“You gave him a jab to the ribs,” Lars said. “Then he gave himself an uppercut to the chin, trying to end the fight. He must not be of the same uncompromising quality as his sister. He’s not a fighter. I’ll bet he’s running and hiding as we speak.”
Joseph nodded.
Lars looked at his coffee.
No one spoke for a solid ten seconds.
“All right, let’s set the Merrill’s aside for a moment,” Joseph finally said. “There’s one more player in all of this. Someone I wish to draw out of the shadows and deal with.”
Lars was quiet. He knew the old man was referring to the organization that sent him and his team to Ludlow in the first place. He wished he had not. He wished the Merrill’s were the only problem. The woman could be dealt with and the man could run and hide. Case closed.
He cleared his throat and said, “Now that you know the brother isn’t a fighter, it’s probably safe to reach out to him. Maybe he can offer some insight into that.”
Joseph Snow nodded in agreement.
“I’m nervous about that,” Lars admitted. “That could be a very ugly fight.”
“It could,” Joseph agreed. “But I have your expertise to aid me in anticipating and combatting such an enemy.”
“Don’t overestimate me. Please.”
“I don’t believe I am.”
“I’m only a shooter. I follow orders. I’ll do whatever shooting you need done. But now, you need someone to tell you exactly who they are. I’m not that guy.”
Joseph nodded, seemingly approving of the direction the conversation had taken. “Have you heard of a private security firm called Global?”
Lars shook his head.
“The person, or persons, behind Global sent you here. I’m almost one hundred percent certain.”
“I think it would be just one person. Two at most,” Lars said. “The more people you have in a loop, the harder it is to keep secrets.”
“I hope it is one person.”
“But there’s no way to be certain. And you can’t just call them and ask.”
“No, not without showing my hand. Clearly I need someone they have a preexisting relationship with to make contact. If I ask you to do that now, I risk exposing you. That’s why I think it’s time for us to make nice with Raymond Merrill.”
Lars wanted to express his gratitude for not being regarded as bait. What he said was, “You might get the guy killed. Him and his family. Bait doesn’t fair well if there’s a shark in the water.”
“And I might spare this entire town and our way of life,” Joseph returned, not angrily but decidedly.
Lars stared at his coffee again.
Joseph said, “Let me make myself perfectly clear, Mr. Olsen. I’m not seeking merely to thwart or disrupt these people. My patience has reached its limits. It’s time for this game to end. If we play it well, we can kill the killers. Then, everyone—including Mr. Merrill, and you—won’t need to worry about them again.”
So much for diplomacy, Lars thought as he nodded. He was looking at the slight oily quality of his coffee. He must be really fed up with being watched and threatened. Not that I blame him. I don’t blame him at all, but damn it, I wish it could be simpler. I wish I could have just a location, a target, and go deal with it. The longer we stay in a poker game the higher the stakes will get. Each side will push harder until one side suffers a catastrophic loss.
I don’t want to see any of these folks die, he thought. These magnificent creatures. I could see someone rotten die and not bat an eye. Like the Merrill woman. To hell with her. But not these. I can see a snake die and feel nothing. Or a crocodile. But if something great and intelligent and capable of gentleness dies, I can’t look at it. It’s like when an elephant dies. Or a horse or something graceful or something loyal like a dog dies. It makes me miserable all through.
But why would an elephant bother you? Why think of that? Why now? Why would you relate a fear of loss to such a creature?
Because such a creature feels and knows and grieves and others grieve it. They visit the bones for years after. They visit until they become bones themselves.
Stop it. Stop it now. You’re only thinking this way because of the memory of a story. And you’re only thinking of that story because you don’t want to think of what could happen up here, now in reality. That’s what you get for reading An African Story. You suddenly care about elephants, as if they cared about you. You’re relating the sentiment to your own life.
Hemingway is dangerous that way. Blame him. You start by reading a fishing story for the nostalgia of the setting, and next thing you know you’re in another story and you’re angry about an elephant. You hate the kid’s father for killing it as much the kid hated him. The story appears so simple to look at but it sticks in you like a quill. You can see the old elephant’s massive tusks they stole from him. You can see them shooting him and his awkward limbs crumpling slowly under his great weight. You see his ears wave and hear him trumpet in distress. You see the lashes around his great eye and, like the boy, you feel kinship with him. You see the eye as the life slowly drains out of it, just as the boy sees it. He was only visiting the bones of his old friend and the cowards murdered him.
You hated long before that story. You know you did. Remember? It was the deer. Your father shot it and hung it in the basement, all hollowed out, and you went down later with the flashlight and saw it and you hated the sight of it. You said you’d never do that. So you didn’t.
No, but you sure joined the military in a hurry. You sure got good with those rifles. You did all those things with rifles. There was no remorse for that guy on his veranda, was there?
None.
But that was different. All but a few were different. They were human trash. Genetic waste infecting the rest of the population. Venomous parasites. Pit vipers. They needed to die as much as that elephant should have been left in peace. He was peaceful, loyal. Just visiting an old friend. His death was a murder.
