“Have you remembered anything else about Jim Nafus, like where he lives?” Blalock asked.
“I have no idea. Like the others, he came to me. Word got around that I did business on the side,” he answered with a shrug.
“What did he look like?” Ella asked him.
“Anglo guy with a buzz cut and an armload of tattoos. The one that sticks in my mind was a bulldog with USMC below it,” he said. “The guy had a thing for black, too. Every time I saw him he was wearing a black cap and a black T-shirt.” He paused, gathering his thoughts, then continued. “Something else I remember about him—no matter what the temperature, he always looked like he was hot. I think that had something to do with his weight. He’s carrying an extra fifty or sixty pounds, most of it on his gut. He also wore a tiny hearing aid behind his right ear.”
“What kind of wheels did the guy drive?” Blalock asked.
“Blue Dodge pickup. Plenty of chrome on it. Double toolbox in the bed.”
“License plate?” Blalock pressed.
“All I can tell you is that it was a New Mexico license plate,” he said. “Otherwise, I would have noticed that.”
“How much did he buy at a time?” Blalock asked.
Before Haske could answer, there was a sharp knock at the door.
Ella opened it and found a tribal attorney she recognized, wearing his usual thousand-dollar suit.
“I’m an attorney, Mr. Haske,” he said, breezing past her. “Mr. Ute hired me to represent you today. Don’t answer any more questions until I’ve had the chance to speak with you privately.”
Martin Tallman was one of Ella’s least favorite attorneys. He was young, slippery, and out to make a name for himself by taking on the most notorious cases and winning—no matter what the cost. His high, flat forehead resulted in his nickname around the department—Hammerhead, like the shark.
Ella gave him a curt nod.
“I need time to confer with my client.”
Ella nodded to Blalock and then stepped out into the hallway with him.
“I was hoping to get Haske to work with one of your sketch artists,” he grumbled, as the door closed behind them.
“Tallman will want to deal. Let’s see what he has to say,” Ella answered.
Before they could give it much thought, Tallman appeared in the hall.
“That didn’t take long,” Ella commented.
“Feeding frenzy,” Blalock mumbled.
If Tallman heard, he ignored the crack. “You read my client his rights and he’s cooperated with you. How about a quid pro quo?”
“What did you have in mind?” Ella asked coldly.
“Give him full immunity and he’ll testify, and also work with you to help get whomever you’re really after.”
“How do you know we’re not after Haske?” Blalock countered.
“Judging from the questions he said you’ve asked him, you need my client to nail whomever set off that bomb at the college. He’s willing to work with a sketch artist and whatever else you need. Also keep in mind that if you release Haske under his own recognizance, and he gets contacted by the bomb suspect, you’ll have a chance to take down a genuine bad guy.”
“Full immunity, you say?” Ella said, shaking her head.
“It’s either that or his cooperation comes to an abrupt end. I may even be able to argue that he didn’t understand his right to legal counsel.”
Ella knew Tallman had effectively used that argument before, in the trial of a convenience store robber. Since the man’s first language was Navajo, Tallman had convinced the court that his client had been confused by questioning conducted in English. The defendant had walked.
“Let me talk to my people,” Ella said.
“I’ll be inside with my client,” Tallman said with a nod.
As Tallman left, Ella glanced at Blalock. “Looks like we’re going to have to play this their way.”
“You could dump everything into the lap of Homeland Security and threaten to have Haske locked up as a terrorist,” Blalock suggested.
“Throwing in agents from yet another agency will only slow things down and we need answers now. Haske will be of more use to us if we cut him a deal.”
“I agree, but I’m curious. Who were you going to talk to about this?”
“Just you, but I wanted Hammerhead to sweat a little,” Ella said with a grin.
After another ten minutes had passed, Ella and Blalock went back inside the interrogation room. “You’ve got your deal, counselor.”
“Does that mean I’m free to go?” Haske asked, his voice rising with relief and excitement.
“Not quite. I’d like you to work with one of our sketch artists,” Ella said.
Haske looked at Tallman, who nodded.
“Yeah, okay,” Haske said, looking back at Ella.
They brought in their department’s top forensic composite artist—a local painter, actually, who worked at a tribal tourist stop sketching caricatures. As the woman worked on her laptop using high quality drawing software, an image based on Haske’s description slowly took shape. It took over an hour to get the details right, but Ella and Blalock hung back and watched with interest.
Once the work was completed and several copies of the image were printed, Haske left with his attorney. Ella then met with Anna, Justine, and Blalock in her office. “We’re looking for a former Marine. He likes tattoos, so visiting the various parlors is a good idea, in case he’s had local work done.” Ella paused, then continued. “This Marine may have served around artillery, aircraft, or maybe explosives.”
“Because of his hearing problem,” Blalock observed, with an approving nod.
“But the name’s a fake?” Anna asked.
“Yeah, we’re pretty sure of that,” Ella said, handing them copies of the composite sketch and giving them the suspect’s physical description. “Get on this right away.”
Anna walked out, but before Justine followed, Ella stopped her. “Tomorrow morning first thing, you and I are finally going to pay Kim Mike a visit. Pick me up at the house.”
