Hunting Season

by P. T. Deutermann

  “I appreciate it, Micah, but I better do this one myself. There are some folks who are interested in the fact that I’m stepping out at night, and they’re not people you want to meet.”

  “Like them two boys I seen goin’ down the road this mornin’?”

  Kreiss nodded his head. Micah thought about that for a moment.

  “They revenuers?”

  “Not exactly. They are federal. I used to work with one of them.

  There’s some bad history here. I want to focus on finding Lynn, and I don’t want them drawn into it.”

  Wall nailed a cricket with a shot of chaw.

  “Well, you know where we at,” he said.

  “You git into a fix, you call, hear?”

  Kreiss thanked him again and Micah trudged back into the forest, keeping a wary eye out for lions. Kreiss made a mental note that maybe he would take Micah up on his offer. Micah’s clan had been walking

  these hills for decades. If Bambi and the Bureau had made some kind of deal with the Agency, there might be more watchers. The Wall clan might actually have some fun with them. Maybe he should lend them some lions, or maybe the tape of an adult male grizzly at full power, complete with noises of crashing through the brush and snapping limbs; that was a beauty for woods and cave work, especially if dogs were in pursuit. Their handlers might know it was a tape, but the dogs would inevitably leave the scene, sometimes with the handlers’ arms attached to their leashes.

  He had checked the house out for bugs and other electronic vermin, sanitized his phone line, and disconnected the house electrical power at the breaker box to scan the house wiring for devices that drew power by induction. His computer was strictly a communications device; as far as he was concerned, it was eternally un secure Everything that went out on the Net was an open book anyway, so he didn’t bother to check it other than to do an occasional cookie scan. Once he was reasonably sure the place was clean, he checked his truck. There, his scanner found two bugs right away. They were so easy, he knew there had to be a third, which he finally found mounted on the inside of the right-rear wheel, where it drew inductive power from axle rotation via magnets fixed to the frame. If the wheel wasn’t moving, there was no power signal to be detected by the scanner. Clever. He found it by getting on his back and looking.

  Then he took a long, hot shower, dressed the cuts on his neck, ate a sandwich, and lay down for a long nap. He would redo the house sweep in twenty-four hours to pick up any delayed-action devices. He almost hoped they’d left one, because a bug you knew about was a wonderful way to feed back disinformation.

  He was awakened at 3:30 by the phone. It was the FBI lady, Janet Carter.

  “You have something new on Lynn?” he asked immediately.

  “No, Mr. Kreiss, I don’t. But I’d like to meet with you, if I could. Today if possible, before the weekend.”

  “Today is almost over and weekends don’t mean anything to me, Agent Carter. Why do we need to meet?”

  “To talk about something that shouldn’t be heard on a phone, Mr.

  Kreiss.”

  He thought about that, trying to wipe the sleep from his eyes. His body was sore all over from his little pipe bath at the arsenal. He had planned to work on jared McGarand tonight. If the FBI lady didn’t have anything on Lynn, he wasn’t sure he wanted to waste any time with

  her. She was pretty enough to look at, but until Lynn was recovered, he wasn’t interested in women.

  “Well, that’s sufficiently mysterious to make me curious, but I’m busy tonight, Agent Carter. How about some other time?”

  “Maybe I can help you find Site R; you know, the place Barry dark told you about?”

  That sat him up in his bed. She must have gone back to reinterview that little creep. And made him talk. He’d better hear this.

  “Okay.” He sighed.

  “Where and when?”

  “I live in Roanoke. You live well west of Blacksburg. You know where the Virginia Tech main library is? The university has a convention center hotel across the street. Called the Donaldson-Brown Center?”

  “I know it.” He’d had lunch with Lynn there a week before she disappeared.

  The memory of it pinched his heart.

  “The bar at seven?”

  “All right,” he said, and hung up. What the hell is this all about? he wondered. First, she had warned him about the Washington people coming to town. Now she said she wanted to help him find Lynn, even though her bosses supposedly had closed the local case. He lay back in the bed.