Which of the killers you have killed do you suppose ever made long journey’s to visit old friends?
None.
How about that gang of bikers? Any sympathy for them?
Not much. They wanted a fight. They sure got one.
That’s why you feel for the elephant and not the snakes. Reptiles eat their own offspring. You watched a viper do it once. But the elephant wasn’t like that. He wasn’t cruel and wasn’t looking for a fight. He possessed the loyalty you admire. He was loyal after death, unto his own death. Nothing else impresses you more.
All right, Olsen. If that’s what you care about, get on with it. Get on with it and be loyal to these who have accepted you. They let you in their home and serve you coffee after you came to spy on them and sell them out. Go ahead and appreciate their decency. It’s greater than many humans. But you can’t stand here in the warmth drinking coffee forever. The old one is evaluating you for a purpose. Pick your side. Now. Look alive. Defend what’s noble. Defend what you’ve always wanted to see and now have seen and have known. Even if it’s hard, defend them. Even if it gets you killed instead of paid. Help them kill the viper hiding in his dark pit. Offer to do all that you can. Then do more than you can. What else does this life hold for men like you?
Lars looked up from his coffee at Joseph Snow.
“Take a walk with me,” the old man said.
14
They stepped out of the warm house into the cold. Lars carried a refilled mug of steaming coffee. He took longer sips now, enjoying the heat of it before the night air could chill it.
“I really should wait for daylight,” Joseph said. “But as I said before, I’m growing rather impatient.”
“What’s on your mind?” Lars asked. They were moving down the driveway.
“I want Rowan Merrill to have a good look at your face.”
“I’ve never seen her before,” Lars told him honestly.
“I believe you. But perhaps there’s a chance that she’s at least seen
a personnel photograph of you.”
“Possible,” Lars admitted. “But I doubt it.”
“Why is that?”
“The one who manages men like me, jobs like I’ve done, can’t be the type to share power. Not much, anyway. Big ships need only one good captain to give orders, and many compliant hands tending the details in order to stay afloat. Whoever this guy is, contacts and information are every bit as powerful as money to him. Therefore, he shares only the information he chooses to share. Allowing a client to have information on a gunny wouldn’t make sense, even if that client was a friend. He needs to run a monopoly on that sort of knowledge.”
“But you’re just a gunny,” Joseph said.
Lars said nothing. The old man was working him well.
“You’re probably right,” Joseph said. “This is just … something I feel that I need to do. Better to double check the barn door than to let the horse get out.”
“If it helps,” Lars returned. “No skin off my back.”
“Are you doubting yourself?” Joseph asked a moment later.
Lars took another moment before saying, “No, I’ve never doubted myself. If I appear worried, it’s because I know for a fact that there are other men like me out there.”
“Are they good? Or just indifferent to danger?”
“Both. And more. All sorts. Hundreds of guys are drawn to my sort of work. Guys who don’t fit in anywhere else. Even the ones doing the bodyguard gigs could be dangerous men.”
Joseph said, “There’s no creature on this earth as deadly as men.”
Lars nodded in the dark. He was thinking about the kind of guys that took those jobs. Some just needed the money. They had kids and alimony and girlfriends. Some truly enjoyed the sense of danger and of doing something potentially brave. Some—the worst—truly enjoyed violence. They didn’t work to avoid it, as Joseph Snow did. Some enjoyed the thrill of violence so much that they were genuinely let down by anything less than newsworthy confrontations.
“I’ve let up worrying about men being sent to Ludlow,” Joseph said next. “If a force is sent anywhere, it will most likely be to rural Maine, where there are no news choppers quite so nearby.”
“Yeah,” Lars said. He was thinking about the likelihood of such a mission being successful. It wasn’t likely, but it was still a threat to consider.
They were nearing the barn now and both were silent for the last few yards.
Entering, Lars saw the woman on the floor of the stall. She was wrapped tight in scratchy-looking blankets. Standing there with his mug of coffee and the apparent trust of Ludlow’s ruling elder, he knew with certainty that he was having a much better night than Rowan Merrill.
Joseph compelled him to stand directly under the glowing light bulb. Lars obliged.
“Look at this man,” Joseph said to her. “Have you seen him before?”
Lars, feeling something like a criminal in a lineup, noted how the woman’s eyes remained unfocused. “She’s gone,” he muttered after a moment. “Off in space somewhere.”
“I’m afraid so,” Joseph agreed. “But it’s of her own accord. If she had truly recognized you, she would have at least blinked.”
“Feeling better about that barn door?”
“I am, actually. My thanks for indulging me.”
They left the barn and started up the long driveway. Lars was getting to the last few sips of coffee. With the caffeine and the brisk air and the walking, he was finally feeling completely awake. Almost lively, despite his lack of rest.
“I apologize for dragging you down here,” Joseph said.
“No need.”
“I’ve never been one to overlook the simpler options before moving on to the more complex.”
“Except when you’re burning research facilities,” Lars said, then immediately wished he’d kept his mouth shut. He’d just started feeling lively and already he’d said something stupid.
Joseph Snow laughed quietly.
Lars breathed a small sigh of relief as he finished the last of his coffee.
