by C. J. Box
Tyrell nodded, followed by a slow smile.
“That was the plan all along,” Nate said to Joe. “They let that truck get away on purpose.”
“I don’t understand,” Joe said.
“They knew what Ibby was up to,” Nate said to Joe. “They sent me down there to get in the middle of it so they could have a man on the inside. They knew about Saeed’s connections, but they didn’t know when he’d try to take over, or that he’d bring a small army with him. That part was a surprise, right, Tyrell?”
Tyrell nodded. He said, “It was. We knew Saeed was dirty, but we didn’t know how many bad guys he could bring across the border. This was the first time we know of that five loosely affiliated terrorist groups got together for a joint overseas operation. They entered Mexico in twos and threes and joined up at a camp in the desert twenty miles from the Texas border.
“And if it weren’t for you two here pinning them down in one place,” he said, gesturing to Nate and Joe, “we’d have lone-wolf jihadis running all over the place. Believe me, we’ve got enough of them as it is.”
Joe pressed Tyrell. “Why would you want to take down your own data center?”
“Ever heard of the Fourth Amendment?” Tyrell replied. “Oh, the UDC was conceived with worthwhile intentions, like all programs. But too many politicos and campaign consultants in both parties were getting access to that data and it’s getting too close to the elections to let them have it. To those types, politics comes first and national security is an afterthought. This will keep their hands off private information for a while, so the electoral process can work as it should.”
Joe sat back, stunned.
Tyrell said, “In the meanwhile, we’ve stopped another plot. The credit goes to you guys, not that anyone will ever know.”
“Why not?” Joe asked. “I’m not looking for credit, but why is it a secret?”
Tyrell exchanged a knowing glance with Nate, then with the governor, who didn’t seem to like Tyrell much.
“There have been five incidents of similar magnitude just this year in the homeland,” Tyrell said. “And we’ve disrupted terrorist activities across the country before they happened. Granted, this was the first one using sophisticated mobile EMP devices. We’ve always thought they’d try to take down our electrical grid with a bomb exploded in the atmosphere, not by trucks that can blast specific targets. But without getting into specifics, we’ve shut down the manufacture of a dirty bomb, an anthrax factory, and three other plots that you’ve never heard about and never will. The word from on high is that no one will ever hear about them. Otherwise, our leaders figure the sheeple will panic or get angry at them for their fecklessness or start discriminating against specific ethnic or religious groups and we can’t have that, can we?”
The last sentence dripped with sarcasm.
“One of these days, we’ll foul up,” Tyrell said. “They only have to be lucky once. But our batting average is pretty damned good so far. We just hope we can keep it up until smart people are in charge. In the meantime, we do our best on the inside and take our shots when we can—like letting the data center melt down. The politicos are mad as hell about that, so we had to give them poor Keith Volk.”
Tyrell raised his fingers in the air. “Keith is a ‘rogue’ operator,” he said, making air quotes around the word rogue. “We knew he’d take it like the soldier he is, and he’ll be back with us as soon as we can work it within the system.”
Joe said, “We aren’t the only people who know what happened out there. What about the engineers and the volunteers who got away? They won’t stay quiet.”
“We’ve just about gotten to all of them already. We work fast,” Tyrell said. “The few credible ones among them—Jan Stalkup and Suzy Gudenkauf, for example—know we can destroy their credit, identity, and reputation if they squeal to the media or unfriendly politicians. The lunatics and hippie types, we don’t even worry about. They just come off as the raving cuckoo birds that they are.”
Tyrell chuckled, and said, “Besides, seeing Muhammad Ibraaheem get his head cut off right before their eyes put the fear of God into them, so to speak.”
“He was a good man,” Nate said to Tyrell. “Unlike you.”
Tyrell shrugged and did the What you gonna do gesture again.
Before Joe could ask, Tyrell said to him, “We’re trusting you to speak to your daughter. That way, we won’t have to.”
Joe felt a blast of anger behind his eyes, but tried to stanch it.
“Easy now,” Tyrell said. “It’s all good. It’s all cool. Right, Governor?”
Rulon had been unnaturally quiet the entire time, Joe thought.
Rulon said, “We arrived at an agreement I can live with, Mr. Tyrell and me.”
“That we did,” Tyrell said. He said it with a kind of disingenuous bravado, Joe thought. But Joe wasn’t thinking clearly—he was still smoldering from the fact that Tyrell had threatened Sheridan.
