Stitch laughed. “Ol’ Clete ain’t real big on the, like, paranormal, huh?”
“This is pretty calm considering his past performance,” Crockett said, looking down at the satellite photos and shifting his attention. “You got us an ellzee?” he asked.
“Six or seven of ‘em, dude.”
Crockett pulled his chair closer and took a sip of cool coffee.
“Let’s get it started. Show me.”
Stitch grinned at him. “Welcome back, man,” he said.
Nudge stretched out beside the photos and slowly lashed his tail.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Getting Ready
Clete and Crockett assembled at the kitchen table shortly after dawn the next morning, well before the usual time for breakfast. Goody was already there, zipping about in his wheelchair as he put pastries in the oven.
“Ah, lads, there you have it. Second batch is in to bake. Coffee is ready. Mission departure first thing upon the morrow, what?”
“Yep,” Clete said. “Stitch around?”
“Been here and gone to see to the helicopter. He’ll spend most of the day mucking about the machine, I should think. If he runs true to form, he’ll sleep between the skids tonight, I suppose.”
Crockett smiled. “He’s the best Stitch we have.”
“Quite,” Goody said. “Good and true is Master Winkler. We’ll get you two outfitted today, go over all the equipment in detail, double and triple check everything necessary to the exercise, remove as many of the opportunities for mishap as possible.”
“That include my aching back?” Crockett said, pouring coffee for him and Clete.
“Stitch and I went over the terrain photos at length late last night,” Goody said. “He’ll be in for a briefing later today, but it looks as if we can deploy you within a mile of two possible points of vantage for the exercise. Should be able to keep your trudging through the bush down to a minimum. Weather for the area looks good for the next four to five days. Relatively low humidity, light winds, few clouds, moderate temperatures.”
“Good,” Crockett said, returning to the table with two cups.
“Both mission points are within a hundred feet of the altitude of the objective. Quite fortunate. One about five hundred yards from the site. The other somewhat less than that.”
“That’s closer than I thought you’d choose,” Crockett said.
“So it would seem, but it will simplify the whole minute-of-angle thing. If you were going to be at roughly the same altitude as where we practiced with the M107, and dealing with fixed targets, I would not have hesitated to put you out at nine hundred yards or more, but such is not the case. Where you’re going is over three thousand feet higher with about twenty percent less humidity and cooler air. The rounds will behave differently at the mission site than when you last fired the weapon, and your targets may be mobile. Hence, the necessity of keeping you closer to the kill zone.”
“Thinner air, lower humidity, faster bullet speed to the target, right?”
“Precisely, Crockett,” Goody said. “A bit less drop at a given range. If you were going out to thirteen or fourteen hundred yards, you’d need to pick similar terrain at another location and re-sight the rifle to be sure of your shots. I don’t want that to happen. The less exposure the better, you see.”
“It makes that much of a difference?”
“Indeed. Those special few that can range out to a mile or more must even take into account the rotation of the earth. More science and physics than marksmanship. Beastly amazing what some of those buggers can do. Superhuman.”
“Jesus.”
“Exactly. That’s why I want to keep you in relatively close, Crockett, but still far enough away that when you’re set up, the enemy will not be able to find you. Situational flexibility aside, one of my jobs is to attempt to anticipate the sort of response you might encounter on this type of enterprise. I find it logical to assume that the opposition does not employ competent long distance weapons or marksmen.”
“You don’t think that might be a factor?”
“No indeed. Marksmen of your, no pun intended, caliber, are few and far between. Difficult to come by. Spray and pray types can be had by the cargo. And, if they had such warriors available, why haven’t they killed any of us? Back eight hundred to a thousand yards from Ivy’s manse, they could have easily picked a couple of us off with little chance of being noticed until it was too late, and small concern of being apprehended by the constabulary. One might also presuppose that they have no heavy weapons. Otherwise, why not just have waited until we were gathered in the atrium and popped a couple of shoulder firing missiles through the glass? From closer range, two or three RPG’s would have done nicely also.”
