by Rhona Weaver
He circled a cul-de-sac right behind a herd of elk. Luke and Trey appeared out of the rear of the herd and climbed into the back seats so quietly that he wasn’t even sure they were there. They both kept their heads down as he drove to the other side of the subdivision and parked on the street in the blackness of an overhanging tree.
“Okaaay, boys, do you think we’re clear?”
Luke spoke first. “Lookin’ that way. Downright creative, Win. Learn that in your FBI school?”
“Nope, made that one up. No time for small talk, let’s decide what we’re gonna do here. Trey and I both know you never had any intention of getting mixed up with bad guys like these, Luke. We’re afraid innocent folks are fixin’ to get hurt—we need your help to stop this deal. We need your help badly.” Win shifted to face the back seat. “The Bureau will be moving to arrest as many of the Prophet’s men as possible to keep something awful from happening during the next few days. They still consider you to be one of the Prophet’s men, Luke. They could have a new warrant out on you tonight, early tomorrow for sure.”
“Fer what? They don’t have nothin’ on me!”
“They may have drone footage of you shooting Bronte off the cable. They’ll probably claim he was in the process of surrendering. Likely enough probable cause to get a warrant, even if charges have to be dropped later. Enough for an arrest—you don’t want that.” Win noticed Luke didn’t jump in and deny shooting Bronte. He forged on. “The truth is, we don’t know what Shepherd is planning and you may not know either, but we need some help.”
Trey spoke up quietly from beside Bordeaux. “Those guys are not your friends, Luke—not the men King, or Chandler, or whatever his name is, brought in. Look what happened with Ellie. Will you at least talk to the HRT guys tonight? If we wait till tomorrow, the traditional FBI folks will be handling this end of it, and I know you have little regard for them.”
Win held his breath waiting for Luke to respond. When he did, his voice was low and measured. “After the house got bugged, it occurred to me I’d put Trey in a bad position by hidin’ out there. I got outa my place ’cause a couple of Bronte’s buddies, King’s men, were still in the area. Had no desire to end up dead in my own bed. Shoulda handled it better than I did. I ain’t been using real good judgment here lately. That’s not who I am, you know that, Trey.”
Win heard Bordeaux take a deep breath. “I ain’t gonna turn against my militiamen. They’re just followin’ our church, but Ron King and his boys are outlaws. I don’t need no more convincing there. Any talkin’ I do with HRT is only gonna deal with Brother King and his guys.”
Not exactly what he wanted, but Win would take it. “I suppose that’s the honorable thing to do. So you’ll meet with Phillips and Smith if I set it up?”
“Yeah.”
Thank God! Win glanced at his watch, 12:18 a.m. He was shocked it wasn’t later. Trey handed him one of the throwaway phones. He powered it up and dialed the number. Matt Smith answered on the third ring. “Hey, this is Win. Sorry if I woke you, Matt.”
“Not in bed yet. . . . Why are you calling from this number? Where are you?” The man’s tone was sharp and accusatory.
Win was trying real hard to remember he was in the same agency with this guy. His voice took on an edge. “Look, Matt, I didn’t buy your efforts at carelessness earlier tonight. I don’t like having my house bugged or my partner’s house and vehicle bugged. I liked the stakeouts at those places even less. So you tell me now what team I’m on and we’ll go from there.”
Win heard the team leader clear his throat. “Is Trey with you?”
Luke and Trey were both leaning in, listening to every word of the phone conversation, as Win angrily replied, “That’s immaterial! I want to know why you’re playing us!” He couldn’t believe he’d just challenged the senior agent, but he’d noticed Smith hadn’t answered his question either.
Smith hesitated for a long moment then responded, “Okay, listen . . . we got real nervous about Trey’s relationship with Bordeaux, especially after he nearly got himself killed saving the man’s wife this morning. And it looks like Bordeaux did shoot the guy off the cable—or at least tried to—that’s a bit sketchier. Got that incident on live feeds off our low-altitude drone, as I’m sure you suspected by now.”
