Monday late afternoon/early evening: Montana State Prison

Rainhorse walked out of the Montana State Prison at three minutes before five o’clock. Burk, Andrews and two armed FBI agents escorted him to a black Chevy Suburban.

Before allowing him in the vehicle, an agent secured a state-of-the-art ankle monitor to his right ankle.

“This is the latest and greatest in monitoring technology, Rainhorse,” Burk said. “We will know where you are at all times, so don’t even think about getting away. Oh, and just as a warning, if you even try to tamper with the monitor, there is a built in Taser. If you try to remove it, the taser will paralyze you for up to twenty minutes, plenty of time for us to find you, so just don’t do it.”

“Understood,” he said. “Where are we going now?”

“To the local FBI field office in Billings,” she said. “We’ll do a full briefing.”

The black Suburban pulled away. Andrews was driving. Burk rode in the front passenger seat. Rainhorse sat in the back seat in the middle, flanked on both sides by the two additional FBI agents.

“Don’t forget my burger,” Rainhorse said.

“I thought you were kidding about the burger,” Andrews said.

“I was not kidding,” Rainhorse said. “Look at my face. This is how I look when I am not kidding.”

“Yeah, well it looks just like your face when you’re happy, when you’re sad and when you’re constipated.”

“Burger Dive,” Rainhorse repeated.

“We have no time for that,” Andrews said.

“It’s part of our agreement. I want my burger.”

“We’ll send out for a burger when we get there.”

“The Burger Dive is along the way,” he said. “It will only take a minute to go through the drive-thru. The deal was... Burger Dive... tonight.”

“I said no,” Andrews barked.

“Jesus Christ.  Get the man his burger,” Burk said. “I’m sick of his bitching.”

Rainhorse smiled and raised his eyebrows at Andrews.

“I’d like a burger, too,” an agent sitting next to Rainhorse said.

Andrews glared at the agent.

Burk shrugged, “It’s right off the freeway. It’s a five-minute diversion, tops. Let's do this so he'll shut up.”

“Ok, fuck it,” Andrews said. “We’ll get a burger.”

Rainhorse smiled.

Andrews glared at him, “It had better be a damn good burger.”

“Best in the state,” Rainhorse promised.

“Tell us about this mystery man,” Burk said.

“His name is Randolph Henson,” Rainhorse said. “He served under Barnabas in the military. He was a Captain.”

“Bullshit. You’re lying,” Burk said. “Henson is dead.”

“I know of Henson,” Andrews said. “He was on our list as an accomplice of Barnabas Quince and was until his death. Burk is right. The man is dead.”

“Barnabas faked Henson’s death in 2012,” Rainhorse said. “It was in March, I think. No one recovered his body. I told you, the man has his resources.”

Burk was tapping on the keys of her laptop. “Holy shit!” she exclaimed.

“What?” Andrews asked.

“The CIA cornered Randolph Henson in a warehouse by agents on March 12, 2012. There was an explosion and a massive fire. The reports show that Henson could not have survived but Rainhorse is right, they never found his body.”

“Jesus!” Andrews spouted.

Burk pulled her cell, “I’m on it.”

“So, what role does Henson play in the organization?” Andrews asked as Burk engaged in a whispered conversation on the phone.

“Redundancy,” Rainhorse said. “Henson is the guy in the shadows who knows what Barnabas knows and wields the same amount of authority. In the event we kill Barnabas, Henson has the skill, the resources and the authority to complete the mission.”

“So, even if we had gotten to Barnabas...”

“Henson would still execute the plan,” Rainhorse finished.

“Shit!” Andrews scowled. “So, if we hadn’t made a deal with you, you would have allowed this to occur?”

Andrews could see the big Cheyenne through the rear-view mirror shaking his head, “No. I wanted to dangle him before you as leverage.”

“So, you played us,” Andrews snapped.

Rainhorse shrugged his shoulders.

“Well, here’s something you don’t know,” Burk spouted. “We would have given you the full pardon without the forty-eight-hour contingency.”

“I did know that,” Rainhorse said. “You had no choice. Here’s something you don’t know. I would have done it with no deal at all. When I first heard Barnabas’s name, I was all-in, regardless.”

“Whatever, asshole,” Burk snarled. “Ok, what is our first step? You said you could do this in forty-eight hours.”

“Part of the redundancy is that Henson and Barnabas operate in two separate areas, but tomorrow they will be in the same spot making final arrangements.  If we do this right, we will nail them together.”

“How do we find out where Barnabas will be?” Andrews said.

“I already know what city he is in,” Rainhorse said. “At least what city he will be in on Tuesday.”

“Where?”

“When we get to the FBI office in Billings, I will lay it all out,” he said.

“Why Tuesday?” Burk asked. “How can you be sure of the day?”

