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passenger and came back to the gate. “He wants to talk to you,” the boy said, holding the phone through the bars of the gate.
    Chapel walked over slowly, his hands in plain view, and took the phone. He smiled at the boy as he lifted it to his ear. “Mr. Belcher?” he asked.
    â€œThat’s right. You’ve got my attention, Federal. Bringing a drone like that into my home—­that’s got my whole attention. You sure you didn’t come to kill me?”
    â€œThe drone is harmless,” Chapel assured him. “It was in the neighborhood, looking for marijuana plants. You’re not growing any marijuana, are you?”
    â€œNo,” Belcher said, as if he were insulted by the idea.
    â€œThen it doesn’t have to mean anything to you. Do you have a pair of binoculars? If you look closely at the drone, you’ll see it’s unarmed. No Hellfire missiles, no machine guns. Just a camera.”
    â€œI’ve already looked,” Belcher told him. “Curiouser and curiouser. What exactly are you trying to do?”
    Chapel shrugged though he doubted Belcher could see him. “I could have covered myself in skinhead tattoos and tried to infiltrate your compound. I could have shown up with a hundred ATF agents and black helicopters.”
    â€œYou could have tried something like that,” Belcher pointed out.
    â€œInstead, I figured I’d be civilized and come ring your bell in person. We need to talk, Mr. Belcher. About Ygor Favorov and one other thing. The drone is there to make sure your ­people don’t just shoot me and bury me in a shallow grave out here. Its camera stays on me. But it doesn’t have any weapons, and it can’t hear anything we say.”
    â€œIs that right? I’m not being recorded right now?”
    â€œI’m wearing a hands-­free device, and I have a phone in my pocket,” Chapel admitted. “If you like, I’ll leave them here in my car.”
    â€œI like,” Belcher agreed.
    â€œThen you will talk to me?”
    â€œIf only to figure out just who the hell you are,” Belcher said. “That is, I’d like to see if you’re just about the bravest son of a bitch I ever saw or just the stupidest.”
    â€œJust in the interest of full disclosure—­I have a sidearm with me as well. That I plan on keeping while I’m here. Is that a deal breaker?”
    â€œGive the phone back to Andre.”
    â€œIs he the one with the Hitler-­mustache tattoo?”
    â€œYes.”
    Chapel handed the phone back to the boy. Andre spoke to Belcher for a few seconds, then shoved the phone in his pocket. He nodded at Chapel and started opening the gate.

 
    CHAPTER SEVEN
    A ngel wasn’t thrilled that he was leaving behind his only way to contact her—­his phone—­but they’d known it would happen this way, and she didn’t protest too much. “Just be careful,” she said, as he tossed his phone through the window of his rental SUV. “I’ll be watching,” she said, “but there’s not a lot I can do if things go bad, honey.”
    â€œUnderstood,” he said, and took out his hands-­free unit. That went in the SUV as well.
    Andre the boy Nazi told him to walk ahead, down the path toward the compound. Andre kept pace with him, walking alongside, both of his weapons safely stowed. The pickup, with its unseen passenger, rolled along behind them, and Chapel knew there would be a rifle pointed at his head at all times. He tried not to think about it.
    â€œI’m supposed to welcome you to Kendred, Colorado,” Andre told him, as they ambled down the path. “Though I can’t see welcome being the right word.”
    â€œNice place,” Chapel told him. As they got closer, he saw more signs of life among the white houses. There were children sitting out on porches, kids in T-­shirts watching him with wide eyes.