Below Zero jp-9

by C. J. Box

  His attention drifted back over to Robert, who was still yammering.

  “Al Gore said something recently that sounded like he was talking directly to me,” Robert said, “as if he were a human oracle who could anticipate my problems and address them directly.”

  Stenko said, “A Gore-acle.”

  The rancher chuckled and quickly looked away.

  “What?” Robert asked.

  “Never mind,” Stenko said. “What did he say?”

  Robert snorted triumphantly. Stenko thought it was one of the five Robert gestures that at least came across as sincere.

  Robert looked him in the eyes and said, “‘Future generations may well have occasion to ask themselves, What were our parents thinking? Why didn’t they wake up when they had a chance?’ We have to hear that question from them, now.’ ”

  Finally, after several moments, Stenko said, “So do you want an answer or do you just want to ask the question?”

  Robert narrowed his eyes. “What is your answer, Father?” Sarcasm dripped.

  “My answer is I was too goddamned busy to contemplate the question. Not everyone has the time to sit around and be bitter like your generation of thumb-suckers, Robert.”

  Again, the rancher chortled.

  Robert angrily raised his pistol and pointed it at the rancher’s temple. “You stay out of this. This is between me and my dad.”

  “Don’t shoot him,” Stenko said lazily from the back seat. “If you shoot him, we’ll crash again. One car crash a day is my limit.”

  Walter the rancher said, “Can I ask how far you boys are going to take me from home?”

  Robert said, “As far as we want to. Now shut the hell up and drive.”

  Stenko didn’t like the dismissive way Robert talked to the old rancher. He also knew Robert wouldn’t want to leave a witness who could tell the cops which way they were headed and describe the vehicle. Robert had turned out to be much more cold-blooded than Stenko thought possible. And so damned bitter.

  “I’ve got a question for you,” Stenko said to Robert. “Why in the hell is it you feel like you’re entitled to a perfect world? No other generation ever thought they were, I don’t think. What’s so special about yours that you can blame me for your misery?”

  Robert rolled his eyes with contempt. “Maybe because no other generation was handed a planet ready to burn up. Maybe because we’re better informed and we know that.”

  Stenko said, “So if you’re all so smart with your computers and iPhones and technology, why don’t you fix the problems you’re complaining about? You just want to blame other people—me—and bitch and moan. It’s your turn now, so why don’t you solve all these problems?”

  “What do you think we’ve been doing, Dad?” Robert said as if talking to a child. “It’s hard to make up for a lifetime of abuse in a couple of weeks, you old fool.”

  Stenko decided he didn’t want to argue anymore. His son’s words cut him deeper than he thought possible. No one had ever called him a fool, or to his knowledge ever thought of him as one. It hurt.

  Robert was what he was, thought what he thought, believed what he believed. Stenko gritted his teeth and said, “So how much do I still have on my balance? I assume you’re going to apply the cash to my debt. How much is left?”

  “Why are you asking?”

  “Because I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be around, son. I feel like my insides are on fire. I’ve taken so much morphine, I’m an inch away from killing myself with an overdose. I want to know what my balance is.”

  Robert said, “Twenty-four million.”

  Stenko was suddenly angry again. “That’s ridiculous. It keeps growing the more I do to offset it. How can that be?”

  Robert wheeled around in his seat, his eyes flashing. “Goddammit, Dad, haven’t you listened to a thing I’ve been saying to you? Your lifestyle is such that your carbon footprint just keeps growing. You still own the casinos, right? You still own all of the real estate in Chicago and down south, right? And you don’t have access to your own cash. Every minute that goes by, your footprint gets bigger. You haven’t done enough or paid enough to offset the damage you’ve caused.”

  Stenko sighed and let his head drop back into the cushions. “But I’ve done everything I can,” he said. “I’ve run around the country doing all these things. I killed for you—”

  Robert cut him off. “That wasn’t for me, Dad. It isn’t my debt. It’s yours. Don’t you dare say what you did was for me. It was for you, so you could try to get to below zero, remember?”

  “But you’re the one keeping score,” Stenko said. “You’re the one I’m trying to get to forgive me.”

  “Don’t give me that role. I didn’t ask for it.”

  Stenko closed his eyes and tried not to grind his teeth against the pain.

  In the front seat, he heard Robert ask the rancher, “What the hell is that out there on the prairie? It’s lit up like an obscene riverboat or something. But it’s not a boat, is it?”

  The rancher said, “That’s a power plant.”

  “What kind is it?”

  “Coal-fired,” the rancher said. “Coal trains come down from Gillette.”

  Suddenly, Robert was talking to Stenko again. He said excitedly, “Dad, we might have just found it. We might have just found your way to salvation. It’s a miracle because there it is out there, right when and where we need it.”

  Stenko had no idea what Robert was talking about. He didn’t care. He wondered if he would last the night.

  “How long has that single headlight been behind us?” Robert asked the rancher.

  “Since Lusk,” the rancher said.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Why should I? You think the sheriff is chasin’ us on a motorcycle? Is that what you think?”

  “You know, I don’t have any problem putting a bullet in your brain. You’re a damned rancher. You’re as much of a problem to the planet as my dad. I think you’re both useless.”

