The Scorching

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  Sarah said, “A virtuous life and plenty of makeup, skillfully applied. Now, Mr. Cantwell, suck up the hangover and get your ass in gear. We’re burning daylight.”

  * * *

  “This is a Kia Limited with the V-6 engine,” Sarah Milano said. “Rides well, doesn’t it?”

  “I feel sick,” Cory Cantwell said. “How far to Los Angeles?”

  “Well since we’ve only just got onto the I-10, I’d say another three hundred and seventy miles. We should be in LA by lunchtime.”

  “When we get near the city, I’ll drive to the depot,” Cantwell said. “I know where we’re going.”

  “Suits me,” Sarah said. “I don’t like driving in heavy traffic.” She picked up a white paper bag and passed it to Cantwell. “Danish pastries I picked up on my way back from the car rental. Want one?”

  “No thanks,” Cantwell said.

  “Breakfast. Do you good,” Sarah said.

  “No thanks,” Cantwell said.

  “Your loss,” Sarah said.

  She reached inside the bag and retrieved a triangular pastry. “Oh good, raspberry, my favorite,” she said.

  Cantwell held his head and groaned.

  * * *

  Cory Cantwell and Sarah Milano arrived at the National Wildfire Service depot’s office block shortly after two. The air smelled heavily of smoke, as though the whole city was on fire.

  Cantwell parked in the employee lot, and then he and Sarah entered the front office, where a number of people recognized him right away.

  “Hey, Superintendent Cantwell,” a woman in a ranger’s uniform called out from one of the connecting offices. “You heading up to Yosemite? I hear you’ve been posted up that way.”

  Cantwell figured a small lie was in order. “Hi, Catrina. Yeah, I’m on my way. I just wanted to check in first.”

  “You heard about the fire at the Hollywood sign?” the woman said. “A police officer killed up there. The LAPD patrols the whole area.”

  “Yes, I saw it on the TV news this morning,” Cantwell said. He saw Sarah standing off a ways, cell phone to her ear, left shoulder raised, protecting her privacy.

  “Then you didn’t hear?”

  “Hear what?”

  Catrina Welsh left her office doorway and walked toward Cantwell, eyeing Sarah curiously. She looked to be in her early fifties, attractive, red hair showing no gray, green eyes and a slim, athletic body that spoke of an expensive gym membership she actually used.

  “The police found a second body,” she said.

  “Not another cop?” Cantwell said.

  “I don’t know. The police are mighty tight-lipped about the whole business.”

  “Cory, we don’t touch it,” Sarah said. “We’ve been ordered to leave it to the law.”

  “Sensor?”

  Sarah’s phone hung by her side as her eyes moved to Catrina Welsh and then back to Cantwell. She didn’t speak, her quick nod answering his question.

  “Then what do we do?” Cantwell said, a scowl signaling his displeasure.

  “Stay here overnight and he’ll get back to us in the morning,” Sarah said. She again glanced at Catrina and moved close to Cantwell. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He knows who bankrolled the helicopter and paid the hit man to kill him.”

  “Who?”

  “Later.”

  “Works fast, doesn’t he?”

  “He has the entire United States intelligence apparatus at his disposal, including the FBI and CIA. Now and again, they get it right.”

  “Is there something going on here that I’m not supposed to know?” Catrina said.

  “Best you don’t,” Cantwell said. “By the way, you haven’t been introduced. Catrina Welsh, this is Sarah Milano. She’s . . .”

  “She’s very beautiful, and that’s all I need to know,” Catrina said. “A woman who lugs a briefcase around with something heavy in it should be allowed to keep her secrets.”

  Sarah smiled. “At the moment, I’m Cory’s assistant.”

  “Good enough for me,” Catrina said. Then, “Are you two planning to spend the night here?”

  Cantwell said, “Yes, we are. A couple of dormitory rooms will be fine, if you have them.”

  Catrina raised an eyebrow, lowered it, and then said, “I can do better than that. Why don’t you take my cabin? I have to work tonight anyway. There are a couple of bedrooms . . . much nicer than a dormitory.”

  “Thanks, Catrina, that sounds just fine,” Cantwell said.

