by Rhona Weaver
The shooter sighted in on the man below who was walking back toward the second snowplow. He watched through the scope as the driver stopped between the plows to light a cigarette. The man had on green insulated overalls, a fluorescent-yellow safety vest, and one of those winter Park Service caps with the earflaps—made the guy look like a damn Russian. The shooter whispered a clipped, “Acquired! Permission to take one target?” He eased his breathing for the shot—
“Hold!” It was the stern voice behind them.
A perfectly clear shot. Why in hell ain’t I pulling the trigger? The shooter kept his impatient thoughts to himself. He wasn’t stupid enough to challenge the man behind him.
“Higher-value targets . . . at three o’clock,” came the whispered explanation a second later. “Acquire!”
The shooter shifted his tall frame a bit to his right on the rock-solid ice. “Acquired,” the shooter whispered back as his scope found the park ranger stepping out of his SUV. He used the scope to scan for a moment; a second man was in the vehicle. The spotter gave the new coordinates while the shooter recalibrated the rifle.
“Permission to take two targets?”
“Permission to fire.”
The shooter eased his breath to slow his heart rate. He lined up the scope’s crosshairs on the front of the first target’s dark-green coat, right on the gold badge. His finger eased back the trigger . . . and he whispered, “Boom!” He realigned in less than a heartbeat and “fired” through the windshield at the man in the Tahoe.
The tone of the instructor behind the team softened. It was now an easy southern drawl. “Well, brothers, you just struck a blow fer America—took out two of the oppressors. Nice set, well done. Let’s see an ordered withdrawal. We’ll do a debrief a hundred yards to the rear, then we’ll be gettin’ on back.”
Chapter Twelve
It had been a long day. Win was paying for yesterday’s “day off in the woods,” as his supervisor called it. It was May 2nd, and arrests had finally been made in a big meth bust in Jackson. The culmination of that case freed up a significant amount of Bureau manpower—they were bringing in several of the Denver office’s Joint Terrorism Task Force agents to get a better surveillance rotation. Win was scrambling to get more operational rooms set up in the park’s Justice Center for them; he’d long since run out of office space in the smaller FBI building.
It was nearly 8:45 p.m. when Win finally walked in his back door, pulled his gun out and laid it on the kitchen counter, and tried to flip on the lights to the den, as he’d taken to calling his front room. No lights! Well, maybe Jason’s electrician hadn’t been so thorough after all. He pulled his personal phone from his pocket; he needed to touch base with his brothers tonight before it got too late back home. He walked into the dark room to turn on the TV and absently noted the blinds in the room had been pulled. Friday wasn’t the day the housekeeper came, maybe he’d just forgotten she’d be—
“You ain’t a quick learner, are you, Win Tyler?”
Win gasped as he hit the record button on his phone, then stood there trying to get his eyes adjusted to the dark room.
“Turn around and sit down on the couch.” That put Win looking back into the bright light coming through the open French doors from the kitchen. All he could see was a tall silhouette. It was impossible to see the man’s eyes or whether he was armed.
“This is getting a little old, Luke—you trying to scare me to death.” Win tried hard to keep a steady voice. His heart was pounding so loudly he was afraid Bordeaux could hear it. Is Luke here to finish what he’d started on the mountain the other morning? That frightening thought flashed through his mind. He tried to focus on what the dark shadow was saying.
“In any of these times when I’ve had a weapon on you—which is gettin’ pretty regular—if I hada wanted you dead, I wouldn’t had to scare you to death, now would I? So where’s your weapon now? Sittin’ in the kitchen. The bear spray the other day—thirty, forty feet away. Got to give yourself some sorta fighting chance. You can’t even tell if I’ve drawd down on you. You don’t have many options.”
“How ’bout if I get my Glock from the kitchen, go outside, come back in, and we try this again?”
Luke laughed softly and began screwing the light bulb back into the floor lamp. Win didn’t move. As soon as the fear had passed, he’d realized this could get pretty interesting.
“Nice place you got here.”
“Thanks, you been here long?”
“’Bout fifteen minutes.”
“Want a beer?”
“Be right nice.”
When the light came on, Win saw no weapon in Luke’s hands. The guy was dressed in black coveralls and gloves with a black ski mask and wool cap. He would’ve been invisible in the dark, and he looked scary as Hell. Luke pulled the cap and ski mask off as Win walked past him to the kitchen. He saw two holstered handguns and a knife on the back of Luke’s black web belt. Win got the beers from the refrigerator and didn’t dare touch his gun.
They sat in the den, sipped their beers, and passed the customary couple of minutes discussing the weather. Then Luke got down to business.
“It’s situational awareness,” Luke began.
“What?”
“It’s bothering you that I ain’t had any trouble gettin’ the drop on you all these times.”
“Well, I have been giving some other job offers a little more serious thought since I met you.”
“That ain’t it. . . . Kin tell it in your eyes. You ain’t afraid of me.” Luke smiled a wicked smile. “No more’n you oughta be, that is. No, you got somethin’ else stokin’ those restless fires.”
“Maybe so.” How does he know? Can he see through me that easily?
