Wildcard

by Rachel Lee

  “I think you’re not giving me any choice,” Miriam replied. “And I don’t think you contacted me and brought me up here just to let me know you’re okay. So like I said, we can play games until I get bored and fly back to Boise, or you can tell me what’s going on.”

  Renate nodded. “You’re right. So we share notes. What do you know?”

  Boise, Idaho

  With Kevin at the wheel of a Bureau car, he and Terry left the office building and drove toward a motel that Fred Milgram had recommended.

  “Fred’s a good man,” Kevin said.

  Terry nodded. “Seems to be.”

  “He’ll have the warrant by tomorrow morning, as promised.”

  Terry nodded again, saying nothing.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on with Miriam?”

  Terry looked at him. “She told you.”

  “Come off it, Terry. We came here because Tom was killed and she learned that Wes Dixon was running a guerilla training camp. I know Miriam. She wouldn’t leave an investigation like this to look after a sick sister, especially a sister she’s never mentioned.”

  Terry turned in the seat to confront Kevin directly. “You’re her boss. You have a professional relationship. There’s no reason for her to talk to you about her family members.”

  “But you know for a fact she has a sister in Missoula?”

  Terry gave him a cold stare. “You heard what she said. If you don’t believe her, why are you going to believe me?”

  “I believed Tom Lawton when he said he was going fishing. Instead…”

  “Maybe he meant a different kind of fishing.”

  “Obviously.”

  Kevin was silent for the next couple of blocks, then finally turned into the lot of the recommended motel. He pulled into a parking space, turned off the ignition and sat there for a minute.

  Then he turned toward Terry and said, “You two better not be up to something behind my back.”

  “You know as much as I do. You were there.”

  After a beat, Kevin nodded. “You have any objections to sharing a room? The Bureau will cover me, and I don’t see any reason you should have to pay out of your own pocket.”

  “Fine by me,” Terry said, reaching for the door handle. Then he paused and looked at Kevin. “Listen, man, we’re all on the same side here, right?”

  “That’s the idea.”

  “Then I’m cool. But I want you to know one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  Terry shook his head. “I don’t like the way you treated Tom Lawton. The man’s head was pretty messed up by what went down in L.A. He needed support. Instead, you cut him loose. And don’t give me any bullshit about procedure. If we don’t stand by our own, what have we got?”

  It was a moment before Kevin climbed out of the car. When he did, he faced Terry over the hood. “He was unstable.”

  “My ass,” said Terry. “He was pissed. Can you stand there and tell me you wouldn’t have been pissed if you were in his shoes?”

  Kevin didn’t answer for a long moment, then just said, “Let’s get that room and find a meal.”

  “Fine,” Terry said. “But know this. If you get Miriam hurt in this, there is no hole deep enough for you to hide in, no contacts powerful enough to protect you. I’m going to marry that woman. I’ve let that slide for too long, and I realized it when I thought she might be dead in Guatemala. When she came back, it was like God gave me a second chance. Don’t you dare fuck that up.”

  “I’ve lost one agent because I made a dumb mistake,” Kevin said quietly. “I won’t lose another.”

  27

  Missoula, Montana

  “Wes Dixon trained the team that killed Ambassador Kilhenny,” Miriam said. “I know that for a fact.”

  Renate nodded and pulled two photos from a file folder. “We suspected, but we hadn’t confirmed it. How did you?”

  “I met the assassin,” Miriam said, taking the photos as Renate passed them to her. She closed her eyes for a moment after looking at the shot of the assassination. “Yes, this man. His name is Miguel Ortiz. Where did you get these?”

  “One of our operatives has a contact who happens to work in an office overlooking that intersection,” Renate said. “Pure luck that his contact had a camera at work that day, heard the initial rattle of gunfire and got to his window in time to snap that picture.”

  “You keep ducking around the part where you tell me who you work for,” Miriam said.

  “You’re right,” Renate replied. “Perhaps later. I took the other photo, the one at the Dixon ranch, last fall. We’ve been looking at Dixon for some time.”