  Were the Agency and the Bureau really working together? Not likely, he thought. Especially after the Glower incident. So what had brought Bambi and Chief Red in the Face to beautiful downtown Roanoke, Virginia, if not something to do with him? As farther evidenced by the appearance of Charlie Ransom plus one at his cabin. Why? What had brought them now? Carter had just mentioned Barry dark. She couldn’t know that he’d been the headless visitor, but what if she’d reported the incident and named him as the most likely suspect? Would that generate Washington’s interest?

  He got up with a grunt and checked the time. It was going on four o’clock. Jared ought not to be home yet. He went to his desk and got out a file marked “Tax Return.” He had transcribed all the pertinent numbers from the papers he’d taken from jared’s trailer into what looked like a personal tax record, and then he’d burned the McGarand papers. He got Jared’s phone number and dialed it. When the phone had rung three times, he pressed the buttons marked 7 and 5 together for two seconds.

  This activated the recorder, which diverted the ring signal and initiated a ten-second wait period, in case the owner picked up his phone. Then it activated its playback feature. He listened to Jared’s call to someone, pressed the star key, listened to it again, and then

  pressed 6 and 9. The digits of a phone number were read to him by a robotic voice. He copied down the number. He pressed the buttons 7 and 5 again. There was one incoming call, an older man’s voice. It sounded like the same man in the previous call. The man told Jared that they would go out to the site tonight to get set up for tomorrow and to look for their “visitor.” He listened to the voice again, memorizing the sound of it. There were no more calls. He pressed the zero button three times and hung up.

  He looked up the number for the Donaldson-Brown Center and called for a room reservation, specifically requesting a room overlooking the parking lot. Then he went back to sleep, setting his clock in time to get cleaned up for his trip into that throbbing metropolis known as Blacksburg, Virginia.

  Janet Carter arrived at Donaldson-Brown at 6:30. She was driving an unmarked tan Bureau Crown Vie, which she parked in the front parking lot. It was twilight, but the parking lot lights weren’t on yet. She had had time to go to her townhouse in Roanoke before coming over to Blacksburg, and she was wearing a light wool pantsuit over a plain dark blouse.

  Earlier, she’d spent an hour with Ransom looking at various surveillance and communications gadgets, and then she had met with Farnsworth alone to nail down the ground rules for her new assignment.

  Farnsworth had been pretty specific: All communications regarding what she was doing with Edwin Kreiss were to be via secure means directly to him—preferably via scrambled landline. No cell phones and no clear tactical radio unless it was an emergency. Ransom was to be her distant tactical backup—distant meaning that Kreiss was not to know that Ransom was operating with her if at all possible. She was not to go anywhere alone with Kreiss without clearance from the RA. If her situation got at all hinky, she was to back out and return immediately to the federal building, day or night, and notify him. They would not establish a response cell in the federal building unless something more than a surveillance operation developed. She was to be armed at all times, and she was to carry an encapsulated CFR—call for rescue—pod at all times. He gave her the phone codes that would forward any call she made to the FBI office in Roanoke directly to him wherever he was, twenty-four hours a day. Finall
y, Farnsworth told her that there was always the chance that the two horse-holders from Washington might have other assets besides Ransom in the area. If she detected that situation, she was to back out immediately.

  “Unfortunately, all we know about this little deal is what those people have told us, no more, no less,” he said.

  “I’ve got some calls into the Criminal Investigations operations center at our headquarters to verify this DCB thing—I’ve never heard of it, although that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. And much as I hate the idea of working with aTF, I’m uneasy about cutting them out if this is turning into a bombing case. For all their Washington warts, their field people are pretty good at working bombs.”

  “I got the impression that those two weren’t telling us everything,” Janet said.

  “You’ve got good instincts,” Farnsworth said.

