"Sorry. We were just going back for those," Shawn said. "Thanks for bringing them to us."

"Don't trash my mountain," the man said again, and then he was gone back up the trail.

"Amazing that big a guy can move so fast," Shawn said. "Of course, if he's all hair, maybe he just blew away."

Gus hoisted his pack and slung it over his shoulder, his muscles screaming in pain as the weight settled down on them again. A quick glance suggested that Shawn was feeling the same agony.

"I suppose we could just leave them here," Gus said. "We'll be able to find them in the morning."

"Do you think that counts as trashing the mountain?"

"Not as much as setting up a four-star restaurant in this meadow." This a.s.sertion came from a fourth server, who offered them a warm smile and two printed menu cards. He had curly black hair and a smile bigger than all outdoors, which was pretty big, given the context. "Hi, my name is Cody, and I'll be your server tonight. That man has been hanging around here all day shouting obscenities at us. We finally bought him off with a case of Pinot Noir. But don't worry-there's plenty left."

"Do you think he's dangerous?" Gus said.

"My usual gig is in Venice," Cody said. "He's nothing compared to the homeless guys living on the beach. Just seems fanatical about keeping the mountains clean-and who can blame him?"

"He could start with himself," Shawn said.

"Believe me, we offered him a shower along with the wine," Cody said.

"There are showers here?" Gus said.

"We've got a sauna," Cody said. He pointed at the female server, who was standing over Balowsky waiting for him to drain his gla.s.s so she could refill it. "And Maggie is a certified ma.s.sage technician, if you're feeling sore. I personally recommend her scalp treatment. I think she's bringing back my hair."

Gus and Shawn must have looked puzzled, because Cody leaned over to show them the bald spot on the center of his scalp. "My agent said I should just shave my head, but I think that rules me out for leading man roles."

"I can see how that would be a problem," Shawn said.

"But my acting career is the last thing in the world you two should be worrying about now," Cody said.

"Don't worry, it is," Shawn said.

"I'd love to wash my hands before dinner," Gus said.

"The bathing pavilion is right over there." Cody pointed at a red-and-white-striped tent. "May I take your bags?"

"You may take them and keep them," Shawn said.

Cody pointed across the meadow, where the rest of the packs were neatly lined up. "I'll put them over there. We'll start serving dinner as soon as you're seated."

As Cody bent down to pick up the packs, he gave Gus another look at the bald spot, then carried the bags over to the others and went to help the other male server pour soup into bowls.

"You heard what Cody said," Shawn said. "We don't want to keep the lawyers waiting."

"You go join them," Gus said. "I'll be right there. Maybe you can get Mathis to confess and we can all go home after dinner."

As Shawn went towards the dining table, Gus headed off to the red-and-white-striped tent and pushed the flap open. It was like stepping into the spa at the Four Seasons-marble countertops, bra.s.s fixtures, and toiletries with the fanciest labels Gus had ever seen. But all that luxury paled in comparison to the scalding-hot water that gushed out of the faucet when Gus turned the tap. He lathered his hands with a jasmine-scented wash and then attacked his face with the matching defoliating scrub. Drying himself off with a plush towel of Egyptian cotton, he luxuriated in the sense of cleanliness. No matter how good dinner had smelled, he was beginning to regret pa.s.sing on the hot shower. Maybe later.

Feeling more refreshed than he'd dreamed possible, Gus stepped out of the bath tent and started towards the dining table. The lawyers were involved in an argument over some obscure point of law-among the s.n.a.t.c.hes that drifted over in the breeze Gus heard the words 'usucaption,' 'usufructuary,' and 'ultra vires'-and server Maggie was back standing over Balowsky with a fresh bottle as he drained the dregs from another gla.s.s. A portly chef Gus hadn't noticed before bent over the oven, pulling out a saddle of lamb.

Gus' sense of well-being began to drain away as he realized that for all the noise coming from the table, there were only four people sitting there. Mathis was nowhere to be seen.

Neither was Shawn.

Gus made a conscious effort to slow his heart rate before it started accelerating. This was probably a good thing. Shawn had undoubtedly seen an opening and taken Mathis aside to trick a confession out of him. Then he'd saunter back to the packs, flip on one of the emergency beacons, and they'd both enjoy this fabulous dinner while they waited for the helicopter to come.

