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“What?” I ask.
“See for yourself,” he says. “I’m emailing your partner a screenshot.”
Seconds later, Carlos gets an email on his phone. He opens the attached picture. It’s a satellite view of a stretch of railroad track running next to a river. One glance and it’s clear—the image is identical to Parker’s model.
“We need to know when the next train is going through there,” I say. “How many and how often? The whole schedule for that line.”
“Let me check,” he says. “Heck, I think we only use that line once or twice a week.”
As he’s quiet on the other end, the wait is agonizing. It’s all I can do to keep still while Carlos paces.
“Huh,” Alex says, surprised. “It looks like one train is using it today.”
“What time?”
“It’s hard to say when it will be at that exact—”
“Your best guess,” I snap.
“Two o’clock,” he says. “Give or take ten or fifteen minutes.”
I look at my watch. It’s fifteen past eight.
“How long will it take us to get there from Snakebite?” I ask.
“In a car?” he says with such surprise that I get the impression he must only ever think about train routes and speeds—not automobiles. “Seven hours at least, I reckon.”
“We’ll be driving a hundred miles an hour the whole way,” I say.
“Um, that’s all well and good on the highways,” he says, “but you’ll be on a lot of backroads out there. Hills. Curves. Winding roads.”
“Shit,” Carlos mutters next to me. “We’ll never make it.”
“You want me to reroute the train somewhere else?” Alex asks. “Or stop it?”
Carlos and I look at each other, communicating without speaking.
“Don’t stop it,” I say. “But can you slow it down?”
CHAPTER 48
CARLOS DRIVES WHILE I ride shotgun.
The truck’s flashers are on, sirens wailing. We blow down the highway, passing every car like they’re standing still.
We review our options and we’re both on the same page. We could call in local law enforcement to converge on that section of track. But any Ranger who’s compromised might tip off Parker and Ellis. And if Parker hears a siren or sees any flashing lights or spots anything suspicious at all—any clue that we’ve figured out his target—he’ll be in the wind. Our only chance of catching him is to go it alone.
Which is why we told Alex Lloyd of the Department of Transportation to ask the driver to slow the train downa little. Only within his realm of expectation. If it is too delayed, Parker will suspect interference. He’ll bolt.
We also decide we don’t want the two dead bodies in Parker’s yard—Harvey Curry and Jackson Clarke—cooking in the sun all day. So we call the local Snakebite dispatcher and report the bodies. We know it’s only a matter of time until word gets back to the Texas Rangers, so we’re not surprised when the phone rings with a call from Captain Lightwood.
“Took you long enough,” Carlos says into the cab, answering via Bluetooth.
“Where are you?” Lightwood barks. “What the hell is going on?”
“We’re following a lead in Dallas,” Carlos lies. “I’ll fill you in when we know more.”
Captain Lightwood starts shouting at Carlos, telling him that he should have called him as soon as we discovered the bodies at Parker Longbaugh’s. In fact, he complains, we shouldn’t have gone back to the residence without consulting him first.