Win shifted in his seat as Smith kept talking. “Bill Wilson is probably just trying to save his own skin, but all the way to Bozeman, he kept saying there were others in the Park Service involved in the leak. It would take time to run it all down, but Trey was the most obvious name on the list. Neither Phillips nor I believe that, but it made Washington even more anxious about the guy. So you got watched ’cause we were watching him.”
Win tried to make a comment, but Smith cut him off. “I’m not finished here. It got worse for Hechtner this afternoon, when he took a call on a burner phone from Bordeaux. Part of the conversation was in some code—maybe a Native American language, we’re not sure—but there were definitely plans to meet. Bordeaux lost his Bureau surveillance team five minutes later, and we didn’t know where he was until we got locational hits from that phone again tonight. Win, did you know about that call?”
“Yeah, I knew about the call.” Technically true. “We’re trying to develop intel here, Matt. That’s part of our job, as I understand it. I’m the case agent for False Prophet, for Pete’s sake! What am I supposed to be doing? Luke is my source, you know that. I have every right to contact him and so does my partner.” Probably not correct, but sounds plausible. He paused. “Does HRT still have the operational authority to help develop the intel on this case?”
“Yes, until SAC Strickland signs on in the morning.”
“Do you want help on that?”
“What? How?”
“Luke will provide us with information on the current locations of some of Chandler’s men in Gardiner. But I have to have HRT’s assurance there’ll be no warrant on Luke Bordeaux. He is under my supervision.” I wish! “If there is a new warrant, I want it pulled.”
“Kirk is standing here beside me, listening in on this. Let him give you HRT’s assurance.”
Phillips came on the call. “Win, I don’t know what you’ve got—but you are the case agent. I can give you HRT assurance we won’t enforce a warrant for Luke Bordeaux on any matter we have to date, if he’s willing to provide the Bureau with credible intel leading to arrests.” Phillips’s voice was as cold as the night air.
Let’s try to put the best possible light on this. . . . “Thank you, sir. Luke will be glad to help you get Ron Chandler’s men off the street.” Win wasn’t feeling real trusting; taking Luke to HRT headquarters didn’t feel real smart. He needed a neutral site. He wrapped it up with Phillips. “Meet us in the Yellowstone Chapel sanctuary. We’ll be waiting.”
Win pulled the Explorer into the south parking lot of the chapel within seconds, and as soon as he turned off the engine, he froze at the sound of a pistol slide being racked directly behind him.
“Not to worry, just unloading my weapon. I can’t have a loaded gun in the park, you know. Leaving it and my knife in your truck. Let’s move.” Now Luke seemed to be in charge.
It took Luke all of ten seconds to jimmy the lock and get them inside the front door of the chapel. Win flipped on several lights, and all three men walked down the center aisle toward the front altar. Win mentally ran through his goals for this little meeting: save Luke from a potential arrest and a shoot-out with the good guys, save Trey from arrest for harboring Luke, and hopefully get some information that would help them put an end to this seemingly endless series of crises.
Luke abruptly turned to Trey and Win as they walked down the aisle. It was as if he were on an internal countdown to HRT’s arrival. His eyes had a steely focus Win had never seen before. An emotion just short of fear settled over him as Luke spoke.
“Listen to me, both of you! HRT may try to intimidate
, to cower us. They may come in here like the Hounds of Hell! Do not, and I mean do not, give them any reason to see you as a threat. Take your caps and coats off now. Keep your hands away from your body. If they want your weapons, let them take them—do not move, do not talk back, do not resist them. If the lights go out, raise your hands behind your head. Do not hesitate! Have you got that?” The dark eyes were intense and the tone was quiet and direct. There was no Louisiana drawl, no hick accent. The voice was military precise. As Luke’s piercing eyes locked on Win’s, a cold chill went through him. He suddenly understood why Smith and Phillips kept calling Luke Bordeaux the most dangerous one.