  “I guess so,” Miriam said. “So do you know why he’s doing this? Who he’s working for?”

  “Dixon works for Ed Morgan,” Tom said. “Between the fishy loans I found, and the other connections, and what we’ve seen since…his operation must be getting outside funding. It makes sense that Morgan is the source.”

  “And if money flows down,” Miriam said, “authority flows up. No way Morgan funds something he can’t control for his own purposes.”

  “Exactly,” Tom agreed.

  “But how do we prove it?” she asked. “And even if we do, Dixon has disappeared. Somewhere in the Med, we’re thinking now. But with Morgan’s contacts in international banking, Dixon could go anywhere.”

  Tom chuckled and shook his head. “He’s not in the Med. He’s at a campground five miles from here.”

  “You’ve been following him?” Miriam asked.

  He nodded. “That’s why we’re here.”

  “So we take him down,” she stated.

  “It won’t be that easy,” Renate replied. “He has a bus-load of armed men with him. Guatemalans he’s been training. We think they’re headed for the Canadian border, getting out of the country. If you send a team into that campground, it’s going to be war.”

  Miriam considered what she’d seen at Dos Ojos and nodded in agreement. “So what’s the plan?”

  “We need to find out exactly where they’re going,” Tom said. “Then we need to pick a place where we can take them down with maximum surprise and minimum risk. We need Dixon alive. He’s our only link to Morgan.”

  “And what do I do?” Miriam asked. “What do I tell Kevin that he’ll believe?”

  “We’re going to continue shadowing Dixon,” Renate said. “His intentions will become clear in the next day or two. You need to get the media on this. Get his face on television—suspected assassin, training terrorists, whatever you want to say. Set up a tip line. Once we know where he’s going to be, we’ll pick an ambush site and call in. The tip will include the word aluminum. That way you can arrest him, with no direct contact to us. You get all the credit. We stay invisible.”

  “You’re big on invisible,” Miriam said.

  “It’s how I stay alive,” Renate said. “And it’s how Tom will stay alive if he stays with us.”

  “Which brings us back to who you work for,” Miriam said. “And why you’re doing this.”

  Renate leaned forward. “All I can tell you, and all you need to know, is that we’re a group of people working to stop terrorism and assassination as political tools. You won’t find me, or any of the rest of us, in your databases. Or anyone else’s. We don’t exist. And that’s key to our operations.”

  “Thus Tom’s death,” Miriam said, putting the pieces together. “You’re dead, too, am I right?”

  Renate nodded. “All of us are.”

  “And it has to stay that way,” Tom said. “I’m sorry, Miriam, but I’m not coming back to the Bureau. I’ve got nothing left there. Not now. So I’m dead. You didn’t get a call from me. You didn’t meet me. You can’t even tell Terry. And you damn sure can’t tell Willis.”

  She could see why he didn’t trust Willis, and she would have to respect his wishes on that. As for Terry, keeping secrets from him was not something she wanted to do.

  “I trust Terry,” she said. “H
e wouldn’t say a word.”

  “You can’t tell him,” Tom said, looking into her eyes. “Not yet. Not for a long, long time. If you go through with this, you’re burning a tiger’s tail. They’re going to be watching you. Listening to your most intimate moments. Wanting to know where you got your information. And they aren’t going to quit.”

  “So I spend the rest of my life being paranoid,” Miriam said. It wasn’t a prospect she relished. “That’s the price, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Renate said. “That’s the price.”

  “We can’t let them win,” Miriam said. “I’ll get back to Boise and get the media angle going. Let’s do it.”

  Then she turned to Tom and took his hand. “But you’ve got to promise me one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That every year or so you’ll let me know you’re still alive. Send me a flower. Just one. And that if you need my help on anything…well, you can count on me.”

  He reached out and hugged her. “I know I can. And I’ll send you a white rose every year. If anything changes, well, you won’t get a rose.”

  “She’ll get a rose,” Renate said, seeming to have relaxed somewhat. “A red one. If it’s ever necessary.”

