mountains to high plains. The sky was a hard blue, endless and cold.
Echo worked on her laptop, tracing the call from Rennick, building a profile of the Copper King Hotel. Vance drove and thought.
Flint was a wild card. The man was Mossad – Israeli intelligence – trained in assassination and sabotage. He'd gone off-grid after a job in Beirut went sideways. Rennick had been involved somehow. Flint's brother had died in that job.
Flint wanted revenge. But he wanted it on his own terms.
If Rennick's people got to him first...
Vance's phone buzzed. Another unknown number.
He answered. “Yeah.”
“Mr. Cole.” Different voice this time. Younger. American. “My name is Soren. I work for Mr. Rennick.”
“Is that supposed to impress me?”
“No. It's supposed to warn you. The meeting at the Iron Skillet is a trap. Rennick has no intention of negotiating with you. He intends to capture you and extract the chip.”
“And you're telling me this because...?”
“Because I don't agree with his methods. And because I have my own reasons for wanting him to fail.”
Vance glanced at Echo. She was already tracing the call.
“What do you want, Soren?”
“To help you. There's a back entrance to the Copper King Hotel. Loading dock on the alley. Rennick's man is in room 412, but the room is rigged with cameras and listening devices. Don't go there.”
“Then where should I go?”
“Room 318. I'll leave a key under the mat. Inside, you'll find a file on Rennick's operation. Including the location of the second layer encryption key for your chip.”
Vance's heart rate ticked up. “Why would you have that?”
“Because I built the encryption.”
The line went dead.
Echo shook her head. “Call bounced through seven relays this time. He's good.”
“He's also lying.”
“Probably. But what if he's not?”
Vance thought about it. The man on the phone – Soren – had known about the second layer. That wasn't public information. That wasn't something Rennick would share casually.
“We go to the Copper King,” he said. “But we don't trust anything we find there.”
---
Butte, Montana was a mining town that had seen better days. The Copper King Hotel was a relic from the 1920s, all brick and faded glory. It sat on the edge of downtown, surrounded by empty storefronts and parked pickups.
Vance circled the block twice. No tails. No suspicious vehicles.
He parked in an alley behind the hotel. The loading dock was exactly where Soren had said it would be.
“Stay here,” he told Echo. “Engine running. If I'm not back in fifteen minutes, drive to the Iron Skillet and wait for Flint. Tell him what happened.”
“And if you're dead?”
“Then he's on his own.”
Vance got out, Sig in hand, and approached the loading dock. The back door was unlocked. Too easy.
He stepped inside. The hallway was narrow, dimly lit. Faded wallpaper. Smell of old cigarettes and bleach.
Room 318 was at the end of the hall. The mat was gray, worn. He lifted it.
A key.
Vance unlocked the door and stepped inside.
The room was small. A bed, a desk, a window looking out at the alley. On the desk was a manila folder.
He crossed the room, checked the window, checked the bathroom. No one. No obvious cameras.
He opened the folder.
Inside were photographs. Dozens of them. Vance flipped through.
Hawk. His cabin in Montana. His wife at a grocery store. His daughter at school.
Echo. Her shipping container. Her sister Mira being led into a van.
Flint. A casino in Las Vegas. A meeting with a man in a dark suit.
And one more. A woman Vance didn't recognize. Late twenties. Dark hair. Sharp eyes. The caption read: *Indigo. Las Vegas. PMC contractor. Possible asset.*
Someone had been watching all of them. For weeks. Maybe months.
At the bottom of the folder was a single sheet of paper. Typed.
*The encryption key is not a code. It's a location. A safe house in the mountains outside Butte. Coordinates below. Go there. You'll find what you need.*
*But be careful. Rennick knows you're coming.*
*Trust no one. Not even yourself.*
*— S.*
Vance memorized the coordinates, then burned the paper in the sink. He left the folder on the desk.
As he turned to leave, his phone buzzed again.
Text message. Unknown number.
*You're in room 318. I see you. Look up.*
Vance's blood went cold. He looked at the ceiling.
A tiny camera lens stared back from the smoke detector.
He grabbed a chair, smashed the detector, ripped out the wires. But it was too late. They knew he was here.
Footsteps in the hallway. Multiple sets. Moving fast.
Vance moved to the door, pressed his back against the wall. He counted the footsteps.
Three. Maybe four. Armed.
The door handle turned.
He didn't wait. He fired two rounds through the door. Wood splintered. A man screamed.
Then he kicked the door open and stepped into the hallway.
Two men were down, clutching wounds. A third was raising his pistol.
Vance shot him in the shoulder. The man dropped.
The fourth ran for the stairwell.
Vance didn't follow. He ran the other way, back to the loading dock, back to the alley.
The Fusion was still there. Echo had the driver's door open, taser in hand.
“Go!” Vance shouted.
He dove into the passenger seat. Echo stomped the accelerator. The car fishtailed out of the alley and onto the street.
Behind them, sirens started wailing.
“What happened?” Echo demanded.
“Soren set us up. The room was a trap. They knew we were coming.”
“Did you get anything?”
Vance held up the photograph of Indigo. “A name. And a location. Somewhere in the mountains.”
“Another trap?”
“Probably. But it's all we have.”
Echo took a corner too fast, tires squealing. The sirens were getting closer.
“Where to now?”
Vance looked at the photograph. The woman's face stared back at him. Indigo. PMC contractor. Possible asset.
“We find Flint first,” he said. “Then we go into the mountains. And we find out who Soren really is.”
“And if it's another trap?”
Vance's left hand was trembling. He shoved it in his pocket.
“Then we spring it. And we kill everyone inside.”
The sirens faded behind them. The highway opened up ahead.
Somewhere in the mountains, a safe house waited.
Somewhere in the shadows, Soren was watching.
And somewhere in the wilderness, a sniper named Hawk was about to get some very bad news.
The game was changing.
Vance could feel it.
And he had a feeling it was about to get a lot more dangerous.
- Writer