Win had just dropped his cap and coat onto a pew when the lights went out. All three men immediately raised their hands behind their heads as operators swarmed the room from both entrances, shouting commands and flashing lights. It was meant to be frightening, and it worked on Win. He closed his eyes, tried to remember to breathe, and prayed that some good would come in this Holy Place from his effort to do the right thing. He obeyed Luke’s command to stand perfectly still as his Glock was lifted and rough gloves patted him down. A moment later there was a sharp call and the lights came on. Win and Trey were standing where they’d been when the lights were killed, four gunmen around them. Luke was on his knees near the altar, his hands behind his head. Three operators surrounded Luke, and one stood at each entrance. That meant an entire nine-man team was at the chapel, and they’d obviously been outfitted before Win’s phone call minutes ago to Smith—chances were good they were already geared up to go after Luke in that hideout.
All the operators were in their olive-green tactical gear with helmets, night-vision devices flipped up, and balaclava face masks. Every man’s MP5 was trained on a target. The black FBI lettering across their armored vests gave Win no comfort, since he was clearly one of those targets. These were the same great guys he’d been working with, joking with, and eating with for the last several days. Now they were terrifying.
They stood there for only a few seconds before Phillips walked in from the front foyer. He was dressed in civilian clothes and orchestrated much of what happened with simple hand signals. Like you would with hunting dogs, Win was thinking. Phillips asked one of the men to dim the lights slightly and he moved to face Trey and Win.
“Well, boys, you’re sure full of surprises.” He didn’t sound amused. “You may stand down.” They both dropped their arms, but the HRT guys didn’t lower their sub guns. No one moved to return their handguns. Win had about had it with the intimidation, although he had to admit it was working on him. He was equally certain it was not going to work on Luke Bordeaux.
Win took a breath and addressed Phillips formally. “Sir, I called this meeting to have a confidential discussion of matters that are critical to the False Prophet case.”
“Alright, let’s do just that.” More hand signals and they had Luke on his feet, then in a chair someone had pulled from the small choir loft. Win was watching him closely. Luke kept his hands behind his head with his fingers locked together. He seemed to be staring straight ahead. He didn’t meet any of the men’s eyes—as if that might provoke them—but he never dropped his eyes either. He was dressed in black cargo pants, hunting boots, and a gray wool shirt. He didn’t look like a terrorist or a criminal; he looked like a regular guy. Win wondered where Luke had stashed his assault rifle, fatigues, and other militia garb. He had a feeling Trey’s house was fixing to have uninvited visitors again—if they weren’t there already.
Matt Smith, in full tactical gear, appeared from the front of the chapel and moved toward Phillips. He gave Win and Trey a glance that could kill as he and Phillips conferred for a moment. Someone on their internal communication system was apparently reporting something to them that they weren’t particularly happy about. Win was feeling way out of his league here.
Then another hand signal and the four operators on Win and Trey lowered their weapons and moved toward the front door. Win took a deep breath and swallowed hard. It was time to get his game face on.
* * *
Win, Trey, and Luke walked toward the back of the church sanctuary about fifteen minutes later. Several of the operators had vanished five minutes after Luke began his “interview,” as Win liked to think of it. It wasn’t really an interrogation, yet it had an adversarial feel. The operators kept their helmets and masks in place; everyone’s weapon was visible. It was clear from Bordeaux’s demeanor that he wasn’t thrilled with the position he found himself in, and Kirk Phillips knew better than to play hardball with the guy. Luke Bordeaux clearly had respect for the operators, but just as clearly he had no fear of them. Luke reported the whereabouts of four of Chandler’s thugs to Phillips as if he were reporting to his commanding officer. He didn’t give up any useful intel on the men he viewed as “militiamen” or on his prophet, as he called Daniel Shepherd, no matter how cleverly Phillips couched his questions. Once Luke started stonewalling, it was obvious to everyone that they could talk till kingdom come and no more helpful information would be forthcoming. Time was at a premium. They needed to go with what Luke had given them.
They’d wrapped it up with him just moments ago.
“So we’re finished here?” Phillips’s hands had gone to his knees as he started to stand.