  The woman turned around and disappeared into her office, then emerged with a set of keys. “Feel free to raid my fridge, anything you want. Except the wine cellar. Touch the vintage wine and I’ll never talk to you again.”

  “Wine is for drinking, isn’t it?” Cantwell said, grinning.

  “Not those bottles. They’re part of my face-lift fund.”

  “You don’t need a face-lift,” Cantwell said. “You look even more like a movie star than I remembered.”

  “I may not need one yet, but I don’t want to be taken by surprise.” Catrina handed Cantwell the keys. “There’s an unopened bottle of good Californian sauvignon in the fridge, if you must. You remember where my cabin is, I assume? You can still find it in the dark?”

  Cory flushed a little and shot a glance at Sarah. “Yeah, I remember, thanks. We’ll probably be leaving before daylight, so . . .”

  “Yes, of course, well, see you next time,” Catrina said. She went back into her office.

  Cory turned to Sarah and said, “Is a cabin all right with you?”

  “Fine. It sounds pretty good, actually. I wasn’t looking forward to a dormitory bunk.”

  They walked out to the car in silence, and Cory navigated his way among the packed buildings. There were people in firefighter and ranger uniforms all over the place. They hadn’t gone far when he abruptly pulled to the side of the narrow road.

  “Be right back,” he said.

  He got out of the car and walked over to a group of firefighters. Sarah thought the men and women who surrounded him looked familiar, then she realized she’d seen some of them the day before at the Arizona base camp. They’d been a lot more dirty and tired then, but it was obviously the same crew. They still looked tired, but freshly showered and changed, and she guessed they had probably just returned from yet another fire.

  Cantwell introduced himself and received nods of recognition, since most of the wildfire people had heard of him and were aware of his reputation as an experienced smoke jumper. “Did any you work the Hollywood sign fire?” he said.

  A tall, athletic woman stepped forward. “All of us did, Mr. Cantwell. My name is Merinda Barker, and I was the squad leader.”

  Cantwell shook hands with the woman. From her coppery skin, dark hair, and eyes and the cadence of her voice, he pegged her as at least part Native American. She was not conventionally pretty, but her toned, broad-shouldered body and high breasts more than made up for that omission. “Did you discover both bodies at the scene?” he said.

  “We uncovered the police officer’s body,” Merinda said. “The second dead man was found by the LAPD.”

  “Any kind of identification on him?”

  “I don’t know,” Merinda said. “The police officers didn’t share their findings with us. One of their own had been killed, and I don’t think they felt like talking to anybody.”

  “How did the second man die?” Cantwell said.

  “That I can tell you. He’d been shot,” Merinda said. “Then it seems that the police officer put a bullet into him before he died. But there must have been a third person at the scene.”

  Cantwell nodded. Then he smiled, tying to lighten the moment. “How long have you been a wildland firefighter, Miss Barker?”

  “Six years, but usually on a backup crew.”

  “Any ambition to be a hotshot?”

  Merinda smiled. “It’s a big leap from backup wildland firefighter to smoke jumper.”

  “It’s a leap that can be made,
” Cantwell said. “Have you ever used a gun?”

  “I was born and raised on the Navajo Nation Reservation in Arizona,” the woman said. “I grew up shooting rifles.”

  Sarah Milano left the car and stepped beside Cantwell as he said, “Have you heard of pyroterrorism, Miss Barker?”

  “No, I’ve never heard that word used before,” Merinda said. “But I’m aware that our forests could be in danger from terrorists, every firefighter knows that . . . and ditto for our Hollywood signs.”

  “You think today’s fire was a terrorist attack?” Cantwell said.

  “Yes. I believe an accelerant was used, probably gasoline.”

  “It could’ve been a teenage prank that went wrong,” Cantwell said.

  Merinda shook her head. “Teenage pranksters don’t kill police officers.”

  Cantwell said, “You’re right. They don’t.” Then, “I’d like to talk with you later, Miss Barker. Leave me a contact number.”

  Merinda gave the number and said, “Can you tell me why, Superintendent?”

  “I’d like to offer you a position on my team. The pay is low and the job is dangerous, but you’d be a smoke jumper.”