  The rancher said nothing.

  Robert said, “Take that exit. I want to check something out.”

  29

  Rapid City

  JOE ENTERED THE RECEPTION AREA AFTER HIS DISCUSSION with Coon and strode over to Marybeth where she sat in an armchair. She looked up expectantly, and he squatted down beside her. Both Sheridan and Lucy were asleep on vinyl couches, and he didn’t want to wake them up if he could help it.

  His voice was soft but urgent. “Coon managed to track the location of my cell phone. Nate is just about to enter the town of Rangeland from the north.”

  Marybeth said, “Rangeland? What’s in Rangeland?”

  “Other than Stenko and Robert, I don’t know.”

  “That’s enough, isn’t it?”

  He nodded. “I’m going with them. They’re getting their helicopter ready at the airport, and we’re leaving in five minutes.”

  “Any idea how long you’ll be gone?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not sure. But I think this will all be over soon.”

  She reached out and touched his cheek with her fingertips and glided them over his stubble. He knew she was thinking of Janie Doe when she said, “I hope Stenko can help us. When I think of that poor girl in there, I want to cry. It’s like she’s no one. No name, no anything. We’ve got to find out who she is, Joe.”

  “Maybe Stenko . . .” he said.

  “Let’s hope so.”

  “Have the doctors said anything more?”

  She pursed her lips. “I talked to one of them a few minutes ago. He said there’s been some brain activity, but it’s sporadic. She may or may not regain consciousness.”

  Joe waited a beat while the significance of what Marybeth said gained hold. “Ever?” he asked.

  “Maybe,” she said. “It’s possible she might come out of it. It’s happened before, I guess. This is where doctors become observers instead of experts—they’re hoping for a miracle just like we are.
But he said there’s nothing they can do other than keep a close eye on her.”

  Joe stood. “Maybe you should take the girls to a hotel. They shouldn’t be sleeping here.”

  “I’ll wait a while,” she said. “In case Janie wakes up. But yes, I’ll find a place near here and get the girls a decent place to sleep.”

  He put his hand behind her head and gently pulled her toward him and kissed her. He wasn’t sure what to say.

  “Let me know as soon as you find out something,” she said.

  “I will,” he said. “You, too.”

  On the way out of the room, Joe lightly brushed Sheridan and Lucy with his hand so as not to wake them.

  But Sheridan opened her eyes. She said, “You’re leaving without me?”

  “Yes.”

  She blinked back sudden tears.

  Said Joe, “We make a good team. You were great, darling.”

  “But you’re leaving me behind.”

  “This time, yes.” He said, trying not to look over at Marybeth, who was no doubt watching the exchange with concern.

  Sheridan turned away and stared out the window into the dark.

  Joe squeezed her shoulder as he left.

  THE LAST TIME he’d been in a helicopter, Joe recalled, was when he was doing an elk trend count north of Buffalo. The experience had been harrowing and he’d been violently airsick, much to the amusement of the contract pilot who, he thought, made many unnecessary swoops and fast turns.

  The feeling all came rushing back as the aircraft roared and lifted and the lights of Rapid City started to rush by outside his window. Instinctively, he shifted his weight toward the center of the craft. He tried not to look down.

  There were four seats in the chopper. The pilot and Portenson were up front behind the Plexiglas bubble, and Joe and Coon were directly behind them. All were strapped in, and Joe was the only one without a headset. It was too loud inside to talk normally, so he observed. He was curious why they’d invited him along and suspected Portenson was up to something. The senior agent had not stopped talking on his headset since they lifted off. Coon was listening in, adding things, scanning the ground as it shot by. The wash of lights from town was soon behind them. He gripped the armrests with all of his strength and tried not to notice that his stomach was churning. Stars and the sliver of moon filled the Plexiglas and framed the pilot. The flight deck was awash in ambient-lighted gauges and digital numerical readouts.

  He jumped when Coon tapped him on the hand. Joe looked over and saw Coon gesturing toward a headset hung up on the back of Portenson’s seat. Still gripping the chair with his right hand, Joe put his hat, crown down, on his lap and fumbled with the headset until it was free, and managed to adjust it on his head. Coon reached over and clicked a switch on Joe’s armrest to channel A, which was internal to the craft.

  “You okay?” Coon asked. His voice was clear, if detached. It seemed odd to be talking through electronics to someone three feet away.

  “I hate flying.”

  “I can tell.”

  “How long before we get there?”

  “Thirty minutes, maybe.”

  Joe groaned.

  “Joe, there’s a lot going on right now. Agent Portenson is in contact with the Rangeland PD and Platte County Sheriff’s Office. They know Stenko and Robert are in town, but we’ve asked them not to intercept them yet until we can figure out what they might be doing. For all we know, they’re going to a hospital or getting a room at a motel. We don’t want the Stensons to know we’re on to them.”

  “Okay,” Joe said.

  “I’m also in contact with our HQ. Your cell phone has stopped moving. It’s been pinging the same tower for ten minutes. That might mean the Stensons have stopped moving, too. But we need to find out.”

  Joe nodded, seeing where this was going.

