by Ken Goddard
Not when she was clearly starting to comprehend the nature of the ICER team that he had put together.
"I'm supposed to tell you that the caller's name is Alex and that the message appears to be very important, sir," the aide said, standing his ground.
Wolfe blinked and turned to look at his nervous but still determined young assistant.
"When did he call?"
"At quarter after ten this morning."
"Do you know what the message is about?"
"No sir, I don't. All I know is that the call is from Alex and that it's very important."
Wolfe turned to Lisa Abercombie. "I have to go," he whispered. "I'll be back in a few minutes." He quickly followed the aide out the door, oblivious of the fact that Abercombie-her dark eyes still glued to the monitors-had barely noticed his departure.
Hurrying into one of the small offices adjacent to the much larger command-and-observation center, Wolfe closed the door behind him and immediately reached for the phone.
"This is Wolfe," he spoke into the mouthpiece. "I understand you have something for me?"
Then Reston Wolfe stood in absolute silence, the color draining out of his face, as the duty operator carefully repeated Alex Chareaux's message, word for threatening word.
At precisely twelve thirty that afternoon, Executive Director Reston Wolfe and Special Executive Assistant Lisa Abercombie ran to the helicopter that was waiting to transport them immediately from Whitehorse Cabin to the Bozeman Airport, where-at that very moment-a private jet was being fueled for a nonstop flight to Washington National Airport.
Command Sergeant Major Clarence MacDonald and Master Gunnery Sergeant Gary Brickard stood at the edge of the heliport, watching through the rain.
To MacDonald's left, a ground controller held a pair of red signaling lights in his outstretched hands as he talked through his helmet microphone to the pilot of the jet Ranger.
"Flight Yankee Four, this is Whiskey-Charlie One. All priority passengers are now on board."
"Roger, Whiskey-Charlie One," the pilot responded as the cabin door of the Bell Ranger was pulled shut and the speed of the sweeping rotor blades began to increase. "We've got a couple of extra seats. Anybody else out there want a ride into town?"
The controller looked at MacDonald and Brickard, who were monitoring the radio traffic with hand-held radios. Both men shook their heads.
"Whiskey-Charlie One to Yankee Four, that's a negative," the ground controller responded. "Lousy day to fly."
"Roger that," the combat-qualified pilot acknowledged. "Flight Yankee Four requesting clearance for takeoff according to flight plan. Directional heading zero-niner- zero. Climbing immediately to fifteen thousand feet. Final heading three-three-zero."
The ground controller switched frequencies on his short-range helmet radio to consult with his counterpart, who was manning Whitehorse Cabin's concealed radar system, and then switched back over to the pilot of the Bell Ranger. The controller was acting as the go-between in order to minimize control-tower radio transmissions-much more powerful and therefore more easily detected and monitored by other planes or stations.
"Whiskey-Charlie One to Yankee Four, be advised that there is negative traffic in the immediate area. Just you and the ducks. You are clear for takeoff, zero-niner-zero, fifteen thousand, final heading three- three-zero. Repeat, you are clear for takeoff."
Then, after receiving a thumb's-up from the pilot, the controller used his signaling lights to send the powerful aircraft rotating up and outward into the dark, cloud-filled sky.
"Any idea of what that's all about?" Brickard asked as the two veteran soldiers secured their radios and began walking back to the main cabin, completely unmindful of the lightly falling rain.
MacDonald shook his head. "They've been using a scrambled T1 line to communicate with the outside, but I got the distinct impression that our executive director received some bad news this morning."
"Yeah, I thought he looked a little pale," Brickard observed. "Think maybe the rabbit died?"
"Tell you the truth, I don't think a rabbit would last five seconds with those two," MacDonald grunted. "You see the artillery they came back with last night?"
"Yeah, they dropped it all off with Thomas. Told him they wanted everything cleaned and ready for tomorrow." Brickard chuckled. "Way I heard it, John was just about ready to tell them to blow it out their ass when he saw the make on the double barrel. Guess he'd never held a rifle before that cost more than his house."
