Night Road

by Brendan DuBois

  There were shouts out by the meadow, and Zach noted little cones of light as television crewman switched on their lamps and started trotting to the disabled truck and the knots of State Police and Homeland Security officers.

  “So what now?” Zach asked.

  “I’ll tell you,” Tanya said, her voice more firm. “You’re an educated man, Chief. You love your history books. Tell me what happened to the armed forces of the United States between August 1945 and June 1951.”

  “What is this, Jeopardy?”

  “In a way, yes it is. Most important Jeopardy game ever.”

  “A hell of a time and place to be playing a game.”

  “Humor me, Chief. Answer the damn question.”

  He didn’t have to think about it too much. “The time between VJ Day and the invasion of South Korea. Our armed forces became a hollow shell. You had reservists and occupation troops from Japan, trying to fight off an invading army with surplus gear from World War II. For the first few months they got slaughtered.”

  The television crews got closer. “Thanks for the right answer,” she said. “The war was over, budgets got cut, troops were sent home. We were victorious and why would there be another war?”

  Some loud voices, coming closer. “So here we are,” she said. “Bin Laden’s dead, we’re pulling out of Afghanistan and Iraq, Predator drones are paying whack-a-mole in the tribal regions, and those in power and influence think we’ve won. Meantime, in the real world, those who hate us will patiently do the prep work for the next year or two or five, and they’ll come back and hit us hard. This time, it won’t be hijacked aircraft. It might be hijacked nukes from Pakistan’s strategic arsenal. Or black-market nukes from Russia. Or some biowarfare agent cooked up in a lab. Whatever it is, I’m afraid living in big cities is going to be very, very unhealthy in the near future.”

  Zach wanted to stop hearing this sweet voice talking betrayal and destruction. He thought for a moment that she was crying but no, her face, as young as it looked, was now strong and defiant. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her.

  Tanya rocked slightly back and forth. “Lucky you,” she said. “You’ve got a nice small town to live in when hell pays us a visit again.”

  “Yeah,” Zach said. “Lucky me.”

  thirty-six

  In a visitor’s room at the Washington County House of Corrections, Zach Morrow sat at a metal table across from Duncan Crowley, who was dressed in a bright orange jumpsuit. Duncan looked thinner and pale, and he was faintly smiling as Zach settled in.

  Duncan said, “Pretty remote for a county prison, isn’t it.”

  “Damn right,” Zach said.

  “Some of the guys who’ve been here for a while, they see what’s beyond the fence, the bears, the coyotes, the moose. They told me that if they were out in the yard and the fence magically fell down, that they’d just sit there and wouldn’t move. Wouldn’t try to escape. Some of those guys are tough gang members from Nashua and Manchester who got caught up here in Washington County, but these woods at night scare the crap out of them.”

  “You doing all right?”

  “As well as can be expected,” Duncan said, his voice slightly raspy. “Though Karen has come in, checked out the menu, nearly had a fight with a supervisor. But damn, a man does love fried food. How are you doing?”

  “A bit at loose ends. But I want you to tell me something.”

  “Gordon Simpson.”

  “Yeah.”

  Duncan put his hands on the dull metal table. “Cameron and I, we got an invitation some months ago, to look at some distressed properties up in Lake Palmer. It was going to be an expensive retreat for ex-government types, Europeans with disposable income, that sort of thing. But the invite was a scam. Gordon Simpson wanted me far away from home, in a private meeting.”

  “How did he get to you?”

  “Feds are sly and creative creatures when they want to be. There’s been a secret surveillance program going on along the northern border for years, using Predator drones. My import-export business got tracked and recorded, numerous times. Usually Homeland Security doesn’t care about such stuff, but Gordon told me state officials and other agencies had gotten wind of what Homeland Security had found out about me. Gordon’s deal was pretty straightforward. If I helped get that trailer across as part of a clandestine drill, then he promised me one very large get-out-of-jail free card and a generous compensation package. So I took the deal.”

