It was a starry night again, the holy Christmas night. There was no guiding star, except for the occasional passing of a high-altitude aircraft. The moon had already set at around 2:30 a.m., which left only the stars to make the snow around him glitter in dark gray.
Except for the cold, Paul was comfortable. The equipment he had bought in an Army surplus store in Mallory was perfectly suited to the weather conditions. Tech underwear, two layers, a polar snow uniform in predominant white with gray spots were completed with gloves, a felt-lined hat, and a facial mask, also white. Paul had worked in much worse conditions during his Marine Force Recon heydays, and this was his home turf.
He was overlooking most of the Trouble Ranch from his vantage point from Springbreak Hill, able to spot anyone who approached the buildings or the nearest lawns. Somewhere to his east behind him was the highway, and a bit further to the left, Welcome was hidden by the next line of hills. He had dug himself a sort of flat igloo to reduce exposure to the chilling wind. His eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness, but he used his right eye to look through a powerful night vision scope.
Paul didn't mind the late hour-and it was not even a boring wait. Various animals had approached him, curious creatures, evaluating him for intruder, feeder, or prey. The snow fox had been the most persistent and patient. He had left after an hour of whining and he-hawing, circling Paul incessantly. Paul had had two false alarms when he had seen green shadows approaching the ranch houses. In both cases, it had turned out to be raccoons on their way to the Trouble trashcans, looking for spills.
"If you guys could talk," Paul muttered to himself. The sky told him that it was close to three o'clock. Would there be already another attempt so quickly after last night's arson attempt? The longer he lay in his cover, the less he was convinced that his stake-out was going to be a success.
Paul decided to give it a different spin and unwrapped himself from his hiding place in unhurried, continuous movements to minimize casual visual detection. Half an hour walk-it should be doable. And it was in a straight line from where he was now.
Paul made better time than expected. About twenty minutes later, he had crossed into Forrester territory and walked up the hillcrest. He crouched behind a boulder, taking in the scene, which was very similar to what he seen from his home, just the Forrester Ranch now. Almost a mile away. He knew this place well. Patty and he had exchanged their first kiss up here. Paul had even spent some nights up here once, mourning for his dead mother. But his dad was right-that had been a long time ago.
Down at the Forrester Ranch, a welcome-light glowed over the front porch; otherwise, the ranch was sleeping and dark. No movements as far as Paul could detect as he swept the scene with his nightscope. After the initial sweep, Paul dug himself a new hole and settled in.
Half an hour later, he saw movement coming in from the west. Made sense. Telegraph Road made a sharp turn to reunite with the highway toward Billings. If someone wanted to approach the Forrester Ranch unseen, this was the best option. Take Telegraph Road until the 90-degree turn and hide your car in the underbrush or behind the old loading dock. Then spend about twenty minutes on foot.
All Paul could make out was that it appeared to be a man; the movements were too muscular to be female. He was hidden for a minute by some trees, but then he returned into view. Bad things afoot.
Paul estimated the path that the intruder would take and started to make his way down the hill. The intruder was coming in from Paul's left, so Paul swung wide to the right, setting a path that took him as far away as far as possible but still gave him a head start. For most of his trek downwards, he was hidden by a small wooded area. He climbed under a wire fence and crossed through a herd of quiet longhorns. The occasional shuffle of hooves and re-munching masked any noise.
After about fifteen minutes, Paul closed in on the houses and stables of Forrester's ranch. He positioned himself behind a feeding apparatus and waited for the intruder to appear. Good judgment, he thought a few minutes later when heard quiet crunching steps on frozen snow from the direction the intruder had set his course.
A dark figure appeared with something strapped to his back, like a rectangular backpack. Paul made a quick visual through his nightscope. He couldn't make out facial features; the intruder was wearing a mask. Judging by the shape and size, Paul reasoned he could be yesterday's guy. Paul could identify the backpack as a canister-the shape was eerily similar to the model that Paul had captured yesterday. So, after failing to set the Troubles' stable on fire, the intruder now tried for Forrester's. The logic defied Paul, but here they were.
Paul gave another quick glance, checking for weapons, but not seeing any. The seconds it would take to draw any weapon below the clothing layers were enough for Paul to finish his attack.
The intruder had reached the back of the building. Paul gave his surroundings a 360-degree check-nothing more embarrassing as being surprised by a second intruder. He found nothing suspicious.
When Paul looked back at him, the intruder had started to remove the canister from his back, fumbling with the opening mechanism. Paul moved behind a wooden fence until he had reached the blind spot behind the intruder. The intruder started fidgeting with his gloves as he needed bare fingers to open the canister. Paul approached the intruder stealthily. When he was just three feet away, two things happened simultaneously. The intruder sensed Paul's presence and started to turn around quickly, very quickly. And another person stepped out of the shadows from the other side of the building, cocked a shotgun, and said, "Freeze, motherfuckers!"
The intruder had already been in fighting stance, but the gruff voice startled him more than Paul's physical presence. The intruder glanced to his right for half a second, and Paul took the opportunity to cut to the chase. When the intruder faced him again, Paul clocked him with all the power he could muster with his good right arm, straight into the face. The intruder went down like a sack of potatoes. Finally, a satisfying end to an encounter, Paul thought.
"I said freeze, Mister!"
Paul slowly turned, his arms raised. "Don't shoot, Biff. It's Paul Trouble."
