The Distant Echo of a Bright Sunny Day

by Patrick O'Brien

  “I honestly don’t know. I’m thinking about calling a general meeting to see where we go from here. One of the things I’m thinking about doing is suggesting that we back off the more radical stuff for a while…maybe concentrate on writing a blog, with input from everyone…”

  Rick nodded sympathetically. “I can certainly see your point,” he told her. “And it’s probably a wise decision. I mean, a good general knows when to retreat from the field of battle, Heidi. He knows how to husband his resources and conserve the energy needed for another fight on another battlefield…”

  Heidi smiled. “I like that analogy, Rick. Thank you.”

  “No, seriously, Heidi…anyone in a position of leadership has to think of themselves that way. I mean, it really comes down to the same thing, doesn’t it, whether you’re a general of a large army or the leader of a small group? Either way, you’re still leading, and you still have to make decisions affecting people under you. It’s just that it goes by different names and involves a different kind of battle.”

  “So you see it as a battle, then?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “Yes. But I didn’t know you did, Rick…we’ve never really talked about it before.”

  Rick shrugged. “The people I run with, Heidi, aren’t exactly into making the environment a focal point of their lives. Some of them don’t even care if the garbage man comes by more than once a week.”

  “So, what happened to you?”

  Rick shrugged again and smiled the self-deprecating smile of one having to make a lame excuse for himself. “To tell you the truth, I don’t really know, Heidi. Sometimes you get so caught up in a lifestyle that you don’t make room for any other priorities. It’s the people you run with who decide the priorities for you. Peer pressure, I suppose. You know, like in high school. You remember how it was back then, don’t you?”

  Heidi gave him a look of thoughtful appraisal. She had never seen this side of Rick, did not even suspect it. Yet here it was—a revelation that seemed to go to the heart of the man. A revelation that contradicted the easy impression of an outsider or a misfit: of a man who, for whatever reason, inhabited the fringes of society. The leather jacket, the long hair, the scruffy jeans, the scuffed combat boots, a general demeanor of in-your-face defiance—whether willfully or not, he had typecast himself in a role that others found repugnant and beyond redemption. So it was all the more extraordinary, then, this abrupt shift in his attitude. In her eyes, he was like a wayward soul who had finally realized an emptiness in his life that needed to be filled. No less than those of the homeless she had coaxed back from the brink of hopelessness and despair, he had risen from the altar of his failures and had vowed to renew himself. He would need encouragement and understanding, true enough, but this change was a beauteous thing to behold, and she would embrace it no less than, as an Angel of Mercy, she had embraced some of those whose lives had gone missing.

  “High school was rough on us all.” She laughed. “But some of us survived it better than others. But tell me something, Rick, this friend of yours—what’s that all about? I mean, Jody mentioned it, but—well, frankly, I don’t quite understand.”

  “What’s to understand, Heidi? My friend Peewee is really pissed at a rancher dude, some guy he saw on the tube. The guy’s become sort of a professional wolf hunter, out there blowin’ them away for the hell of it. Peewee thinks the guy needs a good lesson, and he wants to be the one to teach it to him.”

  “By going all the way to Montana?”

  “Jody said the same thing,” Rick said with a laugh. “And I’ll tell you what I told her…we went all the way to Cleveland and blew up a stack of bricks. How’s that any different?”

  “I know, but…”

  “No, really, Heidi, it seems like a crazy thing to do, but he’s got a point. I mean, he’s not so far off the mark when he talks about it in terms of the bigger picture—destruction of habitat, endangered species, and all that. Besides, with him it’s sort of personal…He’s got Indian blood in him and, the way he tells it, his ancestors revered the wolf. It was a creature that had some noble aspects the Indians thought worth emulating—you know, tight social bonds, cooperative hunting skills, devotion to family, and so on. He’s really into it, and I’m not so sure I can talk him out of it.”

  “Do you want to talk him out of it, Rick?”