“First,” Rulon said, looking from Tyrell to Nate, “Mr. Tyrell will keep his word to you. As of this morning, your case files have been wiped clean. As far as the federal charges go, you no longer exist as a target. You can go out of this room today an innocent man.”
Nate didn’t react. Joe thought, He’s been burned before.
“Of course, our deal that you not commit any more crimes in the state while I’m in office is still in effect,” Rulon said. “The election is in less than two weeks, so you’ll have to deal with the next governor on that.”
Nate nodded, but still seemed wary.
Rulon turned to Joe. “And we were able to take care of your insurance bill problem quicker than I thought possible, thanks to Mr. Tyrell and his compatriots. The medical bills for your daughter have been lost within the system. Correct, Mr. Tyrell?”
Tyrell nodded his head.
“Lisa, can you confirm that both of these actions have taken place?” Rulon asked.
“Yes. We checked again this morning,” she said. “DCI confirmed that Mr. Romanowski no longer exists in any federal criminal database, and Joe’s situation has been resolved.”
Joe closed his eyes and let relief wash over him, even though it was dirty relief. Marybeth would be thrilled.
“I thought you guys would be happier,” Tyrell said to Nate and Joe.
Nate leaned forward and winced from his injuries as he did so.
He said to Rulon, “And you trust him to keep his word?”
“Of course not!” Rulon laughed.
Joe looked up to see Tyrell flush red.
“Of course I don’t trust him, or any of the other federal jackals I have to deal with. But Tyrell here, like all of them, only cares about self-preservation and the accumulation of power. I threaten both if I, as a sitting governor, call a press conference and describe in detail what went on in the middle of the Red Desert in my state. He knows I’d provide evidence and name names, his included.
“Right, Mr. Tyrell?”
Tyrell looked away angrily.
“And don’t think we don’t know your real name and title and the agency you work for, because we do,” Rulon said.
Then the governor raised one finger in the air. “Additionally, everything that has been said in this room today has been videotaped and recorded.”
Tyrell’s head snapped back around and he glared at Rulon. His palms were pressed flat on the table as if he was prepared to push himself up and attack at any moment.
“Oh, yes,” Rulon said, nodding toward the monitors and electronic devices lining the walls. “This is a security zone, as far as anyone on the outside trying to listen in, but it’s also wired to record anything that happens here. That way, my people and future officials will be held accountable for the actions they take in an emergency. It would be nice if that happened in Washington, but I’ll work on that as a lawyer instead of as the
governor. It’ll give me something to do.”
He beamed and grinned wolfishly. “Installing this system was the best use of federal Homeland Security funds I’ve made to date. I’d pat myself on the back if I could do it. Lisa, do you want to pat me on the back?”
“No, sir,” she said, trying not to smile.
“So you can leave now,” he said to Tyrell. “Don’t show your face in my state for the rest of your life.”
Tyrell shook his head, but didn’t get up. He said to Rulon, “You’re good. You’re devious. We might have a place for you in the Wolverines.”
“No thank you,” Rulon said. “We ex-politicians in Wyoming don’t go to Washington to lobby or work for hedge funds. We go back to work here like real people. So, on your way, Mr. Tyrell.”
Tyrell looked sheepishly at Joe, then at Nate, then at Lisa Casper. Without a word, he stood up and walked to the door.
After it wheezed shut and locked, Rulon said to Casper, “When will Colter Allen get here? I told him I’d walk him through the situation room and show him how it worked.”
She looked at her watch. “He should be here any minute, Governor.”
“Good,” Rulon said. Then to Joe and Nate: “We need to clear the room.”
Joe was still slightly stunned by what he’d heard that morning, both from Tyrell and Rulon.
He stood shakily.
“Don’t forget your hat,” Rulon said. “And don’t be a stranger. I won’t be your governor anymore, but I can be your lawyer.”
“Thank you, sir,” Joe mumbled.
Nate thanked him as well.
“I’m the one that should be thanking you two,” Rulon said. “That was a hell of a thing you did out there.”
Joe clamped on his old hat and put his new one back in the box to carry outside. Nate hopped on his good leg to retrieve his crutches.
“You two try to stay out of trouble,” Rulon said. Then he laughed again, and said, “I don’t know what I’m saying, do I . . . You two don’t know how to stay out of trouble.”
Joe smiled and held the door open for Nate. As his friend swung through the door, he heard Rulon say to Lisa:
“That idea about using Homeland Security money to put in a recording system is a damned good one, isn’t it? We should recommend that to Colter Allen so he can do it.”