“Makes sense.”
“In addition, with what I’ve been able to learn from the lady Carson about the target’s mindset and personality, he likes to think of himself as a bit above the herd. Lads such as that usually have an overly inflated opinion of their indestructibility. So far, with the exception of what Carson did to him, he has been able to purchase what he considers to be safety, if not invincibility. Most probably, he still labors under that erroneous assumption. Bad for him. Good for us.”
Clete looked at a satellite photo lying on the table. “These the two sites marked here?” he asked.
Goody nodded. “Indeed,” he said. “Of course, your on-scene recon will be superior to this photograph, but you’ll notice that both sites are generally east southeast of the target. This will put the morning sun roughly behind you in relation to the objective. If you set up slightly below the crest of the hill, you will be in shadow and the foe shall have to look toward the rising sun in his attempt to locate your position. Difficult, that. Also, if you look closely at the target, you will see that the lodge is not directly on the crest but, in all probability, lies two hundred feet below the ridgeline. Constructed so, I should think, for fortification against northern winter winds. Behind the target area, the road curves and ascends for well over two thousand linier feet in its two hundred foot climb to the top of the mount. Because the route of escape is a rock and gravel surface, rough and of dubious camber, you will be quite a bother to anyone attempting to motor away. Those who might endeavor to vacate the area on foot, unless they choose to move toward you and into cover down the hillside fifty to sixty yards, should present themselves with equal exposure.”
Clete looked at Crockett and grinned. “Quite,” he said.
“Indeed,” Crockett said.
Goody smiled as he checked the lower oven. “First batch is ready, chaps. Blueberry scones. Care for a nosh? Made them myself, you know.”
Stitch ambled in a few moments later, his chambray shirt spotted with grease. “Dudes!” he said. “Everything looks five square so far. Dust off in the morning?”
“That’s the plan,” Clete said.
“Far out, man. Goin’ back in country.”
“Can we get to Rapid City without refueling?” Crockett asked.
“No sweat. I wouldn’t wanna go a lot farther, but we’ll make it before we hit bingo gas, man. Got a twenty minute reserve anyway.”
“Great. I’d like to get outa here about dawn. We’ll go to Rapid City, get you a motel room, then Clete and I’ll rent a car and head for Deadwood.”
“We goin’ to Deadwood?” Clete said, reaching for his second scone.
“Yeah. I want one more piece of intel, if I can get it.”
Further discussion was interrupted by Ivy’s arrival. Perfectly made up and wearing a salmon pantsuit in light linen, she stood for a moment, beaming at everyone. With the exception of Goody, one and all rose to their feet. Stitch hustled to pull out a chair and seated Ivy at the end of the table.
“Thank you, sir,” she said. “How could anyone be more fortunate than I, surrounded as I am by such nobility and dedication to purpose? You inspire me. I look at you three warriors and see Les Trois Mousquetaires.”
“Ha!” Stitch sa
id. “Merci, Madame. Vos mots sont trop aimable. C’est toi qui nous inspirent.”
Ivy’s eyebrows shot upward. “Martin! Vous m’enchantez toujous!”
Stitch grinned. “Wow! Like, merci, Madam.”
“Wait a minute!” Clete interrupted, gaping at Stitch. “You speak French?”
Stitch looked blankly at Clete and raised an eyebrow. “Well, yeah, dude,” he said. “Doesn’t, like, everybody?”
Crockett and Goody fell out. When the table quieted down somewhat, Clete continued.
“What the hell did you say?”
“Loosely translated,” Goody offered, “Ivy, after she said you inspired her, compared you, Stitch, and Crockett to The Three Musketeers. Stitch thanked her and related that she, not you three, were the true inspiration here. Ivy said that he enchanted her, or words to that effect.”
“The Three Musketeers?”
