“‘Skyline grazing.’ I like that. And you’re damn right. I can’t build this for fifty million. For one thing, I don’t want to do this project in slow stages, finishing up when I’m a hundred and eight. I want it done right, and I want it done now. And I can pay for that. This whole deal,” and he swept his arm to include the mesa-top, “is a three-year project, start to finish. That’s the challenge.”
“You think?”
“How does three hundred and thirty-eight million sound, Bill? After taxes, that is.” He obviously enjoyed the expression on my face. “That’s a third of a billion, my friend. And in addition to that…” He punched the air with a forefinger, “in addition to that, throw in a whole superblock of downtown Chicago real estate. Good stuff, too, if you like Chicago. High-rises with marble foyers and all that. Fortune 500 companies as tenants. We’re not talking crumbling adobes here. What I am talking about are the results of a long, long lifetime of high finance. And you know what? I don’t need a single brick of it. Not one little office. All of it goes. All of it on the block. And that’s almost another billion. Billion, with a ‘B’. I’m not about to sit around and wait for all those fancy buildings to start crumbling.” He reached across and patted the cardboard tube. “This is what I want. This is what I need to do.”
“Well, damn.”
“Well, damn is right. Let’s do it.”
I looked out across the mesa with a jarred perspective. “You sure have a way of bringing the world to your doorstep.”
“You don’t think it will work?”
“I think that lots of people would like to have your problem, Miles. Or share in it, anyway. Half of the world’s crazies will think you should give the money to them for their pet projects. Half will think you should just donate all your inheritance to charity. Half will want to screw you out of it with all kinds of scams. Half will want to just stick a gun in your ear and steal it outright.”
“That’s a lot of halves.”
“It is. And on top of that, a tiny, tiny fraction of one percent of the population might understand what you’re doing and why. You’ll find a few astronomers who might be willing to jump into bed with you for a hand in all of this. A few will want to work with you. The dangerous ones are the ignorant sons-of-bitches who think that you should think like they do.”
“Will you work with me?”
“Miles, I have enough to keep me happy right now, thank you. A lawsuit now and then to keep me interested.” I shrugged. “I don’t have the energy, the expertise, or even the time left on Earth to be of any use to you.” I saw his shoulders twitch. “And what’s this ‘something else’ that you forgot to mention in all this deal?”
He grimaced and hunched forward, both hands planted on the tailgate. “There are really two things I should mention, and I need your advice about what to do. I already mentioned the first one. A couple of days ago, this impressive as hell packet arrived by certified mail—from a security firm in Denver. I don’t know how they got my name, or how they got wind of what I was doing here, but they offered to negotiate a comprehensive security contract with me. On-site during construction, and then a permanent part of the facility afterward.”
“There you go,” I said. “Word gets out, no way around it. Maybe they heard about the California project. Maybe they read that same article about the feds moving in…about the UN establishing a beachhead, so to speak. Professionals might be the best road for you, because you’re sure as hell going to need security of some sort. Have I heard of this outfit?”
“United Security Resources. USR.”
“Huh. I don’t know them.”
“But see, how appealing would that be? I mean, imagine Bob and Ginny and the three kids coming from Columbus, Ohio, to enjoy this installation. To ride the train, ride the tram, have their breath taken away by the dark zone up on top. And the first person they meet is some uniformed storm trooper riding around in a black Suburban with air-raid slits over headlights, telling them where they can or can’t go. I don’t think so.”
I laughed. “And don’t forget, Miles…whole sections of the night sky will be off-limits to civilian stargazers. You have to control where you point all those telescopes. I mean, you can’t just look around willy-nilly, you know. You’ll need security to make sure the telescopes are all pointed the right way.”
“That’s depressing, Sheriff. Don’t even think about starting that yarn.”
“Be prepared for your full measure of crazies, that’s all I’m saying, Miles. But look. In an installation this huge, you’re going to have to have some security. A lock on the gate down below isn’t going to be enough. I mean, think of the complications. Some old fart has a heart attack at this altitude, you’re going to need some organization to handle it. Someone takes a fall on the rocks. Someone steps on a rattlesnake. Someone vandalizes—we know those nitwits are out there. Break-ins. Shoplifting. You name it. You have to have some sort of infrastructure to deal with that, even if every member of your security squad is in plain clothes, made up to look like innocent college professors.”
“That’s an idea.” Waddell looked at me shrewdly. “See why I need you?”
“I’m flattered, Miles. But I think you’ll need a good deal more than some old retired fat guy.”
“You bet. But I need that old fat guy to help me keep my feet on the ground. I need someone to talk to without having to worry that what we say will get dumped into the rumor mill. I don’t want an asskisser, and I don’t want Gestapo. Just someone I can trust for an honest opinion. I’ve watched you work over the years. And maybe most important, I don’t think money impresses you much. You can’t imagine how important that is to me right now.”
I sighed. “I don’t need a job, Miles. I really don’t. I have my own projects.” That was mostly true. “I’ll be around off and on, and I’ll be delighted to be a sounding board any old time you can catch me and buy my lunch. If you want to give me the combination to that gate down below, all right. Let’s keep it informal. How about that?”
