Breaking Point

empty plates away and sat back—Baker had picked at his salad and claimed he was full—Love looked squarely at Singewald and said, “I can’t say I like what we’re doing today.”
    Singewald shrugged. “We’re just the messengers.”
    “Still.”
    “We didn’t make the decision,” Singewald said. “We’re just delivering the verdict.”
    “Yeah,” Love said, shaking his head and taking a swipe at his balled-up paper napkin like a bear cub, “I read it. In fact, I read it twice and didn’t like it any better the second time.”
    “I don’t read ’em,” Singewald said, looking over Baker’s head in an attempt to signal the waitress. “I just deliver ’em. Reading ’em is above my pay grade.”
    “I hear he’s a hardheaded man,” Love said.
    Singewald nodded.
    “I get the impression he’s not going to just roll over.”
    Baker opened his jacket and interjected, “That’s why we carry these,” indicating the butt of his holstered semiautomatic .40 Sig Sauer.
    Love’s mouth dropped open, and he turned to Singewald. “You guys carry
guns
?”
    “We’re trained and authorized,” Singewald said softly.
    “You should see what we have in the trunk,” Baker said. Singewald thought of the combat shotguns and scoped semiautomatic rifles nestled in their cases.
    Love’s eyebrows arched when he said, “So you’re prepared to shoot it out with him if necessary?”
    “If necessary,” Baker said, narrowing his eyes.
    “I try not to predict these things,” Singewald said, almost apologetically. He didn’t want to continue this conversation. He wished Baker wasn’t so overtly gung-ho. Then he raised his hand and waved at the waitress. He began to think she was ignoring him.
    “Have you met this guy we’re serving the order on?” Love asked Singewald.
    “Nope,” Singewald said, wondering if he should snap his fingers to get her attention. “I wasn’t there the first time he was given the word. From what I understand, he was confused, mainly. I don’t think he’s the sharpest knife in the drawer, so to speak.”
    “But he sure as hell understands now,” Love said, shaking his head. “Things like this . . . it makes me wonder just what the hell we’re doing. It isn’t the kind of thing I signed up for, that’s for sure.”
    “What’s the problem?” Baker said suddenly to Love, his tone incredulous. “The guy obviously screwed up big-time or we wouldn’t be going up there. I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
    Love leaned forward on the table and balled his fists together. “Do you know him?”
    “Of course not,” Baker said, defensive.
    “Do you know anything about him?”
    “Just his address.”
    “Did
you
even read the documents we’re taking up there?”
    “No,” Baker said, looking away from Love to Singewald.
    The waitress intervened and slapped the bill down on the table as she rushed by.
    “Ma’am,” Singewald said.
    She turned toward him.
    “We’ll need separate checks. One for him and me,” he said, gesturing to Baker, “and one for him,” he nodded toward Love. “And receipts, please.”
    “Separate checks and receipts,” she repeated with a dead-eyed stare.
    “Yes.”
    “It’ll be a minute,” she said through gritted teeth.
    “It’s okay,” Singewald said, sliding out of the booth. “I can get it taken care of at the front counter.”
    Baker was right behind him as he walked up to the cashier, pulling out his U.S. government Visa card. When he glanced back, Kim Love was still sitting in the booth.
    —
    A N HOUR LATER, sixty-seven miles north of Casper, Love caught up with them near Kaycee, Wyoming. Singewald looked up and saw the Corps sedan in his rearview mirror.
    Baker saw him do it and turned his head toward the back. “Oh, good,” he said. “Our buddy.”
    Singewald grunted.
    “What is his problem, anyway?”
    “I guess he doesn’t like what we’re doing.”
    “Why does he even care?”
    “You’d have to ask him.”
    “I think you should mention this in our report,” Baker said.
    —
    T HE TERRAIN CHANGED as they drove north. Blue humpback mountains had emerged from the prairie to the west. Lines of high white snow veined down from the summits and melded into dark timber.
    Baker pointed at a cluster of vivid brown-and-white dots placed on the slow-waving high grass out his window. “Are those pronghorns?”
    Singewald said they were.
    “And they just stand there like that? There must be a hundred