"A three-seven-five Rigby and a four-sixteen Holland and Holland." MacDonald shook his head. "That's a lot of firepower for a couple of desk jockeys."
"Yeah, especially when they come back at twenty-three hundred hours with blood and hair all over their brand-new cammies."
"No shit?"
"Dumped everything in the laundry," Brickard nodded. "Same instructions. Wanted everything ready for tomorrow."
"Gonna turn old John-boy into a pretty good butler at this rate," MacDonald commented. "He run a wash this morning?"
"Yep, sure did. Everything washed, folded, and stacked on their beds, just like they were a couple of brigadiers. Only thing is, John kinda made a mistake and washed a couple of brand-new sets instead. Hell of a job though. Can hardly tell they just come off the shelf." Brickard smiled.
"What did he do with the dirty ones?"
"I told him to wrap 'em up in brown paper bags and put 'em in the freezer, hair and all."
"Think it's going to tell us anything?"
"I don't know," Brickard shrugged. "But I've got a buddy who works in the Army Crime Lab in Georgia. Thought I might give him a call, see what he can figure out with all those fancy microscopes and shit."
"Might turn out to be useful," MacDonald nodded. "Sure as hell can't hurt."
"You really think they're doing something illegal?"
"Gunny, I've got some serious doubts about this entire operation, but what do I know?" MacDonald snorted. "Hell, I'm still trying to figure out who the bad guys are in this deal."
"I sure as hell wouldn't want to take these ICER characters on in a fair fight," Brickard said. "You see the latest computer scores?"
"No, how'd it go?"
"For the most part, pretty much the way we expected. Osan, Saltmann, and Aben were way up there with two- point-seven, two-point- eight, and three-point-one. Everyone else is in a pretty tight group from one-point-eight to two-point-six."
"Two-seven for Osan? That's a hell of an improvement," MacDonald commented.
"Yeah, she's quiet, but she learns quick," Brickard agreed. "Which reminds me, I think Kobayashi's in love. Osan tagged him this morning with a reverse back fist coming out of a spin kick. Nearly took his head off. Never saw him smile like that."
"She took Kobayashi?" MacDonald blinked.
"Oh, hell, no," Brickard laughed. "He extended her out with an arm bar, caught her in the solar plexus with an elbow, locked her into a morote shoulder throw, and had her choked out before she hit the floor."
"Sounds like true love to me," MacDonald smiled with relief.
"Yeah, you should have seen it," Brickard grinned. "He brought her back around, took off his belt and gave it to her, 'cause I guess nobody's tagged him like that in about fifteen fucking years, which sent her running off the mat with tears in her eyes. So our number-one Sensei evens it all out by stomping the living shit out of Aben, maybe fifteen out of fifteen, until the goddamned arrogant Kraut finally gives up and staggers back to the simulators, where he can play Cowboys and Indians with his buddy Maas."
"Speaking of Maas," MacDonald said, "I'm glad to hear he's mortal after all."
"Yeah, who said that?"
"You did. You said everybody else fell into the range of one-eight to two-six."
"Everybody except Maas." Brickard shook his head. "He pulled a clean three-five."
"Three-five?"
"It's all on tape, and you're going to want to see it," Brickard nodded.
"He and A
ben went in as a tag team and tore the goddamn course apart."
"Both of them logged a three-five?"
"Nah, not really. Our buddy Gunter can probably get it up to a three-two, or maybe even a three-three when he's dead- on, but mostly he's pretty inconsistent. Loses his temper and goes ape-shit every time he takes a little paint. That's when they really pick him off."
"And Maas?"
"Cold as a goddamn ice cube," Brickard said. "Con him with a fast shuffle and he goes back in with that look in his eye. Took him three tries with R-twelve, but now he's got that one knocked, too. Three more simulators and he's got the place maxed."
"Three and a half times normal human reaction." MacDonald shook his head. "Where in hell did they find a guy like that?"
