Free Fire Part 36

"Ashby's not involved, is he?" Joe called to McCann, who grunted something back.

"What did he say?" Joe asked Nate.

"I think he said no."

"Let's pull over and take our chances," Joe said. "We can reallyuse Ashby's help if he'll cooperate. Be ready."

Joe didn't dare pull off the road and chance getting stuck in the snow, so he gradually slowed down. The Explorer stayed with him, a few feet behind, until both vehicles were stopped. Because of the way the wind-driven snow moved steadily across the meadow on either side of the road, it seemed to Joe as if they were still moving.

"Cover me," Joe said, opening his door and jumping down. Snow lashed him in the face.

Ashby was out of the Explorer, his hand perched on his holsteredgun.

Joe held up his hands to show he had no weapon.

"Up against the truck and spread 'em!" Ashby yelled. "And tell your buddy to get out and do the same."

Ashby was wearing sweats beneath his parka, and had apparentlyjumped out of bed to pursue them.

"Hold it," Joe said. "I'm on your side."

Ashby withdrew his gun, held it with both hands in a shooter's stance, aimed at Joe.

"Del," Joe said, feeling his belly clutch up, "calm down. We have McCann. We're using him as bait. Before you try and arrest me or pull that trigger, there's something you need to listen to. We've got new information and you're not going to like it."

Ashby wavered, Joe could see it in his eyes.

"Five minutes," Joe said. "Just listen to McCann's confession.Then you'll want to help us out."

"Confession? Everybody knows what he did."

"But not why he did it," Joe said.

"He'll tell me?"

"He doesn't need to. I've got it on tape."

Ashby seemed to weigh what Joe said, and while he did he glanced toward the pickup. His face dropped with shock and fear. Joe quickly followed Ashby's sight line. The muzzle of Nate's .454 aimed straight at the ranger.

"He'll blow your head clean off with that," Joe said.

"Tell him to lower the gun," Ashby said. "I'll listen."

"You can tell him," Joe said, able to breathe again. "He speaks English, you know."

When he put Lars's truck in gear and plowed forward in the untracked snow, Joe had trouble getting the image of Ashby's face out of his mind from a few minutes before, when the ranger sat in the truck and listened to the tape. It was the stricken face of betrayal, and what he heard caused Ashby to slump against the door as if all the fight had been punched out of him.

"I know how you feel," Joe said.

"Langston doesn't surprise me as much as I would have thought," Ashby said. "But Layborn . . ."

"Really?" Joe asked, surprised.

"I thought Layborn, despite his faults, was a true believer in the Park Service, in our mission here," Ashby said. "I thought he was loyal to me."

"Sorry," Joe said, meaning it. "Why is it some bureaucrats always think they deserve more?"

Ashby shook his head. "I don't," he said.

Nate said, "That's why you'll always be poor like Joe. And I say that with compa.s.sion."

Ashby still had the look on his face when he got out and trudged back to his Explorer to follow Joe, Nate, and McCann to the Old Faithful Inn.

"Do you think this plan is going to work?" Nate asked Joe as they picked up speed again and steered straight into the maw of the storm.

"Maybe not," Joe said truthfully. "A lot of things could go wrong. And I didn't count on this weather."

Nate jerked a thumb at McCann. "Do you think they want him bad enough to follow us?"

Joe said, "I do. He's their loose cannon, and they can't afford to let him follow up on his threat to talk. Especially if they think he's somehow hooked up with Bob Olig, who can corroborate much of his story."

"That's a h.e.l.l of a wild card to play, isn't it?" Nate said, referringto Olig. "We don't even know for sure if he exists."

"I'm trusting your instincts," Joe said.

"Remind me not to play poker with you, Joe," Nate said, grinning.

Joe shook his head. "You might want to rethink that. Both Sheridan and Marybeth always clean me out."

30.

Joe was thankful for the high clearance of Lars's pickup by the time they took the turnoff to Old Faithful. It was early afternoon, completely socked in, ten to twelve inches of snow already on the ground, the lodgepole pine hillsideslooking smoky and vague in the falling snow. When they cleared the rise they could see the Old Faithful Inn below-a boxy, hulking, isolated smudge on the basin floor.