“Because he will oversee the final stages of the placement and detonation of his nuclear weapon on Tuesday, then flee for safety. He will set it off on Wednesday.”

“You are so full of shit, Rainhorse,” Burk said. “You can’t know all this.”

“Let him talk Burk, that’s why he’s here,” Andrews said. “Ok Rainhorse, tell us how you're aware that the bomb will go off on Wednesday.”

“Because this Wednesday is the anniversary of Barnabas’s court-martial,” Rainhorse said. “For Quince, what would serve more justice than detonating a nuclear device on US soil on the anniversary of the day he perceived his country turned their backs on him?”

Burk tapped on her computer the second Rainhorse mentioned ‘court-martial.’

“He’s right,” she affirmed.

“Jesus Christ!” Andrews wailed.

“Make the next left off the freeway,” Rainhorse said.

“Why?” Andrews asked.

“The Burger Dive is seven miles up the road,” Rainhorse said.

“Dammit. Ok,” Andrews spouted.

Fifteen minutes later the Suburban was traveling northeast on a side road heading to Burger Dive.

“This is some beautiful countryside, isn’t it?” an agent in the back noted.

“I don’t like it,” the second agent said. “It’s desolate. There is no sign of civilization as far as the eye can see.”

Andrews chuckled and then his face turned serious, “What did you say, Agent?”

“I said there is no sign of civilization as far as...”

“Shit!” screamed Andrews. “I’m turning around.”

“What? Why?” asked Burk.

A loud noise interrupted the agent’s comment, and the vehicle jerked.

“Our rear tire is blown,” one agent yelled out.

“We must have run over something,” the other agent in the back added.

“No. We didn’t run over anything,” Andrews said. “Someone shot out our tire.”

The Suburban had been traveling well over seventy miles-per-hour when the tire exploded. It was all Andrews could do to keep control of the vehicle. Rainhorse used his right elbow to deliver a crushing blow to the face of the agent sitting on his right.

“Hey!” yelled out the agent to his left, but it was too late. Rainhorse used his left elbow to deliver a forceful blow to the man’s chin. Both agents slumped forward unconscious.

“Freeze,” yelled Burk as the vehicle slowed to a stop. She had pulled her pistol from the holster on her right hip and twisted to her left training the barrel of the weapon toward Rainhorse, but once again, the Cheyenne was too quick. He grabbed her wrist and twisted it upward.  She squeezed off two shots, which went through the roof of the vehicle. With the grace and quickness of a mountain lion he snatched the gun out of Burk’s hand.

Andrews reached for his weapon but felt the cold steel of Burk’s pistol on the back of his neck. “Don’t move, Andrews,” Rainhorse demanded. “Put your hands in the air where I can see them.”

Andrews complied, “Traitorous son-of-a-bitch!” Andrews barked. “How bad did you hurt my agents?”

“I will not lie. They are both going to wake up with bad headaches,” Rainhorse replied, “but they will recover—perhaps a little worse for the wear. I expect them to regain consciousness in sixty to ninety minutes.”

“If you injured them seriously...” Burk began.

“Shut up, Burk. Andrews, pull the vehicle under that tree to your left,” Rainhorse ordered. He saw Burk looking at him holding the gun to Andrews’s ear.

“I can tell what you’re thinking,” Rainhorse said to her, “But get it out of your head. You’d look like a racoon with two black eyes and a bloody nose.”

He saw her relax.

Andrews put the car in gear and it hobbled on its blown tire under the tree.

Forty feet away Rainhorse saw a lone individual, dressed in full camo, wearing a ski mask, emerge from behind a tree, holding a long-range rifle. Rainhorse waved at the sniper who nodded in return, then disappeared. Andrews sighed.

“Who is your collaborator?” he asked.

“A friend,” the Cheyenne replied.

“What now, genius?” he asked.

Rainhorse smiled.

“Turn the engine off and hand me the keys.”

Andrews complied, handing the keys to the former Ranger.

“Burk, grab Andrews’s cuffs and shackle his right wrist to the steering wheel,” he continued.

Burk paused, looking at Andrews. He nodded. She pulled the cuffs from his belt clip and secured his right wrist to the steering wheel as commanded.

“Good job,” the Cheyenne said. “Now take your own cuffs and secure your left wrist to the security handle above your door frame.”

“That will be uncomfortable,” she complained.

“No, watching you explain to your superiors how you lost me will be uncomfortable. I wish I could be there to see it.”

“Fuck you, Rainhorse,” she blurted out.

“Just cuff yourself, now.”

Burk complied and cuffed herself to the security handle.

“Great, now hand me both sets of keys to the cuffs,” he said.

Burk handed them over with her free hand.

Rainhorse spent the next three minutes getting the cell phones from everyone in the vehicle. He also pulled the cuffs from the unconscious agents and secured their wrists to the security handles over the rear doors.

