Breaking Point

run again.
    “We can float right through them,” Joe offered. “They may not even know we’re there. But that isn’t our deal.”
    “A deal is a deal,” Butch said.
    Since he’d confirmed Joe’s theory, Butch Roberson seemed to have deflated in height, power, and confidence. He seemed to Joe like a shell of his former self.
    “I wasn’t kidding,” Joe said. “This was just between us.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Are you going to stick with your story?”
    “Absolutely. And I trust you to keep it between us.”
    Joe nodded.
    “You’d do the same thing, wouldn’t you, Joe?” Butch asked.
    Joe hesitated before saying, “Don’t ask me that.”
    “You would. You’re a good man.”
    Joe changed the subject.
    “So do you want to float right through or pull over and give yourself up?”
    Butch seemed overwhelmed that Joe had suddenly given him a choice. He said, “The second.”
    Then, with resignation: “I can’t outrun them. There are too many of those guys.”
    Joe hesitated a moment and said, “You might find allies who will help keep you out of their hands. I have a friend who has operated off the grid for years. I’m sure he’d give you some help.”
    Butch nodded. “Yeah, I know there are people out there who could help me, like Frank Zeller. But why get other folks in trouble? This is my problem, not theirs.”
    “They may not think of it like that,” Joe said.
    “My mind is made up. Don’t give me any more chances to change it.”
    “Okay, then,” Joe said. “You’ll need to give me that pistol. You won’t be needing it anymore.”
    Butch reached back and handed it over. Joe tossed it toward the bank.
    —
    T HE CAMPGROUND WAS BUSTLING, and it didn’t take long to figure out why. Joe recognized vehicles, tents, communications vans, and personnel from the forward operating base on the Big Stream Ranch. They were establishing a new FOB, he reasoned, since the old one was being consumed by the fire. He assumed Batista had ordered the campground evacuated, and was establishing a new beachhead. Joe was impressed they’d been able to assemble and move so quickly. But he dreaded the fact that he was delivering Butch Roberson into the Lion’s Den.
    As they nosed the front of the log into the muddy bank of the campground, the cacophony of voices and activity went silent. Dozens of federal men and women turned their faces toward Joe and Butch, and there were gasps and open mouths.
    Someone said, “Jesus, there he is.”
    Joe searched the crowd for Governor Rulon, but didn’t see him. His new director, Lisa Greene-Dempsey, was there, however. She looked shocked to see him, and her eyes blinked quickly behind her designer glasses. Joe thought he must look like quite a sight: wet and torn clothing, disheveled appearance, streams of blood pouring down his legs into his boots.
    Heinz Underwood shouldered through the crowd. To Joe, he grinned and said, “You made it, you crazy bastard.” He pointed at Butch and said, “Arrest that man.”
    Several agents Joe didn’t recognize started to advance. Beside him, Joe could feel Butch stiffen.
    “No,” Joe said, stepping in front of Butch and placing his right hand on the grip of his Glock.
    The agents halted and looked back at Underwood for further instructions.
    “Where’s Batista?” Joe asked.
    “He said he was called back to HQ,” Underwood said, with a twinkle in his eye. “He’s been gone an hour. He left in a hurry.”
    Joe acknowledged the news with a curt nod. It fit.
    Lisa Greene-Dempsey said, “Warden Pickett, you need to stand aside. You need to cooperate.”
    “I’m through cooperating,” Joe said, his tone flat.
    To Greene-Dempsey, Joe said, “Call Sheriff Reed and get him down here now. This man will surrender to him and him only. He’ll be in county lockup if you need to see him.”
    Underwood said to Greene-Dempsey, “This is a federal matter. You’ll have to order your employee to turn over that man.”
    “Warden Pickett—” she said without enthusiasm, but Joe cut her off.
    He said, “I made Butch a deal. He agreed to turn himself in to the sheriff.”
    Silence.
    Joe meant it. His insides roiled, and he didn’t want to draw his weapon.
    Greene-Dempsey stepped forward, and Joe said softly, “That includes you, too, I’m afraid. Just make the call.”
    She stopped there and gasped for air. Then she raised her iPhone.
    —
    B EFORE J OE CLIMBED into the sheriff’s department handicap van behind Butch