“I said move it!” Shouldering Gus aside, the deputy bulled into the shop, covering Luke, who carefully switched off his torch and set it aside. “Up against the wall, mister! Move! Get the dope dog in here!”
“Wait a minute!” Luke said. “You can’t bring a dog—”
But he was too late. A female officer leading a dope-sniffing Alsatian Shepherd had trailed the deputy up the steps—
Razzy exploded past Gus like an ebony rocket, barreling into the Alsatian, both dogs snarling and snapping at each other, whirling like demons. Taken by surprise, the lady cop tried to pull her dog off, but the Alsatian was too strong and his blood was up.
Leaping into the fray, Gus grabbed Razzy’s collar, and got his wrist torn open for his trouble. The raid was in total confusion now, cops yelling, dogs slashing at each other. Gus was still in the scrum, still trying to pull Razzy free when Larkin charged up the steps, weapon at the ready.
“Restrain your animal!” he yelled at Gus. Then he shot Razzy, the gun exploding like a thunderclap. The slug caught the old Lab high in the shoulder, tumbling her onto her back, yelping in pain, with the Alsatian in snarling pursuit.
With a roar, Luke came flying through the shop doorway, tackling Larkin chest-high, both men crashing through the deck rail, slamming to the ground, hard, with Luke on top. Slapping Larkin’s gun hand aside, Luke drove a fist into the agent’s face, flattening his nose. Before he could swing again, two deputies pinned Luke’s arms, dragging him off.
Scrambling to his feet, blood streaming from his mouth, Larkin drove a knee into Luke’s groin, doubling him over, then jammed the gun muzzle against his forehead, his eyes wild with killing fury—
“Hold it right there!” the sheriff yelled. “What the hell are you doing?” Sheriff Jerry Garrison was a big-bellied man, in a tan summer uniform. Pushing fifty, he was a bit slower than the others. He’d been last out of the car, but he was in charge now.
“Officer Kincaid, get your damn Alsatian into that building and get on with the search! Agent Larkin, if you strike that prisoner again you’ll be in the cell next to his!”
“Falk attacked me!” Larkin protested. “You all saw it!”
“Put a cork in it!” Garrison barked. “This is my crime scene and so far we’ve got no crime. Gus, are you okay?”
“Hell no!” Gus was sitting on the deck, cradling Razzy in his arms. “Your police dog tore my arm open, or maybe Razzy did, I ain’t sure. What the hell is this about, Jerry?”
“We’re executing a search warrant, Gus. This agent had a tip about drugs and illegal weapons on the premises,” Garrison growled, jerking a thumb at Larkin. “How about it, Kincaid? Find anything?”
“The dog got a little antsy by the rear door,” the lady cop said, emerging with the Alsatian firmly in tow. “There’s definitely no dope on the premises, and as for firearms, all we found was a rack of hunting rifles—”
“Those are mine!” Gus said.
“And we found this.” The lady cop held up the slim black magazine from the automatic. “Looks like it’s from a thirty-two auto.”
“What about it, Falk?” Garrison asked. “Where’s the gun it belongs to?”
“Ask Larkin,” Luke growled. “His stooge planted it.”
“Search again!” Larkin ordered. “The gun must be there!”
“I doubt that,” the lady cop said. “There was a puddle of slag metal near the clip, still hot. Looks like somebody melted something with an acetylene torch.”
“Is that true, Falk?” Garrison demanded.
“I use torches every day, Sheriff. I was using one when you guys drove up.”
“He must have destroyed the weapon,” Larkin snapped. “That proves it was illegal!”
“What was illegal about it?” Luke asked. “Stolen? Serial number filed off? How would you know that, Larkin? Unless you planted it?”
“The gun doesn’t matter anymore, Falk. You’re under arrest. Assault on a federal officer!”
“I wouldn’t push that, Agent Larkin,” Sheriff Garrison said sourly.
“The sonofabitch broke my nose!”
“And you shot his dog! Any north-country judge would cut Falk loose and hang your ass, if we had a death penalty. This is my jurisdiction, my call, and I’m making it. You got a bad tip, Larkin. We didn’t find any dope and there’s no law against owning a puddle of molten steel. Pack it up, people! We’re done! Gus, do you want us to run your dog in to the vet?”