“Indeed,” Goody went on. “Athos, Porthos, and Aramis.”
“Asshole, Porthole, and who?” Clete asked.
When things settled down again, Crockett turned to Clete. “Want me to translate that into Texican for you?” he asked.
“I wish to hell you would.”
Crockett smiled. “Curley, Larry, and Moe,” he said.
The group was still laughing when Satin and Carson entered the room.
“We heard you guys raisin’ hell in the upstairs hallway,” Satin said. “What’s going on?”
Clete stood up, coffee cup in hand. “This bunch is just takin’ the opportunity to make it clear that I’m the short hog at the trough around here.”
Satin smiled. “You didn’t know?”
Crockett, Clete, and Goody spent most of the morning checking and re-checking the equipment necessary to the mission at hand. Crockett had just carried a duffle containing his Ghillie Suit, body packs, and hydration unit down to the first floor and was headed back upstairs when the doorbell rang. He opened the door and there stood Special Agent Dalton of the FBI. Crockett looked him over. The man was wearing a bright yellow short-sleeved sport shirt and blue jeans. There was a slight lumpiness in his pant leg above his white running shoes on the inside of his left ankle.
“You,” Crockett said.
“Please,” Dalton said, “don’t slam the door and don’t shoot me. I come in peace.”
Crockett couldn’t help it. He smiled. “Where’s your partner?” he asked.
“Vacation Bible School.”
Crockett’s smile escalated into a grin. “Where’s your official Feebie Suit?”
“Standing at attention in the corner of my living room. I just had it waxed.”
Crockett chuckled. “Who are you and what have you done with Dalton?”
“Sent him back to Africa. I’m his evil twin. Can we talk?”
“I think so,” Crockett said. “Wanna come in?”
“Better not. Why don’t you come out?”
“Okay. Wanna cup of coffee?”
“Got a Coke?”
“Sure.”
“That’ll do,” Dalton said. “I’ll wait for you out by the car.”
Crockett grabbed two cans of Coke out of the fridge and what he needed out of the cabinet in the atrium, and headed outside. Dalton was leaning casually against the fender of a white Mustang convertible. Crockett handed him a can.
“Where’s your regulation Feebiemobile?”
“Getting new Dilithium Crystals. This is my private ride.”
Again Crockett grinned. “You’re a funny guy,” he said.
“That’s why I’ll never make director.”
“You come over here to practice your stand-up, or is there a higher purpose to this encounter?”
Dalton took a sip of his drink and squinted into the sun for a moment before he turned back to Crockett. “You don’t like me,” he said, “and you don’t have any reason to. On the other hand, I don’t require your affection to validate myself, and the fact that we don’t take long showers together doesn’t keep me up nights. Still, you and this whole mess has been bothering me. From what I’ve been able to learn, the Bureau has really screwed the pooch on this one.”
“Ya think?”
“So, I’m prepared to forgive your gang for pointing guns at me and that asshole Connor, if you’re prepared to listen to me for a minute.”
“Shoot,” Crockett said. “So to speak.”
“Boster was, and still is, I assume, dirty. You need to know that none of his deeds involving the woman in witness protection were sanctioned by the Bureau. They weren’t. That is a fact. At that point in time he was burning the candle at both ends. Because of the action taken against you, and yes, I do know about what went down at the airport, he has disappeared off our radar.”
“About the woman that used to be in witness protection,” Crockett said, “did the FBI give her up?”
“No. She was used as a tease, hoping to get more info out of Metzger, but it was never intended that he know who and where she was. Boster gave her up. We assume in return for very lucrative employment in Metzger’s organization.”
“Money talks.”
“Money screams, Crockett. I just wanted you to know that I took this whole thing seriously enough to do what I could to get some information.”
“Big guys know you been snoopin’ around?”
“I’m discreet. If I wasn’t, I’d have been busted back to junior agent in Peoria years ago.”
“You know anything we need to know?”
