Lett and Kanani stayed in the cave a little while, listening to the wind, crouching, debating their chances, hoping. They splashed drops of water on their faces. They crept out of the cave; the sun hung low on the horizon. They were a quarter mile south of Saddle Road. The lava rock on this south side of the road stretched on for a few miles to the east. They hiked northeast, heading straight for the road, mighty Mauna Kea a brown monolith before them. Their plan was to cross Saddle Road where the lava ended. The grassy slope plains around the volcano would eventually lead them to the island’s lush and remote eastern coast.

They trudged on. They skirted the jagged ’a’a lava and flanked the wavy slabs of pahoehoe—this wild mix of lava-lands was a labyrinth with no solution. The wind had picked up, flinging dust and grit.

About ninety yards from Saddle Road, they hunkered behind a mound. Lett drew the binoculars. The military encampment, well behind them now to the northwest, looked as dead as ever, just drab squares and rectangles. Closer to them he could see the road, a winding strip of mottled gray cut out of the purple-black, a gravel route packed down from use but so narrow and uneven that locals warned visitors never to drive it.

Lett watched a truck approach. It was black, a panel truck, and unmarked. It passed by.

Then another unmarked black panel truck passed.

Lett refocused; Kanani tugged at him; he kept watching. The two black panel trucks kept passing, back and forth, east and west, so much so that the gravel loosened and dust billowed.

Kanani squatted closer, whispering. “It’s them.”

“Lansdale’s men,” Lett said. “We have to assume it.”

One of the panel trucks parked halfway between the encampment and their spot behind the mound. Two broad-shouldered men in dark gear exited the truck’s rear, raised binoculars, and scanned the landscape.

Lett pulled behind the cover of the mound. He checked his watch: 6:30 p.m. The sky was dimming fast. Far west, over Kona, pink-and-orange streaks of clouds painted the sky. Soon the sun would be down and the lava would turn as black as night, impossible to cross without a flashlight. Even with their eyes adjusted to the dark they could bust an ankle or land facedown in the jagged stuff. And their pursuers had to know it.

The second black panel truck was still roaming the road, back and forth, west and east. Lett dared another look. The parked truck was there still, but the men weren’t visible. Were they back inside it? Could he be sure? Or were they now out roaming the land?

The sun set, Mauna Kea blending into evening sky, their skin losing glow, going blue.

“They’re trying to lock us in, get our exact coordinates,” Lett told Kanani.

“What about those Quonset huts? See anything? Any kine activity?”