Wes moved to one side of the door and shed his shoulder bag. “It’s hot compared to what I’m used to for this time of year it is.”
“You’ve been busy.”
“I have. My apologies for not letting you know my intended destination this morning.”
“Don’t worry about that. I approved the flight. Besides, I hired a professional. I expect him to do his job and I leave him alone. What’s the news?”
Wes walked up to a display like those he’d seen in the lobby of a hundred other hotels. This one held fliers and ads for day-trips to Hoover Dam, casino specials, golf courses, rental cars, nightclubs and live shows. “I’m trying to think about my last update. I told you we actually got a description of our man from an unlikely source the other night. We still don’t know his real name.”
“Any further cyber postings?”
“Yes, and we believe there’s a third player involved now, a Sullivan.”
“Yeah, you mentioned him. What’re your thoughts on my daughter’s security?”
Wes took a deep breath. He knew he was right, but to voice it held risks if he wasn’t. “I believe Meshach’s mission has changed altogether, and you, the Blackwell family, your daughter, in particular, are no longer in the crosshairs. I think they, not he, have something planned, something big, maybe aimed at your Gulf interests or at the industry as a whole. What? I haven’t got a clue. Not yet.”
Female voices in the background on Cole’s end dimmed the silence. Wes gave the man time to think. Wes’s phone beeped in his ear. He gave the face a quick glance. Tony.
“What leads you to that line of thinking?”
“A feeling more than proof. At least three people are involved that we know of. Meshach is a long way from your neck of the woods. I hate to say it, but after I called Bubba and asked for a local contact in law enforcement so we could check flight manifests, hotels, rental cars, that type of thing, Lamech sent a warning about our investigation.”
This time the line went dead quiet. Wes glanced at his phone again—still connected. He waited, looking at the display of fliers without seeing them, distracted, his concentration on Cole’s lack of response. He continued, “I’m sure we had contact with our guy this morning in New Orleans. He tailed us out of the hotel parking lot. I had to lose him in traffic. Unfortunately, we didn’t get a good look at him, nor did we get a complete plate number of the car he drove.”
“Then we’ve got bigger problems, as a whole, and you have a personal problem. I know Bubba’s your friend, but this is some kind of conspiracy. Is he involved? How did an assault on a woman in Texas morph into—into the Lord knows what?”
“I can’t answer those questions right now, but we are getting closer.”
“You have to set him up.”
“Who?” Wes knew whom Cole referred to, but he asked anyway.
“Bubba.” A sigh traveled the connection. “You’ve been to war as a Marine. Now you’re a private investigator. You weren’t born last night. You know the dangers. Keep them in mind. Don’t let an old friendship impair your judgment. I know him and like him too, but think it over, hard. The moment you have the evidence, hand it over to the police and let them sort it out. If it’s as big as you believe, we’ll get the FBI involved, or DHS. I have personal dealings with the Secretary of Homeland Security. I went to school with him. Interfering with oil production has national security implications, not to mention lives are at stake. And the environment.”
“Yes, sir, I will, and I know what you’re saying about Bubba. I’ve got it to do, and I know it.”
“What took you to Las Vegas? And don’t tell me my airplane.”
Albeit dry, Cole had a sense of humor. “A New Orleans murder and a text. May be a tie to our guy. If so, we could find out his true identity.”
“A text?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, I’m not into publishing details about private life or opinions for the world to read, but I exchange texts with my wife and daughter. All right. Hang on.” Papers ruffled. “You said he tailed you.”
Cole was no dummy, and from what Wes had just heard, he took notes. “I believe he did.”
“But you didn’t engage him?”
“I did not.”
Again time lapsed. “Your people with you?”
“Jess and Tony, yes, they were.”
“Smart move. Need some money?”
The man didn’t banter words. “I’ll bill you when this nut’s behind bars.”
“Good night, then. Godspeed.”
The line went dead.