That sounded like a brilliant plan. There was only one problem with it. It wasn't Shawn. There was simply no way that Shawn could bring himself to solve a case like this without an audience. If Shawn was going to expose Mathis, he'd do it in front of the other lawyers. Or at the very least wait until Gus was back to see it.

So where was he?

Gus scanned every inch of the meadow. Cody and the other male servers were polishing the plates before dinner service. The chef was carving the roast. Server Maggie was refilling Balowsky's gla.s.s.

That left the tents. There were three of them besides the one he'd just left. Gus crept over to the nearest tent, a blue-and-white-striped pavilion, and peered in. There were three low beds on the ground, complete with feather beds and down comforters. Three fluffy cotton robes hung from hooks, and there were men's pajamas laid out on a low table. But there was no one inside. Gus moved quickly to the green-and-white-striped tent. Two more beds, two more robes, and two sheer nightgowns on hooks. Clearly this tent was intended for Gwendolyn and Jade, although Gus suspected that they might both prefer sleeping alone on rocks to rooming together, no matter how splendid the accommodation. The yellow-and-white-striped tent at the other end of the camp also contained two beds and two sets of men's pajamas.

There was no one inside.

Gus came out of the tent and checked the dining table, hoping that Shawn and Mathis had reappeared there while he was checking the sleeping quarters. They hadn't.

Moving around the yellow pavilion, Gus discovered that there was one other tent he hadn't noticed before. No surprise there-unlike the grand sleeping quarters, this was a small, olive drab lean-to, probably the cheapest shelter you could find at any army surplus store. Gus approached it nervously. It was just about the right size to hide a body. He lifted the flap and peered in. And his heart stopped.

The tent was dark and close. Something lay sprawled on the ground. In the dim light it looked like a body. Gus forced himself to reach in and touch it. The form sank under his fingers.

Gus almost let out a laugh in relief. It wasn't a body. It was just a few spare pillows that had tumbled down from a stack on the left side of the tent. Gus had fallen for the same trick he'd used on his parents when he wanted to sneak out with Shawn when they were kids-he'd arrange his pillows under the covers on his bed so that when his parents looked in on him they'd see what they'd think was a sleeping boy. The only difference was that his parents had never fallen for this subterfuge-apparently a good mother could tell the difference between the child she'd borne and a cotton rectangle filled with foam-and Gus just had.

He pushed the pillows out of the way and checked the rest of the tent's contents. There were coolers filled with eggs and oranges, not doubt to be scrambled and juiced in the morning, a sack of potatoes, bags of whole-bean coffee, several restaurant-sized cans of ketchup, what looked like an entire pig's worth of bacon and a second swine of sausage, and pink bakery boxes filled with croissants, brioche, and Danishes. Gus didn't know what seemed more surprising to him-that they had brought enough food to feed the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, or that they'd flown in the pastries pre-made, instead of baking them fresh.

There were more crates stacked behind the breakfast supplies, but Gus didn't bother to check through them. None of them was big enough to hold a body. He crawled back out of the lean-to and let the flap fall shut behind him.

There was still no sign of Shawn or Mathis at the dining table. Gus forced himself to keep calm. Mathis wouldn't do anything obvious. He couldn't. He'd have to figure that Gus knew everything Shawn did. Even if he managed to get rid of Shawn and make it look like an accident-for the first time since the helicopter landed, Gus replayed that old dream image of his best friend's body broken and b.l.o.o.d.y at the bottom of a cliff-he couldn't possibly hope to get rid of Gus the same way.

Whatever Mathis was up to, Gus had to figure it out fast. The sun was dropping behind the peak of the mountain, and the shadows had disappeared. There was probably another fifteen or twenty minutes before it got too dark to see, but that wasn't a lot of time. The servers were already moving around the camp lighting oil lamps. Once the sunlight was gone, so was any chance of finding Shawn.

There was one way out. The emergency beacons. He could use one of them, send out the signal for help. Whoever showed up would be prepared to find people lost in the wilderness. It would be career suicide, but Shawn would have to find that preferable to actual homicide.