  Allowing a rare flash of vulnerability, Rick smiled awkwardly. “You got me there, Heidi. I mean, I gotta admit, it beats sitting around drinking beer and entertaining your buddies with bullshit. And I can see where he’s coming from when he talks about the environmental part. And I think he’s sincere. Besides, you gotta remember that Peewee and I go back a long way. We were in Kosovo together, and that kinda thing creates a bond stronger than cement. I’d almost hafta say I’m intrigued by the idea, and I’d like to see him go through with it.”

  “And you’d like to go with him, wouldn’t you, Rick?”

  Rick showed his abashed smile again. “Two outta two, Heidi. You got me on both counts.”

  Pleased with herself, Heidi smiled. “Have either of you ever been to Montana?”

  “Funny you should ask, Heidi, because I asked Peewee the same thing. And he said he thought he’d lived there in another life, that it’d even been an ancestral homeland. But that doesn’t count, does it? You’re talking about something a little more recent, right?”

  “Ah, yeah, Rick…let’s try to keep it within our lifetimes.”

  “Well, in that case, the answer is no,” Rick said with a grin. “But we both know how to read a map.”

  “You would need more than a map, wouldn’t you? Do either of you know anyone back there?”

  “Do you mean, do we know anyone else who wants to shoot cattle?”

  Heidi had to laugh at his shameless playfulness. She decided it was part of his charm. “No,” she said indulgently. “I just mean, you might be able to coordinate it with like-minded individuals. Surely, Peewee can’t be alone in his indignation. There’s bound to be others who feel the same way about wantonly killing a wild creature. And if you do go back there, you’ll probably need someone to get you oriented. At this point, you don’t know where this rancher lives. Nor, I take it, do you even know his name…”

  “Good points, Heidi,” Rick conceded. “And it’s not the kind of thing Peewee’s good at. He’s the kind to rush into something without first thinking it through. What he really needs is a guiding hand, someone capable of considering logistics. I mean, I think that’s why we succeeded in Cleveland…because—in no small part, thanks to you—we worked it all out beforehand. We were organized, the way any project should be.”

  “We did do it right, didn’t we, Rick?” Heidi said, remembering with pride how it had all come together. “And it would have been perfect except for the security guard—but that was unpredictable, one of those variables that can’t be planned for.”

  “You bet, Heidi, and except for that, it all went like clockwork. And, you know, it could be done again. With the same amount of preparation and planning, it could be pulled off. I just have to convince Peewee of the necessity so he doesn’t go running off on his own.”

  “You think you can, Rick?”

  “I don’t know. But I gotta try.”

  “Maybe I could help…?”

  “How’s that?”

  “I could go online to see if there are any groups back there who might be willing to help. You know, radical is not confined to our area. There are probably more people out there than you might imagine who harbor a desire to do something really bold and audacious when it comes to the environment. They just need to know they’re not alone.”

  “Anything you could do like that would be great, Heidi. But you wouldn’t wanna do it yourself, would ya?”

  “Are you feeling that you need company, Rick?”

  “Am I that obvious, Heidi? Or are you just that smart?”

  “Probably a combination of both, Rick.” Heidi laughed. “But I ha
ve to tell you that I do like the idea for its originality. I’m not sure that it’s doable, because of the logistics involved, and I have to come to grips with killing one animal to protest the killing of another. But, in the main, it does have appeal…”

  She remembered back to the piece that had appeared in the Cleveland New Dealer, along with the Internet posting of Tony’s black-and-white photograph of the falling smokestack. She recalled how gratifying it had been just to see the group’s name in print and how mention of it had lifted them on to a level of credibility unattainable in any other way. True enough, they had not suddenly become a Greenpeace nor had they acquired the notoriety of the ELF. Even so, the deed by itself had conferred legitimate bragging rights, rights that could neither be challenged nor disparaged. “I guess it is a possibility. But when was Peewee thinking about doing all this? Or does he have a timetable yet?”