  Boise, Idaho

  Ever since Miriam’s return, Terry had been looking at her as if he felt slightly betrayed. She did her best to act as if nothing had happened, however, explaining to both him and Kevin that her sister’s emergency had been overrated.

  Neither of them looked as if they believed her and Terry knew she had no sister, but on this one, too bad. She’d made a promise, and she didn’t break her promises, even if keeping them made her heart ache. She’d explain it to Terry later. Maybe he would forgive her.

  They reached the Dixon ranch just after dawn the next morning. With them came every available agent and vehicle that Fred could rustle up on short notice, which was most of his field office. Behind them, at Miriam’s insistence, trundled the local TV and newspaper people.

  Kevin had argued with her last night about the media, but Miriam remained insistent that they needed whatever local information was available. Fred Milgram had backed her up and even agreed to set up the tip line. It was the kind of story that would make him look good as long as they found something, and since Miriam had talked to a Guatemalan rebel who had named Wes Dixon, he was sure they were going to find something. God willing, it would be something great for the TV cameras.

  A few hundred yards from the house, they fanned out in their vehicles, surrounding the buildings. Agents in body armor made a slow, steady approach, keeping low. Miriam watched tensely from the lead SUV, praying that there would be no gunfire. She kept seeing all that had happened in Guatemala, fearing she might have led these agents into an ambush.

  But not a shot was fired, and finally the team was at the house, battering on the door, calling out, “FBI. Open up!”

  No one answered. Nothing in or near the house seemed to stir. Finally one of the agents used a stapler to pin the warrant to the door. Then they battered their way in.

  Five minutes later, an agent stepped out to give the all-clear.

  Fred drove them up to the door, and the four of them climbed out.

  The air was frigid, cutting knifelike through layers of clothing that had been meant for a milder climate. Miriam shivered and felt Terry touch her arm. She glanced at him and saw that his gaze was concerned. She forced a smile. “I’m fine,” she said, though she was far from it. Guatemala was looming on the edge of her memory, threatening to strike at any moment.

  “He lives well,” Miriam remarked as they stepped into the foyer. “Better than you’d expect on his reported income.”

  “Wealthy wife,” someone said.

  Kevin looked at Miriam and shook his head, as if warning her not to mention their suspicions. She almost sighed, thinking Kevin ought to know her a whole lot better than that.

  “Okay,” Kevin said to Fred, “how about we leave a couple, three agents here to check everything out and box up any papers? Letters, financial records, anything of the sort. And maybe you have someone who could track down Dixon’s wife? Given what we learned, she may be on Long Island with her brother, Edward Morgan. Or do you want me to handle that?”

  Fred shook his head. “I’ll handle it.” Leaving them, he went to give orders to a few of his agents.

  Terry leaned toward Miriam and murmured, “Wouldn’t that be a nice shoe in the door, finding the wife with Morgan?”

  Miriam gave him a faint smile, but she wasn’t counting on luck. “We should also check State and see if she really is on a Mediterranean cruise.”

  Fred came back in time to hear her and nodded. “We’re on it.”

  “I guess now we wait for the chopper,” Kevin said.

  The helicopter, with its bird’s-eye view, was being used to spot the training camp that otherwise might be a needle in a haystack on a ranch this size. It was already out there flying a grid pattern, seeking anything unusual.

  Miriam opted to wait indoors, out of the wind, while Fred went and spoke to the reporters. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but she was sure it would make him look good. Terry joined the others in hunting through the house, and Miriam found herself missing him. When this was all over, she wanted them to take a vacation, somewhere far away. She wondered if he would agree.

  The cold had once again made her aware of her wounds, and surreptitiously, she slipped a hand inside her coat and up under her sweater. Dampness. Reluctantly, she pulled out her hand and saw that the wound in her side was oozing again. Nothing major, she assured herself. She would get it looked at later.

  It took another half hour, but the chopper found the camp and came back to lead the way. By that time boxes full of papers were being stacked at the door.

  They climbed into the line of black SUVs and followed the chopper over rugged terrain for nearly five miles. With each jolt, Miriam had to suppress a wince.