  “I’m interested already,” Merinda said, smiling.

  “Good,” Cantwell said. “Then we’ll talk later.” He thought for a moment and then said, “If for any reason you can’t reach me, then talk with Sarah Milano here.” After Merinda and Sarah exchanged hellos, Cantwell said, “Miss Milano is a government agent. For now, I’ll let it go at that.”

  The women smiled at each other.

  “Please, call me Sarah.”

  “And I’m Merinda.”

  “I’m sure you two will get on well together,” Cantwell said, grinning, knowing it was a platitude and probably sexist.

  “I’m sure we will,” Sarah said.

  A silence stretched, and then a number of the crew’s cell phones all went off at the same time, in a cacophony of ringtones. Merinda extracted her phone, talked briefly with someone at the other end, and then said to her crew, “That was John Cassidy. There’s another fire in the Hollywood Hills,” she said. “Seems that it’s quite extensive. We’re backup again.”

  “I’ll let you get ready,” Cantwell said. “Good luck, Miss Barker, and we’ll talk later.”

  “I look forward to it,” the woman said.

  CHAPTER 14

  As Sarah and Cantwell walked back to the car, the woman said, “I never knew fires in Los Angeles were this bad.”

  “They aren’t, not like this,” Cantwell said. “If the Hollywood sign fire was terrorism, there may be others. No more news from Sensor, huh?”

  “I would’ve told you if he’d called again,” Sarah said.

  “I know. I was only asking for the sake of asking.”

  “I guess it means we stay in LA and await further orders,” Sarah said. She gave Cantwell a sidelong glance. “You’re sizing up Merinda Barker as a Punisher?”

  The man nodded. “She’s fit and smart and she’s a firefighter, so she’s got sand. And she’s comfortable around guns. I think she’s got the makings.”

  “A woman and an American Indian. That’s a smart hire.”

  “Politically correct, you mean?”

  “Yes. The people you hire have to look good to the government. Diversity is the big buzzword in Congress these days.”

  “What do you think of her?”

  “I think she’ll be an asset.”

  “She’s not pretty.”

  “What difference does that make?”

  “It means no one can say I hired her because she’s an attractive woman.”

  “She is attractive,” Sarah said.

  “But not overly so,” Cantwell said.

  Sarah smiled. “A plain-Jane Native American woman. If she takes the job, Jacob Sensor will jump up and down for joy.”

  “She’ll take it,” Cantwell said.

  “Why are you so sure?”

  “Because she’s ambitious.”

  “Well then, Merinda Barker will be your first hire, Cory,” Sarah said.

  “Depend on it,” Cantwell said. Then, “I’m hungry. Let’s get some grub at the cafeteria before we look at our lodging for the night.”

  Sarah said, “I’ve avoided institutional food since my freshman year in college when I gained ten pounds in two months.”

  “Forest Service grub is something you need to experience,” Cantwell said. “Besides, there’s something to be said for a fat woman. She keeps a man warm at night and gives him plenty of shade in summer.”

  Sarah shook her head. “Cory Cantwell, I’m starting to have serious doubts about your attitude toward the ladies.”

  “I love them,” Cantwell grinned. “All of them, plain or pretty, fat or thin.”

  “How about cats?” Sarah said. “Do you like kitty cats?”

  “Funny you should ask, but I do. When I was a boy, I had a cat named Walker. We went everywhere together that cat and I, even to the local swimming hole.”

  Sarah smiled. “Then all is not lost. There’s a glimmer of hope for you yet.”

  * * *

  The dining hall was large but there were few diners. But the food line was fully stocked; nothing fancy, but basic meat-and-potato dishes. Sarah chose meat loaf and a desert of cake with pink frosting and custard filling, and Cantwell ate the same, adding a crusty bread roll.

  They sat down in the corner, and both he and Sarah ate with an appetite.

  “Surprisingly good, isn’t it?” Cantwell said. “If the National Wildfire Service ever starts scrimping on food, they’ll have a rebellion on their hands. A firefighter can eat ten thousand calories a day. They’ll happily survive on MREs in the field, but when they’re in camp, they expect their grub.”