  “I don’t know, Heidi. I just know that he’s eager to do it. Whether or not he would want to wait around for someone else to make up their mind to go with him, I don’t know. He’s kind of a loner, you know, and might just wake up one morning and, on an impulse, decide to hit the road.”

  “Well, anyway, Rick, it’s something for me to think about,” she said, looking at her watch, “and of course I would have to talk to the others. But I can let you know.”

  “If you decide you wanna do it, Heidi, that’s great. We can get it all worked out, just like we did for Cleveland. On the other hand, if you go or not, I can tell ya, Peewee’ll probably head out on his own, sooner than later, and I’ll be along for the ride. That’s just the way it is between friends.”

  “I respect that, and I admire you for it, Rick. But let me think about it. Okay?”

  “Sure thing, Heidi.”

  27

  Later that same day, Rick pulled into a Chevron station and, leaving his van running, used a public telephone. “Agent Hammerstein, please…tell him it’s Rick Strange.”

  Bill Hammerstein came onto the line. “What have you got for me, buddy? Make it good, and keep it short.”

  “I think I got her hooked.”

  “Is that all?”

  “It’s a major step. But she’s got a problem…”

  “What’s that?”

  Rick told him about the accident.

  “And now, apparently most of the rest of them are gun-shy. I guess they got their real baptism by fire, but they’re not sure they wanna continue.”

  A long pause at the other end left Rick wondering if he oughta just pack up his van and drive to Mexico. He felt like he had done his part, as much as he could, and he couldn’t have foreseen this new obstacle to satisfying the demands of a man who had become something of a nemesis, and who apparently wouldn’t take no for an answer. Mexico itself was not a permanent solution, but if he stayed there long enough, like Leroy said, he’d probably drop off the radar. The FBI had bigger criminals to go after; in the scheme of things, he didn’t amount to more than a pea-size pebble underfoot.

  “Did you know the guy?”

  “He was the guy I was gonna use to keep track of things for me, in exchange for pot. I told you about that, right?”

  “The mole, huh?”

  “Whatever. But he was gonna keep me posted.”

  “I guess he can’t now, huh?”

  “No…not unless he can communicate from the grave.”

  “What’re you doing right now?”

  “I’m talking to you…boss.”

  “Give me a minute and I’ll tell you whether or not I think that’s funny.”

  “I’m not doing anything right now. Like I said, I just talked to Heidi…we had coffee. I got some free time. Why?”

  “I want you to come up to the office and tell us about this little caper of theirs. I want to put it in writing and have you sign it. When can you be here?”

  “I’m on my way.”

  “Good.”

  The office was located at the end of a long corridor in the Federal Building, in downtown Portland. Opening the door, Rick stuck his head inside. “Rick Strange. I’m here to see Bill Hammerstein. He’s expecting me.”

  The receptionist buzzed through to the agent’s office. “There’s a Mr. Strange here to see you, Mr. Hammerstein.”

  “Show him in.”

  The receptionist looked up. “This way,” she said.

  Rick followed the woman into an inner office. It was furnished with two metal desks, a file cabinet, a wooden table with a coffeemaker on it, and two visitor chairs. Bill Hammerstein sat behind one of the desks, and his partner, Tom McCullers, sat behind the other. A woman wearing a gray business outfit, her hair in a bun, occupied one of the visitor chairs. She had a stenographer’s notebook on her lap and a wooden pencil in her hand. As Rick entered the room, she regarded him through a pair of steel-rimmed glasses.

  “This is Miss Jensen,” Bill said. “She’s here to take down everything you tell me. We’re gonna type it up afterwards and have you sign it. We’re also gonna record it. Any objections?”

  “No.”

  “Have a seat.”

  Rick spent the next fifteen minutes reiterating everything Heidi had told him about the accident. Concentrating on the gist of what had happened, naturally she had left out a number of details. Rick did know why they had gone out there, of course: to do as much damage to the site as they could, and thereby register a protest. He could also tell the agents about the accident: how Carlos had used the bulldozer to demolish one of the condos and that, during this part of the operation, Dalt had hopped up alongside and apparently lost his balance, resulting in a fateful fall. But Heidi had said nothing more. Besides the bulldozer incident, Rick was in the dark about the rest of their activity while they were at the site. He assumed that the rest of the group had been there, but he couldn’t be sure.