  “And the driver? The one you shot?”

  “A disgraced and violent former member of the Tea Party, recruited to drive the truck across the border, make the drill that much more realistic. Official story, deep in the records, is that he was shot trying to escape. Unofficial story, I was asked to take care of him as a favor for Gordon Simpson and a Mexican construction big-shot who’s been very cooperative with Homeland Security when it comes to southern border issues. Seems the driver shot the Mexican’s son a few months ago, who was running a smuggling operation in Arizona.”

  Zach shook his head. “Hell of a story. What about Cameron? What did he know?”

  Duncan’s face darkened, and he paused for a moment, like he was trying to catch his breath. He swallowed hard. “No, not old Cam. He only knew part of it … I should have told them the whole thing, but that was key to the deal. Me, and me alone. Nobody else. Cam … Looks like he was caught in the crossfire.”

  Zach thought. “Collateral damage.”

  “Eh?”

  “We were all caught in the crossfire, Duncan.”

  “Probably so,” he said. “Your sorry tale, then?”

  “Gordon was a captain in the Naval Reserves,” Zach said. “Met him a couple of times over the years during my deployments. Plus he knew my father, back in the days when he was in politics. When I got cashiered, I contacted him to see if he could help me out. He came back with a deal, too. To help a rogue administrator in his department named Tanya Gibbs. I was to cooperate with her, go along with her demands, see where it took us. Make a phone call every day to his private line, pretending to be one pissed-off ex-Coast Guardsmen, but actually letting him know I was on the job. That way, if other agencies were listening in, it would seem that I was just a pissed-off vet.”

  “That’s it? Just to go after one woman?”

  Zach said, “You must be missing the news stuck in here. Thing is, her uncle’s a senator from Ohio. Running for president. The usual suspects are trying to hang this fiasco and his niece around his neck, drag him down. Might just work in the end.”

  “Christ, that’s something,” Duncan said. “What happened to that Tanya woman?”

  “Last I heard, she went back to Boston, found her office belongings piled in a cardboard box on the sidewalk. Then she just dropped out.”

  Duncan said, “That Gordon Simpson, one hell of a deal maker. But he’s backing out of the deal he made with me. Extenuating circumstances and all that. So here I am, in jail, awaiting trial.”

  “For what?”

  “Officially, for a variety of illegal activities, from smuggling T-shirts and smoke detectors to unauthorized weapons discharging in a state forest preserve, that sort of thing. Unofficially, I’m here because the State Police are very pissed off about how they got roped into this fiasco. Somebody has to take the fall and it’s going to be me.”

  Zach said, “Gordie’s backed out with me as well, because of all the gunfire and bodies littered around. It was supposed to be a quiet little op ending in trapping a woman who was making Gordon’s life miserable. You were there; definitely wasn’t quiet.”

  “Sweet understatement.”

  “Yeah. So my discharge status remains unchanged. No back pay, no pension, no medical coverage. Looks like Gordon remains a member in good standing of the government. No deal too small to remain unbroken.”

  “Heck of a thing, ain’t it,” D
uncan said. “But we’ll get by, just you wait and see. I’ve got some plans ahead.”

  “You do?” Zach said. “Funny thing, I saw in the Union Leader the other day about a series of mysterious barn fires in Washington County. What was going on? Doing some spring cleaning?”

  “Let’s just say I have a very lovely and dedicated wife who knows what to do in emergencies. Any large pool of potential evidence out there against me just got drained.”

  “State fire marshal’s office?”

  Duncan said, “They’re so overworked, they often just follow the lead of the fire chief in the area. So these barn fires will all be considered accidental. Funny things can happen up in the north, hunh?”

  “Speaking of funny things,” Zach said carefully. “The first day after that fight in the Flight Deck, you took me on a little tour. Brought me up to that deer butchering shed, just before your cellphone rang from Karen.”

  “I remember.”

