Static rose up suddenly, making it difficult to hear her. “S-s-s-s-s—time last night, about 11:45 p. —s-s-s-S-S-S!”
He waited for the static to pass. Finally, he asked: “Do you know where he is now?”
“No.” She added quickly: “But his tracks lead west.”
McKibben nodded, slowly. “What, precisely, lies in that direction— say, within the next 50 miles?”
The line buzzed; she seemed to think it over. “Well, there’s the Federal Campground at Chatter Creek, about 12 miles away. And then there's Chief Joseph ... But Napoleon’s ...”
He closed his eyes. It was just as bad as it could possibly be.
“Look, Jan,” he broke in, “I want you to listen carefully: I need you to gather your staff into one area—preferably the lab—and keep them there. Can you do that?”
Static flared up again. He heard: “—
