Wild Fire

by Nelson DeMille

  “I mean, I doubt he’d try that, unless all pretense of us being dinner guests is dropped.”

  “And if that happens?” Kate inquired.

  “Well, if they ask for our guns, then we’ll show them our guns and our shields.”

  “What if there are ten of them with rifles?”

  “Then, we go into our Federal agent mode and tell them they’re all under arrest. And let’s not forget to mention to Madox that the entire B Troop barracks of the New York state police knows where we are. That’s our ace in the hole.”

  “I know that. But actually, no one yet knows where we’re going. And what if Madox doesn’t care who knows where we are? What if Hank Schaeffer is in the kitchen cooking, and the sheriff is making drinks? What if—?”

  “Don’t make Madox ten feet tall. He’s smart, rich, powerful, and ruthless. But he’s not Superman, sweetheart.” I added, “I am Superman.”

  “All right, Superman, what else do we need to think about to keep ourselves alive and healthy?”

  I advised her, “Don’t ask for a frozen daiquiri or anything that can be drugged. Drink what he’s drinking. Same with the food. Be careful. Remember the Borgias.”

  “You remember the Borgias. I swear, John, you’d eat chili and hot dogs even if you knew they were poisoned.”

  “What a way to go.” I continued my briefing. “Okay, our demeanor. This is a social occasion, mixed with the unpleasant business of a Federal investigation. So, act accordingly.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning, just the right combination of being polite, but firm.” I continued, “Madox likes his scotch. Try to gauge his sobriety. If he’s not drinking much, take that as a sign of trouble.”

  “I understand.”

  We discussed a few more fine points of etiquette that might not be addressed by Emily Post.

  When we finished with etiquette class, Kate returned to survival school. “Tell me about the BearBangers.”

  “Hey, these are neat.” I gave her one and told her how to load it and fire it, and went over its possible use as a weapon of last resort if we were relieved of our hardware. I said, “It might pass a frisk since it looks like a penlight. But you might want to stick it in your crotch.”

  “Okay. Can I tell you where to stick yours?”

  “This is serious.”

  We went through some possible scenarios, some contingencies, and some Plan Bs.

  I said to her, “My original plan—which I still like—was to bust in there, through some point in the fence, and take out one or two of the antenna poles, and/or take out the generators.”

  She didn’t respond to that.

  I continued, “That’s a very direct solution to the ELF problem. That is the weak link in Madox’s plan to detonate these suitcase bombs. Right?”

  “What if there are no suitcase bombs? What if that’s not an ELF station?”

  “So, we apologize for the damage and offer to pay for the poles and generators.”

  I let that sit there awhile as we drove, but Kate wasn’t talking, so I pulled out my map of the Custer Hill property and put it on her lap.

  She looked at it. “Where did you get this?”

  “Harry gave it to me.”

  “You took this from the morgue?”

  “It wasn’t inventoried—”

  “You took evidence?”

  “Cut the FBI crap. I borrowed it. It’s done all the time.” I tapped the map on her lap, and said, “There’s an old logging road there on the east side of the property which runs right up to the fence, then beyond. Okay, we take that road, crash through the fence, then about a hundred yards later, we intersect with this perimeter road that connects all the poles. See it?”

  She wasn’t looking at the map, but at me.

  I continued, “So, we run along that road, line up a pole with the front of the van, and hit it. Okay? The pole goes down, the wires snap, and the ELF station is off the air. What do you think?”

  “Well, aside from this being insane, I don’t think this van would knock one of those poles from the bedrock.”

  “Sure it will. That’s why I borrowed it.”

  “John, I grew up in rural Minnesota. I’ve seen vans and even pickup trucks hit utility poles, and the pole usually wins.”

  “Yeah? Hard to believe.”

  “And even if the pole cracks, the wires usually hold, and the pole hangs there.”

  “No kidding? I should have spoken to you before I got myself excited about this.”

  “And if the wires do snap, and hit this van, we’ll be toast.”

