The righteous men

CHAPTER TEN

Friday, 6am, Seattle

He woke at six am, back now in his Seattle hotel room. He had filed his story from Missoula and then made the long journey cross-country. As he wrote the piece, he was powered by a single, delicious thought: Eat this, Walton. What had that prick said? 'Once counts as an achievement, William; twice would be a miracle.'

Will prayed he had pulled it off. His greatest fear was that the desk might find it too similar to the Macrae story, another good man among knaves. So he had played up the militia angle, thrown in lots of Pacific Northwest colour and hoped for the best. He even toyed with ditching the quote about Baxter's action being 'righteous', the very same word that woman had used about Howard Macrae. It might look contrived. Still, it would be more contrived to ignore it.

He reached for his BlackBerry, whose red light was winking hopefully: new messages.

Harden, Glenn: Nice job today, Monroe. That was what he wanted to hear. It meant he had avoided the spike; if only he could see Walton's face. The next email looked like spam; the sender's name was not clear, just a string of hieroglyphics.

Will was poised to delete it when the single word in the subject field made him click it open. Beth. He had not even read all the words when he felt his blood freeze.

DO NOT CALL THE POLICE. WE HAVE YOUR WIFE. INVOLVE THE POLICE AND YOU WILL LOSE HER. DO NOT CALL THE POLICE OR YOU WILL REGRET IT. FOREVER.