No need for that extreme measure just yet, though. Gus would give it a few more minutes, wait at least until it was dark. And if he'd heard nothing from Shawn by then, he'd do it.

Gus was moving towards the backpacks to position himself near the beacons when he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye.

He wheeled around towards the motion and saw Shawn walking away from him at the far end of meadow. He was about to call out, to wave his hands over his head and jump and scream to let Shawn know he was heading in the wrong direction. Until he noticed two small details that had escaped him in the first blush of excitement: Shawn wasn't alone in the meadow. Morton Mathis was walking directly behind him.

And Shawn's hands were up in the air.

Chapter Thirty-Six.

He was a savage jungle cat moving swiftly and silently through the tall gra.s.ses of the meadow. The sun was completely hidden behind the mountain now, and the last glimmerings of daylight were fading into dark gray. But jungle cat Gus didn't need light to find his way. He was moving on smell, on touch, on instinct.

He was going to save his friend.

As he tracked his prey, Gus tried to figure out what exactly was going on. Clearly Mathis was armed. He must have been holding a gun on Shawn. He hadn't used it yet, though. The shot would have echoed through this wilderness like an avalanche; if he wanted to kill Shawn and rejoin the other lawyers he'd have to do it silently. And that meant getting far enough away from the camp so that the others wouldn't hear even if Shawn cried out.

This gave Gus a small advantage. Mathis had to keep this quiet; Gus could yell for help at any time. Even if the other lawyers wouldn't necessarily come running, odds were at least some of the servers would try to help.

There was only one thing stopping Gus from crying out right now, and that was the fact that Shawn must have come to the same conclusion. He would have known that Mathis couldn't afford for him to shout for help-so why didn't he?

Gus crouched at the edge of the meadow and peered into the gathering darkness. Just ahead of him the ground began to slope up sharply and the wildflowers gave way to the kind of rocky wasteland they'd spent the morning walking through. Large boulders spotted the landscape, which would give Gus cover once he started to move forward again. But they were also cover for Mathis-he and Shawn could be behind any one of a dozen large enough to hide two men.

Suddenly there was a sound in the air. It sounded like voices. But where were they coming from? The stream was running off to Gus' right, and the sweet tinkling drowned out the faint sound of speech. It must be Shawn and Mathis, but Gus couldn't make out what they were saying. He cursed himself for every time he'd ever turned up the volume on his iPod to fill his brain with Mariah Carey's high notes. Didn't he know he'd need his hearing intact one of these days?

Just keep talking, Shawn, Gus thought as he maneuvered his way to the first of the large boulders and pressed himself against it. Let me know where you are.

For what felt like an eternity, there was nothing but silence. And then he heard Shawn's voice again. It sounded desperate, as if he were pleading for his life. Who knew how much time he had left before Mathis silenced him forever?

There was an enormous boulder up the hill to Gus' right. Shawn and Mathis were on the other side of it. Gus scrabbled around in the ground at his feet for a weapon. He came up with a stone the size and weight of a brick. It would do.

At least, it would have done if he and Mathis were Cro-Magnons fighting it out in a prehistoric age. Unfortunately a lot of time had pa.s.sed since then, and mankind had invented far more advanced weaponry, including the gun that Mathis must be holding on Shawn. The rock wouldn't do Gus any good if Mathis could take him out from fifty feet away.

Gus needed one more weapon, and there was only one available-the element of surprise. He'd have to strike from above.

But for the surprise attack to work he would have to move silently. And that was nearly impossible. The ground was scattered with loose stones, and they skittered down the hill with every step he took. He had to lift one foot, wait for the gravel to settle underneath, then find a new place for it a few inches ahead. Press it down gently, make sure there were no loose rocks underneath, and finally put his weight on it. Then he could begin the process with the other foot.

Gus had no idea how long it took him to get to the top of the boulder. It felt like hours, although the last dregs of daylight around him suggested it had been only a few minutes. He pressed his back against the boulder and listened for the voices.

"You can't just leave us out here," Shawn said.

"Watch me," Mathis said.

"You really think no one's going to figure out what you're up to?"