  When the session ended, the stenographer left the room to type up her notes. While she was gone the two agents probed Rick for anything else he knew about what the group had been up to. Again, Rick only knew as much as Heidi had conveyed over coffee. As his purpose for seeing her in the first place had been to set her up, that had been his focus. He had not spent much time on other matters, only on what seemed relevant.

  “You did good,” Bill said. “But if she comes around on this and can get the others on board, you’re probably gonna be seeing more of her. So use the opportunity to learn everything you can about their activities, past and present. We want to know it all, especially if they’re in touch with any other groups.”

  “Yeah, and see if you can find out more about the Mobley Johnson flyover. We still don’t know enough about that.”

  “Well, guys, since my ass is on the line, you know I’m gonna do what I can.”

  “That’s what we like to hear, Rick!” Bill told him.

  “Yeah, you keep up the good work, and you’ll be home free.”

  The stenographer returned. She had typed up his testimony on an official form, and they had him sign at the bottom, with her standing by as an official witness. When they were done, Bill thanked her for her help, and she left.

  Rick looked at the two agents. “Anything else?”

  “You can go now. Just keep us posted.”

  “And just remember, you do nice things for us, and we’ll do nice things for you…like let you keep your buns to yourself. Sound like a deal, Rick?”

  “Sounds like a deal to me, fellas!”

  “We’re just a couple a teddy bears, Rick.” Bill said. “Now get the fuck outta here.”

  § § § § § §

  The two FBI agents stepped into Reginald Arnold’s office and took chairs in front of his desk. A brass sign on the desk identified this third man as a district supervisor. Unlike Bill Hammerstein and Tom McCullers, in keeping with his supervisory role, his attire conveyed a more formal appearance. While the other two habitually wore sport shirts and off-the-rack sport coats, Reginald had on a tie, a starched pinstriped shirt, ruby cufflinks, and red suspenders. He had not even bo
thered to roll up his sleeves.

  He listened as the two agents justified their intent.

  “This way, we nab them red-handed,” Bill explained. “A domestic terror group caught in the act. A smooth operation, a clean conviction. They walk right into our loving embrace…and we give them the kiss of death. It doesn’t get any easier than that, Reggie.”

  Reginald Arnold had been with the agency twenty-one years. He had had his share of adventures—a few gun battles, several sting operations, even a couple of high-speed car chases—but he had also been the victim of more than one miscalculation resulting in a reprimand and a stern warning. Perforce of mistakes and errors of judgment, he had overcome the cowboy syndrome younger, less experienced agents were sometimes prone to.

  “What about glitches? You prepared for glitches and fuckups? I was in on the Randy Weaver fiasco—we don’t need another shit storm like that.”

  “This is different, Reggie. Randy Weaver was based more on rumors and innuendo than anything else. We know with absolute certainty what these folks are up to. We got a first-class ear on this, and he’s getting firsthand information. We can follow them every step of the way, from inception to execution.”

  “What do you think, Tom?”

  Tom McCullers cleared his throat. “I’m with Bill on this one, Reggie. We got our boy Rick by the balls—if he steers us wrong, he’s goin’ down, and he knows it. He’s not gonna try to fuck us—if he does, he’s in for a lotta time. Besides, he’s in solid with this group. He was an integral part of that smokestack affair back in Cleveland; they used his expertise to get it done. He’s been with these folks since then, and he’s kept us up to date. We’re onto something big here, Reggie—there may even be other organizations involved. If we let it play out, we’ll have a major bag, zipped up and ready to go.”

  Reginald swung around in his chair and looked out the window. He ran a hand over his partially bald head and gave the back of his neck a couple of squeezes.