Despite very professional false IDs—László was “Greg Seitz” from Cleveland and Viktór was “Bob Hardy” from Syracuse—they’d discovered that in order to purchase a gun, they needed to endure an FBI background check that the clerk said might take hours or even days. This was a surprise to them. They found out it was the same at several gun stores they stopped at on the way north through Wyoming.
Although Viktór was willing to wait for the background check to clear, László was not. He declared that he didn’t like or trust the FBI and he wanted nothing to do with them. What if their new identities didn’t check out? What then? He declared they would forego firearms. There were other ways to complete their assignment. And then they could go home.
So instead of guns, they’d purchased hand tools, knives, zip ties, bear spray, and other items that would do. László favored a Pulaski tool used by firefighters in the Rocky Mountains. On a stiff handle was a vertical steel ax blade on one end and a horizontal adze on the other, and it weighed one and a half kilograms, or three and a half pounds.
Viktór chose a hay hook they’d found in a farm and ranch store. The tool had a triangle-shaped metal handle. At the end of a sixty-six-centimeter, or twenty-six-inch, steel shaft, it curved into a sharpened point. It was used for moving heavy bales. He liked how it felt in his hand and was impressed by the velocity he could generate when he swung it through the air.
* * *
—
They moved tree to tree in the forest parallel to the road until László pointed out a square blue glow through the branches. When they got close enough, they realized that the glow came from the window of a home in the woods. László motioned to Viktór to come to him. They both dropped to their haunches behind the thick trunk of a pine tree.
“Stay here while I go take a look,” László said.
Viktór watched his brother move toward the structure in a crouch until he was directly below the glowing window. There were no outside lights. Slowly, László rose up and peered inside for at least thirty seconds.
He then moved across the front of the structure until he was next to the metal door. He reached up and grasped the door handle. Nothing happened. Viktór could tell that the door was locked.
Instead of coming directly back, László crab-walked along the length of the home until he vanished around the corner of it.
Finally, what seemed like seven minutes later, László reappeared on the other side of the house and made his way in a crouch back to Viktór.
“She’s in there,” László whispered. “She had her back to me, but she was there, all right. She’s sitting on a couch watching television. I could see the top of her head.”
“Is she alone?”
“Except for a cat, she’s alone. I looked in every window all the way around. The cat saw me looking in, but it ran away and hid under a bed.”
“I’m glad she doesn’t have a dog.”
Viktór raised up so he could see over László’s shoulder. He frowned.
“It’s not a very nice place,” he said. At home very few people lived in mobile homes. They were used as temporary housing at building sites.
“She’s a librarian. They don’t make a lot of money, I don’t think. I’m pretty sure Americans don’t read very much.”
“Where’s her car?”
“There’s a car around the back.”
“Is it the same van?”
“I think so. It was dark. But I saw something very interesting inside the house next to her on the couch.”
Victór waited.
“That bag she was carrying,” László said. “The one with the library writing on it. I saw the bag.”
Viktór nodded. Then: “So how do we get it? We can’t just knock on the door and ask for it. What if she calls the police?”
László seemed to be thinking. He placed his gloved fist under his chin and stared straight ahead.
“There’s a way in,” he said.
* * *
—
On his back in the dirt beneath the trailer with a penlight in his teeth, Viktór used a multi-tool to unscrew each of the Phillips head screws of a two-foot-by-two-foot panel near the back of the trailer. He was surprised how easy they came out. Back at home, they would have been rusted into place. Apparently, the lack of moisture in the air kept metal from deteriorating, he guessed. As he worked, flakes of dirt filtered down into his eyes. He’d pushed the balaclava up onto the crown of his head so he could see better and breathe more freely.