  “We need you to make a call to your phone and get some information.”

  Joe shot a glance in front of him to confirm his suspicion that Portenson had stopped talking to the Rangeland PD and was listening in. Yup, he was. And now he knew the reason they’d brought him along.

  “I’ll call on one condition,” Joe said. “That the two of you swear that you’ll confine your actions to apprehending the Stensons and nothing beyond that.”

  “I knew it,” Portenson said, breaking in. “You’ve got Nate Romanowski down there.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Who the hell else would it be?” Portenson spat.

  Coon and Joe exchanged looks. Joe could tell Coon would make the deal. Portenson was the wild card.

  “He’s a fugitive,” Portenson said. “And he pisses me off.”

  Joe didn’t push. He waited. He ran the scenario through his mind.

  Finally, he saw Portenson fire a punch through the air and heard him say, “Okay, damn you. We’ll confine our operations to the Stensons only. We won’t even think about who is down there with your cell phone.”

  “You’ve burned me before,” Joe said. “You better not dream of doing it again. Remember when you told me, ‘Never trust a fed’ ?”

  “In a moment of triumph,” Portenson conceded. “I used to have them. They’ve pretty much gone away since I met Joe Pickett and Nate Romanowski.”

  Joe chuckled at that. “So it’s a deal? I have your word?”

  Coon said, “Yes.”

  Portenson sighed and said, “Yes.”

  Joe said, “I’ll make the call. Show me how to do it on this headset.”

  Coon switched the channel again and gestured toward a keypad. Joe punched in the numbers. He heard the phone ring. As it did, he looked up and saw that Portenson had switched to the same channel so he could listen in. Joe reached up and snatched the headphones off Portenson’s head and shook them at Coon to warn him against trying the same thing.

  Nate said, “Speak.”

  “It’s Joe. I’m in the FBI chopper on the way to Rangeland. Do you have the Stensons in sight?” He turned his head so Portenson couldn’t read his lips. The agent was furious.

  Nate hesitated.

  “It’s okay,” Joe said. “I have a deal with Portenson not to arrest you.”

  He heard Nate snort. Then: “I’ve got the Stensons under surveillance. They’ve got an old rancher with them, too. They stole his truck, made him drive. I followed them all the way.”

  “Great work. What are they doing now?”

  “They’re parked outside a bar. The old rancher and Stenko are still in the truck. Robert went inside.”

  “What’s he doing?”

  “How should I know?”

  “Nate, the girl isn’t April. We don’t know who she is or if April’s alive. Stenko is the only man who could shed some light on it, so we need to keep him in one piece.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “Look,” Joe said, speaking very slowly and deliberately. He suspected someone might be listening in, perhaps at FBI headquarters. He chose his words carefully. “The feds have locked in on my cell phone. They know exactly where you are. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

  A beat. “Yes.”

  “We’re thirty minutes away.”

  Nate said, “I’ll be ready.”

  Joe hoped so.

  He killed the connection and handed Portenson’s headphones back to him. Portenson angrily jammed them on his head, switched to the internal channel, and mouthed, “That was a rotten thing to do.”

  Joe didn’t hear it because he hadn’t switched back to channel A.

  AFEW MINUTES LATER, Joe could see that Portenson was in an animated conversation with someone. The way the agent nodded and gesticulated, it was obvious he was excited. Even over the engine noise, he heard Portenson say, “That’s what I’m talking about,” and again pump his fist in the air.

  Joe looked to Coon, who indicated that Joe should switch back to channel A.

  “What’s he so cranked up about?” Joe asked. “Did they locate the Stensons?”

  “Not yet.
”

  “Then what’s the deal?”

  Coon’s expression was noncommittal. “Our analysts suggest that the Stensons might have picked Rangeland for a reason, that their stopping there might not be random.”

  “Yes?”

  “If your theory holds up, that the Stensons are picking targets with large carbon footprints—with the exception of Rawlins and the ranch, where the reason was drugs and money—then Rangeland has quite a big prize.”

  “It does?” Then it came to him. North of Rangeland was Esterbrook River Station—a power plant with three cooling towers that emerged from the sprawling high-grass prairie. “The power plant?”

  Coon nodded his head and shot a glance toward Portenson to make sure his boss didn’t see them talking.

  “I’ve been listening in on the calls,” Coon said, consulting his legal pad where he’d been jotting down notes. “Our guys and gals have been working hard. According to them, the Esterbrook River Station is a 1,650-megawatt power plant fueled by 135 coal cars per day. The coal is from Gillette and it’s shipped down here 24/7. The plant burns 135 train cars of coal—that’s 24,000 tons—a day.”

  Joe had seen the coal trains for years parallel to I-25. He’d been oblivious to the fact that they all had a single destination.

  Coon said, “The plant provides power to two million people in Wyoming, Montana, the Dakotas, Colorado, Nebraska, Minnesota, and Iowa and feeds two of the three national power grids. But this is what may interest Robert: ERS emits approximately thirteen million metric tons of CO2 per year.”

  Joe stared at him.

  “Yeah, I said thirteen million metric tons per year. That’s a lot. And that doesn’t include the carbon produced by the coal trains or the coal mines.”