60
Asan Makashov came out the far door of the greenhouse and looked around. In front of him stretched a big open area bathed in moonlight. There were rows of machinery, trucks, a barn, and more greenhouses. The boy and his robot seemed to have vanished. They could be anywhere—under a truck, in the barn, or hiding behind a large piece of equipment.
He saw his brother emerge in the moonlight a few hundred yards away, where a dirt road ran down the valley, blocked by a chain-link fence. There did not seem to be a house associated with this farm. They were alone in the compound—with the boy.
He knew they had the boy trapped. After that voice in the ruins, they had found his tracks in the wet grass. They’d followed the tracks to the creek and down the trail. They’d seen where he had climbed the barbed wire fence, and his tracks had also been visible in the field beyond, leading to the open greenhouse. And they had actually seen him in the greenhouse.
He was not so smart if he thought he could hide from them here. He was here, somewhere. Now it was just a matter of searching.
Asan was very angry at the boy and the inconvenience he had put them to. Neither one called to the other. Asan moved in parallel with Jyrgal, with good separation, on either side of the open area. While Jyrgal waited and provided cover from a distance, his weapon drawn, Asan made a systematic search among the parked vehicles, looking inside, trying the doors, and searching underneath.
When he had finished, their roles reversed. Asan stood guard to cover Jyrgal as he came toward Asan to search the area around the barn. He watched as Jyrgal tried the front sliding doors. They were securely locked. He circled the barn, trying the side door and another large door in the back. They were all locked.
Asan made a hand signal to Jyrgal to search the smaller greenhouses on the far side of the open area.
He watched while Jyrgal kicked down the door of the smaller greenhouse opposite and went in. He was gone for a few minutes, the flashlight shining from inside the glass, flickering about. He emerged, went into the adjacent greenhouse, and a few minutes later came out again. He came back and they stood side by side, looking at the compound in the strong moonlight. There was one area still to search, a long, low equipment shed at the back of the compound. Jyrgal gestured that they should start at both ends and work toward the middle.
Together they approached the shed. Inside were a row of tractors and other equipment. Working their way from the end, searching under, about, and inside every piece of equipment, they met in the middle.
Again nothing.
Asan couldn’t help muttering a curse. He was wet, all scratched up, his tracksuit torn, his face lashed by a branch, his cheek bleeding. He was looking forward to shooting the boy who had caused this unpleasant chase. He was looking forward to seeing his blood, the insides of his body all on the outside. He knew he would feel better after that.
Back in the open area, he and his brother divided once again and searched everywhere, a second time, for a hiding place they might have missed. They found nothing.
Asan now turned his thoughts back to the barn. Gesturing to his brother, he went over to the front doors of the barn, yanked on them. Definitely locked. He went around to the side and tested it again. Also securely locked. He shined his light around, looking for tracks, but the area was heavily graveled and, despite the rain, there were no tracks to be seen.
He met up with his brother behind the barn. “He’s in there,” he said to Jyrgal.
“Let’s do another search of the vehicles, just to make sure.”
Asan went among the vehicles, gun drawn, crouching down and shining his light up underneath them. His anger increased. This was supposed to have taken twenty minutes and here they were, hours later, soaked, muddy, and scratched up. Lansing had promised them fifty thousand dollars. This was well-paying work, but Asan was still angry. If they had been allowed to do the job in their own way, just the two of them, it would not have happened like this. Lansing and that unreliable, long-haired man should not have been involved. They had created these problems. Talk and reasoning never worked with people. You kill one up front, before even speaking, and the rest fall in line. That was the key to an operation like this.
On the far side of the compound, he could occasionally glimpse his brother, working his way around and looking everywhere. Finally they ended up behind the barn again, empty-handed.
“I told you, he’s in the barn,” Asan said.
“How could he get in? It’s locked.”
Asan examined the lock of the side door with his flashlight anyway—no signs of recent forced entry. And then he spied, next to the door, a brick on the ground. He stepped over to it. It had recently been moved, leaving a rectangular impression in the soil. In the center of that flat rectangle, impressed into the dirt, was the crisp shape of a key.
He rose and gestured his brother over, illuminating the brick with his flashlight.
His brother smiled, gestured. He was in the barn. They had him now.