Pierce stood at the edge of the eight-foot drop and stared at the ATV. It rested on its side, left where it had tumbled after he had taken wings and flown into the gap. Broken wings, apparently.

He shook his head in disgust, then dropped down into the crevice and walked to the machine. He kicked a tire hoping it would make him feel a little better, then spent the next hour working on repairs. Considering how the machine had crashed and rolled end over end, it was still in decent shape. The frame was bent and a tie rod was not looking good, but it could be fixed. The chopper could bring in new parts on its next visit.

After flipping the ATV upright, he opened the utility box and took out a wrench and the tow rope. With a loud grunt, he flipped the ATV onto its back and used the tow rope and wrench to create a winch on the center bar. Muscles bulged in his arms and chest as he spun the wrench and tightened the rope. He corrected the frame as best he could. Without a replacement for the tie rod, he would have to see how long it lasted. If he went slow and avoided the worst bumps, it might last the rest of the trail. Probably wishful thinking.

Sweat rolled down Pierce's face and neck. Dark circles stood out under his armpits and the top half of his back. It was still too hot in late September to be in the sun for hours at a time. Even the native creatures were still conserving their energy or sleeping through the hottest part of the day. Pierce pulled out a piece of white fabric with frayed edges from a side pocket in his fatigues. The fabric had been a gift from Ibrahim.

"This will not do." Ibrahim removed Pierce's camouflaged cap from his head. He walked to the window and tore a strip off the fabric covering it. The old woman muttered, and Pierce made a mental note to purchase new fabric for her. With the strip covering the back of his neck and wrapped over his mouth and nose, Ibrahim plopped his cap back on. "Now you are ready."

They stepped into the heat of the late afternoon sunshine, and Alam jumped up from scribbling in the sand with a stick. Much to his dismay, his father had shooed him out earlier to practice his English words and let the men speak. His grandmother had taken his hand when he protested and led him out. Pierce could find no demarcation between the pupils and irises that lingered on the mask across the lower half of his face before rising to meet his eyes. Alam pulled his shirt up over his mouth. "I will go too."

"No, Alam. You will stay here and protect your grandmother." Ibrahim said gently as he crouched and took Alam's thin shoulders. The boy looked deep into his father's eyes, and when he held out his hand, his father closed Alam's palm around something small. "You will keep my world safe."

Alam walked to his grandmother and took her hand. Before turning a corner out of sight, Pierce looked back. Young and old stood watching their departure from the courtyard. "What did you give him?"

"A piece of polished feroza. He holds it so we are forever together."

The strip of frayed fabric soaked up the sweat when it hit the back of Pierce's neck. He took his cap off, wrapped the strip around the lower half of his face, and settled the hat back on his head.

The ledge where the man had been still held the evidence that confirmed he had been shot with a bullet. Even astride the ATV, he could see the small spatter pattern where a fresh chip in the rock marked the spot. The ATV rumbled low in neutral as he stepped to the ledge.

One clear diamond pattern shoeprint was etched into the brown blood that had dried under the hot sun. More blood was smudged on the rocks that formed the handholds and footholds advancing up the cliff.

Pierce stepped back, gazed at the flat face of the mountain, and looked down at his ATV. "Well, you aren't going to make that climb."

From the box on the back of the ATV, he dug out a can of fluorescent pink spray paint. Robin had thought she was being funny when she brought him pink paint when he requested yellow, but the first time he used it, he found the pink more visible against the golden hues of the desert and mountains.

He painted a large V pointing to the base of the climb. Even going slow on the ATV, he wouldn't lose much time taking the long way to the top where he could pick up the trail. And it was too hot to climb at this time of day if he didn't have to.

The tie rod broke halfway up the mountain although he was driving slow and avoiding the larger rocks and dips in the earth. He packed some of his gear from the ATV's storage onto a utility belt, slung his rifle over his shoulder and set off on foot to the top of the mountain. Holding himself to a pace just slower than a jog, he reached the edge of the cliff in good time and covered with a heavy sweat. He found the inverted V below him and scouted around until he found a spot where rocks had been pressed in the ground and had cracked clumps of dirt around them, evidence that someone had recently stepped there.

An hour later, he was still following footprints and scuff marks. Two pairs of size 10 prints, slightly smaller than his own size 11s, had moved toward the dome in such a direct route that Pierce was certain they were using a compass to stay on point.

Tracking enemy combatants under the hot summer sun in Iraq eight years earlier had been harder. Iraqi enemies worked hard to cover their trail except for when they were leading someone into an ambush.

Pierce paused mid-step and dropped to a crouch.

He brought his rifle to his shoulder and sighted through the scope, taking his time to survey the land ahead of him. A sweep from the center of his current path to the right led to a rockier mountain terrain with fallen boulders and a thousand nooks and crannies for cover. It was where he would hide. He spent several minutes scouring the shadowy hollows before sweeping back to the left where a handful of large lemonade bushes afforded more ground cover. Nothing moved.