“If I have to settle for that, I will. All I’m asking is that you just…be around, on an unannounced basis. No clocking in and out. Just a set of savvy eyes that isn’t busy with other concerns. I mean, right now, this project is no problem for me. I can cover all the bases. But that’s not going to last. We’ll have a fair-sized village being built here. You’ll be a welcome sight, moseying around the place.”
Turning a full circle, I once more drank in the sheer enormity of that mesa-top. “I’m already curious enough to be out here from time to time.”
Waddell nodded vigorously. “That’s a start. Can I make you an offer?”
“An offer for what, Miles? I don’t need or want a job.”
“But this is different.”
“At the moment, maybe. But you know as well as I do that these things have a tendency to grow like kudzu. First thing you know, you’ll ask me to do something that’ll conflict with plans I’ve already made, and there you go. Hell, I might want to take two weeks to head north to Fort Sumner, or Fort Union, or one of those interesting places. Or a month fishing in Montana. Or six months visiting the kids.”
“You don’t fish, Bill. And when this is up and running, your kids will be beating a path to come here. And what the hell. When you’re not here, why that just fits in with the random nature of your job.”
“Job. Even the word has a repulsive sound, Miles. I’ve had jobs. Years and years and years of jobs. I don’t want another one.”
“You know…” He sounded so cagey that I knew what was coming. “We haven’t even talked about remuneration.”
“Because that assumes some figure will impress me. I already told you, Miles—I don’t need the money. I’m content the way I am.”
“You think?” He readjusted his Stetson and zipped up his jacket. “This has the potential to be a life-changing deal, you know. I mean
, this isn’t just a little eight-inch reflector telescope mounted on a flimsy tripod. We’re talking a state-of-the-art facility here. We’ll attract visitors—even researchers—from all over the world. We’re talking about an infrastructure so complete and diverse that we can connect with other installations around the world.” He held up a hand as if to ward off my interruption.
“And all private enterprise, Bill. That’s the thing. No government grants to hog-tie us. No approval from some NSF hotshot for funding.” He smiled tightly. “No UN asking for a link tie in with one of our instruments.”
“With something that big, you sure as hell don’t need me in the way.”
“Shit, what have I got?” He swept an arm in a wide arc that included acres of open mesa-top blossoming with half a thousand red surveyor’s flags. “A three million-dollar road. Enough surveying done to make somebody’s career. I have preliminary state approval for both the granddaddy of all septic systems up here, and another one down at the gatehouse. I have two building permits…I’ll need fifty by the time I’m through.”
“And all somebody has to do to get what he wants—to force-fit his agenda into yours—is to hold up one of those permits. Pull some strings. Call a buddy in Santa Fe or Washington.”
“I think we can keep everybody happy, Bill. And I think that because we don’t have any hidden agendas. Big as it is, this is just a theme park of sorts. It’s a tourist attraction on a mega scale.”
“And the California project already has their foot in your door, Miles. They’re not a theme park.”
“You think that was a mistake?”
“Time will tell, won’t it?”
“I’ve stayed below the radar, but that won’t last long. So far, it’s ninety percent ideas and planning. It’s easy to do that under the table. But when the earth starts being pushed around, or when pieces of that big radio telescope start rolling through town, then watch out.” He pointed to the east. “See over that way? Go all the way to the rim. We’ll have our own gravel pit and portable crusher plant for a while. Won’t have concrete trucks battering my road to pieces. It’s all right here.”
“The California folks are in agreement with you about the whole thing? Tourists, publicity—all that? They haven’t tried to change any of your plans?”
“The more the better as far as they’re concerned.” He held up two fingers. “Number one, more publicity means more access to grants and funding. They need every buck they can scrounge. And two, the more publicity, the less of this conspiracy shit there is to muddy the water. And that won’t go away unless the whole thing is public—wide open. Tours for them are essential. The public just doesn’t get to use their monster, is all. You’d have to be a trained astrophysicist to understand what the computers are listening to, anyway.”
“That’s a tough nut,” I said. “People who believe stupid things are the last to admit that they might be wrong.”
Waddell nodded. “I’d be an idiot not to think I’ve got a whole sea of hurdles to face,” he said. “Maybe I’m smart enough, maybe I’m not.” He pointed to the west, where a tiny tan SUV had crested the access road and rolled quietly toward us, a plume of rich red dust rising behind as it turned off the macadam.
“What was I saying about a lock on the gate not being enough?” I said. “How did they get through the gate? You locked it behind us.”
“Yet another glitch to fix. Closed, but not locked. All you have to do is push. You know these folks?”
I squinted as the vehicle drew closer. “That’s Neil Costace driving. You’ve met him, I think.”
“The Federal Bureau of Investigation? You’re kidding.”
“Decision time, Miles.”
“Decision?”
“Now you need to decide how much you want to tell the feds.” I shook my head slowly. “It starts early and never stops. You want me gone so you can have some privacy?”
