Wild Fire

by Nelson DeMille

  We played a few hands, and I was doing better at cards than I’d done at pool. I may have lost my hand-eye coordination, but I could play poker in my sleep.

  Kate glanced at her cell phone and said, “I have one bar—”

  “That”—I cocked my thumb toward the mahogany bar—“is the only bar I’m interested in tonight.”

  “I think we need to call Tom. Really.”

  “Whoever loses this hand calls him.”

  She lost the hand, and twenty-two bucks, but won the right to call Tom Walsh.

  She dialed his cell phone, he answered, and she said, “Returning your call.” She put it on speaker, then set the cell phone on the table as she gathered up the cards.

  I heard him ask, “Where are you?”

  Kate said, “At The Point. Where are you?”

  He replied, “At the office,” which I thought was interesting and unusual at this hour. “Can you talk?”

  She giggled. “Not very well. I’ve had four Stolis.”

  She fan-shuffled the deck near the phone, and Walsh said, “I’m getting static.”

  “I’m shuffling.”

  He seemed impatient with her. “Where’s John?”

  “He’s here.”

  I said, “Ante up.”

  “What—?”

  She threw a dollar chip in and said to me, “Cut.”

  Walsh asked, “What are you doing?”

  Kate replied, “Playing poker.”

  “Are you playing alone?”

  She dealt five-card draw and replied, “No, that’s solitaire.”

  “I mean,” he said with affected patience, “is anyone there aside from John?”

  “No. Are you opening?”

  I threw a blue chip in the pot. “Open for five.”

  She threw two blues in. “Raise you five.”

  Walsh asked, “Do you have it on speaker?”

  “Yes. How many cards do you want?”

  “Two.”

  She hit me with two cards and said, “You better have something better than three of a kind, mister. Dealer stands pat.”

  “You’re bluffing.”

  Walsh said, “Excuse me—would you mind holding up your game for a minute of business?”

  Kate put her hand facedown on the table and whispered to me, “To you.”

  “You raised my open. It’s to you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Walsh said, “It’s to you, Kate. But before you bet, perhaps John can tell me how it went with Major Schaeffer.”

  I put my hand facedown, sipped my scotch, and said, “Since you know we’re at The Point, I assume you’ve spoken to him—so what did he tell you?”

  “He said Kate was not present at the meeting.”

  “Correct. I did a cop-to-cop with him.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of. And?”

  “What did he tell you?” I asked.

  “He told me that you told him about our bet. I guess you’re in a betting mood today.”

  That was about as witty as Tom Walsh got, and I wanted to encourage him in that direction, so I laughed.

  He asked, “Have you been drinking?”

  “No, sir. We’re still drinking.”

  “I see . . . well—”

  “Weren’t you supposed to call Schaeffer before we got there to tell him that Kate and I are the designated investigators?”

  “Apparently, even drunk, you don’t forget an oversight on my part.”

  “Tom, even if I was dead, I wouldn’t forget you screwing me around.”

  Mr. Walsh advised me, “You need to learn to manage your anger.”

  “Why? It’s the only thing that motivates me to come to work.”

  Walsh ignored that. “Was Schaeffer helpful? Did you learn anything?”

  “Tom, whatever Schaeffer told me, he’ll tell you. He loves the FBI.”

  He suggested, “I think we need to continue this discussion when you’re less fatigued.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Just FYI, Harry’s body is being flown by helicopter back to New York for autopsy.” He added, “I understand there were signs of physical abuse on the body.”

  I didn’t reply.

  Walsh continued, “This is obviously not a hunting accident, and the Bureau is treating it as a homicide.”

  “What was your first clue?” I added, “Fax me the full autopsy report, care of Schaeffer.”

  He ignored that. “A team of agents have arrived from New York and Washington, and they’d like to speak to both of you tomorrow.”

  “As long as they’re not here to arrest us, we’ll talk to them.”

