"What do you have?"
"Reznik moved his people out of the logging camp the night before last. The whole operation. Trucks, men, the snowmobiles. Gone."
"We know," Kir interjects.
"Right. So the question is where they went." Alexei's voice takes on a careful hush. "I have a man who runs fuel up in that county. Diesel, propane, gas for the generators. People like Reznik can't run a camp without fuel, and there aren't many places to buy it that won't ask questions. My man got a call two days ago. Big order, cash on delivery to an old hunting lodge off County Route 9, about six miles east of the logging camp."
I look at the map. Kir's already sliding his finger across it.
"There," he says. He taps a spot east of the red circle. Nothing's marked there. Just a thin gray line of road and a little black square that might be a building.
"Pemberton Lodge," Alexei says. "Used to be a private hunting club 'til it went bust years ago. Big main building, couple ofoutbuildings, a long drive in. One road. The fuel went there, not the camp."
"That's where he's holding Matvei," Lukas says.
"That's my guess. The camp was always going to be a decoy. He tells Afon to come to the place he knows, the place with the history. It's got poetry to it. Reznik likes poetry." He clears his throat. "But he's not stupid enough to actually sit in a spot he already knows we can find. The lodge is where the fuel is. The fuel is where the people are."
We're all holding our breath, everybody looking at that little black square.
"You're sure?" Lukas asks.
"Sure? Hell no. In this business, I never pretend to be sure," Alexei says. "But I'd bet on it. And I figure you don't have time to bet on anything else."
"He doesn't," I say.
There's a pause on the line. "Who's that?"
"Caroline Oglethorpe," I say. "I'm the one marrying Afon today."
A longer pause. Then: "Bill's girl?"
"Yeah. That's me."
"Huh." He sounds pleasantly surprised. "Your father did me a good turn once, a long time ago. I was sorry to hear what happened with him." He clears his throat again and all the emotion disappears from his voice. "Anyway, once you boys get Afon back, tell him he and I are even."
"You can tell me yourself when it's done," Lukas says. "Thank you, Alexei."
"Don't thank me. Just don't lose Satyrin. He's one of the last good bastards. I'd hate to drink alone."
The line clicks dead.
Lukas straightens up over the map. "Six miles east of the camp," he says, mostly to himself. "Reznik summons Afon, Afon walks in alone and finds a ride waiting, and then they'll move him to the lodge."
"Or kill him then and there," Kir suggests.
"No." Lukas shakes his head. "Reznik would never do it quick and simple like that. Not with Afon. They've got history. He'd want to drag this out, make it bloody and nasty." He glances at me and nods apologetically. "I'm sorry. That's just the truth of it."
I make myself nod back. It's not easy. I've got a picture in my head now and I can't get rid of it—Afon walking into that empty camp where they zip-tied me to a folding chair, hands open, no gun, no Wolf, no anybody. Walking in like a man going to his own funeral.
Because that's exactly what he thinks it is.
"So he goes to the camp, it's empty… And then what?" I ask. "They move him to the lodge?"
"Most likely," Lukas says. "Which gives us a window."
"A window for what?"
He looks at me a long moment, and I can see him deciding how much to tell the anxious bride in the wedding dress.