“But the situational awareness—you’re right good at sensing what’s in front of you. Even to the side of you. You’re not worth a damn at feelin’ things out behind you. Might come from all them years playin’ quarterback. Might work out fine on a ball field, all the action is in front and to the side of you, but it ain’t real handy if someone’s after you in real life. You kin learn it; gonna take some effort. I’d make that effort iffen I’s you.”
“So you’re here to give me pointers in self-defense?”
Luke set his beer down and cleared his throat. “Partly, but mainly I come over here ’cause Ellie says I owe you an apology.”
Win wasn’t expecting that. “How so?”
“I ran into a lady we know from Gardiner Sunday night at the gas station, and she mentioned seein’ Ellie up near the church in Mammoth that afternoon. . . . Just made me sick, but I figured she’d met you. After we got into it Wednesday morning, I was gonna confront Ellie again about callin’ you and meetin’ with you, but she dressed me down fer not takin’ my responsibility to protect our family seriously. Fer allowing a bunch of trashy ex-criminals to live in our trailers just fer the money.” He paused and let out a long sigh. “You been married?”
Win shook his head no.
“Well, someday maybe you’ll understand. You don’t ever want to get called out by a good wife fer not being the man of the family.”
Win could see that.
“So, I’m sorry I went off half-cocked after you up on the mountain the other day. I kin have a temper. Probably my Cajun blood.”
“Apology accepted, Luke, but I’m having a hard time believing you showed up looking like a dang ninja just to apologize to me.”
“I did, but yeah, well, there’s a bit more.” He dropped his eyes for the first time and seemed to be struggling for the exact words. “Ron King, uh, the Prophet’s main man, he brung in three more men this mornin’ fore dawn to our place. Your boys out there been stretched a little thin, and I don’t think they caught it.”
Well, he knows about our surveillance. So much for the FBI’s tactical advantage, Win thought.
Luke kept t
alking. “Don’t know who they are. They have prison tats from some white supremacy bunch and they came in packin’ fer bear. I didn’t think Brother King would be mixed up in any real meanness, but with those new boys he brung in . . . I ain’t so sure ’bout it now.”
“Packing for bear? Heavy weapons?”
“All three of them carrying brand-new Daniel Defense M4s with over five hundred rounds each.” Luke paused. “Then there’s a 82A1 Barrett .50 caliber rifle.”
“Geez.” Win whistled softly.
“Yeah, I was thinkin’ the same thing. That rifle could take down a helicopter and drop a man at more’n a mile.”
Win knew the powerful weapon was a very difficult rifle to shoot accurately. “Anybody you know who can shoot one of those?”
Luke smiled. “’Cept for me, you mean. Don’t know. . . . We have a guy in the church group who’s had sniper training. He might be able to handle it.” He shrugged. “Maybe one of the new guys who brung it in this mornin’.”
Win hoped his phone battery wasn’t dead and the phone was still recording this. “So what’s going down?”
“I don’t know. The church is paying me to get the militia in shape and on target: traipsing around in the woods all day, practice shootin’ and such. But those other boys are mostly holed up at our place, doin’ their own training. . . . Somethin’ ain’t right. Now there’s seven men at our place—all rough men. And Brother King wants me to integrate them into our militia. I’m hearin’ bits and pieces ’bout an ops mission in the park. It’s kinda changing my thinkin’. I’m sending Ellie and the kids back to her cousin’s in Oklahoma City tomorrow. Ellie swears she’s gonna drop off the kids and come back up here in a few days. I hope not, but she can be a stubborn woman.” Luke smiled a shy smile.
“Sending them away is a good move.” Win nodded his approval. “That’s a huge relief to know they’ll be out of there.”
“Ellie ain’t gonna be talkin’ to you ’bout this anymore. You got that?”
“I hear you.” He’s protecting her. He wants her out of the loop.
“Then there’s a couple more things.”
Uh-oh.
“I overheard some chatter on the CB radio right after noon, between the men at our place and King over at the church. Wasn’t real clear—they’re using some code—but there’s a dirty cop involved in somethin’ with the church. I wouldn’t count on any reliable local backup, if I’s you.”
“Who?”
“Deputy sheriff is all I know. Never seen him or heard a name.”
The Secret Service was supposed to be intercepting all radio communications between the subjects. Why aren’t we getting this? It was sounding worse by the second.
Luke took a slow drink from the beer and paused for a long moment.
“You said there were a couple of things,” Win finally said.
Luke set the beer down, stood up, and stretched. Win noticed his cat had been sitting beside Luke. The cat had never gotten within five feet of Win.
“Win, you got a gun by your bed?”
“What? You didn’t check that when you came through the house?” He said it a little sarcastically.
“I wouldn’t go through a man’s things.”
Didn’t seem to bother him to break in, but he drew the line at pilfering, it seemed.
“Uhhh, heard one of the new boys mention your name. Said someone’s gonna take you out.”
“What? Why? I’m just doing my job here.” Win’s voice echoed his shock.