“I’ve kept my agreement with Trey and Win,” Luke had replied. And with that they were done. Phillips’s sharp eyes had left Bordeaux for the first time and had settled on Smith. They’d shared a quick nod and moved seamlessly into their tactical mode. Phillips stood and turned away. He immediately began communicating with someone on their com system. Trey had motioned Luke up the aisle behind the departing operators. It had gotten very quiet in the little church.
As they moved to go through the foyer doors, Matt Smith removed his helmet and pulled Win aside from the group. He was standing too close to Win to be friendly when he spoke. “Not sure how I want to take all this yet—we’ll see where the tips lead. Two of the bad guys he ratted out were already under surveillance. The other two? We’ll see if they’re where he says they are.” A pause, then, “How’d you know we were planning to come down on Bordeaux at Hechtner’s house?”
“Figured y’all could track the throwaway phone calls and texts somehow—even with the poor communications setup out here. So I figured Trey was compromised this afternoon, and I knew we’d be tagged when we texted Luke a while ago. Matt, if you had gone in there after him with guns blazing—”
“Yeah, yeah, we all knew that was a big risk given who we were dealing with. Maybe your stunt prevented someone from getting hurt, but I did not like having my plan disrupted or my guys set on by the rangers at your house.” The imposing man was leaning in toward Win. His voice was harsh.
Win stood his ground. “You didn’t trust me to be on your team, Matt, so I went with the team I had. And our team needed a diversion to get Luke out of that house. I’m not making any apologies to you for protecting my source.”
“You know as well as I do he’s not telling us everything he knows.”
“Maybe he feels as if he needs to hold some things back for insurance, or—”
Smith interrupted. “Or ever hear of a double agent, Win? Playing it both ways? Has that occurred to you? Think about the lives that could be lost if Luke Bordeaux is one of the bad guys! You’re going to let the guy walk out of here, scot-free! Is that what you want to do?”
As tired as Win was, that thought had run through his mind more than once tonight. He remembered his gut reaction to Luke’s steely eyes when they’d entered the chapel—the same reaction he had the first time he walked away from Luke and Chief Randall weeks ago, when Luke called after him, “See ya around, Win Tyler!” Win had felt that same cold chill earlier tonight. It was almost as if Bordeaux had two different personalities. Deep down Win wasn’t one hundred percent sure who was getting intel on whom. He knew Smith could tell he was waffling, but he stuck to his guns
on this one.
“No, Matt, he’s lived up to his end of the bargain as far as I’m concerned—as far as the Bureau’s concerned. He goes free. If something changes tomorrow we can deal with it then.”
* * *
Win finally pulled himself into the driver’s seat of his Explorer and started the truck. He was sure glad he didn’t really drink, ’cause if he did, he was afraid he’d tie one on tonight. He sat back in the cold seat and watched while Trey and Luke continued to talk beneath the flickering antique streetlight outside the church’s entrance. The HRT operators had all melted into the darkness. They were already moving to arrest some of Ron Chandler’s men tonight. Scenarios of that sort had been drawn up and rehearsed dozens of times since HRT had been in Mammoth—they’d only been waiting for confirmed suspect locations and the go-ahead. Now they had both. As the case agent, Win knew he could insist on being a part of any arrest, but he also knew he didn’t have to be there, since Deb was on call. He’d opted out. One more thing was too much tonight. The operators and Deb might get the luxury of sleeping some tomorrow. He knew he would not.
He sat in the truck and filled his supervisor in on the evening’s highlights. In typical FBI fashion, Jim West appeared to be fully awake the moment he answered the phone. West hardly asked any questions. Win knew his judgment on the night’s events would receive a complete review at the appropriate time—and 12:57 a.m. on the night of subject arrests was not the appropriate time. Win was saved from further questioning when Wes Givens called in on Jim’s phone. Phillips had reached out to the ASAC on the impending arrests, per Bureau protocol. Win pocketed the phone as Trey opened the door and slumped into the passenger seat. Luke eased into the back.