  “Don’t be paranoid. They just want a full briefing from you both.”

  “Right. Meanwhile, you need to get a Federal judge to issue a search warrant for the Custer Hill Club property and lodge ASAP.”

  “That’s being discussed.”

  Kate cut in. “Tom, John and I think that Bain Madox is conspiring to do something that goes beyond oil-price fixing.”

  There was a silence, then Walsh asked, “Like what?”

  “We don’t know.” She looked at me and mouthed the words “MAD,” “NUKE,” “ELF.”

  I shook my head.

  “Like what?”

  She replied, “I don’t know.”

  “Then why do you think that?”

  “We—”

  I said, “Let’s discuss this when you’re sober, Tom.”

  “Call me in the morning. I know that place doesn’t have room phones, and that cell service is not good, but don’t fuck with me.” He added, “And don’t even think about submitting a bill for that place.” He hung up.

  I said to Kate, “It’s to you.”

  She threw three blues in the pot. “Don’t even think about raising. In fact, don’t even call.”

  “Fifteen, and another fifteen.”

  She threw in three more blue chips and said, “I’ll let you off easy.” She fanned out a Jack-high straight flush in hearts, and swept the pot toward her. “What did you have?”

  “None of your business.”

  She gathered the cards and shuffled the deck. “You’re a bad loser.”

  “Good losers are losers.”

  “Macho, macho.”

  “You love it.”

  We played a few more hands, and I was ahead a little on the poker, though still down on the pool. I suggested, “Let’s do darts. A buck a point.”

  She laughed and said, “You can’t even get your glass to your mouth. I’m not standing in the same room as you with a dart in your hand.”

  “Come on.” I got up, a little unsteady, and said, “This is like a saloon triathlon—poker, pool, and darts.”

  I found the darts, stepped back about ten feet from the board, and let them fly. One hit the board, and the others, unfortunately, went astray, the last one pinning a window drape to the wall.

  Kate thought that was funny, and I said, “Let’s see how you do.”

  She informed me, “I don’t play darts. But you can go again.” She laughed.

  Amy returned with a cloth-covered tray, which she set on the bar. “Here we are. He had apple-smoked turkey sausage.”

  Before I could tell her what Pierre could do with his turkey sausage, Kate said, “Thank you.”

  Amy was looking at the darts in the wall but didn’t comment, except to ask, “Have you decided on breakfast?”

  We perused the menu and ordered breakfast, which even a French chef can’t screw up.

  I wanted to watch the evening news, and I asked Amy, “Where’s the TV?”

  She replied, “There are no televisions at The Point.”

  “What if the world came to an end? We couldn’t see it on television.”

  She smiled, the way people do who know they’re dealing with an inebriated person. She addressed Kate, whom she probably thought was sober. “Yeah, like, we had that problem on 9/11. You know? So, they set up a TV here in the bar. So
everyone could watch it.” She added, “It was really horrible.”

  Neither Kate nor I commented, and Amy wished us a pleasant evening, stole another glance at the darts, and left.

  I uncovered the tray and examined the turkey sausage wrapped in some kind of phyllo dough. “What is this crap?”

  Kate said, “We’re checking out of here tomorrow.”

  “I like it here.”

  “Then stop complaining and eat those fucking sausages.”

  “Where’s the mustard? There’s no mustard.”

  “Time for bed, John.” She handed me my leather jacket, put on her coat, gathered up her handbag and briefcase, then led me out the door.

  I shoved my Glock in my waistband in case we ran into any bears, and suggested that Kate do the same, but she ignored my good advice.

  The air was cold, and I could see my breath, and in the sky were thousands of bright stars against a black sky. I could smell the pines, and the wood smoke coming from the chimneys of the Main Lodge, and everything was very quiet.

  I like the noise of the city, and concrete below my feet, and I don’t miss seeing the stars at night because the lights of Manhattan create their own universe, and eight million people are more interesting than eight million trees.