“In case you ain’t noticed yet, we’re not in the South, where even the most redneck white trash have some regard for the law, especially the FBI. Up here lots of folks don’t see it as you doin’ your job. They see it as you interfering with their right to be left alone to do as they damn well please. It probably isn’t anything against you—you ain’t been here long. More’n likely it’s your badge. Don’t know who’s pullin’ those strings, but far as I know none of the militia boys are mixed up in that meanness.” He drew a deep breath. “I’d bet it ain’t personal.”
“Sure makes me feel better to know it isn’t personal! Or then it could be another diversion. You boys trooping around in the woods hoping to be seen a few weeks ago was the first one,” Win countered.
“Yeah, I never understood the purpose of that, but it seems to be pulling a lot of your resources toward one area, don’t it?”
“I suppose killing an FBI agent would consolidate resources even further, but none of this really makes any sense.”
Luke shrugged with his eyebrows. “Well, there are the obvious conclusions: Either you’re dealing with madmen who have no logical plan ’cept to cause as much disruption and chaos as possible, or they’re settin’ up two significant diversions to run the third play.”
“What do you think?”
“Well,” Luke said, shaking his head and standing up, “reckon if there is a third play, it ain’t likely to go down real quick.” He walked to Win’s front door and stopped, hand on the doorknob. “The Prophet and Brother King left fer somewhere today and won’t be back fer a few days. I doubt if your folks over by the church caught that either.”
Luke opened the front door and stepped onto the dark porch. “You’ll have to fiddle with the breaker box to get the rest of the lights to work in your livin’ room and out here. I shut ’em off when I came in the house.” Luke seemed to be having a hard time saying what was really on his mind. He shifted near the door.
“Win, how ’bout you try harder not to let diversion number two go down. . . . I came here partly to make a point. You’re an easy target.” He paused again and took a deep breath. Then, “You promise me you’ll make sure Ellie and the kids get back safely to Louisiana when this is over? Ellie said you treated her with total respect on Sunday. I have a brother who went to the pen. I know it ain’t always handled that way.”
“You could get them back South yourself, so where you gonna be?”
“I may be too deep in it at this point. I’m still trying to sort it out.”
“You could work for us,” Win offered, as he stepped outside.
“Hold it right there! I have a payin’ job with the Prophet that I aim to finish unless things get totally out of control. I’m a man of my word.”
“There’s your pride getting in the way of good sense.”
They stood there in silence in the cold darkness for a few moments. Then Win stepped close to Luke and nodded. “Luke, I promise, within my power, to do right by your family.”
“That’s all I can ask. . . . Be careful, Win Tyler.” Luke had taken off his glove and he shook Win’s hand. Then he vanished off the porch into the night.
* * *
What had been a long day turned into a very long night after Luke left the porch. Win grabbed the still-recording cell phone, his coat, and his weapon and ran out the back door toward his vehicle. He paused for a second in the darkness right outside the door to consider Luke’s last warning, but he knew for the moment he was safe. Luke was still lurking somewhere in the night. He could feel it. In Luke’s mind, Win’s promise was the only thing preventing Ellie from being criminally prosecuted, the only thing keeping her and the kids together if this all went down badly. And it was certainly shaping up to go down badly.
He headed to the office, calling the Jackson Hole RA as he drove. Fifty-five minutes later Win was waiting for the Park Service’s technician to finish digitizing the recording from his personal phone. The Denver FBI bosses had returned to their offices for the teleconference, as had Jim West down in Jackson. Randall, Gus, and the FBI’s surveillance supervisor were sitting in Win’s conference room, drinking coffee while waiting for the audio feed to begin. Win leaned against the doorframe to listen. The tech guy had it coming in loud and clear.
It started after a long beep, with a chilling voice: Turn around and sit down. . . . They l
istened to the entire twelve minutes or so in silence. The recording picked up the initial cold, calculated cadence of Luke’s Louisiana drawl. Win was surprised to hear himself sound confident and casual. He was glad the others couldn’t tell from the recording how frightened he’d felt at first. As the recording played on, the tone of both of their voices became mostly cordial, even supportive. It was an interesting piece of intel for sure. Nobody would complain about being pulled back to the office for this one.
It was quiet for a few moments after the recording ended. The Park Service tech guy moved to another office to let them talk. Win sat down at the table with his notebook. The poor surveillance supervisor shook her head several times during the recording. Now she looked like she wanted to crawl into a hole. Luke’s comments on the FBI surveillance misses were going to create a firestorm in Denver. As Win knew better than most, the Bureau hates mistakes.
“Evening, everyone—Tom Strickland here—well, this will take a little time to digest. Very, very good work, Win. Obviously your plan with the wife on Sunday was right on target in getting her husband to turn—at least to the degree we’ve got him now.”
Sad that being honest and sensitive with a person was a “plan,” Win thought.
Chief Randall gave his initial thoughts. “This could, of course, be disinformation to point us in the wrong direction, but I’m inclined to believe it’s accurate, given the, shall we say, unique relationship Agent Tyler and Luke Bordeaux seem to have developed. On the surface, Bordeaux’s own stated conclusions—that we’re either dealing with madmen who have no set plan, or with a sophisticated force that’s creating limited diversions in order to achieve a larger goal—seem reasonable.”
Win was thinking that killing him didn’t sound like such a limited diversion.