by Jeff Carson
“What the hell are you up to, son? I hear you are still working law-enforcement. Still in your home town? Rocky Flats? Or what was it?”
Wolf smiled. “Rocky Points.” Haines had a mind like a steel trap, and wouldn’t have mistaken the name of Wolf’s town for the now defunct nuclear weapons production facility in between Boulder and Denver without a tongue in his cheek. “I’m actually sheriff now.”
Haines whistled. “Wow. You’re not even forty years old yet, by my calculations. That’s gotta be a pretty big deal.”
Wolf didn’t answer.
“Then again. You were always a pretty big deal.”
“Thank you, General.”
There was a long pregnant silence. He hadn’t spoke to the General in years, and the last time they’d spoken was in person. In a bar near Ft. Lewis, south of Tacoma, Washington, where Haines spilled his guts to Wolf about how he’d always thought Wolf was one of the good ones. One of the best ones he’d wished he could have held on to.
“So what do you want?”
The General never was one for rehashing old memories.
“I need to know the identity of a few missing soldiers. Army EOD. Four total, they went missing in Afghanistan, supposedly seven months ago.”
Haines sighed. “Oh. My drink is going to have to wait, huh?”
“It would only take you a few minutes to log into the database and check, right?”
There was another pause. Wolf knew the man was computer inept.
“Just a second,” he said, and there was the rustle of a hand being pressed over the phone, and muffled conversation. “I’ve got Angie checking it out. It should take less than a few minutes. She’s incredible with these computers.”
Wolf smiled again and leaned back in his chair. The blood moved in his shoulder and his wound throbbed in agony, but he was getting used to ignoring the pain.
“Brian Richter. EOD team leader. Chad Hartley…”
Wolf scrambled for his pen and paper and started writing.
“…Wade Jeffries. Marcus Quinn. There’s your four. Went MIA October 30th, last year in an explosion in Tora Bora.”
“You’re kidding,” Wolf said.
Tora Bora was a cave system in the White Mountains of Afghanistan that Wolf knew well, as he’d been to it twice. The first time being the opening days of the war in Afghanistan a few months after 9/11, and the second, a few months later. Back then it had been described by the western media as an impregnable fortress, rumored to have over two-thousand troops housed in an elaborate tunnel system, with underground roads large enough to drive tanks through, a fully operating hospital, ventilation systems, ammunition stores, even a hotel. And of course, Osama bin Laden.
What Wolf’s team of Rangers had found was completely different. Though they knew bin Laden had been there, he was long gone by the time they got there, and the infrastructure was less than described. Rather than an elaborate feat of engineering, they had found a system of limestone caves naturally carved out by water over the millennia, a couple hundred cold and hungry troops, and a few haphazard piles of ammunition.
“What were those guys doing in Tora Bora? Weren’t we completely withdrawn from that area years ago?” Wolf asked.
General Haines didn’t answer for a beat. “Yeah. I admit these men being there is…strange.”
Wolf let the silence hang for a beat, then asked, “Can you send me the files of these men?”
“And leave a paper trail leaking out of my office to a no-good officer in the middle of nowhere, Colorado? I think not, Sergeant.”
“Technically, it would be a digital trail. And that’s Sheriff now, sir.”
“Not to me,” Haines answered.
Wolf smiled and doodled on the corner of his paper. “Okay. How about just where these guys are from, and I’ll do my own dirty work from there.”
There was another muffling of the phone, and a minute later Haines came back.
“Jeffries, was from Delta, Colorado. Hartley from Boise, Idaho. Quinn, Reno. Richter, Glenwood Springs, Colorado.”
“Glenwood Springs?” Wolf asked as he wrote.
“What? That tell you something?”
“It sure does. I have no clue what, but it does.” Wolf set down his pen. “I appreciate your help, sir.”
“Anytime, Sergeant. You know I’m here for you anytime. I was sorry to hear about your brother last year.”
“Thank you, General. When you retire you’ll have to come over to Colorado. I’ll take you fishing.”
“Sounds like a damn good plan.”
