Near midnight, just after the rain stopped, Buzzard saw a dark shape moving out on the water and shortly thereafter Tim heard a sound no louder than a mosquito buzzing in the night. The sound cut out almost at once but the shape kept moving toward them, growing steadily larger. It wasn’t until it was almost on top of them that they could make out what it was. Tim had expected a cigarette boat or a fishing trawler with a powerful inboard engine—something flashy. Instead what approached them looked more like a rowboat. It sat low in the water and had a single small outboard at the back. A dark figure in the back of the boat pushed it forward with an oar, apparently unconcerned as the nose swung back and forth.

Buzzard turned to face Tim, his eyes invisible in the shadows. “This is just an information-gathering trip, okay? We go out there, we meet some people, you can talk to them all you want. But then we get back in the boat and we’re home before dawn, you follow? Helena will want to wake you up personally tomorrow. If she finds Duncan still in your bed, if the two of us are missing, she’ll raise holy hell.”

“Fine,” Tim said. He didn’t really know what he was going to achieve with the looters but he knew it would take some finesse. Anyone who had remained under Horne’s radar for this long would be naturally paranoid.

He had imagined the looters a dozen different ways since he’d heard of their existence. The most realistic picture he’d come up with was a family of survivalists, bearded balding men with big guns and multiple wives. Maybe with a White Power flag hanging on their wall. As he and Buzzard stepped forward into the low light to greet their contact Tim saw he’d been mistaken. The woman rowing the boat toward them was something else entirely. She was black, maybe twenty-five years old, and quite beautiful. She wore a baseball cap low over her eyes and around her neck were three or four strands of pearls. Her body was hidden under an enormous mink coat.

“Mother always said there was nothing warmer than fur,” she announced as she tied up at the dock. She must have seen him staring.

“Sasha, this is Tim Kempfer, the guy I told you about,” Buzzard said.

“Charmed,” she replied.

“I appreciate you coming all this way for me,” Tim said. He needed this woman on his side and that meant being as polite as possible.

“We’re always looking to expand our customer base. Hop on in, boys,” Sasha said. The boat sagged alarmingly into the water as the two men climbed over its gunwale. Dark water spilled in over the far side and she threw Buzzard a plastic bucket so he could bail. “Sorry about the poor accommodations,” she said to Tim. “The Sound’s a dangerous place these days. All kinds of radars and alarms and shit. But I see you know the rules,” she said, pointing at the aluminum foil wrapped around Tim’s arm. “That’s really all it took?”

“Apparently. We haven’t been bothered yet by unwanted company,” he told her.

She smiled. “Well, let’s keep it that way. This old tub is almost completely wooden, yeah? Just a few bits of metal hardware. Makes us harder to see. Even if they had somebody watching us with a telescope we probably look like a big log floating on the current. That’s why I cut the motor so far out, too.” She picked up an oar and handed it to Tim. “You look like a fine strong man. You can take a turn now.”

Tim nodded and sat down where he could row comfortably. He looked at the three inches of water in the bottom of the boat and observed, “The hem of your coat is getting soaked. I hope it’s not ruined.”

She smiled again. “What do I care if it is? I know where to get another one. Now everybody keep real quiet until we’re away from here, alright?”

That was fine with both of the men.

Tim put his back into his rowing and soon the Olympia waterfront shrank away from view. The water was silky smooth, barely any chop at all, and he made good headway. The only noise was the occasional bump of the oar on the gunwale and the splashing of Buzzard’s pail as he worked to keep them from sinking. He was surprised, constantly, at how easily he seemed to be escaping from Horne’s domain—surely if the Colonel had them under observation he would have swooped in to snatch them up by that point.

Sasha’s coolness surprised him a little, too. From what Buzzard had suggested this was the first time anyone from Camp Romeo had ever been taken to the camp of the looters. Surely she had no reason to trust him. He glanced back over his shoulder now and again to look at her but she was just watching the horizon, trailing her fingers in the water from time to time. He wondered if she was armed. That big coat could hide a lot of firepower, he thought.

After about twenty minutes of solid rowing he looked back once again and she nodded at him. He shipped his oar and changed places with her so she could get the motor running. It was abruptly very loud as it snarled to life and he instinctively ducked his head and stared back at the lights of Fort Lewis. There was no sign anyone had heard them, though. The little boat picked up speed instantly and shot over the glassy water, spray jumping up from its bow. Sasha steered them expertly up the Sound, passing on the eastern side of every island they passed and soon they were even with Tacoma, and dead ahead Tim could make out the dark spires of his home town. Seattle—the place he’d come so far just to return to.

He wanted to grab the tiller and just steer them right there. He wanted to be done with all this skullduggery and just get to work. He knew, however, that the game he was playing had certain rules that couldn’t be ignored. He couldn’t go to Seattle, not quite yet. Not until he was properly armed.