  “Interesting . . .” Sarah said. But her mind was obviously elsewhere.

  “I’m boring you, huh?” Cantwell said. “Sometimes I have that effect on women.”

  Sarah smiled. “You’re not boring me. I was thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “About all those fires today, and those along the coast. Jacob Sensor believes one man is in charge of all the terrorist sleeper cells in the entire country, and that would include those in Los Angeles.”

  Cantwell nodded. “And your point is?”

  “That the terrorist chief . . . boss . . . sheikh . . . whatever . . . might live right here in the city.”

  “It’s possible,” Cantwell said. “If he does live in L.A, I guarantee he’s lying low, probably some movie star’s gardener or a cabdriver or something. So the question is, who is he and how do we get to him?”

  “I haven’t a clue,” Sarah said.

  “What about Sensor? Do you think he knows and isn’t telling us?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m going to ask him, Cory. I’m going to ask him tonight.”

  “And if we find the head honcho and faithful servant of Allah, what then?”

  “We kill him,” Sarah said.

  Cantwell slammed back in his chair in pretend shock. “You don’t hold back, do you? Say a thing right out.”

  “According to Sensor, we’re at war, Superintendent Cantwell, at war with terrorism. Our duty is to kill the enemy, is it not?”

  “There’s no doubt about that. I’m all for killing the enemy before he kills me, and that includes a son of the Prophet. Not politically correct nowadays, but that’s how I feel.”

  “Well, we agree on that subject,” Sarah said. “Now it’s up to Sensor.”

  “I don’t think Sensor knows who the man is,” Cantwell said. “If he did, it stands to reason he’d have taken him out by now.”

  “Maybe he has clues to his identity that we don’t have,” Sarah said.

  “Maybe . . . or maybe not,” Cantwell said. “For all we know, the boss man might be in the Middle East somewhere.”

  “I guess I’ll find out tonight,” Sarah said. “Now, shall we go inspect our accommodations?”

  * * *


  On the other side of the parking lot a dirt track wound through pines, passing a large, two-story dormitory and then a few cabins before ending at a wild area where there was another small cabin. Cantwell pulled up in front and parked.

  “Home sweet home,” he said.

  Sarah Milano claimed the bedroom on the ground level, which was obviously Catrina’s room, and Cantwell carried his stuff to the loft. Ten minutes later, as the day shaded into evening, they met at the downstairs kitchen table.

  “A glass of wine?” Cantwell said.

  “Yes, the Sauvignon, not a face-lift vintage,” Sarah said.

  Cantwell took the wine from the refrigerator and found a couple of wineglasses in a cupboard. “Cheers,” he said. They clinked glasses.

  “We’re going to be very adult tonight, aren’t we?” Sarah said.

  “About what?”

  “The sleeping arrangements.”

  “I’m upstairs, you’re downstairs,” Cantwell said. “That’s the arrangement, and it’s very adult.”

  “Cory, I just wanted to make it clear that I’m not ready for a relationship. Not yet, at least. I need some time.”

  Cantwell grinned. “Women always figure every man comes along wants ’em.”

  Sarah looked surprised. “Is that what you think?”

  “That’s what John Wayne thought in the movie Hondo. He said that to Mrs. Lowe.”

  “Well, he wanted her in the end, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, I guess he did. And he got her too.”

  “Maybe you’ll want me in the end,” Sarah said.

  Cantwell shook his head. “That’s a very female question. No comment. More wine?”

  Sarah held out her glass, her hand shaking slightly. “Damn, I’m so disappointed. I was pretty sure every man who came along wanted me.”

  “I used to think the same thing about women,” Cantwell said. “After getting slapped down a few times, I changed my mind.”

  Sarah clinked glasses again. “Well, here’s to our disillusionments.”

  Cantwell grinned. “And let’s hope they don’t continue.”

  * * *

  Cory Cantwell woke with a start.

  He lay still in his cot, listening into the night. Nothing moved and there was no sound. He glanced at his watch. Midnight. The hour when fearful thoughts can creep, unbidden, into the darkest crannies of the mind and wake even a strong man from sleep.