He regarded the approaching SUV. The driver and passenger appeared to be in animated conversation.
“Do you think I’m nuts?” The rancher asked quietly, ignoring my question. I looked at him quizzically. “I mean this whole project. Spending the money like this.”
I reached out a hand and clamped his shoulder. “Stop it. You’re stepping in the most common trap there is. If you spend your money the way other folks think you should, you’re courting misery, Miles. I’ll give you all the help I can, short of being on the payroll.”
He smiled. “Let’s not be courting misery, then.”
Chapter Thirteen
Just as the district attorney had been comfortable to let the state investigator do most of the grilling during my earlier interrogation, Neil Costace had brought along his own hired gun. Costace had never impressed me as being a stereotypical Hollywood-style G-man. No dark suit, no beady eyes, no arrogance. He no doubt had access to the stereotypical black Suburban, but even that had been upstaged this time by a little tan Jeep Patriot sporting a New Mexico plate. He stepped out wearing worn jeans, salmon-colored golf shirt, and a quilted vest. He ruined his cover with the black ball cap with three-inch gold letters that announced “FBI”, the kind that wannabes like to adopt.
The young man with Costace climbed out of the SUV carefully, watching where he put his feet. In New Mexico, that’s not a bad idea. So skinny that I could see joints poking at his jacket, he sported chinos, blue polo shirt, and a New Mexico State University ball cap. With his New Balance trainers, he might have been a graduate student in astronomy, even though graduate students generally didn’t carry guns. This kid’s howitzer was a concealment challenge.
“You turn up in the damnedest places.” Costace gave me a two-handed shake, and I appreciated that he stopped just short of crushing my joints into little arthritic granules. His amber-flecked green eyes—very un-FBIish—scrutinized me. I’d known the agent for fifteen years, and I’m not sure what new detail of my physiognomy fascinated him this time. There was even a hint of sympathy in his tone.
“This is Richard Hotchkiss.” Costace held a hand toward his partner.
“Rick, this be the legendary Bill Gastner, guardian of the purple sage, recently retired New Mexico livestock inspector, former Sheriff of Posadas County, and the man who knows more about this country than all the rest of us put together.” He drew himself up and shook his head. “Bill, you’ve had a hell of a time these past forty-eight hours.”
“It’s been interesting.” Since he’d brought it up, I assumed he knew the details. He would already have talked with the sheriff and undersheriff, perhaps even Schroeder, the district attorney.
Costace regarded me with a wry smile. “Takes guts to draw against a man with a shotgun.”
“He had already fired the damn thing once, Neil. I didn’t have much choice. I didn’t want him to shoot again.”
“I suppose not.” As if he’d noticed my companion for the first time, he thrust out his hand to the rancher. “Miles, how are you?”
That Neil Costace knew Miles Waddell didn’t surprise me. It was a tiny county, without many clumps of sage, purple or otherwise, behind which to hide. But I filed the interesting association away for future reference.
“You want to watch your step, hanging out with this guy,” Costace added. “Agent Hotchkiss here is with Homeland Security,” he continued without giving Waddell time to respond. Posadas County included a number of residents who would hear that and react as if Costace had said, “Agent Hotchkiss carries smallpox.” I sympathized a little bit. When a sheriff introduced himself, you knew that he had a neat little book of county statutes that he was enforcing. The State Police or the Department of Game and Fish had well-established guidelines. But I always had the feeling that the folks at Homeland Security were making it all up as they went along, with no clearly apparent limit to their authority. And when the agent in question was a kid without the wisdom of the ages, that made me very nervous indeed.
Hotchkiss shook hands without a word, his grip gentle and polite. He let a pleasant nod suffice.
“So…” Costace began, and then stopped, gazing off to the north, hands on his hips. He squinted into the distance, and I knew he was examining the dark outline of Cat Mesa north of Posadas, twenty plus miles as the raven flew. “The sheriff tells me that you were sitting on top of the Cat. And when things fell apart down here, you saw the action.”
“That’s a little over-dramatic,” I said. “I saw two flashes of light, Neil. That’s all, at first. I assume now that what I saw was the transformer shorting out when the poles went down. I could see another pinprick of light that I think was the grass fire started by the short. And a few minutes later, I saw headlights northbound on fourteen. I called the S.O. at that point. He—or she—drove north to the state road and turned toward town.”
“Two little blips of light.”
“That’s it.”
“What was your first thought about what was going on?”
“Most likely? Just some unsubstantiated, wild guesses. None of them turned out to be true.”
He continued scanning the mesa-top. “So we’re not actually looking at a direct connection between that speeding vehicle that you saw and the pickup truck that Officer Kenderman reported stopping. It’s an assumption that they’re one and the same.”
“That’s correct. A strong assumption.”
Costace turned and regarded Miles Waddell. “And you?”
Waddell raised an eyebrow, but didn’t respond.
“You were out and around during all of this? The sheriff said you might have heard something. The saw, maybe.”
Nightzone Page 11