“It’s not,” Nate countered.

Dudley leaned back and arched his eyebrows. “Are you gonna tell me this falconry business you dreamed up is actually going to work?”

“Yes.”

“What is it you plan to do again?”

Nate said, “There are people out there who have a need for falconry services, mainly for the purpose of chasing off problem species. Over the years, invasive bird species have been introduced throughout North America and they’ve multiplied by the millions. We’re talking about starlings, English sparrows, house finches, Eurasian collared doves. Their populations have exploded. Crows and pigeons are always a problem, too.

“Refineries don’t want pigeons roosting in their equipment. Ranchers don’t want starlings taking over their barns and pooping on their livestock. Growers don’t want starlings and crows eating their produce. All these birds are terrified of certain predators like peregrines or gyrfalcons. They know and fear a falcon’s silhouette in the sky even if they’ve never actually seen a real raptor—it’s imprinted in their DNA. They know that if a falcon is around, they better leave the premises or they’ll get smacked. Starlings will travel a hundred miles to avoid a falcon in the sky. Hiring an experienced falconer costs a lot less than trying to poison or shoot the pest birds, or to rig up netting or spikes or whatever. That’s what I’m going to do.”

Dudley rolled his eyes. He said, “And this girlfriend of yours has it all organized and ready to go?”

Nate nodded. He’d met Liv Brannan in Medicine Wheel County and they’d connected instantly. Liv had a sharp business mind and the capital from years of working for Templeton to launch Yarak, Inc., a falconry services enterprise. He couldn’t wait to see her. She had milk-chocolate skin, big brown eyes, and a trim figure, and she was smart as a whip. She had spent hours convincing him through the Plexiglas window of the visiting room that he should negotiate his way out of jail—and that she’d be waiting for him. They’d go straight together, she’d said.

Liv had talked to proprietors of other falconry outfits around the country and learned that experienced master falconers could make $400 to $750 per day from winegrowers, refinery owners, farmers, ranchers, and other commercial operators. She’d obtained the equipment, registered the new company with the Wyoming secretary of state, filed the tax forms, set up a website, and had already begun marketing Yarak, Inc.

The classic falconry definition of yarak was a Turkish phrase describing the peak condition of a falcon to fly and hunt. It was described as “full of stamina, well muscled, alert, neither too fat nor too thin, perfect condition for hunting and killing prey. This state is rarely achieved but a wonder to behold when observed.”

“It sounds like a stupid idea to me,” Dudley said.

“That’s why I hate explaining a business plan to a bureaucrat who’s never worked in the private sector in his life.”

Dudley narrowed his eyes and set his jaw.

He said, “I know what’s going to happen to you. You’ll either be back here or you’ll be dead. I’m okay with either one.”

Nate reached out and pulled the sets of documents closer and spun them around. He said, “One of the greatest and most mystical things about falconry is that when you release a bird to the sky—even a bird you’ve worked with for years and years—you never know if it’s going to come back. Eventually, that falcon may take off and it’s the last you ever see of it. Years of work and dedication are released to the wind. There’s satisfaction in the partnership, but no certainty. If you’re a person who needs certainty, falconry isn’t an art you should try to master.”

Nate signed the papers and shoved them back to Dudley, who sat back, screwed up his face, and said, “I’m not sure I understand a word of what you’re saying.”

“I’m not surprised,” Nate said, holding out his hands. “Get the key.”

—

AS NATE PASSED BY the armed security guards manning the metal detector in the entry lobby, they nodded at him in a way that suggested they knew much more about him than he knew about them. He nodded back. He was aware from several disparaging remarks from Dudley that a kind of unwelcome (by Dudley) legend had grown about Nate among certain types. Nate had never fostered any admiration or following, and he didn’t plan to start now. But those security guards seemed to admire him in a way he found uncomfortable.

He was wearing the same clothes he’d worn when he was taken into custody months before: jeans, heavy lace-up boots, a T-shirt under a gray hoodie, a canvas tactical vest. A leather falcon jess bound his hair into a ponytail.

When he pushed through the double doors of the vestibule’s entrance and stepped outside, his senses were overwhelmed. The sky was cloudless and the spring’s high-altitude sun was intense. The air smelled of leaves budding out, pollen, and car exhaust. He could hear birds chirping, motors racing, and a light din of traffic from downtown.

Idling on the street in front of the Federal Building was a white panel van. A graphic of a peregrine falcon in full-attack stoop had been painted on the side over the words YARAK, INC., lettered in a rough stencil format. In script beneath the graphic it read: Falconry Services and contained a website address.

Liv was at the wheel, and when she saw him come out of the building, her grin exploded. It seemed bright enough, he thought, to cast shadows.

He waved hello, then walked around the back of the van and jumped into the passenger seat and shut the door.

“You are a sight for sore eyes,” she said, still beaming. “I’ve been dreaming of this day.”

Liv wore jeans, knee-high boots, a T-shirt, and a blazer with a sheer violet scarf. She looked good.

Nate overlooked that and said, “We need to talk.”

She shook her head defiantly and pulled away from the curb.

The golden dome of the state capitol building reflected the harsh afternoon sun. Nate thought: Thank you, Governor Rulon. You did me a solid. But he knew to expect a call someday from the governor’s people. Rulon was wily and he’d expect something in return.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she said.

“Liv . . .”

“Forget about it. I know you. You’re going to try to convince me that I’m in danger being close to you. That we should go our separate ways for my own safety.”

Nate nodded. He said, “It’s a matter of time before Templeton finds me. When he finds me, he’ll find you. I can’t risk losing you. You deserve a better life.”

“That’s nice,” she said, guiding the van north through the blocks of old Victorian homes that once belonged to absentee cattle ranchers who had ranches in the north. The buildings were now law offices or the headquarters of associations.

She said, “I’m not going anywhere. This is a partnership, remember? We’re going straight and we’re doing it together. We’re putting Mr. Templeton behind us and we’re getting right with God and country. It’s a new chapter in our lives. This is where the outlaw falconer and the formerly wayward sister from Louisiana join forces. We’re going to be normal together like we talked about. So save your breath.”

He moaned.

“Forget all that and think about this moment,” she said. “You’re out of jail and back among the living. This is what we’ve been waiting for.”

“I wish it felt better,” Nate said.

She reacted as if he’d slapped her, and he quickly tried to explain. “It’s not you,” he said. “I’d rather be here with you right now than with anyone on earth. But I thought I’d feel free on this day—emancipated. Instead, I feel like a eunuch.”

He lifted his arm to show her the monitor. “There’s one on my ankle, too. They’re tracking every move I make, so they can swoop down on me if I stray or if Templeton finds me. And they didn’t return my weapon.”