  “So what were you going to do to me in that shed? Go after me with pliers? Jumper cables? Or just appeal to my better nature?”

  “I was suspicious,” Duncan said. “No excuse, no apologies. I wanted to make sure who you were. If you were from the State Police, the Attorney General’s office, the FBI, well, it would have gotten interesting. But when you did what you did later that day … you could have had a US Marshal’s Office badge tattooed on your chest and I wasn’t going to do anything against you, Zach.”

  “Fair enough,” he said.

  Duncan looked around the tiny room. “So what do you do next?”

  “Not sure. My employment options are pretty narrow.”

  “Then come work for me.”

  “What?”

  Duncan said, “I’m going to be here for a while, but not as long as the state wants. I have a number of legitimate businesses that need oversight. Karen is wonderful, but she’s busy with her hair shop and the kids. So what do you think?”

  “I know shit about business.”

  “You’ll learn. It’ll pay well. It also has one other advantage, Zach. You’ll be back home.”

  “Home is Purmort.”

  “From what I heard, Purmort is empty acreage with a burnt-out double-wide resting on a concrete slab.”

  Zach looked at Duncan and his calm face, and said, “I’ll certainly think about it, that’s for sure.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Zach pushed his chair back and said, “What did you mean earlier, about having some plans ahead?”

  “I just do, that’s all,” Duncan said. “Some plans to make it right for me, make it right for you.”

  “Must be one hell of plan.”

  “That’s what I’m good at, most times. Making plans and seeing them through.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Zach said. Thinking carefully, he said, “I also have a plan or two myself for Gordon Simpson, if yours don’t work out.”

  “In what way?”

  “My duffel bags are still at your house. If you know what I mean.” Zach looked into Duncan’s calm eyes, knowing his old classmate knew exactly what was meant: Zach’s collection of weapons, from the pen disguised as a knife to an Israeli submachine gun. With all that had gone on before, Zach would not allow one more betrayal. It would be against the law, of course, but he was beyond that now.

  Duncan slowly nodded. “You sure do remind me of Cam. He was always in favor of taking a more direct approach. Thought diplomacy meant leaving no bloodstains behind. But before you do an imitation of a one-man blitzkrieg, see how I make out. All right?”

  “You got it.”

  Duncan said, “Now, you think about my job offer, all right?”

  “I will,” Zach said, getting up from the chair.

  “But one more thing,” Duncan cautioned. “I know about you and Karen, back in high school. You keep your hands off of her, all right?”

  Zach turned, to hide his smile. “You can count on it.”

  As Duncan was being led back to his holding cell, the day supervisor for his housing unit approached the male corrections officer escorting him and said, “Ronnie, I’ll take him back.”

  “You got it, Gail.”

  The day supervisor was a heavy-set woman named Mooney, closing in on three hundred pounds, who had very short black hair and a collection of stud earrings in both ears. The uniform was black trousers and light blue uniform shirt. She clasped Duncan’s upper arm with her strong hand and said, “Finally, the famous Duncan Crowley of Washington County, in my hand and wearing prison orange.”

  “Glad I’m making your day,” he said.

  “Oh, you know it,” she said, her fingers pushing hard into his bicep. She nearly dragged him down a corridor, floor polished and shiny, and she unexpectedly stopped at an office door. From her keychain, she unlocked the door, and shoved him into an empty office. Duncan nearly stumbled and he turned as she stood in the doorway.

  “Duncan Crowley?”

  “Still here,” he said.

  She gestured with her right hand. “Phone’s on the desk. Dial nine to get an outside line. Won’t be overheard like every other inmate phone call from here. Best I can do is to give you five minutes. I also made sure nobody listened in on your visitor.”

  “Thanks so much.”

  Mooney stepped out and before she closed the door, she said, “You did good for my neighbor Mrs. Ziff a couple of weeks ago. It’s nice to know she and her kids won’t freeze this winter.”

  “Glad to help.”

  He went to the office phone, dialed nine, and then dialed a Boston-based number. It was picked up the first ring.