His growing fear that Portenson didn't or couldn't make it due to either bureaucracy or the weather was relieved instantly when Nate pointed out the single Suburban in the parking lot with U.S. Government plates. The agents-Joe counted six- huddled under the portico of the inn near the ma.s.sive front door. Joe pulled up under the overhang as if he were a bus disgorging tourists. Portenson was there, nervously inhaling a cigarette as if trying to suck it dry. b.u.t.ts littered the concrete near his feet. His team of five wore camouflage clothing with black Kevlar helmetsand vests, and looked competent and alert. Cases and duffelbags of weapons and equipment were stacked against the building. Two of the a.s.sault squad were smoking cigarettes and squinting through the smoke at Nate Romanowski, as if sizing up an adversary. Nate nodded at them without blinking as Joe shut off the motor of the truck.

"Glad you made it," Joe said to Portenson, getting out. "I'm not sure that camo stuff will work all that well in the snow, though. You guys look like a bunch of bushes."

Portenson was instantly around the truck in front of him, his face red. "Do you realize what will happen to me if this doesn't work out? I put my career on the line for you and brought these men up here without authorization. This kind of operation requiressign-offs all the way to the director of Homeland Securityhimself."

Joe nodded. "We couldn't risk that. If it went federal up the chain of command, somebody might tip off Langston, since you're all in the same happy family."

"We are not," Portenson said hotly.

"Sure you are," Joe said.

Ashby had pulled up behind Joe and was watching the exchangeclosely.

Joe asked Portenson to send one of his men to drive the Suburbanup and hide it behind the inn, out of sight. He asked Ashby to do the same with his Explorer.

"They won't come in if they get any kind of indication that anyone is here besides us and Clay McCann," Joe said.

"How do we get in?" Portenson asked, nodding toward the ma.s.sive front door of the inn.

"I have a key," Ashby said, handing it to Joe.

"Will you leave your Kevlar vests?" Joe asked Ashby.

Inside, it was dark except for the tiny red glow of dots from the emergency backup system mounted high on the walls. Normally, Joe found the lobby of the inn impressive, but with the lights out and the snow covering up any light leaks, it was oddly intimidating. As the men entered, with every footstep echoing, Joe felt as if he were desecrating a cathedral. All the windows had been boarded up for the winter, and the temperaturewas colder inside than outside. There was no power or water.The building was completely winterized.

Nate went about starting a fire, rolling logs the length of small cars into the ma.s.sive stone fireplace. Within twenty minutes, the fire threw sheets of orange light on the walls and started to warm the place. The FBI a.s.sault team unpacked their weapons and equipment using the light from the fire and from headlamps they'd brought. Several of them scrambled when a deep-throated whoosh whoos.h.i.+ng sound seemed to shake the walls, and Joe said, "It's just Old Faithful erupting outside."

Joe noticed how the a.s.sault team spoke to one another in whispered voices or via radio mikes strapped to their shoulders, even when they were all in the same room. He got the distinct feeling that despite Portenson's overall command of the operation,these men were in their own tight universe. The squad commander, a beefy and intense man with a breast patch that read "McIlvaine," kept up a low monologue with his men while flas.h.i.+ng quick, suspicious looks at Nate, Joe, and Portenson.

After pulling a dust sheet off a table, Joe sat down at it with Portenson, Ashby, and McIlvaine. McCann, still bound and gagged, was seated across from Portenson. Nate hovered nearby, pretending to tend the fire. He fed it with wood the length and girth of rolled-up Sunday newspapers.

As the fire crackled and the snow fell outside, Joe outlined his plan to Portenson and played back sections of the recording of McCann that implicated Langston, Ward, and Layborn. While he listened, Portenson rubbed his hands together. At first, Joe thought the agent was warming them. Then he realized Portenson was growing more excited the more he heard, apparentlyconfirming that the case was solid after all and soon he would be making headlines, receiving commendations, and requestinga transfer to Hawaii. McIlvaine, meanwhile, shook his head. The a.s.sault commander smiled wolfishly, obviously not surprised by the corruption of his brethren. McCann looked bored as he heard his own words played back.

"So we can arrest them in one fell swoop," Portenson said, nodding. "That's the part I like. We've got video and audio equipment with us, so we'll get it all down."

"I a.s.sume they'll all arrive together," Joe said, ignoring the camera crew comment.

"If they can get here at all," McIlvaine said. "The weather's gotten worse, not better."

"What kind of lead do you think we've got on them?" Portenson asked Joe.