Wes pocketed his phone and stared out the window into the parking lot. The lights from casino row lit the sky. Traffic on the highway looked like rush hour volume, and it was after ten o’clock. His eyes burned. He was tired.
Wes had been working for Cole less than a week. He liked him. Confronting his long-time friend would not be easy. He found it hard just to contemplate the idea.
He dialed Tony back. “Hey, you rang.”
“Yeah, just checking in. Did you visit with the Woodards? Get anything out of it?”
“Not at first glance. Cancer killed his dad. His mom isn’t well. She’s an older woman. We got pics of pics to look at, but nothing concrete. Still have to talk to Marlin. We’ll do that in the morning.”
“Meshach conveyed his thanks to Lamech for the warning. Said he had a good trip to Paris. Dude, I’m telling you.”
Wes looked down at the display again, and Tony’s comments never registered. His focus fixed on a flier in the middle of the mix. He slid the folded slip from its holder and held it up. The words Liz uttered at the mention of the name Meshach echoed through his thoughts. The man from fire she’d called him.
“Unbelievable.”
22
Friday morning
Except to make coffee and get a cupful when it was done, Meshach had not moved from his vantage point in the chair just inside the open French doors. After the storm passed, he’d catnapped through the remainder of the night, more awake than asleep.
Darkness edged to gray. White wisps of fog drifted over the waters between the cane-breaks giving life to the morning. Reminded him of Dracula movies his mom used to watch late at night. The thunderstorms added to the humidity. The temperature had cooled.
A black beetle trekked through the water beaded on the floor in front of the couch. Meshach could imagine Scott’s outrage at the sight.
No one stirred in the cabins next to him, but he knew the fishermen would be along as soon as the sun rose.
He caressed the smooth steel action and wooden grip of the .45 in his lap. The Kimber had a majestic feel and look he valued more than the lithe figure of a woman. He leaned over, opened his backpack, and removed a cleaning kit. Gun oil had a unique aroma, like the smell of leather seats in a new car or a fresh stack of banded Franklins straight out of the vault. His attention wandered the marsh and nearby cabins as he broke down the pistol with practiced precision. Two gulls bickered over a scrap on the dock below. The loser squawked louder as the victor flitted off with the prize. He looked through the barrel of the pistol at them wondering if they were the same two birds he’d seen going at it the first morning. He wiped every piece with loving care, then put the automatic back together and shoved home the clip.
A growing list of questions nagged him. Where had the Hilton trio come from? Who hired them? He could probably guess—Cole Blackwell. What really bugged him was how fast they’d found his location.
Lamech hired him, but would the man pay the million-dollar fee one day and spring a trap the next? He answered that question as fast as the thought formed. Lamech had made all the arrangements for the job—the car, the gun, the cash and the cabin, all of it. If he wanted to give up Meshach, all he had to do was call the police and leave them a tip.
And the plan was Lamech’s idea to begin with. It was bold. Could one man take down a ship in the river? Unheard of. Meshach wished he’d thought of it.
H
e woke up his computer. Nothing. Too quiet. This was one instance when he hated silence. Time to push. He started to type then stopped. Patience. Where had his cool, unflappable patience gone? Take a minute and think. He closed the laptop and the doors leading onto the deck and headed for his boat.
~*~
Friday morning
Wes opened his eyes. Something woke him. He’d heard what? A hint of light glowed from around the blinds covering the window. A chirp sounded to his left. He grabbed his phone. “Hello.”
“Good morning.”
“Good morning, Jess. You’re up early.”
“No, I think you’ve overslept.”
“What time is it?”
“Eight fifteen.”
Wes swung his legs out from under the covers and sat up. “You’re kidding?”
“Nope.” She laughed. “You must have needed the rest.”
“I guess so.” He turned on the light. “How’s Miss Woodard?”
“She’s better. Some sleep helped. Her sister will be here this afternoon from Seattle. That will go a long way.”