“I’ll see to my dog, Jerry. The bullet’s through and through. That stupid bastard is a worse shot than he is a cop.”
“You’d better watch your mouth, grandpa,” Larkin said.
“And you’d better pay up your life insurance, mister,” Gus retorted. “You ain’t long for this world.”
“That’s it!” Larkin snapped. “Sheriff, arrest this man for threatening a federal officer.”
“That wasn’t a threat, sonny,” Gus said, “it was a fact. Mastodons used to live around here, saber-tooths too. People find their bones in these hills. Big critters, bigger than you, even. But too stupid to live. The way a man who’d shoot an old dog is too stupid to live.”
“Sheriff?” Larkin demanded.
Garrison sighed. “I don’t hear a threat. Only an old-timer talkin’ about dinosaurs. We’ve got no cause to arrest anybody except maybe each other for disturbing the peace. Let’s go, people! We’re out of here! You too, Agent Larkin. Move it.”
Luke was still clearing up the damage from the search, when Razzy growled from her bed, struggling to rise as Gus held her collar, trying to keep her from loosening her bandages.
Picking up his grandfather’s Winchester, Luke stood in the shadow of the doorway as the two black Navigators rolled into the yard. The three guards spread out, taking up positions around the yard. But instead of coming in, Deacon held the door open for Aliana, then folded his arms, waiting beside the vehicle as she stalked up the shop ramp alone.
Stepping inside, her smile faded as she read their faces. Kneeling beside Razzy, she patted her grizzled head. “What happened here?” she asked quietly.
“Your two feds raided us, with county law for backup. Looking for drugs, they said.”
“I’m terribly sorry,” Aliana said. “I should never have come here.”
“It’s a bit late for that,” Luke said. “What’s the rest of it? Why did you come? I didn’t call you about the boat.”
“No. My situation has changed as well. My father received an e-mail warning from federal authorities, probably the same agents who were here. They sent documents that show you were discharged from the army as unstable. They say you’re a danger to me, and offered me federal protection.”
“I was a little nuts after Iraq,” he admitted. “I must be over it, though. That piece of crap who shot my dog is still breathing.”
“A holy warrior,” she smiled wanly.
“I had my war, Aliana, now I just want a life. I can’t promise things will work out for us, but—”
“Our time together was a nice dream, Luke, but it’s morning now. Your government has voided my passport. My father fears I’ll be arrested soon, to be used as a bargaining chip against him. He’s shutting down our operations in America. I’ve been ordered back to Damascus.”
“He’s got a right to be worried,” Luke conceded. “Those two ATF clowns are off the leash. What will you do?”
“I’ll be safe at the Syrian embassy in Detroit. They can arrange a flight to Damascus for me. We have a magnificent home there. As a child I loved it, but now . . .” She took a deep breath. “I was wondering . . . if you’d consider coming with me?”
He stared at her.
“Come live with me and be my love,” he quoted dryly. “And do what, exactly? Build boats in the desert?”
“Do whatever you wish.”
“I’ve done my time in the desert, Aliana. Things went terribly wrong for me there. I can’t go back. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too,”
she said briskly. “I told you it was impossible, remember? Sell the Penny for me, Mr. Falk, donate the proceeds to your tribal charities if you like—”
“Luke’s grandmother was teaching second grade when we met,” Gus interrupted, stroking Razzy’s massive head. “I came down from Canada with a Cree logging crew. We were rough boys in those days, wore our hair long, sported buckskin shirts and skinning knives. Back then, folks didn’t call us Native Americans, we were just Indians. Wild ones at that. Most townies crossed the street to avoid us. Or spat in the gutter as we passed. Kathleen was no different. It took weeks to talk her into going out with me. An Irish girl, fair skin and freckles, fiery red hair, fiery red temper. But she was the perfect woman. For me, anyway.”
“I really must go,” Aliana said.
“Wait,” Luke said, waving off her objections, eyeing his grandfather curiously. “Go on, Gus.”