"Beats the shit outta me," Brickard shrugged. "I'm about ready to have him X-rayed for wires and chips as it is. Hard to figure a guy like that as being human."
"We could always ratchet the simulators up a couple more notches," MacDonald said contemplatively, "but what's the point? Anything over a three-six just isn't realistic. You're never going to run up against anybody in a field situation with that kind of reaction time."
"Actually, Maas came up to me after the exercises with an interesting request."
"Yeah, what's that?"
"He wanted to know if we could set up an exercise that's a little more competitive. I think that was the word he used."
"More competitive?"
"Yeah. He wants us to put a couple of live rounds in the simulators, random feed, random mags, and then let him run the course on his own."
"What?"
"Said if we were willing to do that, he thinks he can make a four-oh. Added stimulation. Heightened awareness. Shit like that."
"Christ!" MacDonald whispered.
"Yeah, that's roughly what I said," Brickard nodded. "And I'll tell you what. The more I think about it, the more I'm about half tempted to let him try it."
"Any particular reason?" MacDonald asked after a moment.
"Just one," Brickard said as he reached for the back door to the main cabin. "I'm starting to think we ought to let the robots put this guy down while he's still on our side."
Chapter Twenty-Four
Wednesday June 5th
Walter Crane, chief investigator for the firm of Little, Warren, Nobles and Kole, waited until Albert Bloom, Lisa Abercombie, Dr. Reston Wolfe, and the other five members of the ICER Committee were seated around the teak-and- rosewood table in the quiet, luxurious, and tightly secured conference room.
Then he picked up the crisp manila file folder containing his summary notes, glanced through the first page briefly, and discreetly cleared his throat.
"This is an interesting case," he began, showing the lack of discernible emotion that most of his audiences seemed to find comforting.
"If I were to summarize all of the facts in one brief statement, I would say that our clients apparently stumbled into a federal undercover investigation being conducted by a team of special agents from the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service's Division of Law Enforcement.
"The team, which seems to be comprised of six special agents operating under the code designation 'Bravo,' is a part of the Special Operations Branch based out of the central Washington, D.C., office.
"I should note here," Crane said, pausing to look up at his audience, "that the Special Operations Branch is authorized to conduct undercover operations throughout the United States. There is no question of illegal or improper jurisdiction on the part of these agents. Or," he added significantly, "at least none that we are aware of at the moment."
"At any rate," he went on when there were no comments from anyone around the table, "the essence of the case is that on or about June the second of this year-which is to say, last Sunday afternoon-three brothers, named Alex, Butch, and Sonny Chareaux, took a Mr. Henry Allen Lightner, and of course our clients," Crane added without the slightest suggestion of sarcasm in his voice, "out on a guided hunt that turned out to be illegal."
"In what sense?" one of the ICER Committee members asked.
"Illegal in the sense that several protected, threatened or endangered animals-specifically, two grizzly bears, at least four elk, three whitetail deer, one peregrine falcon, one red- tailed hawk, and two golden eagles-were illegally killed, transported, and or possessed within or near the boundaries of Yellowstone National Park," Crane explained.
"But can they prove that all of these animals were taken by our clients?" the same man asked.
"That may be the relevant question," Crane nodded. "Right now I can tell you that some of these animals were subsequently found in the possession of Alex and Butch Chareaux at a local Montana taxidermist shop owned and operated by a Mr. Roberto Jacall. We also know that federal agents and state wardens spent several hours in the supposed hunting area taking photographs and collecting evidence. We are still waiting to receive copies of these crime-scene reports. Also, as far as we are aware, none of the individuals involved in the hunt had any hunting licenses, tags or permits that might have allowed them to take or possess these animals legally."
"But this is a federal case, and not state?" Albert Bloom interrupted, his normally tanned face looking pale.
"It is predominantly a federal case, although I would expect the state of Montana to be involved at some level, if for no other reason than a desire for mutual cooperation among federal and state agencies," Crane explained. "The initial arrests were made by Montana State Fish and Game officers, based upon the observations of two Stillwater County sheriffs deputies who responded to Mr. Lightner's nine-one-one call. The case was then transferred in fairly quick order to the local federal agent, who appears to have gotten into immediate contact with members of the Bravo Team."