Wes stood and walked into the bathroom. “Well, good. You ready to go? I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”
“I am. Take your time.”
“Give me half an hour.” He disconnected.
After a quick shower, he dressed and drove to the Woodard’s. Before he could get out of the car, Jess walked out of the house. She had bounce in her step and a smile on her face.
Wes’s bounce was more like a deflated basketball. He’d slept too long.
She tossed her bag into the backseat, got in, and closed the door. “Good morning, again.” She clipped her seatbelt.
“And to you.” Wes pulled away from the curb and made a right on the first cross street. “You’re looking spry. Have you had breakfast?”
“I cooked eggs and toast for Liz and me. You haven’t had time to eat.”
“No, I haven’t eaten, but no worries.” At the entrance onto Interstate 15, instead of turning right toward downtown and their hotel, he made a left, north. “Are you up for a little excursion?”
“I am. Where to?” She looked at him, eyebrows raised, bluebonnet-eyes intense.
Then, just like the perfect timing of every clue they’d received since taking the job, he saw a large brown sign typical of a state’s recreation department just beyond the onramp. He pointed.
Valley of Fire State Park
55 Miles
Jess looked at the sign, at Wes, then back at the sign until they passed it, then shook her head like she couldn’t comprehend what she saw. He handed her the flier. “I noticed this in the hotel last night. I couldn’t believe it either.”
“Well, praise God. That’s all I can say.”
“Meshach was one of the men who walked out of the fiery furnace. ‘The man from fire’ Liz said last night. Her comment is what struck a chord when I saw the flier. Makes little sense as yet, but it could be another piece to the puzzle … if we’re correct in our assumption.”
“What else can it be?”
Wes canted his head, yes and no. Some leads turned into dead ends. This one might be one of them, but he had the warm and fuzzy about it. He didn’t get that feeling often.
He set the cruise and settled back in the seat. “I talked to Tony last night. No hits on Meshach at the rental car outlets or on flight manifests. Seven Chrysler 300s from Avis, Hertz, and Budget were on the street yesterday. Two of those were black and both were rented to older businessmen. One man is from El Paso and the other is from Atlanta. Nothing fishy about their profiles.”
Jess nodded. “Did you get a chance to send him the pictures you took? I didn’t.”
“Too tired. After talking to Cole and Tony, I turned in.”
“You see Meshach’s last post?”
“Tony mentioned it. Looks like we met our man.”
“I think we did,” she said. “He was warned too.”
Wes’s phone vibrated and dinged. He pulled it out of his shirt pocket and handed it to her. “Check the text for me, please.”
She took the phone and thumbed the unlock bar. “Password?”
“One, two, three, four.”
“Original.”
He smiled. “It’s easy to remember.”
It’s from your daughter.” She held out the phone for him to take back.
“I’m driving. Please, read it for me.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Of course not.”
“‘Dad, sorry so long to get back. Dropped phone water. One day to get replaced. Thanks for note. Levi kicking up a storm. Love Lisa.’” She handed him the phone.
“Thanks.” He put it in the cup holder in the console. “That has been a long time coming.”
The desert bloomed with cactus and wild flowers in every color. Alive. He felt alive for the first time in years.
“What happened?” Jess asked. “Sorry. That was a little direct.”
He knew what she referred to, the relationship with his daughter. And his late wife, or ex-wife, though, the divorce wasn’t final when she passed. “That’s all right. I like direct. Her name was Teri, Lisa’s mother. She overdosed on meds. The coroner ruled it suicide.”
“Oh my, Wes. I’m sorry I asked.”
“No, that’s all right. We were separated but not by my choice. Lisa blamed me. Just a big mess all around. I loved Teri, but she wasn’t the same anymore.”
Jess turned sideways, facing him, left arm on the seatback, knee up, and tucked her left foot under her right knee.