  “Simpson.”

  Duncan started in. “Gordon, I know your first reaction is to hang up, but do hold on. This is the situation. You may think you know me, and know Zach Morrow, but you don’t know enough. For example, ever hear of Hubert Conan?”

  “I can’t say I have. I’m about to go into a meeting.”

  “Hubert is my wife’s uncle. He’s a correspondent for the Union Leader newspaper up here. Before that, he used to be a reporter for the New York Times. Still has a fair number of contacts down there, at the old Gray Lady.”

  Duncan waited, hearing the old man’s breathing on the other side of the phone. He waited, and waited, and said, “Gee, looks like you’re not going to hang up after all. So this is what’s going to happen. You make it good for me and Zach Morrow, or I’m going to have a fascinating discussion with Uncle Hubert about what really happened up in the north woods a few nights ago. Now, it doesn’t have to happen tonight, or tomorrow, but it will happen.”

  He waited some more. Gordon sighed. “Talk to me tomorrow, at this same time. We’ll see what we can do.”

  “That sounds fine,” Duncan said, smiling as Gordon hung up on him. Tomorrow, ah tomorrow. This was going to result in some very delicate negotiations, but Duncan looked forward to it.

  Negotiating on behalf of family and the ones he cared for, those who were overlooked and ignored, was something Duncan Crowley lived for.

  thirty-seven

  Zach Morrow pulled his F-150 pickup truck onto the side of Route 115 by Gibson’s Hill, looking down once again upon the town of Turner. Thought about his first eighteen years there, and recalled the last few days, where he was welcomed back, where he seemed to fit in, to belong.

  Thought some about spending a lot more time here over the next decade or two, finding the idea unexpectedly filling him with sweet anticipation. Running businesses. Finding a place to live. Challenges all. But would it be as hard as swimming for a mile or two at night, or being shot at, or running ops that would never ever appear in the history books?

  A car approached, pulled in behind him. It was a white GM sedan, one of the numerous rental hordes that could be picked up at any airport across the country. He looked on in surprise as the driver stepped out.
r />   It was Tanya Gibbs.

  She offered a hesitant smile. He smiled right back at her. She looked different. Her hair was trimmed, and she had on a short black leather jacket, black skirt above the knees, and she looked pretty good. She didn’t look like a teenage girl who had stolen her father’s car for Take Your Daughter to Work Day. She looked like a young professional woman.

  “Miss Gibbs,” he said.

  “Please, Chief,” she said. “I’m no longer working for Homeland Security. So it’s Tanya.”

  Zach nodded. “So call me Zach. How in the world did you find me?”

  She smiled again, wider and more sincere, and strolled over to the front of his truck. She had good legs. Damn, she had fine legs. Tanya went to the left fender, squatted down, her fine butt outlined in the tight skirt, and reached up to the wheel well. In a moment or two, she came out with a thin metal box, with an antenna trailing.

  Zach laughed. “Two tracers instead of one. Very thorough.”

  Tanya turned and tossed it into a nearby ditch. “Not thorough enough.”

  She moved to him and he said, “So now I know why you found me. But why? Considering what I did to you … I’m surprised.”

  A stray breeze brought a scent of lilac to him. “Last time we chatted, I told you that big cities weren’t going to be healthy places over the next few years. Haven’t changed my mind. So here I am. I was hoping you could show me what small-town life is all about. If you’re interested. Considering all that went on before, if you’re not, I understand.”

  Zach looked at her eyes, saw something missing. There was no desperate drive there, no fear of overlooking something important. What was there was a hunger, a desire for something quiet, peaceful, out of the way. Something he was looking for as well.

  He didn’t hesitate.

  “Yes,” he said. “I’m interested.”

  She put her hands in her leather coat, nodded, like she couldn’t find the right words. Zach came to her, put his hands on her shoulders, looked at her expectant eyes, kissed her forehead. “I think I’d enjoy it as well.”