  “This is true. Bad idea.” I went on, “Okay, so, if you look at the map, you’ll see the generator house. See? Right there.”

  “Watch the road.”

  “Okay, now this is a challenge, because the house is made of stone, with steel doors and steel shutters. But the weak link is the chimneys—”

  “Wasn’t this in the story of the three little pigs?”

  “Yeah. But we don’t go down the chimney. We get on the roof from the top of this van, then we stuff our jackets into the chimney pots, which is what the stupid wolf should have done, and the smoke backs up, and the generators conk out.”

  “I see three chimneys and two jackets.”

  “There’s a blanket in the back of the van, plus enough other crap to fill six more chimneys. What do you think?”

  “Well, technically, it sounds feasible. Did you factor in ten or twenty security guards with all-terrain vehicles and assault rifles?”

  “Yeah. That’s why I bought extra ammunition.”

  “Of course. So, let’s say this works, or doesn’t work. Do we still show up at the front door for dinner?”

  “That depends on the results of the shoot-out with the guards. We’ll play that by ear.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Where is this logging road?”

  I think she was being sarcastic. There are advantages and disadvantages in having a female partner. The ladies tend to be practical and cautious. The guys tend to be stupid and reckless, which may account for the fact that there are fewer men than women in the world.

  I said, “Well, it was just an idea.” I added, “I thought of it before we were invited to dinner.”

  “I don’t know how you lived long enough for me to meet you.” She added, “I had hoped that evolution and natural selection had solved the problem of people like you.”

  I certainly didn’t reply to that.

  She continued, “But you bring up an important point. The ELF system. The weakest link in the ELF station is not the poles, wires, or the generator. It is the transmitter.”

  “This is true.”

  “I’m assuming the transmitter is in the lodge itself.”

  “Most likely. It would be safe and secure there, and hidden from view.”

  “Right. It may be in the basement. The fallout shelter.”

  I nodded. “Probably.”

  “So, if you want to shut down Madox’s ELF station, then that is where we shut it down.”

  “Absolutely.” I suggested, “You excuse yourself to go to the ladies’ room—which Madox will know takes fifteen to twenty minutes—find the transmitter, and smash it.”

  “Okay. And you can cover me by sticking the BearBanger up your ass and firing it.”

  Ms. Mayfield was in a strangely humorous mood tonight. It must be her way of dealing with stress.

  I said to her, “As I mentioned earlier, the real purpose of this visit is not social—it is to place Bain Madox under arrest for . . . give me a Federal crime that fits.”

  “Kidnapping. He had to kidnap Harry before he assaulted him.”

  “Right. Kidnapping and assault. The state tries him for murder.”

  “Correct.”

  Actually, if Madox provoked me in any way, he wouldn’t have to worry about any trial. I said to Kate, “It’s good to be married to a lawyer.”

  “You need a full-time lawyer, John.”

  “
Right.”

  “Also, to make an arrest, you need something aside from your suspicions.”

  “If we don’t arrest him tonight,” I said, “do you want to be responsible for four nuclear explosions tomorrow? Or tonight?”

  “No . . . but, legalities aside, an arrest is not that easy at the Custer Hill Club.” She pointed out, “There are only two of us, and many of them.”

  “We are the law.”

  “I know that, John, but—”

  “Do you have that little card to read him his rights?”

  “I think I can recite that without a card by now.”

  “Good. Do you have handcuffs?”

  “No. Do you?”

  “Not on me.” I said, “We should have brought the duct tape. Maybe Madox has the shackles he used on Harry. Or, maybe I’ll just kick him in the nuts.”

  “You seem very confident.”

  “I am very motivated.”

  “Good. By the way, why do we need these BearBangers? We have guns and shields. Right?”

  “Well . . .”

  “Yeah, well. Okay, John, I’m with you. But don’t get us into something you can’t get us out of.”