  At first glance the camp appeared to be nothing but some run-down old buildings, but it was obvious people had been there recently.

  “It’s too cleaned up,” Miriam said as she scanned the site. “Like they expected us to find it.”

  “I agree,” Kevin said. “Everybody! Maximum precautions. If it’s a training area, there may be mines or trip wires. And they may not have removed them all.”

  Miriam, still aching from her wounds, the pain much worse in the cold, remained in one of the SUVs with Terry and watched her fellow agents move from building to building. It looked like a training exercise, she thought. It didn’t look real at all. Real had been what she had experienced in Guatemala only four days ago. God, she hoped this didn’t turn real.

  Ten minutes later, the first arm shot up. Everyone froze in their tracks, and Miriam’s heart caught in her throat as the bomb squad crept in to check the scene. After a long, tense examination, one of them triggered the device, and a geyser of fluorescent green paint erupted.

  “Practice booby traps,” Terry said, squeezing her hand. “Let’s hope there are no live ones. You feeling okay? You keep wincing.”

  She nodded. “I think a stitch pulled out. With the cold and the walking around, it’s hurting. But I’m fine.”

  “We can get you back to a doctor,” Terry said. “You don’t have to be out here.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “You’re a stubborn lady, you know that?” His smile said more than the words.

  “Yeah, I am,” she said. “But that’s why you love me.”

  They watched as, over the next four hours, the search team went from building to building, alley to alley, field range to field range. There were over two dozen booby traps, but, like the first, all were compressed gas paint packs. The agents recovered hundreds of shell casings in various calibers, from 5.56 mm M-16 rounds to .50-caliber heavy machine gun rounds.

  “We’ve got him on firearms violations, at least,” Kevin said as they drove back to the office. “There was a lot of ord
nance out there that civilians aren’t allowed to have. If we can find anything at all in the files we seized…”

  “Just don’t give me another Ruby Ridge,” Fred Milgram said. “Folks up here have long memories, and they don’t give much of a damn about firearms violations. If you’re going to go after this guy up here, you need more than a few shell casings. I have to live here after you guys go back to Washington.”

  “We understand that,” Miriam said. “Nobody wants to crap in your backyard. But the thing is, Fred, this is different. Majorly different. We have an eyewitness who says Dixon was training Guatemalan guerrillas.”

  “An eyewitness who’s dead,” Fred reminded her.

  “I’d be willing to bet there’s an underground arsenal. He couldn’t have carried everything away with him.”

  Fred nodded again. “We’ll look into that tomorrow.”

  “For tonight,” Kevin said, “the news has enough to get the tipsters rolling.”

  Terry leaned forward and tapped Fred’s shoulder as they hit the outskirts of town. “Can you get us to an emergency room? Miriam’s wound opened up.”

  “Jesus.” Kevin turned in his seat until he could see her. “I thought you looked like hell.”

  “Everyone’s telling me that,” Miriam said, smiling weakly. “Maybe it’s my hair.”

  “Just keep trying to be tough, baby,” Terry said, squeezing her hand. “We’ll get you fixed up.”

  Kevin turned to Fred and whispered, “She’s looking pretty pale.”

  “I’m going as fast as I can,” Fred answered.

  28

  Kalispell, Montana

  The flurries had not abated, and Renate grew worried as they climbed higher into the Rocky Mountains. Dixon and his private army had headed north out of Missoula, following Highway 93 past the shores of Flathead Lake, then into more rugged terrain. The deeper they drove into the mountains, the more the area reminded Renate of home. And she was well familiar with the dangers of Alpine driving.

  “I think I know where they’re going,” Tom said, wrapping his hands around a mug of hot coffee they’d picked up at a convenience store three blocks past where the bus had stopped for fuel. “Glacier National Park is another thirty miles up the road. It’s basically empty at this time of year, and it extends across the border as Waterton Lakes National Park in Canada. I’m guessing there are lots of trails they could take through the mountain passes and up into Canada. Trails that wouldn’t be watched on either side of the border right now.”