They hung up and Wolf looked at his notes. He stood and opened his office door and stepped out. The squad room windows were darkened, but the room itself was ablaze with the fluorescent lighting.
Officers Rachette, Patterson, and Wilson were sitting on the edges of desks laughing at Jack, who was standing in the middle of them and telling a story.
“Jack,” Wolf said. “Let my officers work.”
They all stopped and looked at Wolf.
“Rachette, how’re the festival grounds looking?”
“Good. Everything’s getting set up. We’ve got the parking lot cordoned off, entrances and exits as planned. Perimeter lighting is set, which we’re going to check out tonight. We worked with Jen Beasley all day, and she’s saying everything is looking good.”
“All right. Otherwise, all quiet?” Wolf gave a quick glance to Jack.
Rachette caught Wolf’s meaning. “Yeah, all quiet. Nothing suspicious as far as we could tell. Jack helped us out all day…well, he helped Patterson out all day. I think Jack has a new girlfriend.”
Jack’s turned red and glared at Rachette. “Tsss.” He said in retaliation.
They all smiled as Jack shrunk away to look at a piece of paper on Officer Wilson’s desk.
“You going home?” Rachette asked.
“I don’t know.” Wolf had been thinking about that. Ever since half his house had gone up in a ball of flame last fall, it had transformed from a disaster site, buttoned up under plastic through the cold months, to a slowly progressing construction site. He had a small section of the house he’d been using as a sort of indoor camping spot, and to bring Jack in there was borderline child abuse. Even if that weren’t the case, Wolf’s house wouldn’t do for safety. Not until any and all danger was eliminated.
That meant Sarah’s parent’s house, where Jack had been staying exclusively for the last few months, was not a good option either. Wolf wasn’t prepared to spread their potential vulnerability to other family members.
Wolf reached down and plucked the sketch the Glenwood Springs artist had done with Jack off the top of Wilson’s desk.
“Sorry I couldn’t do better, dad,” Jack said, watching Wolf.
Wolf looked at the sketch. Nothing stood out. The hair was covered by a winter cap, the eyebrows neither dark nor light, thick nor thin. The face was square with colorless almond-shaped eyes, with flat lines for lips. It was a plain, nondescript representation of a Caucasian male.
Wolf set it down and shrugged. “Like the sheriff of the Glenwood Springs Police Department said, you were firing a police issue pistol at the guy, in a high stress situation, at night. I doubt an experienced police officer could do any better, buddy.”
Jack looked down at the short-pile carpet. “I still bet I would recognize him if I saw him, though.”
And that was the problem. He looked at Jack and sighed. “How do you feel about doing another night of camping?”
“Where?”
“Here.”
Jack shrugged and smiled. “Sure? What do you mean?”
“We’ll sleep in my office.” Wolf said.
“What? No, you guys can stay with me,” Rachette said.
“In the butt-hut?” Wolf asked. “No thanks.”
It was Rachette’s turn to flush crimson.
Patterson looked at Rachette. “The butt-hut?”
Wilson rocked back and howled with laughter.
; “But I appreciate it,” Wolf said. “We’ll be comfortable here. We’ve got showers, and we have all our camping gear here.” Wolf looked at Rachette. “You’ll take care of the orientation of the volunteer officers tomorrow.”
Rachette glared at Wilson for a beat and stood up straight, “You got it. Eight total?”
Wold nodded. “Three from Vail, three from Summit, and two from Glenwood Springs.”
“Aren’t you going to be there?” Rachette frowned.
“No. You guys take Jack again. I’ll be gone in the morning.”
Rachette shifted and glanced back at Patterson. “Wilson and Baine are going to be there, too. Right?”
Wolf looked at Rachette. “Not tomorrow, not for set-up. You’ll have thirteen officers at the festival grounds for a time tomorrow. No sense stacking it anymore. We’ve gotta have a patrol taking care of our town until Friday night.”
Rachette nodded, unable to hide the disappointment in his eyes, and Patterson read his expression easily enough.