“You’ve got it.”
As Justine left, Blalock leaned back in his chair, and stretched. “As much as I’d like to call it a night, I’ve got a feeling you’ve got something else on the agenda for us.”
“I want to hack into Whitefeather’s computer and set up a tap on his phone conversations, but I don’t have a warrant.”
“Not a problem,” Blalock said. “We’ve had a terrorist-style attack on a federal employee who’s investigating a potential terrorist cell. We’ll have all the clearance we need. We can get a judge to sign off on this pronto. The Bureau can also get us a national-security letter which will require Whitefeather’s ISP provider to turn over records and data pertaining to his e-mails and other communications. That requires no probable cause or judicial oversight. Plus, a gag order prevents the ISP from telling Whitefeather what we’ve done.”
“Things have sure changed in the past few years,” Ella said in a thoughtful voice.
“Progress.”
“Sure, and I heard that it was safer to walk the streets in Moscow when the Communists were in charge. How much are we willing to give up? Maybe balance will be restored again someday,” Ella answered.
“It’s a different world. That requires new tactics,” Blalock said with a shrug.
Ella sighed softly. “Have the monitors routed through Teeny’s network once you’ve got things in place,” she said at last. “Ford can tap into it from there.”
The Bureau’s clout, and the cooperation of Whitefeather’s Internet provider, smoothed out what might have been a difficult process. It took less than forty minutes to get things set up.
Ella was at Teeny’s an hour later, when he and Ford received Whitefeather’s backlog of e-mail. “Even with the both of us, we’re going to need time to go through all of this, and it’s one a.m.,” Ford said. “We might be able to do some tonight, but the bulk of this should wait until tomorrow, w
hen we’ve got clear heads.”
“I agree. And there’s something else you might start thinking about,” Teeny told Ella. “What we need most is to keep current. Waiting for the provider to send the e-mails to us isn’t a good idea. A delay of even a few hours could be disastrous.”
“What’s our alternative? Can you think of a way to hack into his system?” Ella asked.
“Wireless connections can do the job, but I need to be close enough to set up the router. I won’t need actual physical contact with his computer because I’ll be picking up his WiFi, his radio signal, then relaying it here.”
“It’s pretty open around his place,” Ella said.
“It’s nighttime now and late—optimum time to do what I have in mind. Let’s drive up there. I can set up what I need from a quarter mile away.”
“Let’s go.” Ella looked over at Ford, then back at Teeny. “Will Ford be safer with us than here alone?” she asked, thinking out loud.
“I can be of more use here,” Ford answered before Teeny could comment. “I could start going through this backlog of e-mails from the ISP.”
“And Ford won’t be here alone,” Teeny added. “I’ll call one of my men who specializes in bodyguard services. He lives in Kirtland and can be here in less than fifteen.”
Good as his word, by the time Teeny got all his equipment loaded into the SUV, someone was coming through the gates. Ella immediately recognized the man—a short, stocky Navajo with a buzz cut and prominent ears. “Gerald Kelewood . . . I didn’t realize he was back from overseas deployment.”
“Yeah, for about six months now. He came to me when he needed a job and I hired him on the spot. He’s not good with electronics but he’s sharp in the field. He can handle himself and protect a target.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Ford said irately.
“You need an extra pair of eyes to monitor things outside. Yours will be on the screen,” Ella said.
After making sure Gerald was in place, Ella and Teeny left. Studying road maps that Teeny called up on his laptop, they soon agreed that the best access into the area was using one of the gas-well service roads east of Shiprock. This would give them the opportunity to approach the isolated home from a direction other than the main highway.
The terrain contained numerous arroyos that extended out like veins on a leaf. Choosing one of the low washes, they drove within several hundred yards of the small home without silhouetting the vehicle against the eastern horizon.
Once there, they walked as close as they dared, then Teeny got to work. He would access Whitefeather’s computer first, then activate the relay as quickly as possible. Afterwards, they’d hide the remote transmitter in a waterproof bag within a trash bag and hold it to the ground with a big rock. At a distance, it would look like windblown litter, not uncommon within a mile of most New Mexico highways.
Teeny typed in commands on his computer then, after a while, shook his head. “I can’t get past his firewall, even with this proprietary software. The only explanation I can think of is that he’s got a really sophisticated system—one that’s not generally recommended, or available, to the public. To hack in, I’m going to have to identify his software, and that means I’ll need direct access to his computer.”
“We can’t risk breaking in to his house,” Ella said, shaking her head. “Not yet, anyway.”
“I can tell you this much—the kind of system he’s got isn’t something an ordinary computer user would even know about. That alone speaks volumes,” Teeny said.
“It does,” she answered nodding. “Thanks for trying.”
They returned to Ella’s unit and began the drive back toward Shiprock. “I’ll drop you off and then head home, Teeny. I’m beat, and need to get some sleep,” she said, stifling a yawn.
They’d been on the road for several minutes when Teeny broke the silence between them. “If anyone can find and break the codes this group’s using, Ella, it’s Ford. He’s good, and he’s like a pit bull once he gets going.”
