Chapter 11 - The Choke Point at Red Rocks Pass
The convoy of three darkened, armored SUVs rolled down the winding private mountain road like ghosts through the freezing mist.
The road surface was slick with black ice, reflecting the pale red glow of brake lights in the darkness.
In the front passenger seat of the lead vehicle sat Victor Hale, his hands trembling so violently that the cuffs rattled against his knees.
Beside him sat Caleb Rourke, wearing a heavy Kevlar tactical vest and holding a suppressed sidearm leveled at Victor's ribs.
In the rear passenger seat, Adrien Vale sat motionless, staring out at the jagged red sandstone pillars of the canyon walls looming in the gray predawn light.
"Pick up the radio, Victor," Adrien said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion.
Victor swallowed a dry lump in his throat and reached for the encrypted tactical transceiver mounted on the dashboard.
"Remember," Caleb murmured into Victor's ear with chilling softness.
"One wrong word, one stutter, and I will put two hollow points through your collarbone before you finish the sentence."
Victor pressed the transmit key, his knuckles turning dead white.
"Bravo Leader, this is Hale," Victor said, trying desperately to steady the tremor in his voice.
Static hissed through the speaker for three agonizing seconds before a sharp, rasping voice answered.
"Hale, what took you so damn long?" Special Agent Miller demanded from the other end.
"We’re already staging at the lower entrance of Morrison."
"The weather pushed the choppers back ten minutes."
Victor took a ragged breath and glanced sideways at Caleb's gun.
"I secured the target package," Victor lied, following Adrien's exact script.
"The maid’s ledger and the federal flash drive are in my briefcase."
"Adrien figured out the leak and tried to secure the west wing, but we slipped out through the service exit."
"I have the Torres girl in the back of my Suburban."
A dark, triumphant laugh crackled through the transceiver.
"Good work, Victor," Miller replied.
"Hector Salazar will double your offshore balance for bringing in the kid."
"The girl is the only living lever we need to make sure the widow keeps her mouth shut forever."
"Where are you heading?"
"I'm taking the scenic canyon pass past the amphitheatre," Victor said.
"The main highway has local snowplows blocking the southern lanes."
"Copy that," Miller barked.
"We have four tactical units waiting at the mouth of the gorge."
"We will box you in, transfer the package to our federal rig, and handle the cleanup at Vale House."
The channel clicked shut with a dead burst of static.
Caleb reached over and took the radio from Victor's grip, switching off the transmitter.
"They bought it completely," Caleb said, looking back at Adrien.
"Because greed makes men stupid, Caleb," Adrien answered quietly.
"They think this is an extraction."
"They think they are arriving to collect their prize."
The convoy reached the narrow mouth of the red stone canyon, where towering monoliths rose three hundred feet on either side of the two-lane road.
The pass was known to locals as Dead Man's Cut, an ancient geological fracture where no cellphone signal could penetrate and where snowdrifts regularly trapped stranded motorists.
Adrien tapped his earbud, opening the private tactical channel to the two trailing chase vehicles.
"Jackson’s team, take position on the upper ridge with the heavy hunting rifles," Adrien commanded.
"Miller’s tactical team will enter the cut in less than four minutes."
"Once their lead SUV passes the second granite marker, drop the telephone pole across the exit."
"Nobody leaves this canyon on four wheels."
"Understood, Mr. Vale," came the crisp reply from the ridge.
Adrien checked the slide of his custom rifle and adjusted his gloves.
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The headlights of four black federal Suburbans appeared through the heavy fog at the far end of the canyon floor.
The hunt had begun.
