It was also largely closed due to the Thanksgiving holiday. Driving through the deserted downtown reminded Nate of the bad old days of the pandemic.
Ken Smisek and Bob Prentice lived eight miles outside of Baker City on US 30 near an unincorporated town called Wingville that was more of a location on a map. All that remained of the settlement was a historical sign and the Wingville Cemetery.
Smisek and Prentice had obviously taken the name of the location for their business. Wingville, Nate thought, was a clever name for a falconry brokerage business.
Smisek and Prentice were former bounty hunters and falconers who were partners in business as well as in life. They had a side business trafficking small arms as well. They’d been in operation for over twenty years. Nate knew about Wingville from back when he was in special operations and his mission was to facilitate the purchase of rare North American falcons for rich tycoons and members of royal families in the Middle East. The purpose of the mission had been to infiltrate the elite caste of men who not only employed official falconers but also financed terrorists, including Osama bin Laden. Mark V had paid Wingville to locate peregrine falcons and gyrfalcons to provide to the targets. The prices per bird were equivalent to what they were today, and money was no object.
In many Arab countries, the art of falconry was considered regal and of exceptionally high status. Billionaires employed official falconers, and they spent hundreds of thousands of dollars to equip their charges with top-quality raptors and temperature-controlled mews. There were even custom-designed four-wheel-drive vehicles to transport falcons and falconers across the roadless desert. Relatives of the royal families sometimes flew private 757s to desert encampments to hunt and fly their birds. Bin Laden had been located in one such encampment, but the potential collateral damage of taking him out had been considered too risky at the time. That fact would forever haunt Nate, and it had turned him against his own commander.
As new laws were enacted domestically and across the world to prohibit the sale of wild falcon species, Smisek and Prentice hadn’t closed shop. Instead, they’d gone underground.
Like Axel Soledad, the owners of Wingville breached the falconers’ code in addition to breaking international wildlife trafficking laws. Prentice and Smisek bought and sold birds that had obviously been poached or stolen, and they placed birds with unscrupulous falconers in other countries. Their clientele was still largely in the Middle East, where falconry remained revered and spiritualized, but they also served customers in Scotland, Wales, Australia, and New Zealand.
After briefing Geronimo on Wingville’s background, Nate said, “It only makes sense that Soledad would come see the Wingville boys on his way to Seattle. My hope is that he sold them my birds and we can liberate them before they get sold again.”
“So your birds might be here?” Geronimo asked incredulously.
“That’s what I hope.”
“If we get them back, will you still want to find Soledad?”
“Yes. But it might be delayed a while.”
It was obvious to Nate that it wasn’t the answer Geronimo wanted to hear.
“I’m giving up Thanksgiving dinner and football at home,” Geronimo said.
“Me too.”
“Our ladies aren’t very happy with us as it is. I’d hate to think this adventure is a waste of time.”
Nate said, “If I get my birds back, it’s half-successful.”
“I want full-successful.”
“We’ll see.”
* * *
—
The road deteriorated as they drove north from Baker City, and Nate had to slow down. He used the mapping feature of his phone to get to the physical location of Wingville, although he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d have a strong cell signal.
He nearly missed the turnoff to “Wingville Ranch” because the sign for the place had fallen off its mount and was now propped up against the pole. He slowed even more as he turned onto a rough two-track dirt road.
“These guys are in the middle of nowhere,” Geronimo said.
“I think they like it that way,” Nate said.
The terrain was treeless and high. The road took them over an undulating series of soft benches. At the crest of each hillock, Nate searched for the ranch headquarters itself. He wanted to surprise Smisek and Prentice with his arrival. He didn’t want to tip them off that he was coming.
As he topped another grassy hill, he saw a collection of buildings far below in the bottom of a swale. Nate hit the brakes and backed up until he could no longer see the compound—and where someone down there couldn’t see him.