"That's not going to matter to you," Mathis said. "In fact, none of this is going to matter to you. And that's-"

This was the moment. Mathis was going to kill Shawn. Gus had to move now. He raised the rock over his head and leaped down from behind the boulder.

At least that's what he meant to do. But the ground around the boulder was strewn with loose rocks, and as he pushed off with his foot, the rocks slid out from beneath him. Gus went down headfirst, his face nearly slamming into the ground before he managed to get his other foot beneath him.

Gus was upright now, and moving fast, but Mathis had heard him. He whirled around, leveling the gun. Even in the twilight, Gus was sure he could see Mathis' finger tightening on the trigger as Gus stumbled towards him. Gus brought the rock back up.

"Gus, no!" Shawn shouted.

Shawn's words penetrated Gus' mind at the same instant as the tingling sensation from the shock of the rock slamming into Mathis' head. By the time he was able to process the thought that Shawn hadn't wanted him to knock the gunman out, it was too late for him to do anything about it. Mathis was sprawled out over the stony ground.

"Are you okay?" Gus gasped as he kicked the gun out of the unconscious man's hands and heard it splash into the stream in the darkness.

"I'm fine," Shawn said. "Wish I could say the same for him."

Shawn got down on his knees and felt Mathis' neck for a pulse. He looked relieved to find one.

"I've never heard you express such compa.s.sion for a murderer before," Gus said, a little hurt that Shawn didn't seem at all grateful to be so daringly rescued.

"And you never will," Shawn said. "Unfortunately, Mathis isn't our killer."

Gus gaped at him. "But he has to be. It all fits."

"And a Matchbox racer fits in a prescription pill bottle," Shawn said. "But that doesn't mean that if you dump out your mother's Darvon so you can use the bottle as a car carrier she won't get mad at you, as I think we both remember all too well."

Gus tried to make sense of what Shawn was saying. "He was holding a gun on you."

"Yes, he was," Shawn said. "In his right hand, which definitely did make our theory seem more likely. Unfortunately, what's in his left hand seems to undercut it just about entirely."

Following Shawn's gaze, Gus knelt down and opened Mathis' left hand. He was holding on to a plastic wallet. Gus took it and let it fall open. He couldn't see much in the dark, but he could feel a smooth plastic surface on one side. On the other was a shield of engraved metal.

"It's kind of hard to see in the dark, but he showed it to me before the sun went down," Shawn said. "It identifies him as Special Agent Morton Mathis, FBI."

Chapter Thirty-Seven.

Gus stared down at the FBI agent, trying to will him back into consciousness. At least he thought he was staring down at Mathis. It had gotten so dark he could have been staring at a rock.

Or he could have until the rock stirred and moaned. And then let out a string of curses Gus was pretty sure no rock would ever utter.

"You're okay now," Shawn said, reaching down to help Morton to his feet. "You had me scared there. We were having a pleasant conversation, and then you just keeled over and pa.s.sed out."

"Yeah, right after this idiot beaned me with a rock," Mathis said, clutching the back of his head.

"You're not supposed to remember that," Shawn said. "It's been clearly demonstrated in every movie ever made that when you're knocked out with a rock and someone tells you that you fainted, you always believe it. I think it has something to do with short-term memory. Or rocks."

"I'm really sorry," Gus said. "I saw you taking Shawn away at gunpoint and I thought you were going to kill him."

"You were wrong," Mathis said. "Though maybe not anymore."

"Oh, come on," Shawn said. "It was an innocent misunderstanding. We'll all be laughing about it in a little while."

Mathis pulled his hand away from his head and rubbed his fingers together, checking to see if they were covered with blood. Apparently they weren't. "We're not doing anything together," the agent said. "We're not laughing together, we're not crying together, and as I was explaining before Chingachgook here tried to scalp me, we're not working this case together."

Gus shot Shawn a puzzled look, which was a waste of facial muscles since it was too dark to see expressions. But Shawn knew Gus well enough to read his silence.

"Special Agent Mathis is working undercover at Rushton, Morelock," Shawn explained. "The FBI seems to believe that someone there is using the law firm as a conduit to smuggle out top-secret technology."