"You're paranoid," he chided himself aloud. "These guys are idiots. Not one single attempt to hide the pattern of their boots."

With his rifle slung back onto his shoulder, he took a long drink of water. It had turned warm, and every swallow left a metallic taste in his mouth. As he lowered the canteen, an incongruous sparkle low on a bush caught his eye.

A plastic bag was caught on a branch. He plucked it loose and closed his eyes before bringing it to his nose. The smell reminded him of Robin. It was sweet and sour like the gummi worms she was always eating. He crumpled the bag and put it in his pocket.

Another odor, leafier, with the trace of ammonia, lingered in the air. He unslung his rifle and with painstaking slowness walked around the bush looking down and craning his neck to see around fuller decumbent branches. He found urine on the far side near the ground. The heat of the day and the arid earth had soaked up its evidence some time ago, but the scent was stronger on the lower branches.

"Not a bad spot." He unzipped his camouflaged fatigues and relieved himself against the leaves. Ibrahim had told him to pay close attention to his urine. One of the first signs of dehydration was a dark coloration. His was clear but he took another drink to replenish the lost fluids.

The trail Pierce had been following was moving toward the dome when he lost it. There were no more droplets of blood. No footprints. He squinted at the geography and considered whether any shortcuts would put him ahead of the trespasser.

He looked up at the mountain. The climb was steep and formidable. It would be a tough climb for someone in good condition, much less for someone tired and shot. The last prints Pierce had seen were long scuff marks made by a toe dragging. It confirmed someone was becoming fatigued. Best bet was they went around the mountain instead of over.

If Pierce went over the mountain instead of around it, he could make up lost time. But he would have no way of knowing if he were in front or behind them once he was on the other side. He was sure he was still moving faster than the size tens, even considering the frequent stops and starts while tracking. He skipped the climb.

When Pierce found crushed sage, he knew he was back on track. Every couple of feet, small bits of broken leaves were scattered on the ground. He picked some up in the palm of his hand and inhaled the fresh piney scent while he looked around.

As he topped the mountain, the arc of the dome came into sight. The trail continued straight toward the dome until it ended abruptly at a short bluff. It was too far to jump, but not by much. Loose dirt had been scrabbled around near his feet, and he used his toe to scrape the dirt from a small mound. The dull shine of silver led him to a spike buried in the rocky ground.

He slowly scanned the valley up to the dome. Nothing moved. Even the stalks of corn were still in the valley's dense air.

The rope swished as Pierce swung it off of his shoulder. He looped it onto the spike and dropped to the valley floor below. Signs of a small skirmish showed at the base where he landed and he took an extra moment to look at the dirt. Drops of blood splattered the ground. His quarry was struggling, probably having a hard time keeping on his feet. Pierce walked toward the dome on high alert and scanned the potential hiding places in the rocks and rows of corn.

Prints were molded into the softer soil along the rows of corn and to the dome. A thin smear of blood on the glass had dried, and it flaked away when he scraped it lightly with his fingernail.

One of the doors leading inside beeped and opened. Farmer stepped through and called out to him. "Everything okay, Pierce?"

"They were here," Pierce replied pointing to the smear. "Two of them. Blood is here on the glass. Have you seen anyone?"

Farmer frowned and walked up to peer at the stain on the glass. "An intruder?"

"Two. I've been tracking them all day."

"Huh." Farmer looked puzzled. "I haven't seen anyone out here at all."

"Has anyone been around this side of the dome today or in the garden inside?"

"Nobody was scheduled to work in the valley, so I wouldn't think so. Sometimes Jordan sits on the rocks inside, but I haven't seen her since breakfast. You want me to go in and ask around?"

Pierce looked back to where the cliff face held the spike and squinted. Maybe it was a small skirmish after all. "If you have time. I don't want to take you from your work."

"I could check with Michael. He has logs for the doors."

Pierce thought about it. "I'm going to look around a little more, and then talk to him. If you discover anything, let me know."

"Will do." Farmer reached down and picked something up. It dangled limply from his hand.

"What did you find?" Pierce asked walking closer.

Farmer held up a mouse by its tail. "Another dead mouse. We've had a handful of dead things this season. Couple of snakes. A hawk. An owl. And more mice than I can count. Who knew there were so many mice in such a small canyon?"

"So mice and the things that eat mice."

"Right. Well." He shrugged and stepped to the door. "I'll let you get back to work. This little guy has a date with the incinerator."

The door hissed open and Farmer started through. He turned back to Pierce. "Be careful, Pierce."

Pierce watched Farmer go back in the dome and thought about the spike in the wall. Something didn't wash. He turned to stare at the video camera mounted by the door where Farmer went inside. Maybe the video feed could provide some answers after all.