“Kathleen’s family cut her off when we got hitched,” the old man continued. “Mixed-race marriages were frowned on in those days. No one would rent us a room, let alone a house. So I bought this land, built a cabin for us here. Added the boathouse later, started crafting canoes for the tourist trade. Cree war canoes,” he added, smiling. “Tourists didn’t know the difference.”
“Where are you going with this?” Luke asked.
“North,” Gus said simply. “I didn’t take your grandmother back to Cree country because there was no work up there. No life for her. Even now, there’s not much. But as my grandson, you’re a Cree by blood. Entitled to full citizenship. And you have a two-year backlog of orders for boats.”
“You’re saying we could build them in Canada, in Cree country?” Luke asked.
“I don’t understand,” Aliana said.
“Across the great lake in Ontario, the Cree are a nation within a nation,” Gus explained. “American law has no authority there and even Canadian lawmen walk soft on tribal land. It’s magnificent wild country, even more beautiful than here.”
“You were right about the shop, Aliana,” Luke added, glancing around. “It’s too small. I need a new plant and new equipment, but I’m a terrible businessman. I could use a partner with international marketing experience, who loves boats. Do you know anyone like that?”
“Even if I did, they’ve voided my passport. I can’t leave the country.”
“Up here, the border is only a line on a map drawn across the middle of a lake.”
“But the satellites—”
“The Mackinac Regatta begins tomorrow, a three-day sailing race from Port Huron to Chicago. Hundreds of craft will take part and still more will carry judges and spectators. From fifty miles high in the sky, I expect sailboats all look pretty much alike.”
“It’s a very . . . intriguing idea. But I’ve brought too much trouble on you already. I’m sorry,” she said, rising, taking a last look around. “It’s simply not . . .” She broke off, eyeing Gus curiously.
“Not what?” the old man prompted.
“I was going to say it’s not possible,” she said. “But things were even more impossible for you and your Kathleen, weren’t they? So. Just for the sake of argument, maybe you should tell me a little more about this . . . boat race.”
Ridley was sitting at the bar, hunched over his third boilermaker when Larkin stalked into the Northview Lounge in Valhalla. The agent looked sour and surly, both eyes blackening above the bandage across his broken nose. Ridley looked even worse, green around the gills, like he’d been kicked in the belly.
Slumping onto the barstool beside Ridley, Larkin ordered a double scotch, neat, knocked half of it back with one swallow.
“What happened with Sheriff Garrison?” Larkin asked. “Did he give you any static?”
“He did a lot more than that. He’s filed a formal complaint with bureau HQ,” Ridley said. “We’re to report to Detroit first thing Monday morning to explain that cocked-up raid yesterday. You’re facing charges of fabricating evidence and reckless discharge of a firearm. We’re in a world of trouble, Gordie.”
“Balls! It’ll be our word against some hick-town sheriff and we’re federal agents—”
“That’s not the problem! Garrison staged that raid because you claimed you had a tip from a reliable informant.”
“Damn it, the dope was there!” Larkin snapped. “That freakin’ boatman must’ve found it—”
“The dope’s the least of our troubles. On Monday, the Detroit AIC will demand the name of your informant.”
“That’s confidential,” Larkin said automatically. “National security.”
“It’s not confidential from the Agent in Command, you idiot! You’ll have to give up their names, and I doubt very much that your college buddy and his girlfriend will hold up under questioning. Forget about saving your job, Gordie, we’ll be lucky to stay out of jail.”
“Never happen,” Larkin said slowly. “My uncle—”
“Can’t do a damned thing about this!” Ridley finished. “We’re looking at multiple felonies!”
“Sweet Jesus,” Larkin said, as the full weight of the disaster sank in.
“What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know. Bartender!” He held up his empty glass. “Again!”
“It’s all because of Falk,” Larkin muttered. “If he’d stood up for his country, none of this would have happened.”
“You can try that line on the AIC, but I doubt it’ll fly,” Ridley said.
“It’s not a line,” Larkin said grimly, taking a hit of his drink. “It’s the flat-ass truth. And maybe it’s not too late.”
“What are you talking about?”
“If we can deliver the Markovic woman, HQ will forget all about the botched raid. We can still pull this off.”
“How?” Ridley demanded. “We don’t even know where she is.”