Wolf took a deep breath and looked at Patterson. “Patterson, your father.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Yeah?”
“He’s an entertainment lawyer, right?”
She nodded. “Yes?”
“Kind of a big deal, right? He’s worked with some celebrities in his time?”
“Yeah. I guess so.”
“So you’ve met some of those celebrities, right?” Wolf asked.
Rachette sat back on the edge of Wilson’s desk and watched Patterson.
“Ye-es?” She tilted her head.
“So like, Kevin Costner, he likes it up there in Aspen.”
She nodded, and Rachette raised his eyebrows.
“Tom Cruise?” Wolf asked.
She nodded again.
“TC?” Rachette shifted, knocking over the cup of pens on Wilson’s desk. “You’ve met TC?”
She flinched back and looked at Rachette with creased eyebrows. “T-C? Yeah, I’ve met Tom Cruise. I didn’t know he went by…”
Wolf walked away to his office, and shut the door. His work was done for the day.
Chapter 24
“South, check.”
“West, check,” Wolf responds.
“North, check.”
“East, check.”
Wolf is sweating even harder now. There is a pull on his left shoulder, and a dull ache. It must be that an insect bit him inside his ACU.
He ignores the pain and turns to the right. There is movement outside the jungle wall, and he walks to it.
“I’ve got movement on the west jungle wall. It’s a kid.” Wolf says into his throat mike.
Wolf fights to wade through the long grass, like the blades are wrapping his legs. Like he’s wading through tar.
He sees the kid is carrying an orange backpack, about half his size, and he has something in his hand.
Wolf realizes what he must do, and he raises his rifle.
The kid looks straight at Wolf, and Wolf can see him clearly behind the crosshairs in his scope lens.
It’s Jack.
Wolf sucked in a breath and sat up, and then rolled to his right elbow, clenching his teeth to fight the throbbing agony in his left arm. His entire upper body was drenched in sweat, and the nylon sleeping bag underneath him was cold and wet.
Jack stirred next to him, and rolled away to avoid the racket Wolf was causing.
A thin sliver of dim light peeked from under the closed wooden blinds of his office, and a bird was calling incessantly somewhere outside.
He checked his watch – 5:20 am. He climbed out of his sleeping bag, and put his jeans on, then put on a gray t-shirt and his Carhartt hooded sweatshirt, and padded down to the locker room.
The bandage on his arm was soaked in blood, so he unwrapped it and then carefully peeled off the final stretch of sticking gauze. Underneath were thirty-six cross hatches of dark blue stitches, with stiff synthetic thread pieces jutting out everywhere. The skin surrounding the wound was such a dark blue it was almost black, and it faded outward to a sickly yellow, and then finally to his normal olivine skin color.
He cleaned the wound vigorously with soap and warm water, and re-wrapped it, then took a shower, being careful to keep it dry. In the shower he winced as he stretched his arm out in front of him, then to the side, and down, and then again, and decided he wouldn’t use the sling for the day, but he would bring it just in case.
When he was washed and ready, he quietly packed his sleeping back, letting Jack sleep off his exhaustion from the previous days events, and walked out into the squad room.
It smelled like fresh doughnuts, undoubtedly brought by Tammy, and coffee. He gratefully took some of each, and headed out to his Explorer. There he checked in with Rachette who was pulling into the lot, and then drove out of town to the south.
He climbed Willliams Pass, avoiding the deer milling alongside the highway on the near side, and a herd of elk that wandered across the road for ten minutes on the far side. He crossed to the west on county road 31, and then started north on highway 82.
He drove through the posh town of Aspen, through basalt, north through Carbondale, and finally, an hour and fifteen minutes after he’d left Rocky Points, he entered into the city of Glenwood Springs.
Wolf, along with any other visitor to Glenwood Springs, was always amazed at the red sandstone cliffs that surrounded the town. Low green Juniper trees grew on every flat spot up the sides, no matter how impossibly steep it was inches away from their wiry trunks.