  I may already have done that, but I said, “Just be alert, aware, and ready—like any other tricky arrest. We are the law, he is the criminal.”

  She had two words for me: “Remember Harry.”

  I looked at her and said, “Kate, that’s why we’re doing this alone. I really want to make this bust myself. Just me. And you, if you want.”

  We made eye contact, and she nodded. “Drive.”

  Kate seemed a little anxious about the evening, but she also seemed to be looking forward to it. I know this feeling very well. We’re not in this business for the money. We’re in it for the excitement, and for moments like this.

  Duty, honor, country, service, truth, and justice are good. But you can do that from behind a desk.

  In the end, you carry the gun and the shield out into the field for the sole purpose of confronting the bad guys. The enemy. There is no other reason to be on the front lines.

  Kate understood that. I understood it. And, in about an hour, Bain Madox would also understand it.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  We passed Rudy’s darkened gas station and continued on into the state park preserve.

  We approached Stark Road and saw a power-company truck parked on the side with its lights flashing, and I was sure this was the state police surveillance vehicle. I slowed down to be certain he saw us turning onto Stark Road.

  As we continued on through the tunnel of trees, I said to Kate, “Okay, give the state police a call, and tell them that I need to speak to Major Schaeffer, and it’s urgent.”

  Kate took her cell phone out of her bag, turned it on, and said, “I have no service.”

  “What do you mean? Madox’s relay tower is only about four miles from here.”

  “I have no service.”

  I took my cell phone out and turned it on. No service. “Maybe we need to get closer.” I gave her my phone.

  I turned onto the logging road, and Kate, holding both cell phones, said, “Still no service.”

  “All right . . .” McCuen Pond Road was coming up, and I slowed down and hit my brights, hoping to see a stakeout vehicle, but there was no one at the T-intersection.

  I made a left onto McCuen Pond Road and looked at my watch. It was 6:55 P.M. A few minutes later, we approached the lights and warning signs of the Custer Hill gate. I asked Kate, “Service?”

  “No service.”

  “How could that be?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe Madox’s tower is having a problem. Or maybe he shut it down.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Let me think.”

  “Oh . . . yeah. He really is a paranoid asshole.”

  “A smart paranoid asshole.” She asked me, “Do you want to turn around?”

  “No. And leave the phones on.”

  “Okay, but no one will be able to pick up our signal here unless the cell tower at Custer Hill comes back on the air.”

  “It could just be a temporary glitch.” But I doubted that. Now that we wanted to be located, we were electronically silent. Shit happens.

  I slowed down at the speed bump, then stopped at the stop sign. The gate slid open a crack, and I could see my favorite security guard in the floodlit entrance to the property. He came toward us, and I stuck my Glock in my waistband. I said to Kate, “Be alert.”

  “Right. Ask him if you can borrow his landline phone to call the state police to tell them we’re at the Custer Hill Club.”

  I ignored the sarcasm and watched the security goon coming toward us at a leisurely pace. I said to Kate, “Anyway, I’m sure we were spotted by the state police stakeout.”

  “I’m sure you were, Rudy.”

  “Oh . . . oh, shit. That was pretty stupid.”

  She could have been angry or critical, but she patted my hand and said soothingly, “We all have stupid moments, John. I just wish you hadn’t picked this particular time to have one.”

  I didn’t reply but gave myself a mental slap on the face.

  The neo-Nazi got to the van, and I rolled down the window. He seemed surprised to see me in what he probably knew to be Rudy’s van. He looked at Kate, then said to us, “Mr. Madox is expecting you.”

  “You sure about that?”

  He didn’t answer but stood there, and I wanted to smash his idiotic face. I noticed his name tag. Mom and Dad had christened their little boy Luther. They probably couldn’t spell Lucifer. I asked him, “Is anyone else coming to dinner, Lucifer?”

  “Luther. No. Just you.”

  “Sir.”

  “Sir.”

  “And ma’am. Let’s try again.”

  He took a deep breath to show me he was trying to control his temper, then said, “Just you, sir, and you, ma’am.”

