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Sam fired.
The man’s shot went wild as he stumbled, then fell, the rifle flying from his grasp. The second man jumped back out of sight. “Don’t shoot!” he called out. “He shouldn’t have fired. It was a mistake.”
“Like the shots you took at us?”
“Just a warning.”
“Some warning,” Remi muttered.
“What is it you want?” Sam yelled.
“Don’t shoot, or I’ll hurt your friend!”
Sam kept his gun aimed that direction, straining to hear what was going on up there. A moment later, he saw someone moving up on the crest. Recognition hit, and he let up on the trigger. Zakaria, his face bloodied and a gag around his mouth, was now a human shield for his captor. “I’m listening,” Sam shouted.
“Bring me the courier bag and I’ll let your friend go. If you call the police, I’ll kill him, then come after you.”
“What courier bag?”
But the man dragged Zakaria back. A moment later, they heard an engine revving as the vehicle sped off.
Remi looked over at Sam. “They are gone, aren’t they?”
“Wait here and I’ll find out.”
He made his way up the hill, staying low, gun ready. The dead guy was sprawled facedown in the mud on the hillside, his hand outstretched and, just beyond it, his rifle. Sam reached out, grabbed it by the barrel. “Remi!” He slid it, butt first, toward her.
She retrieved it, covering the hilltop, while he made his way toward the crest.
He ducked behind a stand of brush. The car was gone. He checked inside the Toyota, then all around it. “Clear!” he yelled, returning to the ravine, making his way to the body as Remi, Karl, and Brand climbed up the hill toward him.
The first thing Sam noticed was the dead man wore hiking boots with the same waffle pattern as the prints they’d seen in the plane. When he rolled him over and pulled down his muddied face mask, he wasn’t at all surprised. It was Karl and Brand’s supposed friend, Durin Kahrs.
Remi eyed the body. “It’d be nice to know what’s really going on here.”
“And what Zakaria knew.” He dug through the man’s pockets, found his ID, and took a photo with his cell phone. Finding nothing else of interest, they climbed back up the hill to their Toyota—and the flat tire. At least the keys were in the ignition. “Don’t suppose AAA makes international calls?”
“Sorry, Fargo. I think we’re on our own out here.”
Sam changed the tire while Remi stood guard. Karl and Brand were too shell-shocked to do much more than watch.
She glanced down at Sam before returning her gaze to the horizon. “We shouldn’t have left Zakaria here.”
“It wasn’t like we had a lot of choice.”
“It’s our fault,” Brand said.
“No,” Sam replied. “It’s Durin Kahrs’s fault. You couldn’t have known he was playing you.”
“You think it could be the logbook they’re after?” Brand asked.
“Hard to say. We’ve definitely got to take a better look at it.” He finished tightening the lug nuts, going over everything that Zakaria told them. He gave the last lug nut a final twist, then stood. “Something’s bothering me about all this.”
“What’s that?” Remi asked.
“If this courier bag was on that plane when Durin went out to the crash site, it’s a safe bet that he took it.”
“Which doesn’t make sense,” Remi said.