Dalton shook his head. “Probably not,” he said. “I imagine you know more than we do. You know where the woman is, for chrissakes.”
“Yeah. Someplace safe.”
Dalton smiled. “Well,” he said, “that’s more than we accomplished. You’re still under surveillance here, by the way.”
“I figured that.”
“Yeah. But it’s getting old. I don’t think they’ll keep it up much longer. No taps or bugs, though.”
“C’mon.”
“Honest. You said for us to check out Mrs. Cabot. I passed that on to the proper division. Scared the shit out some people. They do not want to piss her off. So, I was dispatched to come out and gain your confidence, wipe the egg off the FBI face, and pump you for information. How am I doing so far?”
“One out of three ain’t too bad,” Crockett said.
“I got one?”
“I think so.”
“Really? Which one?”
“You’re doing a pretty good job of gaining my confidence.”
“That’s the only one I give a shit about,” Dalton said. “Look. I know you’ve got an agenda here, and I have a pretty good idea what it is. I don’t want to know for sure what it is, because then I would probably be compelled to take some sort of action against you and that doesn’t interest me. I’m also convinced that you probably know where Metzger is and are completely capable of carrying out your agenda, whatever it might be.”
“And you don’t want to know?” Crockett asked.
“If you tried to tell me, I’d stick my fingers in my ears and start singing God Bless America.”
“So you’re not wearing a wire.”
“Oh, no. I’m wearing a wire, all right. It seems, however, to not be functioning at the moment. Technology sometimes fails, I guess.”
Crockett grinned. “So, you want Metzger?”
“Who?”
“How ‘bout Boster?”
“Never heard of him. What I don’t want is for you to get your dick in the dustbin. That’s why I’m keeping this conversation un-recorded. You have to do whatever it is that you have to do. I understand that. I just don’t want to see you or your guys in jail, or lying dead in the dirt wherever it is that you’re getting ready to go, to do whatever it is that you are getting ready to do.”
“You ain’t so dumb,” Crockett said.
“Yeah, I am,” Dalton said. “If I wasn’t, I would have married Kaylene Washington when I got out of high school and be managing her daddy’s liquor warehouse busin
ess right now, instead of standing out here trying to save your ass from the people I work for.”
“Life’s a bitch,” Crockett said.
“I’m leaving now. You need to get mad at me before I go. You know, wave your arms, raise hell, call me names, tell me to get the hell out. That way, the guys watching us, who are not close enough to read lips through their binoculars by the way, will understand that I have failed in my mission and we are not parting as friends.”
Crockett smiled. “We’re not?”
Dalton shook his head. “Hell no, we’re not,” he said. “Although I already like you a lot better than I like my wife. Hell, I liked you more than her when your two bulldogs were pointing guns at me. Take care of your ass, Crockett. I don’t want to have to put what’s left of you in a fucking bag. Now throw me off the property. I want to go have lunch.”
Crockett, feeling a little foolish, did as he was told, and watched Dalton motor away. When he came back inside, Clete was waiting.
“Who was that?” he asked.
“Agent Dalton,” Crockett said.
“That FBI weenie?”
“Yep.”
“No shit? What’d he want?”
“To be my friend.”
“Bullshit.”
“No, it’s true,” Crockett said, removing a small digital recorder from his pocket. “I got it all right here.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Sneaking Out
Mid-afternoon, Satin walked into the kitchen to find Carson at the table staring at a glass of iced tea.
“Hey,” she said.
Carson flinched and looked up from her reverie. “Oh. Hi. I was a million miles away, I guess.”
“I know. The guys are with Goody getting ready. Stitch is out messing with the helicopter. Kinda tough to focus on anything real.”
“They going tomorrow?”
“Before dawn is what I hear,” Satin said, taking a seat. “About five.”
“Oh, God. What if they don’t come back? There’s a chance that could happen.”
“Sure.”
Witness Rejection Page 34