“What’s all this about?” Andrews said.

“We wait for a minute or two,” the big Cheyenne replied. “It won’t be long.”

“Wait for what?” Burk said.

“You’ll see.”

“So, tell me, what are you going to do?” Andrews asked. “Make a run for it? Disappear?”

“No,” he said.

“What then?”

“I intend to make good on my promise,” Rainhorse said, looking behind him through the rear glass.

“You expect me to believe you?” Andrews shot back.

“I do,” the Cheyenne replied. “And also, you will help me.”

“You’ve violated the deal. I’m not helping you with anything.”

“There has been no violation,” Rainhorse rebuked. “I agreed to find and capture or kill Barnabas and Henson within forty-eight hours, and that is what I intend to do. The arrangement said nothing about me taking off on my own.”

“Why are you doing this, Rainhorse?” Burk said. “Use our resources.”

“No. There is bureaucracy within your own organization, and the additional bottleneck of the CIA and Homeland looking up your ass with a microscope. You and I know the government would never allow me to take off on my own and do what needs to be done. There’s a reason I picked the forty-eight-hour time frame, Andrews.”

A gray mini-van pulled up alongside the black Suburban. The same lone figure who had shot out the tire was driving. The window of the mini-van rolled down, and a hand appeared, holding a single cell phone. Rainhorse took it and walked around to the driver’s side of the Suburban and opened the door.

“Who’s your friend?” Andrews asked.

“No one of concern to you,” Rainhorse responded.

“Your friend will go to jail,” Burk interjected.

“Here is a burner phone,” the Cheyenne said, ignoring Burk’s comment. “I’m placing it on top of the car, so when you are rescued you can retrieve it. Keep it on at all times. I will call you with information and instructions later.”

“Instructions, my ass,” Burk snapped. “We’ll hunt you down and put you in chains by this evening.”

“I very much doubt that,” Rainhorse said, “but remember one thing. You can spend your efforts finding me or helping me find Barnabas. Your choice.”

“Rainhorse,” Andrews said. “You don’t need to do this. We must work together if we are to stand a chance of finding Barnabas.”

“We will work together,” Rainhorse said. “I will need you.”

“Then why are you doing this to us?” Andrews barked.

“Because I will need you and all your muscle... but only when the time comes.”

“This is all bullshit!” Burk howled.  “Tell us where he’ll be.”

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because soon after I tell you where he’ll be, your department will mobilize your efforts,” Rainhorse said. “When that happens, Barnabas will find out and he’ll fall back to Plan B. He’ll disappear, but he won’t miss a beat. His plan will move forward.”

“What is Plan B?” Andrews asked.

“No idea,” Rainhorse said, “but there is one. We have only one shot at this. I can’t let you guys screw it up. That’s why I need to go this alone.”

“Why do you think Barnabas would know we are mobilizing?” Burk asked.

“Because he has a mole in the FBI,” Rainhorse replied. “He has for years.”

“No way,” Andrews barked.

“He does. Trust me.”

“Who is it?” Andrews asked.

“No clue,” Rainhorse replied. “The mole has been in place for a long time. Whoever it is, he’s the reason you haven’t come close to finding Barnabas.”

“You’re full of shit, Rainhorse,” Burk wailed. “The FBI does not have a leak. Let us go.”

“Listen, Andrews,” Rainhorse replied, ignoring Burk altogether, “I'm not sure how you will do this, but you need to find the mole and soon.”

Andrews sighed, looking forward in silence, reflecting.  He looked up at Rainhorse, “You really think he’ll detonate a nuclear device on US soil?”

“Yes,” Rainhorse said.

“On Wednesday?” Andrews added.

Rainhorse nodded, “My guess is, at four-thirty in the afternoon, Pacific time.”

“Why four-thirty?” Burk asked.

“Let me guess,” Andrews answered, “because that’s the time of day that the court-martial ruling against Barnabas occurred.”

Rainhorse nodded again, “I have to go. When I get down the road, I’ll phone in and give someone your position. You’ll be free in two hours. Find that mole Andrews. We have so little time and not a lot going for us. There will be an enormous boom on Wednesday afternoon unless we stop it.”

“Where will the boom will occur?” Andrews asked. “Do you have an idea?”

“I have a strong feeling, yes, but I can’t be certain... yet.”

“Rainhorse, wait,” Andrews urged.

Rainhorse stopped.

“Let me help you,” the agent continued. “You’ll never find him on your own.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Rainhorse said. “I already know where he is and I’m going there now.”

“What—tell me, now!” Andrews demanded.

“When the time comes—not before.”

“You’re a crazy Cheyenne, you know that?” Andrews barked.

“I can do this, but it has to be my way. You stay by your phone. I’ll be in touch... soon. Be prepared to move. You’ll need to move fast when I call you.”

“Don’t screw this up,” Andrews continued.