“Perhaps I did jump the gun somewhat.”
“No,” Lars said. “Not really. I didn’t mean it that way. I saw her behavior at the air strip. If it were up to me, I would have guessed that her brother would at least be somewhat comparable in character.”
“The existence of the Merrill siblings is the direct result of a decision I made long ago. Against the wishes of my own blood, I granted their father the chance to live and so to give them life.”
Lars said nothing. He wished he’d kept his mouth shut before. What a jackass joke to make to this elder who seemed to value him.
“I could have blotted their name from the face of the earth,” Joseph said, not proudly but truthfully. “But I chose not to.”
Lars didn’t know what to say.
“I did what I believed was right,” Joseph continued. “For a time, it seemed there would be no repercussions. One never knows how things will turn out.”
“You couldn’t have known it would come back on you like this,” Lars agreed, and from the corner of his eye he saw that Joseph was looking off toward the pasture on their left. He was grateful to the old man for letting his joke slide.
“We can never be completely sure, can we?” Joseph said, forming his words slowly, as if thinking of something else entirely.
“That’s the one sure thing,” Lars agreed.
“Such is life,” Joseph said, his voice dropping almost to a whisper.
“Yeah,” Lars said quietly, and now he was also looking over toward the pasture.
He took a few more strides and then stopped in his tracks. His eyes were not as sharp as they used to be, and they certainly weren’t as sharp as the old man’s eyes, but now he saw it, too—not a distinguishable object, but a wide, silent darkness obscuring the stars.
“Get to your truck, Mr. Olsen,” Joseph said calmly.
Lars got moving again, keeping his eyes on the shadow. The mug with two fingers looped through the handle dangled carelessly at his side. He heard Joseph say not to touch his rifle, but to wait patiently. He made a sound in response, though he wasn’t sure what he said, and now he saw, unmistakably, that a second shadow was following after the first. If it had been daylight, he would have expected to recognize them as large kites. But it was dark now and they were not kites. They were moving closer to the farm in wide descending circles and, watching, it finally dawned on him.
Eagles. Thunderbirds. The kid wasn’t pulling my leg with those stories. But they don’t make a sound. Even on a still night. Maybe because they’re only gliding and not building speed, but I can’t hear a thing. Not even the small whipping of a flag in the wind. They came up on us like B-2’s.
Joseph Snow had moved quickly to the house, freeing himself of clothing along the way. He placed what he cared about on the front porch, sacrificed the rest, and was the white wolf in a split second.
Lars heard the wolf before he saw him. At the sound his eyes came down from the sky, from the smooth-gliding shadows to the faint silver shape of the snowy wolf rushing across the high pasture. He heard the faint growling and slight grunting, low, as he’d heard the younger wolves communicating near his campsite. He saw him hurdle the fence as if it were a speed bump, felt his own heart beating, not with fear but with a splendid sort of awe. If he had felt awake and alert from the coffee, with this sight he had come fully alive at last. And there he was, approaching his truck with his head turned to the pasture, almost stumbling over his own boots, feeling unarmed, exposed and out of place, and loving every second of it. It was the almost childish thrill of seeing what should not be there, but was actually there, living and breathing in defiance of all rationale.
“I just hope it’s a friendly visit,” he said under his breath. “Why else would there be only two?”
Before he could advance his speculations, the front door of the house opened and Evelyn Snow came out.
“What did you see, Olsen?”
; “Two birds,” he answered through a wide grin. “Massive birds.”
“Get over here,” she ordered, not half as impressed as he was. “They’re probably friends, but for you its better safe than sorry.”
Lars couldn’t regain sight of them again after losing them. He moved up the steps and into the house. He squinted from the light and saw Janie by the sliding glass door overlooking the side pasture.
“I’ll be back,” the old woman said as she moved through the great room and exited the slider.
Lars stood there by the front door. His heart was beating nicely. He did not want to be in the house.
“Let’s watch from the porch,” Janie said, motioning to him. “Come on.”
He moved across the large room quickly and followed her out. There were robes and clothes slung over the railings. His eyes were grateful to be away from the house lights, and looking straight across he could see the white wolf clearest of all, a second wolf, grayer, and then the blackish outlines of two very tall birds standing near the wolves. Their wings were mostly folded, but now and then they seemed to move them in a stretching or balancing manner. Now that they were stationary on the ground, he could see the pale shine of their golden eyes.
Janie looked at him. “I’ve only seen an eagle once or twice in my life. Quite a sight, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” he answered. He waited a moment, staring, before he said, “So, you don’t change like your parents?”
“No,” she answered without looking at him. “I haven’t for years.”
He didn’t understand, but didn’t think he should ask. Instead he said, “Are these things generally friendly toward you folks?”
“As far as I know,” she answered.
Lars noted there wasn’t a hint of concern in her voice. Like it was no big deal.
15
The white wolf stood watching the two eagles alighting before him. Both were apparent strangers to his eyes and nose.
“Snow,” said the nearest eagle. “Peace between us.”
Snow Rising (The Great North Woods Pack Book 4) Page 8