Wolf continued through the town to the north edge, and passed over I-70, where steam billowed onto the roaring interstate from the hot springs pools that made the town famous. He turned onto a frontage road, and entered the parking lot to the Glenwood Springs FBI field office.
It was a nondescript building, looking like any modern commercial office building one might see in any part of the US. There was no sign for the FBI on the plexiglass box sign on the front lawn, only what looked to be a couple law firms, and an insurance company.
He walked in, went up the stairs, down the carpeted hall, and through the glass doors of the FBI suite. A large half-moon desk waited inside, and a receptionist in a red dress looked at him over her eyeglasses, and then continued to pound her keyboard. Her phone rang and she turned away from Wolf to answer it.
Wolf waited patiently, and watched men and women walk past an open doorway, into what seemed to be their equivalent of the RPPD’s squad room. They were all dressed in slacks and button up shirts, wearing paddle holsters with SIG Sauers or Glocks. Some carried coffee, and a few laughed and conversed loudly.
Then he saw Luke. She was walking straight toward the doorway, looking in an empty coffee travel mug. She swerved between desks with swaying hips, walking with a spring in her step. Her straight brown hair was down and blowing back over her shoulders, looking more auburn today than he remembered. She wore black slacks that fit her perfectly, and a slim fitting suit jacket that was splayed open, showcasing her, what Wolf considered to be, perfect breasts under a white blouse.
She stopped abruptly when she saw him, sending her hair tumbling across her face. There was a flash of surprise in her eyes, and then they narrowed.
“Can I help you, sir?” The receptionist asked.
Wolf turned to the receptionist, who was scrutinizing Wolf with a critical eye. Wolf was dressed casually, probably too casually, with his old jeans, gray t-shirt, and hooded sweatshirt, and he didn’t blame the woman for being suspicious of his intentions.
“I’m Sheriff David Wolf, of the Rocky Points Police Department,” Wolf produced his leather wallet and flipped out his badge, “I’m looking for Special Agent—“
“Sheriff Wolf,” Luke walked fast out of doorway. “No sling today? You’re a fast healer.” She held out her hand and Wolf shook it.
“Thanks Gwen, I’ll…talk to the Sheriff.” Luke put her hand toward the door he’d just entered from and began walking.
Wolf watched her. “Don’t
you want to go inside?”
She shook her head and opened the door, then waved her hand out and looked at him.
Wolf walked past her, catching her scent again. This time it was fresher. It had to be her shampoo.
She walked next to him, keeping her eyes on the gray carpet ahead. “What are you doing here?” She asked.
“I was just stopping by to let you know how my investigation was going, and to see if you wanted in.”
She gave him a look like he’d just belched. “Really? And how’s your investigation going?”
“I found out who the four missing men were in Tora Bora. I’m just stopping by on my way to Brian Richter’s family’s house, and then I’m off to Delta to talk to Jeffries’s family.”
She stopped and closed her long eyelashes, then tilted her head to the asbestos tiles of the ceiling. “Let me get my stuff. I’ll meet you outside.” She turned and walked quickly down the hall.
Wolf walked to the stairs and went outside. He stood by his RPPD Explorer and took in the sun. There were some approaching clouds in the west. The wind that had kicked up so fierce the day before must have brought in a cold front, but for now, it was gorgeous.
She came out and walked straight to Wolf, then looked past him into his driver’s side window.
“I’m not going in that,” she said, and then she walked away down the parking lot.
Wolf looked through his window at the passenger seat. It had a few wadded up napkins on it and some multi-colored sprinkles from the doughnut he’d eaten earlier. The two cup-holders had four coffee cups stacked within another. He didn’t need to look at the floorboards to know she had a point.
He locked his SUV and walked after her, then hopped in her already running Tahoe. She backed up and they headed out onto the frontage road.
Wolf sat quietly with growing interest as she drove through town and took three turns without consulting notes or a map.
“You know where Richter grew up?”
“I grew up here,” she shrugged. “And I looked up the house on Google maps earlier today.”
Wolf nodded. “All right. So you were planning to see his mother today?”
“That was the idea,” she said.