birds from those programs,” Nate said. “There’s nothing wrong with them.”
“No!” Al-Nura barked, his face flushing red. “Wild birds only. Like yours. I am a master, I won’t own domestic-raised birds.”
Al-Nura started to stand, but decided it wasn’t worth the effort. He waved his arms as he spoke. “My people have hunted with falcons for thousands of years; it is the sport of kings. It is our tradition, my birthright. We were falconers before you even had a country. I have hunted with golden eagles from Afghanistan; I’ve killed deer with them. I can no longer get the eagles because of your war there. So I want the deadliest of falcons, the Rocky Mountain peregrine. The king of falcons for the sport of kings. You must help me.”
Nate said nothing.
“I know that you can capture some young ones,” Al-Nura said, his voice lowering from his outburst. “You know of nests here. You know where to find some.”
Nate sipped the coffee.
“Here,” Al-Nura said, reaching into his robes and pulling out a brick of cash. “One hundred and twenty thousand dollars. Twice what the birds should cost. I give you half of it now, the other half when you bring me the birds. And you get your falcons back. It’s a good deal. You can have the Bosnian for your pleasure as well.”
“I’ve got a woman,” he said, wishing immediately he hadn’t revealed that.
“I didn’t fly all of the way here for nothing.”
Nate said, “I’m afraid you did.”
His words hung there in silence. Al-Nura didn’t erupt, but sat still as if he hadn’t heard them. Khalid’s only reaction was to shift his eyes from Nate to Al-Nura, waiting for a signal. Rocky was stunned.
“No one denies my father,” Rocky whispered. “What’s wrong with you?”
Nate stood up slowly so that Khalid would have no reason to react.
“Thank you for the coffee,” Nate said. “I want my birds back now.”
“I don’t understand,” Al-Nura said softly. “We’ve done business before. We were friends, professionals. We belong to a very small group of master falconers.”
“I’m beyond that,” Nate said.
“Why won’t you assist me?”
Nate considered the question for a moment, said, “Because I don’t like you anymore.”
Al-Nura said, “Khalid.”
His movement was lightning swift, too fast for Nate to ward off. Khalid was suddenly behind him, a hand on the top of his head jerking his face skyward, the bite of a razor-sharp blade like a wasp sting a quarter of an inch above his Adam’s apple. Khalid pressed in with the knife. It was so sharp Nate couldn’t feel the cut itself, only the thin hot stream of blood that crawled down his neck into his collar.
“Give him half of this,” Al-Nura said, breaking the brick of cash and handing $60,000 to Rocky, who stuffed it into Nate’s pants beneath his belt.
“You get the other half when you bring me the wild peregrines.”
THE NEXT MORNING, an hour after dawn, Nate launched himself down the cliff face. The northern wind had picked up and was starting to buffet the tops of the cottonwood trees two hundred feet below on the banks of the stream, making a liquid sound. He was protected from the wind by the rock wall, but he could hear it howling above him as well.
He rappelled down, feeding rope through the carabiners of his harness, bouncing away from the sheer rock with the balls of his feet. Tightly coiled netting hung from his belt.
Fifty feet down was the nest. It was a huge cross-hatching of branches and twigs and dried brush, cemented together by mud, sun, and years. It was well hidden and virtually inaccessible from below, but he’d located it the year before by the whitewash of excrement that extended down the granite from the nest, looking like the results of an overturned paint bucket.
As he approached it from above, he noted the layers of building material, from the white and brittle branches on the bottom to the still-green fronds on the top. The nest had
“No!” Al-Nura barked, his face flushing red. “Wild birds only. Like yours. I am a master, I won’t own domestic-raised birds.”
Al-Nura started to stand, but decided it wasn’t worth the effort. He waved his arms as he spoke. “My people have hunted with falcons for thousands of years; it is the sport of kings. It is our tradition, my birthright. We were falconers before you even had a country. I have hunted with golden eagles from Afghanistan; I’ve killed deer with them. I can no longer get the eagles because of your war there. So I want the deadliest of falcons, the Rocky Mountain peregrine. The king of falcons for the sport of kings. You must help me.”
Nate said nothing.
“I know that you can capture some young ones,” Al-Nura said, his voice lowering from his outburst. “You know of nests here. You know where to find some.”
Nate sipped the coffee.
“Here,” Al-Nura said, reaching into his robes and pulling out a brick of cash. “One hundred and twenty thousand dollars. Twice what the birds should cost. I give you half of it now, the other half when you bring me the birds. And you get your falcons back. It’s a good deal. You can have the Bosnian for your pleasure as well.”
“I’ve got a woman,” he said, wishing immediately he hadn’t revealed that.
“I didn’t fly all of the way here for nothing.”
Nate said, “I’m afraid you did.”
His words hung there in silence. Al-Nura didn’t erupt, but sat still as if he hadn’t heard them. Khalid’s only reaction was to shift his eyes from Nate to Al-Nura, waiting for a signal. Rocky was stunned.
“No one denies my father,” Rocky whispered. “What’s wrong with you?”
Nate stood up slowly so that Khalid would have no reason to react.
“Thank you for the coffee,” Nate said. “I want my birds back now.”
“I don’t understand,” Al-Nura said softly. “We’ve done business before. We were friends, professionals. We belong to a very small group of master falconers.”
“I’m beyond that,” Nate said.
“Why won’t you assist me?”
Nate considered the question for a moment, said, “Because I don’t like you anymore.”
Al-Nura said, “Khalid.”
His movement was lightning swift, too fast for Nate to ward off. Khalid was suddenly behind him, a hand on the top of his head jerking his face skyward, the bite of a razor-sharp blade like a wasp sting a quarter of an inch above his Adam’s apple. Khalid pressed in with the knife. It was so sharp Nate couldn’t feel the cut itself, only the thin hot stream of blood that crawled down his neck into his collar.
“Give him half of this,” Al-Nura said, breaking the brick of cash and handing $60,000 to Rocky, who stuffed it into Nate’s pants beneath his belt.
“You get the other half when you bring me the wild peregrines.”
THE NEXT MORNING, an hour after dawn, Nate launched himself down the cliff face. The northern wind had picked up and was starting to buffet the tops of the cottonwood trees two hundred feet below on the banks of the stream, making a liquid sound. He was protected from the wind by the rock wall, but he could hear it howling above him as well.
He rappelled down, feeding rope through the carabiners of his harness, bouncing away from the sheer rock with the balls of his feet. Tightly coiled netting hung from his belt.
Fifty feet down was the nest. It was a huge cross-hatching of branches and twigs and dried brush, cemented together by mud, sun, and years. It was well hidden and virtually inaccessible from below, but he’d located it the year before by the whitewash of excrement that extended down the granite from the nest, looking like the results of an overturned paint bucket.
As he approached it from above, he noted the layers of building material, from the white and brittle branches on the bottom to the still-green fronds on the top. The nest had
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