Jack pressed the button on the window and peered out. A dim yellow gaslight at the end of the Newsom driveway glowed dully in the flying snow. He strained to see the other four houses on the cul-de-sac. The houses were as dark as Newsom’s house, but the gas lamps were lit. “Doesn’t look like anyone is home. It’s possible these are second homes of the owners and no one is in residence. I can’t see any tire tracks anywhere. If Snowden’s people are here, where the hell are they, and how did they get here?”

“They might have come in from the back on snowmobiles. See that copse of trees in the back? This street backs up to the main drag. I’m just saying…,” Espinosa said lamely.

“Snowden’s people aren’t going to be turning on any lights,” Ted said. “I’m game to go around the back and see if we can pick a lock. I don’t see myself sitting in this truck for hours on end and freezing my ass off. We are also going to need some gas on the way back and don’t want to waste what we have. I’m talking about our getaway here.”

Jack had his cell phone in hand. He hit the speed dial, and within seconds Charles Martin was on the line. The connection was crackly, and he could only distinguish every third word. He knew the call would drop within seconds. “We’re here on Maggie’s orders. Me, Harry, Ted, and Espinosa. We think Bell and Newsom are on the way. Took us four hours to make a ninety-minute trip. We aren’t seeing any sign of Snowden’s people. The snow is getting worse. What do you want us to do?” Jack strained to hear Charles’s response, but after the first few words, the call dropped. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get Charles back. He shoved the cell back into his pocket. “I think we’re on our own, guys.”