  “I’ve got to be careful here. Foster works for Marchand and the FCI people. As the Roanoke office, we don } work for Marchand. I have the authority to put you on this thing, but I want some top cover before it goes much further. I also want to know more about this purported bomb-making cell operating down here in southwest Virginia, which I damn well should have been told about.”

  “One final warning, Janet,” he said.

  “I know you’ve had one previous field tour, but that was in your specialty, right?”

  “Yes, sir, in Chicago. I didn’t do much street work.”

  He nodded.

  “That’s what I’m getting at, your lack of street experience, through no fault of yours, of course. But this guy Kreiss is the walking embodiment of street experience, and, apparently, then some. You’re a smart young lady, but don’t try to use those brains to outwit Edwin Kreiss.

  Use them to know when to back out and call me. Maintain situational awareness, and keep it simple, okay?”

  Another “Yes, sir,” and then she was out of there. And now she was here. The parking lot was almost full, and there were people unloading bags from cars lined up by the hotel’s front entrance. She wondered if Edwin Kreiss was standing under a streetlight nearby, a newspaper in his face, watching her. Yeah, and a brown fedora, tan trench coat, and some shades to complete the ensemble. She smiled and automatically checked her makeup. She had deliberately put on plain clothes, not wanting to put any boy-girl elements into the meeting. He’s just a retired Bureau agent, she reminded herself. Which isn’t quite true, is it? she thought. Ransom’s story of the acoustic attack and then the .50 caliber fire down the hill would have been almost funny except for one thing: Ransom and his partner had been frightened out of their wits. His partner was apparently quitting over what had happened up there. She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to imagine what lions roaring at 150 decibels would do to her own presence of mind. A

  flash-bang grenade was 175 decibels. And, yes, your forebrain would tell you there couldn’t be lions in the house, she thought, but she was pretty sure her own instincts would have been to bolt out of that cabin while trying not to leave a trail. This Kreiss was a piece of work.

  She got out of the car and walked directly to the front entrance. She was carrying a leather purse, which held her credentials. She had her Sig Sauer model 225 in a hip holster under her jacket. Farnsworth had asked her if she carried more than one gun, but, like most agents, she did not.

  She carried the CFR pod, which was the size of a change purse, in her pants pocket. If squeezed hard, it would begin emitting a coded signal on one of the satellite-monitored search and rescue frequencies, which in turn would key a reaction transponder at FBI headquarters. It couldn’t pinpoint her precise location, but it would tell the system who was in trouble. Ransom had agreed to follow her to Blacksburg but to stay away from the hotel. She hoped he wouldn’t get all independent on her and blow their cover, such as it was.

  She found the lounge located to one side of the lobby and took a table at the back. There was a conventional bar running down one wall, booths along the opposite wall, and smaller tables out in the middle. A couple of men at the bar were looking her over. She went through the looking-at her-watch pantomime to discourage any walk-ups. C’mon, Kreiss, she thought, and then realized she was the one who was early.

  Three floors above, Edwin Kreiss kept watch on the parking lot from his darkened window. The building front faced northeast, so anyone looking up at the windows at sunset should not be able to see in. He had watched Janet drive into the lot in her rather obvious Bureau car, complete with the small whip antenna on the trunk. He had wondered what she’d been doing down there for ten minutes, but then she’d gone inside. He was waiting to see if any more unmarked cars showed up. He had, in fact, been watching the lot since five o’clock, looking for any vehicle that came into the area either to make repeated passes or to park, with no one getting out. His own vehicle was parked almost a mile away, on the other side of the Virginia Tech parade field, behind the main administration building. If Carter was working with a surveillance squad, her backup might try to plant something on his truck while she was inside with him. Assuming she had backup.

  He was still suspicious about her call for a meet. It had to be more than something generated out of the goodness of her heart, and, regrettably, something to do with the firestorm he’d caused when he

  left the government. He swore quietly. If that’s what this was all about, his life could get really complicated. Especially with Lynn missing.