  And yet, this was undeniably beautiful, and under other circumstances, I might relax here and surrender to the wilderness and be at peace with myself while eating French food with twenty strangers who probably made their money screwing the American public.

  Kate said, “It’s so serene. Can’t you feel the tension and stress just leaving your body?”

  “I’m kind of going back and forth on that.”

  “You need to let go and let nature take over.”

  “Right. Actually, I’m starting to get in touch with my primitive self.”

  “John, this may come as a surprise to you, but you’re already very in touch with your primitive self. In fact, I haven’t yet met the other side of you.”

  I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or a criticism, so I didn’t reply.

  We went around the Main Lodge and on to a stone terrace. We could see through the big windows into the Great Hall, and I watched the guests around the two tables, working hard at the game of civilized dinner behavior. None of them were local, of course, and wherever they’d come from, they’d arrived.

  I thought of Bain Madox sitting in his great hall—fireplace, dog, hunting trophies, old scotch, a manservant, and probably a girlfriend or two somewhere. For 99 percent of humanity, this would be more than enough. But Mr. Bain Madox, though he should have been very content with his accomplishments and wealth, was being directed by some inner voice into a dark place.

  I mean, thinking back on that meeting, I could see something in his eyes and in his demeanor that made me believe he was on a mission, a man of destiny, far above the rest of humanity.

  I’m sure he had reasons for whatever he was up to, reasons that he thought were good and which he’d actually hinted at over scotch and coffee. But I didn’t care about his reasons, or his inner demons, or his divine voices, or his obvious megalomania; what I cared about was that he was apparently engaged in a criminal enterprise, and that he’d most likely killed a friend of mine on his way toward his larger goal, which itself was undoubtedly beyond criminal.

  Kate asked me, “What are you thinking about?”

  “Madox. Harry. Nukes. Radio signals. Stuff like that.”

  “I know we’ll figure it all out.”

  “Well, Kate, the nice thing about this mystery is that even if we don’t figure it out, we’ll know soon enough what it was that we couldn’t figure out.”

  “I think it would be better if we figured it out before it happens.”

  We reached the rear of the Main Lodge without encountering any carnivorous wildlife, and I saw a door with a wooden sign that said: MOHAWK.

  We entered the unlocked door, and I bolted it, not sure if the door would keep a bear out. Maybe I should move the dresser in front of it.

  Kate said, “Oh, this is beautiful.”

  “What?”

  “The room. Look at this place.”

  “Okay.” I looked. It was a big cathedral-ceilinged room, paneled in stained pine. There was a king bed that looked like it could be comfortable, but it was so high off the floor, you wouldn’t want to fall out of it. On the bed was a wicker basket full of toiletries.

  There was a lot of furniture in the room, and lots of throw pillows and blankets lying around, which I know women like.

  As Kate went around feeling up the fabrics and smelling the flowers, I checked out the bathroom. I’m a bathroom freak, and this one was okay. I like a good toilet bowl. I washed my face in the sink, then returned to the main room.

  Along the far wall was a big stone fireplace, and in the hearth were logs and kindling, to which Kate was holding a match. The fire caught, and she stood and said, “This is so romantic.”

  Above the fireplace was a huge set of antlers, which reminded me that I was horny. I said, “I’m horny.”

  “Can’t we just enjoy the room?”

  “You said it was romantic. So?”

  “Romance and sex are not the same thing.”

  I knew if I argued that point, I wasn’t going to get any, so I said, “I’m very sensitive to that. Here, let me put some music on.” There was a CD player on the desk and a stack of disks.

  I quickly found an Etta James CD, which I knew she liked, and popped it in. Etta began crooning “At Last.”

  Kate found a bottle of red wine on a dining table, which she opened. Then she poured two glasses and gave one to me. “To us.”

  We touched glasses, sipped, and kissed lightly on the lips. I’m not a big wine drinker, but I’ve discovered that wine equals romance, and romance leads to . . . whatever.