“No, but I’m betting Falk knows,” Larkin said, slamming his fist into his palm. “If I ask him hard enough, he’ll damn sure tell us.”
“Jesus, Larkin, have you flipped? We can’t roust the guy. We’ve got no warrant, no probable cause for anything.”
“You’re right, we haven’t,” Larkin said, tossing back his boilermaker with a single swallow. “We’ve also got nothing to lose. Drink up, buddy, let’s move.”
“Where’s Falk?” Larkin demanded, as the two agents shouldered past Gus into the shop.
“He’s not here,” Gus said.
“We can see that,” Ridley said. “Where the hell is he?”
“I don’t know.”
From her bed, Razzy growled at the two federal men prowling the room. “That dog’s a slow learner, isn’t she, pops?” Larkin grinned, pulling his automatic. “She’s threatening me again. Now either tell us where Falk and the woman are or I’m gonna finish off your dumb-ass dog. And since I’m a lousy shot, it might take me four or five rounds.”
“You lowlife son of a bitch,” Gus said evenly.
Smiling thinly, Larkin eared back the hammer on his automatic.
“Luke’s in Canada,” Gus said, looking away, his eyes welling up. “The woman’s with him.”
“Where in Canada?”
“Safe. In the Cree nation in Ontario.”
“I expect the federal government can handle a few Indians.”
“Custer thought the same thing,” Gus said, sliding a cell phone out of his shirt pocket, flipping it open.
“What are you doing?” Ridley demanded.
“Calling nine-one-one, to tell the sheriff two burglars are waving guns around.”
“The hell you are!” Slapping the phone out of Gus’s hand, Larkin ground it under his heel.
“We’ll be going now,” Ridley said abruptly. “We’re sorry about the disturbance.”
“What the hell are you doing?” Larkin demanded.
“We’re too late, Larkin, they’ve gone!” Ridley snapped, holstering his weapon. “Let’s go. That’s an order!”
“Hey, Larkin?” Gus called after them. “I almost forgot. Luke left
something for you.” Fishing an envelope out of his shirt pocket, Gus passed it to the fed.
Ripping it open, Larkin shook the contents into his palm. A single copper penny. “What’s this?”
“I don’t know, maybe a bribe. The price seems about right.”
“Just keep pushing me, old man,” Larkin snarled. “Your time’s coming.”
“No, my time’s almost over, sonny,” Gus said softly. “So is yours.”
“Don’t look at me like that, Razz,” Gus said, kneeling to check the dog’s bandages after the feds had gone. The Lab stared up at him, her liquid eyes dark with reproach. “I had to tell them. He would have shot you. Maybe both of us. They’re half crazy, those two, and about half drunk. Bad combination. I have to drive to town and tell the sheriff. . . .”
The dog just stared up at him.
“You’re right,” Gus said, rising stiffly. “There’s no time for that. And we’ve had too much law around here already. You rest easy, Razz, I’ll handle this.”
“Why the hell did you back off without searching the place?” Larkin demanded. They were speeding along the coast road to Valhalla in the Blazer, Larkin at the wheel. “Falk could have been hiding on the grounds. Hell, he never leaves.”
“Falk’s not the hiding type,” Ridley said. “The old man said they’re gone and I believe him.”
“They may be gone,” Larkin snarled, “but they haven’t had time to cross into Canada, yet. We can notify the RCMP to grab the Markovic woman at the border, then take her into custody and work a deal with the agency.”
“We’ve got no authorization for that, Gordie, and we’re in too deep already.”
“We wouldn’t be if that freakin’ boat builder cared about this country—what the hell is all that?” Larkin asked, glancing out the side window at the lake. “What’s going on?”
Nearly fifty sailing vessels were already well above the horizon, tacking toward the shore, bucking the crosswind.
“The Mackinac Regatta,” Ridley said. “Biggest sailing race of the season.”
“Jesus H!” Larkin snarled, slamming on the brakes, skidding the Blazer broadside onto the shoulder, staring at the growing fleet of sails. “The woman’s got no passport. She can’t risk a border crossing, they’re going right now. They’ll slip through that mob out there to the Canadian side. We can still grab them.”
Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine 03/01/11 Page 4