Ella thought about the sweet minister she’d thought she knew. He had more sides to him than she’d ever dreamed. Yet instead of pushing her away, this drew her to him. It was the curse of curiosity—and an overactive imagination.
TWENTY
Ella’s first phone call of the day came shortly after seven the next morning, Wednesday. She was at the table eating one of her mother’s fabulous breakfast burritos when she heard her daughter’s excited voice.
Ella felt love’s pleasant rush of warmth course through her as she listened to Dawn speak at her usual, rapid-fire pace. “Mom, will you be coming to work here in the city? There’s so much to do, and it’s so—big!”
Ella heard Kevin’s voice in the background telling her to calm down. She was glad that he was doing that much, at least. It was clear that Kevin wanted his daughter back East full time because he was convinced that was the right step for Dawn. Yet Ella wasn’t so sure about that.
“Oh—Dad wants to talk to you,” Dawn finally said. Before Ella had a chance to protest, he was on the phone.
“Will you be accepting the job offer, or do you know yet?” he asked without preamble.
“I’m in the middle of a case. I haven’t had time to breathe, let alone think.”
“Okay, but heads up: A former agent by the name of John Blakely will be calling you soon. He’s one of the men who started PPS—Personnel Profile Security—here in D.C. I believe you’ve worked with him in the past.”
“Back up. Blakely’s going to be calling me? You gave him my number?”
“Not yet, no, but I will when I get together for lunch with him later today.”
“No, hold off on that. I need time to think things through before I speak with him.”
“You really do need to talk to this guy. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime, Ella. Wait until you hear about the benefits package this company gives their people.”
Ella thought about her daughter. Never having to worry about finances again would change their lives forever. It was all so tempting. “If he’s that big on offering me a job, he can wait a few more days. Tell him I’m in the middle of a very complicated case—”
“The campus bombing? He already knows. He’s the one who told me.”
“He knows what I’m doing?”
“Not specifics, no, but he mentioned that it’s a sticky situation—interagency—and that you’re leading the investigation. Even with all his connections and his security clearance, he couldn’t get anything more than that.”
Ella breathed a sigh of relief. “Have him contact my office and leave a message. Or send me an e-mail. I’ll call him back as soon as I can.”
Ella closed up the cell phone and saw that Rose’s unwavering gaze was focused on her. “What’s this about a job?”
Ella told her, expecting Rose to be angry but instead, her mother nodded thoughtfully. “If what you’ve heard is true, then you’re facing a great career opportunity. What will you do now, daughter?”
“I have no idea,” she answered honestly.
“Remember that everything has two sides. Consider all the aspects before you give them an answer.”
“I wish my daughter’s father hadn’t opened this particular door right now. I have more than enough on my mind.”
Before Ella could reply, Herman came in and Rose’s attention quickly shifted to her husband. “I’ve made an extra breakfast burrito for you,” she said.
“They’re second to none, but I’m just not very hungry this morning.”
“You should eat something anyway,” Rose insisted. “I could fix you some oatmeal, just the way you like it.”
“Yes, oatmeal, that sounds good,” he said in a more spirited voice. “And whole wheat toast.”
Rose glanced at Ella and, in that brief moment, she saw the fear in her mother’s eyes.
“Are you feeling okay?” Ella asked Herman.
“Sure. Just watching my figure,” he answered with a quick half-s
mile.
Ella was about to gently press him for more of an answer when Justine walked in. Seeing the uneaten breakfast burrito still on the stove, she looked at Rose hopefully.
Rose laughed and nodded. “Help yourself, youngster.”
Justine didn’t have to be asked twice. While Ella went to retrieve her gun and grab her jacket, her second cousin ate breakfast. They were on their way moments later.
“Your mother is still the best cook around. You’re lucky to have her,” Justine said, licking her lips.
Ella thought about the job offer in D.C. and all the changes that would bring into her life if she accepted. For one, Rose wouldn’t make the move with her.
Ella considered talking to Justine about the offer, but then decided to wait until she had more information. Leaving would also break up their team, and that wasn’t something she wanted to mention as a possibility until all the details were on the table and it became a serious consideration.
“Kim’s staying on Farmington’s south side, across the Animas River. It’s an area of modest housing off of Hydro Plant Road. I have a friend who lives several blocks east from there, along the Bloomfield highway.”
Ella kept her eyes on the passenger-side mirror while Justine concentrated on the road. Morning traffic was heavy today and fast moving, but she was sure that they weren’t being followed.
Once they reached Farmington, she had Justine circle several blocks in the downtown area off Main and Broadway, to shake any potential tail. Satisfied at last, they crossed the Animas River, where Broadway became Bloomfield Boulevard, and headed back west to Kim’s.
“There’s no guarantee she’ll be home when we get there,” Ella said, thinking out loud. “But I didn’t want to call and let her know we were coming. She’s supposed to work afternoons, so this looked to be our best shot.”
“If she’s not there, do you want to wait?”
Ella nodded. “At least for a bit.”
They arrived at the address, an old stucco house with a sagging roof. An ’80s-model Ford sedan was parked in the driveway. “It looks like someone’s here,” Justine said.
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