“The Corps owned me. Being at Uncle Sam’s beck and call, doing the only thing I knew how to do at the time wasn’t all Teri thought it would be. When the day-to-day of married life set in without me, she realized she didn’t share my sense of sacrifice. I think she loved and married the idea of me, the Marine. Then, after Lisa was born, I didn’t know Teri anymore. Like something, someone else took over her mind and soul. I used to shake my head at her moods. It’s not something men, in general, understand. The changes in a woman’s body during and after childbirth are very real. Today, they call it postpartum depression. I don’t think she knew who she was anymore either. She struggled with it for years before a doctor put her on antidepressants. Then she started hearing voices.” He shook his head. “Her mom found her. Not good.”
Wes felt a sort of relief wash over him. He’d just told a woman, an employee and a new one at that, things he’d never uttered to another person. It felt right.
Now that the door was open... “What about you? Kids?”
“Oh no. I knew better. Ben—Benjamin—Lord forbid I ever called him Ben, wanted children. No way.” She shook her head, then turned, placed both feet on the floorboard, and waved her right hand as if sweeping the thought aside. “It’s terrible to say, but I married him to get away from my dad and ended up with the same mentality. My therapist, whom I don’t see any longer, thank you very much, told me that subconsciously, I had looked for someone just like my father. Whatever.”
She took a deep breath and smiled. “Then I gave my life to Christ. I had hope for the first time I could remember. Ben mocked me until the day I left him. Hell itself would flood before he would father my children.”
Wes had done that long ago, been saved, as a kid in Bible school one summer. He hadn’t thought about those days in a while. He’d thought about God a million times, especially in Iraq. He’d asked for His help. No atheists in foxholes as the adage goes. After Teri killed herself, he’d asked Him why. Never got an answer.
Five miles of hot pavement passed under them. They exchanged glances.
He held out his fist. She smiled and tapped it with hers.
The last twenty miles to the park entrance went by in a flash.
~*~
Wes had his doubts about the location of the state park. The countryside didn’t look much different than what he’d seen in Iraq, except for the colorful display of wild flowers and cactus as far as he could see. Orange
, red, yellow, green, and blue, a random mix scattered across the desert. Nevada had vegetation going for it. Southern Iraq was as barren as Mars.
Over the next few miles, he changed his mind. Red sandstone rock formations showed promise. He could see the draw.
He stopped at the pay station, deposited the ten-dollar entry fee, picked up a quick-reference map, and continued into the park. He handed the map to Jess. “Would you navigate, please?”
“I can do that.” She unfolded the display. “Where to?”
“You tell me.” He turned left at the first crossroad.
“Well, you’ve found the visitor’s center on your own. Are you stopping?”
“Nope. Let’s drive and look. Just get a feel.”
She folded the map in half. “This road dead-ends five miles ahead, at White Dome, whatever that is. There’s a trail. Looks interesting. Who would have thought this was out here?”
“I don’t know what I expected. Houses, a subdivision, something more substantial. An abode for the man from fire.”
“Maybe he got lost out here or something.” She looked at him. He looked at her. “OK.” She laughed and shook her head. “So maybe not.”
“Maybe we’re wasting our time. I had a good feeling about this, but now, I’m not so sure.”
“Not many visitors.” She turned the map over. “This says there’s a car show here next month.”
“School is still in session, and it’s a weekday. Won’t be long and the temperature will be one-ten in the shade around here too. I’ll bet it hits ninety today.”
The roadway meandered across a sandy desert floor between towering wind and water-etched red sandstone walls. Narrow washes ended in shaded box canyons strewn with boulders. He parked in the designated gravel lot at White Dome two spaces from the only other car, a white SUV.
“Let’s go for a walk?” he said.
“I’m ready.”
Wes shut off the car. They exited. He locked it.
The sweet smell of flowers accented pure, clear air. The day warmed quickly.
A wooden post with a sign “Pack it in, pack it out” and a small arrow pointed them up a well-beaten path. The trail took a gradual, user-friendly route around a rock outcrop.
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