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Sam stood up. He said, “Something tells me we should have checked your ID when you offered.”
“That would have been wise.”
“How much did they pay you?”
“For rich people like you and your wife, a pittance. For me, five years’ worth of wages. Do you want to offer me more?”
“Would it do any good?”
“No. The people made it clear what would happen to me if I betrayed them.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Sam could see the river had begun expanding outward, and, far behind, the rush of water was gaining in volume. Sam knew he needed to play for time. Hopefully, the man before him would let down his guard, if only momentarily.
“Where’s the real Thule?” Sam asked.
“Two feet to your right.
“You killed him.”
“It was part of the task. Once the waters recede, he will be found along with you and your wife, his head crushed by the rocks.”
“Along with you.”
“Pardon?”
“Unless you have a spare spark ignition wire laying around,” Sam replied, patting his jacket pocket.
On impulse, Thule’s eyes darted toward the Toyota’s interior. Anticipating this, Sam had started moving even as he’d patted his pocket. He was in midleap, his hands a foot from Thule, when the man spun back around, the barrel of his revolver lashing out; it caught Sam high on the forehead, a glancing blow that nevertheless gashed his scalp. He stumbled backward and dropped to his knees, gasping.
Thule stepped forward and cocked his leg. Sam saw the kick coming and braced himself while trying to roll away. The top of Thule’s foot slammed into his side and flipped him onto his back.
“Sam!” shouted Remi.
He rolled his head to the right and saw Remi sprinting toward him.
“Get the gear!” Sam croaked. “Follow me!”
“Follow you? Follow you where?”
The Toyota’s engine grumbled to life.
Moving on instinct, Sam rolled onto his belly, pushed himself onto his knees, then got to his feet. He stumbled toward the nearest lantern, six feet to his left. Through his pain-hazed vision he saw, down the ravine, a twenty-foot-tall wave of white water churning through the slot. Sam snatched the lantern off the pole with his left hand, then turned back toward the Toyota and forced his legs into a shuffling sprint.
The Toyota’s transmission engaged, the wheels sprayed gravel, peppering Sam’s lower legs. He ignored it and kept moving. As the Toyota lurched forward, Sam jumped. His left leg landed on the rear bumper; he clamped his right hand on the roof rack’s rail.
The Toyota surged ahead, fishtailing on the gravel and jerking Sam from side to side. He held on, pulled himself closer to the cargo hatch. Thule straightened the Toyota out and sped toward the ravine entrance, now fifty yards away. Sam stuck the lantern’s handle between his teeth and used his left hand to turn the wick knob. The flame guttered, then brightened. He grasped the lantern in his left hand again.
“One chance,” Sam muttered to himself.
He took a breath, let the lantern dangle at arm’s length for a moment, then heaved it like a grenade. The lantern twirled upward over the Toyota’s roof and crashed onto the hood, shattering. Flaming kerosene splashed across the windshield.
The effect was immediate and dramatic. Startled by the wave of fire across his windshield, Thule panicked, jerking the wheel first left, then right, the double slewing motion sending the Toyota up on two wheels. Sam lost his grip. He felt himself flying. Saw the ground rushing toward him. He curled himself into a ball at the last instant, smashed into the ground on his hip, and let himself roll. Dully in the back of his mind he heard a crash; glass shattering and the crunch of metal. He rolled over, blinked his vision clear.
The Toyota had crashed with its hood wedged into the narrow rock arch.
Sam heard footsteps, then Remi’s voice as she knelt beside him: “Sam . . . Sam! Are you hurt?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
