Strangers

and drove off toward Elko."
        "Where the hell are they going at this time of night?"
        Leland asked, uncomfortably aware that those three might have slipped through his fingers if he had ordered his men to move against the motel tonight, for he'd been certain the witnesses were settled down until morning.
        Horner pointed to Fixx, who was wearing headphones and listening to the Tranquility. "From what we've heard, the others are going to bed. Twist, Monatella, and Cronin have gone off as… as sort of insurance against us getting our hands on all the witnesses in one quick clean sweep. This had to be Twist's idea."
        "Damn." Massaging his throbbing temples with his finger tips, Leland sighed. "All right. We aren't going after them tonight, anyway."
        "But what about tomorrow? What if they split up all day tomorrow?"
        "In the morning," Leland said, "we'll put tails on all of them." To this point, he had seen no need to tail the witnesses everywhere they went, for he had known that, in the end, they would all wind up at the same place - the motel - making it easier for him to deal with them. But now, if they were going to be spread out when the time came to take them into custody, he would need to know where they were at all times.
        Horner said, "Depending on where they go tomorrow, they're likely to spot any tails we put on them. In this kind of open country, it's not easy to be discreet."
        "I know," Leland said. "So let them see us. I've wanted to stay out of sight, but we're at the end of that approach. Maybe seeing us will throw them off balance until it's too late. Maybe, scared, they'll even get back together for protection and make our job easier again."
        "If we have to take some of them at a place other than the motel, say in Elko, it'll be difficult," Horner said worriedly.
        "If they can't be taken, they've got to be killed." Leland pulled up a chair, sat down. "Let's work out surveillance details now and have the tails in position before dawn."
        

    3.
        

    Tuesday, January 14
        
        At seven-thirty Tuesday morning, in response to a telephone call from Brendan Cronin very late the previous night, Father Stefan Wycazik prepared to set out on a drive to Evanston, to the last known address of Calvin Sharkle, the trucker who had been at the Tranquility Motel that summer but whose telephone was now disconnected. In light of the enormity of last evening's developments in Nevada, everyone was agreed that every possible effort must be made to contact the other victims who had thus far been unreachable. Standing in the warm rectory kitchen, Stefan buttoned his topcoat and put on his fedora.
        Father Michael Gerrano, who was just sitting down to oat meal and toast after celebrating sunrise Mass, said, "Perhaps I should know more about this whole situation, about what on earth's wrong with Brendan, in case… well, in case something happens to you."
        "Nothing's going to happen to me," Father Wycazik said firmly. "God hasn't let me spend five decades learning how the world works just to have me killed now that I'm able to do my best work for the Church."
        Michael shook his head. "You're always so. "Certain in my faith? Of course I am. Rely on God, and He will never fail you, Michael."
        "Actually," Michael said, smiling, "I was going to say: You're always so bullheaded."
        "Such impudence from a curate!" Stefan said, winding a thick white scarf around his neck. "Attend thee, Father: What is wanted of a curate is humility, self-effacement, the strong back of a mule, the stamina of a plow horse - and an unfailingly adoring attitude toward his rector."
        Michael grinned. "Oh, yes, I suppose if the rector is a pious old geezer grown vain from the praise of his parishioners-"
        The telephone rang.
        "If it's for me, I'm gone," Stefan said.
        Stefan pulled on a pair of gloves but was not quite able to make it to the back door before Michael held the receiver toward him.
        "It's Winton Tolk," Michael said. "The cop whose life Brendan saved. He sounds almost hysterical, and he wants to talk to Brendan."
        Stefan took the phone and identified himself.
        The policeman's voice was haunted and full of urgency. "Father, I've got to talk to Brendan Cronin right away, it can't wait."
        "I'm afraid he's away," Stefan said, "out at the other end of