“I know,” Ryker said.

“Pendleton’s enforcers are not simple street thugs,” I said.

“They are former port authority officers who know how to make people disappear.”

“I know that too,” Ryker said.

He walked to the corner of the room where his heavy canvas duffel bag sat.

He unzipped it slowly, the metal teeth of the zipper rasping in the quiet.

He reached inside and pulled out a black leather case.

He opened the case on the table.

Inside lay three small, silver-colored metal cylinders.

They were tracking relays, the kind used by offshore transport vessels.

“We will set the perimeter at the mill ourselves,” Ryker said.

He looked at me, his face illuminated by the amber glow of the kerosene lamp.

“You will stay here with the children,” Ryker said.

“No,” I said immediately.

“I am not leaving you to handle Pendleton’s men alone.”

“Marco will be there,” Ryker said. “He is flying out of Chicago on a private transport tonight.”

“He will land in Yakima before dawn.”

“I can assist,” I said. “I know how to monitor the thermal feeds.”