Joe stopped and looked back over his shoulder.
Rulon grinned, put his finger to his lips, and said, “Shhhhhhhh.”
Joe knew he was going to miss him.
• • •
A LIGHT RAIN was falling outside in the parking lot of the Homeland Security building and the sky had dropped gray and close. Water beaded on the paint and glass of Joe’s newest Game and Fish Department pickup. It was a brand-new Ford F-150 SuperCrew with less than a hundred miles on it. Another parting gift from the governor.
“Need a ride?” Joe asked Nate. Joe planned to get in and drive straight to his home five and a half hours north. Marybeth and his daughters had returned home the day before, and a very contrite Sheridan was back at school in Laramie in the process of looking for her own apartment.
“To the airport,” Nate said. “I’m going to meet Liv in Louisiana.”
Joe nodded. “How long since you’ve flown commercial as a real person?”
“It’s been a while.”
“Then what?” Joe asked.
Nate hopped around the truck to the passenger side on his crutches. When he climbed in, he said, “I guess we’ll come back.”
• • •
ON THE SHORT RIDE to the Cheyenne airport, Joe said, “Think our deals will hold?”
Nate shrugged. He said, “We’ll see.”
“Rulon is on our side.”
“That he is. I trust him. He’s one of the greatest men I’ve met.” He paused. “I might put Ibby right up there with him.”
Joe raised his eyebrows and kept driving.
“It’ll be you and me again,” Nate said. “I never thought that would happen.”
• • •
JOE’S PHONE BURRED once in his breast pocket while he dropped Nate off at the small airport. He recognized the alert as an incoming email, but he ignored it.
“I’ve got a favor to ask,” Nate said.
“Shoot.”
“Can you come in with me and buy me a ticket? I’ll pay you back.”
“That’s right,” Joe said, “you don’t have a credit card.”
After buying the ticket at the counter, Nate said, “Give Marybeth my best.”
“And give my best to Liv,” Joe said.
“This will be . . . strange.”
“What will?”
Nate said, “Showing my ID to everyone who asks, going through security. Making phone calls, maybe even getting a credit card with my name on it. I’m not sure I’m looking forward to getting back on the grid at all.”
“It’s not so bad.”
Nate paused a moment and said, “I didn’t think we were going to make it, Joe. I thought we’d die in the desert.”
“Well,” Joe said, shaken. “We didn’t.”
• • •
JOE WAS NEARING CHUGWATER, north of Cheyenne on I-25, when he pulled out his cell phone to call Marybeth. He couldn’t wait to get home. It was still hunting season and he wanted to get out on patrol, smell the fall, descend back into some kind of routine.
It felt like he’d been gone for months.
As he raised the phone to his face, he noted the little red 1 on his mail icon and he clicked it.
It was from the Wyoming Department of Corrections and the subject line was Dallas Cates.
Joe didn’t want to read any further.
Not now.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The author would like to thank the experts who provided information for this novel, including Gary New and Marijke Unger of the National Center for Atmospheric Research–Wyoming Supercomputing Center and Jim Frank and Lynn Budd of the State of Wyoming Office of Homeland Security, and Paul Bellotti. Source material used in this novel includes (on tracking grizzly bears) Montana Outdoors and the Billings Gazette; (on the Red Desert) Backpacker magazine, the BLM Rawlins Field Office, and the Biodiversity Conservation Alliance; (on the Utah Data Center) Wired magazine and Esquire magazine. The devastating effects of an EMP came from a variety of sources, including “Heading Toward an EMP Catastrophe,” by Ambassador R. James Woolsey and Dr. Peter Vincent Pry.
Special thanks to my first readers Laurie Box, Molly Donnell, Becky Reif, and Roxanne Woods.
Thanks to Molly Donnell and Prairie Sage Creative for cjbox.net and Jennifer Fonnesbeck for social media expertise and merchandise sales.
It’s a sincere pleasure to work with professionals at Putnam, including the legendary Neil Nyren, Ivan Held, Alexis Welby, Christine Ball, and Katie Grinch.
And thanks, of course, to my wonderful agent and friend, Ann Rittenberg.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
C. J. Box is the author of sixteen Joe Pickett novels, most recently Endangered; five stand-alones, most recently Badlands; and the story collection Shots Fired. He has won the Edgar, Anthony, Macavity, Gumshoe, and Barry awards, as well as the French Prix Calibre .38 and a French Elle magazine literary award. His books have been translated into twenty-seven languages. He lives outside Cheyenne, Wyoming.
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