  And then he saw a minivan come into the parking lot, turn its headlights off, and start to cruise the lanes with just its parking lights on. That was okay, except that it went by two perfectly good parking spaces, and then a third and a fourth. He got out his binoculars, trying for a make on the plate, but the plate light was conveniently not working. The windows must have been tinted, because he could not see inside the van, either.

  The van cruised down one more lane and then came up past Carter’s Crown Vie. There was a brief flare of brake lights, but then the van continued on. Bingo, he thought. The van went out of the parking lot and onto a small side street that led into the main campus. A passing car honked and flashed its lights at the van to get its main lights on. The van complied, then pulled into a handicapped space to one side of the hotel building. As Kreiss watched, a tall man got out and walked purposefully back to Carter’s car, where he looked both ways and then bent down to put something under the left-rear wheel well. The man then walked back to the minivan and got in. A moment later, he drove away.

  Kreiss pulled the drapes closed. It looked like Carter had backup all right, but not necessarily working for her. He slipped on his sport coat, having decided to dress up a little, in deference to the fact that Carter would probably still be in her office clothes. He went downstairs.

  Janet saw him come into the bar and raised her hand. He was wearing khaki-colored slacks, a white shirt open at the throat, and a dark blue sport coat. With his gray-white hair and clipped beard, he looked almost professorial, except for the heft of his shoulders and a look in his eye that made other men in the crowded room ease out of his way as he came across to her table. He nodded to her as he sat down and ordered a glass of sparkling water from the waitress.

  “Special Agent Carter,” he said.

  “You called.”

  “Yes, I did,” she said. The bar was really filling up now, and the noise level was growing. Up close, his face looked a little puffy on one side and there was a bandage peeking up over his collar.

  “Hurt yourself?” she asked, looking at the bandage.

  “Let’s get to it,” he said, ignoring her question.

  “I want to find my daughter. What do you want?”

  “I reinterviewed Barry dark. He said he told you they were going to Site R. I think I can help you identify what that is.”

  “I already know,” he said.

  “It’s the Ramsey Arsenal. What do you want?”

  She was taken aback and suddenly didn’t know what to say. She realized she should have had a plan B.
He leaned forward, his eyes intense.

  “Listen to me, Special Agent Carter. I want to find my daughter. Three case folders gathering dust up in the MP shop don’t cut it. I’m going to do what I’m going to do, regardless of the Bureau. If I determine that she’s been abducted and injured or killed, I’ll find out who did it and put their severed heads on pikes out on the interstate.”

  She blinked, desperately trying to think of something clever to say.

  This wasn’t going anything like the way she had anticipated. She had forgotten how intense he was. Focus, she commanded herself. Focus. Then he surprised her.

  “Who would want to plant a bug on your Bu car?” he asked.

  “What? A bug?”

  “I watched you arrive in the parking lot. Tan Crown Vie? You parked and stayed in the car for a few minutes. Then you walked in. Ten minutes after that, a nondescript minivan came into the lot, cruised all the lanes, paused at your car, left the lot, and then parked long enough for some tall white guy to walk back and put something under your left-rear wheel well. Who would want to bug a Bureau car?”

  What the hell is this? she thought.

  “I looked for you,” she said.

  “Where were you watching from?”

  “My room, Special Agent.”

  His room.

  “Oh” was all she could manage.

  He sat back in his chair and drank some of his water.

  “You’re obviously not a street agent. What’s your specialty?”

  The look in his eyes was one of calm appraisal. She decided this was no time for bullshit.

  “I’m a materials forensics evidence specialist. Most of my assignments have been in support of Washington task forces, qualifying the evidence. I did one field tour in Chicago, but it was in-specialty.”

  “You do a lot of materials forensics over there in beautiful downtown Roanoke, Virginia?”

  “Well,” she said, “some senior people at the headquarters thought it was time for me to get some field experience.”

  “You mean you were playing straight-arrow in the lab, upset some prosecutor’s preconceived notions about the evidence, and your mentor was concerned enough about your career to get you out of Dodge for a couple of years.”