Authors: C. J. Box

The Master Falconer (5 page)

BOOK: The Master Falconer

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“He comes to every once in a while,” Nate said. “He screams a bunch of crap in Arabic, then he passes out again.”

“How could you do that to a man?” Rocky said, his face contorted.

“It’s not so bad,” Nate said. “I did it once myself. But when he gets cut down, he’ll be a warrior.”

Al-Nura swiveled slowly to Nate, his face a mask. But Nate could see his lower lip tremble involuntarily.

“It’s time for you to go,” Nate said. “You’ve got five minutes to order your pilot to fire up the jets.”

Al-Nura was frozen with rage. He looked like he wanted to leap out of the chair and attack Nate with his hands.

“You don’t threaten my father,” Rocky said.

Nate nodded toward the windows on the other side of the plane. “Check that out,” he said.

Nate didn’t even need to look because he knew what Rocky would see. A dozen Northern Arapaho warriors in full dress on horseback on the edge of the tarmac, feathers from lances and rifles riffling in the breeze.

“Just like
Fort Apache
,” Nate said.

Al-Nura slowly shook his head back and forth. “You’ll never get the rest of the money,” he said.

“Don’t need it,” Nate said. “And don’t ever contact me again or you and your little boy will end up on the Sun Dance pole, too.”

“But don’t you want the money?” Al-Nura asked.

“I’ll be the first: no.”

With that, Nate opened the hatch and clambered down the steps. He helped Bad Bobby Whiteplume cut Khalid down. The man stumbled toward the plane as the jet engines started up. Nate watched Khalid climb up the stairs on his hands and knees and wondered for a moment if Rocky would shut the door on him before he got in. Khalid made it, barely, without ever looking back. Twin spoors of blood snaked up the aluminum steps from Khalid’s wounds.

The door closed behind him and the stairs scissored back into place and Nate and Bob drove their vehicles to the side of the airport, where they met the warriors. The roar of the plane shook the ground itself and split the sky in two.

While the 737 rose into the air, Nate checked the birds in the hangar. The peregrine screamed at him when he opened the door. He rejoined Bob and Bob’s crew with the hooded falcon on his fist.

It was minutes before the jet was far enough away that they could hear themselves speak.

Bad Bob yawned. “Too damned early for this kind of stuff.”

Several men agreed. They had all dismounted and held their horses by the reins.

“Any of you ever see
Fort Apache
?” Nate asked.

“You mean
Fort Apache
,
The Bronx
?” one of them asked. “With Paul Newman and Ed Asner?”

“Pam Grier was in that, too,” Bob said.

“No,” Nate said. “The original. With John Wayne.”

No one had.

“Here,” Nate said to Bob. “Our deal.”

He gave Bob half of the brick of Al-Nura’s cash. Bob started to count it as the others gathered around him. Bob lost count, looked up at Nate, said, “I trust you. Besides, I know where to find you at my sister’s place.”

A couple of the men laughed.

“Not a bad gig,” one of them said, nodding at the 737, which was a dot against the belly of a cumulus cloud.

“You can still make the shoot,” Nate said, looking up. “The light is still good.”

“Fuck the Cherokee thing,” Bob said. “This is much better. Call on us anytime you need Indians.”

“I hope I don’t need you again,” Nate said.

“You don’t think he’ll come back?”

“No. We screwed up his worldview.”

Bob said, “Whatever that means.”

AS NATE CLIMBED INTO HIS JEEP,
Bob broke off from his friends and approached him. Bob had a threatening expression on his face, the one he no doubt had used on the film location to get more money from the director.

“What?”

“I’ve got a question,” Bob said in a gravel voice.

“Ask away.”

“Does this cover the seven chickens you took from my coop?” Then Bad Bob broke into a grin.

Nate smiled back and peeled off two more bills. “This should cover the chickens,” he said, “with change left over to buy some coffee and your own television set.”

ALSO BY C. J. BOX

THE JOE PICKETT NOVELS

Nowhere to Run

Below Zero

Blood Trail

Free Fire

In Plain Sight

Out of Range

Trophy Hunt

Winterkill

Savage Run

Open Season