"I'm guessing a few hours," he said. "It would take a while for them to get together and talk this all through. They're big talkers, according to McCann. They like to have meetings to decide what to do. So they'll know McCann is gone, and they'll have his call about Olig and going to the FBI. There have been rumors up here all summer that Olig is alive and hiding out around here; no doubt they've heard them too. That's why we mentioned Olig, so they'd draw their own conclusions. We wanted to get them to come here, but we didn't want it to be too obvious."

McCann rolled his eyes, said, "Mmff."

"He wants to say something," Portenson said.

Joe reached up and pulled the tape away, much more gently than Nate had done it.

"What if I don't cooperate?" McCann asked. "There's a big a.s.sumption being made here."

"Why wouldn't you?" Portenson said. "This is the best chance you're going to get. If it all works out, you can cut a deal and testifyagainst your buddies. You might even walk . . . again again."

Joe sat back and said nothing. The idea that McCann would once again go free bothered him nearly as much as his plan falling apart. He vowed that it wouldn't happen but kept his mouth shut. When he glanced up at Nate, he saw Nate studying him as if reading his mind. Nate nodded slightly, as if to say, "McCann won't walk." "McCann won't walk."

There had been no discussion about the arrangement Joe had made with Portenson, and Joe found it odd that after the initial acknowledgment, the agents had conspicuously ignored Nate. Again, Joe got an inkling something was going on beneath the surface with McIlvaine and his a.s.sault team that might or might not involve Portenson.

"I want some a.s.surances," McCann said to Portenson in his haughtiest manner. "I want a piece of paper that says if I cooperateto make the arrests, the federal prosecutor will give me immunity."

Portenson simply stared. Even in the poor light, Joe could see that blood had drained from the agent's face.

Ashby looked from Portenson to Joe, concerned.

"I can't get a piece of paper here in time," Portenson said. "You know that. We're in the middle of f.u.c.king nowhere. It's Sunday night."

"Then forget it," McCann said, sitting back. "No paper, no cooperation."

Portenson, Ashby, and Joe exchanged looks. To Joe, it seemed as if the other two were in the first stages of panic. McCannwas playing them the way he'd played his partners, played the Park Service, played a jury, played the system.

"No paper, no cooperation," McCann said again, firmly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Joe saw Nate suddenly rear back and throw a length of wood, which hit the lawyer in the side of his head, making a hollow pock pock sound. Before McCann could slump off his chair, Nate was all over him, driving him into the hardwood floor. sound. Before McCann could slump off his chair, Nate was all over him, driving him into the hardwood floor.

McCann gasped, and Nate reached down and twisted his ear off, yanking it back so the tendons broke like too-tight guitar strings.

"No cooperation, no f.u.c.king ear ear!" Nate hissed, holding it in front of McCann's face like a b.l.o.o.d.y poker chip.

Ashby said, "My G.o.d!"

"f.u.c.kin'-A!" McIlvaine said, approvingly.

Blood spurted across the floor, ran down McCann's neck onto the floor. Nate reached down and grabbed McCann's other ear, growled, "You want to make another threat, law boy?" "You want to make another threat, law boy?"

"Please, no! I'll do what you want! Please, somebody get him off me!"

Joe grimaced, stood, said, "Nate."

McCann shrieked, "I'll help! I'll help! I'll help!"

As Nate pulled McCann to his feet, he flipped the severed ear onto the table like a playing card he no longer needed. McIlvainepicked it up and inspected it, whistling to himself.

Portenson looked at Joe, raised his eyebrows, shook his head. "We don't do this kind of c.r.a.p, Joe."

Joe winked. "Sure you do."

One of the a.s.sault team was placed in the woods near the highway interchange with a radio so he could call ahead if anyonewas coming. Inside, Joe had watched with interest as McIlvaineefficiently placed the rest of his men throughout the cavernous lobby: two on the second-floor veranda with automaticweapons and a full field of vision of the lobby and door, one in a room on the side of the front desk with a view of the door, another behind the gla.s.s in the darkened gift shop, next to the hallway that was the only means of escape.

While the commander checked in with his team, Ashby bandagedMcCann's head and cleaned up the blood on his face and neck. McCann looked terrified and never took his eyes off Nate, who prowled around the fireplace like a big cat.

"Is this the way you do things in Wyoming?" Ashby asked Joe.

"When Nate's helping me, it's the way we do things," Joe said. "This wasn't his first ear."

"I've been meaning to ask you about that guy."

Joe shook his head, said, "Don't."

With the inn set up for an ambush, Joe and Nate prepared to go find Bob Olig. They strapped headlamps on their heads and Portenson handed Joe a radio.