  Kate went around and shut off the lamps. We took off our shoes and sat in comfortable upholstered chairs that faced each other in front of the roaring fire.

  Kate said, “This was a good idea, except it’s too expensive.”

  “Hey, I got an oil tip from Bain. We’re buying oil futures tomorrow as soon as the market opens. Then, I’m calling my bookie with my bet on the start date of the war. Do you think this war has anything to do with what Madox is up to?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Yeah . . . maybe Madox is going to nuke Baghdad and keep us from having to go to war. Could that be his game?”

  “I don’t know. Why speculate?”

  “This is called analysis. This is what we get paid for.”

  “I’m off-duty.”

  “Would nuking Baghdad raise or lower the price of oil? And how can I bet on the start date of the war if the war is preempted by a nuclear blast? What do you think?”

  “I think you should stop thinking about this tonight.”

  I looked around the darkened room, lit now by the fire. The reflection of the flames glowed on the shiny oil paintings along the walls. The wind had picked up, and I could hear it howling in the chimney and saw gusts of leaves blowing past the windows. I said, “This actually is romantic. I see the difference now.”

  She smiled and replied, “You’re on the right track.”

  “Good. Hey, do you realize that William Avery Rockefeller had sex in this very room?”

  “Is that all you think about? I mean, here we are in one of the historic Great Camps of the Adirondacks, and all you can think about is that some Rockefeller had sex in this room.”

  “That’s not true. I was about to comment on the pastoral movement among the rich in the early part of the last century that led to the construction of these rural homes as simple refuges from the complexities of urban life, with all its noise, pollution, and teeming humanity.”

  “That’s interesting.”

  “Also, the Rockefellers were horny. I mean, look at what happened to poor Nelson Rockefeller. Then, you have oysters Rockefeller. Oysters. Get it? So, for me to mention that William Avery—”
/>   “John, you’re losing points.”

  “Right.” So we listened to Etta James, watched the fire, and sipped wine. The heat of the fire was making me drowsy, and I yawned.

  Kate stood, went to the bed, and removed the comforter and a pillow, which she laid out in front of the hearth.

  She then slipped into something more comfortable, meaning nothing, and I watched her as she undressed in the firelight. When she was naked, she lay down on the comforter and looked at me.

  I think that was my signal to join her, so I stood and undressed slowly—about five seconds—and we lay on our sides in each other’s arms.

  She nudged me onto my back and rolled on top of me.

  This had been a lousy day, and tomorrow, assuming there was one, wasn’t going to be much better. But for now, this was as good as it got.

  PART X

  Tuesday

  UPSTATE NEW YORK

  The unleashed power of the atom has changed everything, save our modes of thinking, and we thus drift toward unparalleled catastrophe.

  —Albert Einstein

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Our wake-up call came promptly at 6:00 A.M., making me wonder what I was thinking when I asked for it. Little Scotsmen were hurling stones in my head.

  Kate rolled over, mumbled something, and buried her head under the pillow.

  I found the bathroom in the dark and used the provided sundries, then stepped into the shower, which felt like a million dollars—or at least twelve hundred dollars.

  I went back into the bedroom and got dressed in the dark, leaving sleeping beauty to rest.

  Actually, we’d both spent a restless night after an overstimulated day. For the first time in a long time, I dreamed I was standing under the burning towers as people jumped from the windows. I also dreamed that Harry and I were at a funeral.

  I opened the other entry door to our room and saw that it led to a short passageway, which opened into the Great Hall.

  I went into the Hall, where two round tables were being set for breakfast, and a fire was blazing at each end of the room. If I wasn’t a cop, I think I’d like to be a Rockefeller.

  The kitchen door was open, and I could hear the sounds of people banging around, preparing for breakfast.

  I thought I heard a voice with a French accent saying, “Peegs in zee blanket?” followed by laughter. But maybe I imagined that.