"Which suggests that these federal undercover agents were almost certainly involved in all of this from the start," Bloom said, favoring Reston Wolfe with an ominous glare.
"Yes, it does," Crane nodded, "although I would caution all of you to keep in mind that it is still early in the process and that not all of the facts are in a format to be discoverable."
"What exactly does that mean?" another of the ICER Committee members demanded.
"While the case has been filed with the U.S. Attorney," Crane explained, "not all of the follow-up reports have been completed. At least two of the agents involved in the investigation are recovering from rather severe injuries and have not yet been able to put together all of their supplemental reports.
"But I should warn you," Crane added, "that while the investigative efforts of these agents have been summarized in detail by their supervisor-and there is no reason to think that any new information will be revealed in their final reports-there is always the possibility that additional charges could be filed as a result of these reports."
"When will we know about that?" the Committee member asked.
"That's difficult to tell," Crane shrugged. "Considering the nature of the injuries sustained by these officers, I would expect the judge to be very lenient in approving requests for continuances."
"One interesting aspect of this case, however," Crane went on, "is the readily apparent fact that there would have been no seizure of evidence, and certainly no arrests, at either the state or the federal level," he emphasized, "had it not been for a series of accidental events.
"These being," Crane raised three fingers in succession, "the very severe wounds sustained by Mr. Henry Allen Lightner during the hunt itself. The subsequent accident in which Mr. Butch Chareaux was seriously injured during the process of unloading the carcasses at Mr. Jacall's taxidermy establishment. And the fact that one of the responding deputies-whose brother happens to be a Montana State Fish and Game officer, and is therefore somewhat familiar with hunting regulations- found himself in a position to notice the carcasses in the back of Mr. Chareaux's truck."
"Incredible!" Albert Bloom shook his head.
"An unfortunate series of events at best," the chief investigator nodde
d.
"What charges have been brought so far?" another ICER Committee member asked.
Crane turned to the seventh typed page of his summary notes.
"So far," he said, "Alex, Butch, and Sonny Chareaux have been charged with a total of seventeen felony and five misdemeanor counts. These include assault on a federal officer, resisting arrest, and violations of the Endangered Species Act, the Migratory Bird Treaty Act, the Lacey Act, and the Airborne Hunting Act.
"In addition," Crane said after pausing for effect, "there are indications that other charges, such as kidnapping and the placing of an explosive device on a passenger airplane, may also be filed against one or more of these individuals at a later date."
"Jesus Christ!" some member of the committee whispered under his breath.
"Based upon our initial contacts with the U.S. Attorney's office, I think we can expect the court to set a bail of at least five hundred thousand dollars for each until a decision has been reached on the additional charges."
"Money is not the issue here," Albert Bloom said calmly. "What about the other charges?"
"Roberto Jacall and Henry Allen Lightner," Crane went on, "have been charged with two felony and one misdemeanor counts each, which include possession of untagged hunting trophies and unauthorized possession of a weapon in a national park.
"Mr. Jacall is likely to be charged with additional counts, depending on the lab analysis of hides and furs collected at what appears to be a hidden and illegal taxidermy operation located on his property. Bail is expected to be set at approximately one hundred thousand dollars.
"Mr. Lightner is currently hospitalized in federal custody. He may or may not be charged with the hunting and possession violations, depending upon the lab analysis of the bullets removed from the seized carcasses, footprints at the scenes, and the blood and hair on his clothing. His bail is expected to be set at approximately fifty thousand dollars.
"I should note here that based on our extensive interviews with Dr. Wolfe and Miss Abercombie, there seems to be some question as to the extent of Mr. Lightner's actual involvement in the hunt. Apparently he was scheduled to hunt that day, but then agreed to allow our clients to take his place at the last moment as a result of some financial arrangements.