  “Good. Practice that.”

  “Yes, sir. You know the way. Sir. Please drive slowly and carefully this time. Sir.”

  “Fuck you.” I proceeded to the gate, which was now fully open.

  Kate asked, “What did he mean by ‘this time’?”

  “Oh, he and his buddy there”—I slowed down at the gatehouse and blasted the air horn out the window at the other guard, which caused him to jump about five feet—“tried to throw themselves under the wheels of my car this afternoon.” I drove on.

  “Why did you do that? You scared the hell out of me.”

  “Kate, these two bastards, and their pals, were the guys who grabbed Harry on Saturday. And for all I know, one or two of them helped murder him on Sunday.”

  She nodded.

  “We’ll see every one of these guys in court.”

  She reminded me, “We may see every one of them in the next half hour.”

  “Good. I’ll save the taxpayers some money.”

  “Calm down.”

  I didn’t reply.

  As we proceeded up the long winding drive, motion sensors turned on the lamppost lights.

  Under one of the lampposts, I saw what looked like a big wood chipper on the lawn, which reminded me of the Mafia expression about putting their enemies through the wood chipper. I always got a laugh out of that for some reason, and I smiled.

  Kate asked, “What’s funny?”

  “I forgot.” Less funny was that there weren’t any trees or dead branches on the lawn.

  Normally, you don’t go into situations like this without backup. But this situation was anything but normal. The irony here was that we’d been hiding from the ATTF, Liam Griffith, the FBI, and the state police—and now that I wanted everyone to know where we were, only Bain Madox knew.

  When I get really paranoid, like now, I start to imagine that the CIA is involved. And considering what this was all about, why would they not be involved?

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

  “The CIA.”

  “Right. This, as it t
urns out, would also involve them.”

  “It would.” Yet, you rarely see them or hear from them. That’s why they’re called spooks, or ghosts, and if you see them at all, it’s usually at the end. Like about now.

  I said to Kate, “In fact, I see Ted Nash’s hand in this.”

  She looked at me. “Ted Nash? John, Ted Nash is dead.”

  “I know. I just like to hear you say it.”

  She didn’t think that was so funny, but I did.

  Up ahead in the turnaround circle was a flagpole, and flying from the pole was the American flag and the Seventh Cavalry pennant, illuminated by two spotlights.

  I informed Kate, “A pennant or banner means the commander is on the premises.”

  “I know that. Didn’t you ever notice my pennant on the bedpost?”

  I smiled, and we held hands. She said to me, “I’m a little . . . apprehensive.”

  I reminded her, “We are not alone. We have the full power and authority of the United States government behind us.”

  She looked over her shoulder and said, “I don’t see anyone else here, John.”

  I was glad to see she was maintaining her sense of humor. I gave her hand a squeeze and stopped the van under the portico. “Hungry?”

  “Famished.”

  We got out and climbed the steps to the porch. I rang the bell.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Carl answered the door and said to us, “Mr. Madox has been expecting you.”

  I replied, “And good evening to you, Carl.”

  I’m sure he wanted to say, “Fuck you,” but he didn’t, and showed us into the atrium foyer. He said, “I’ll take your coats.”

  Kate responded, “We’ll keep them.”

  Carl seemed unhappy about that, but said, “Cocktails will be in the bar room. Please follow me.”

  We went through the door near the staircase and walked toward the rear of the lodge.

  The house was quiet, and I didn’t see, hear, or sense anyone around.

  I still had my Glock in my waistband, but it was covered by my shirt and jacket. My off-duty .38 was in my ankle holster. Kate had slipped her Glock in her jacket pocket, and, like most, if not all, FBI agents, she had no second weapon—except the BearBanger somewhere in her jeans. My BearBanger was clipped like a penlight in my shirt pocket. My two extra magazines were in my jacket, and Kate’s four were in her handbag and her jacket. We were loaded for bear, or Bain.