Camm was not giving in. She glanced over at Cal with irritation. Cal knew she hated being called “dude.” Lenny had been calling both her and Martha “dude” the whole trip.
Again, Lenny looked to Cal for rescue.
“Sorry, man,” Cal said, shrugging his shoulders. He had known who was going to win this fight the second it started. “She’s the boss. I take orders from her.”
“It’s your car, dude,” Lenny pleaded.
“Yeah, I know, but, like I said, she’s the boss. Get used to it. Just shower man, so we can get back on the road and not waste any more time.”
Cal knew Lenny was stubborn, but he was no match for Camm.
Martha saved the day. She grabbed her shower packet that contained her soap, shampoo, and other hygiene items. Taking Lenny by the arm, she directed him off toward the showers.
“I know Camm, too,” she explained with a knowing look in her eye. “Better do what she says before she punches your lights out.”
Cal could hear Lenny still grumbling, but he went along with Martha, apparently willing to follow instructions from her, if from no one else.
After they had passed out of hearing range, Camm shot Cal an annoyed look and said, “Tell me again why we’re bringing him along.”
Cal held his hands up in a helpless manner. “He asked for a ride to L.A., just like Martha.”
Camm scowled at him. “It’s not the same thing, and you know it. Martha’s helping pay for gas. Lenny’s not helping with anything.”
Cal’s eyes widened. “Hey, Camm, don’t move. There is something on your neck.” He reached toward her, but she brushed his hand away.
“Don’t try that with me! You’re just trying to change the subject.”
“No, Camm, really; there is something on your neck.” Cal reached out and plucked something off her neck. Holding up his palm, he showed her what he had found.
It was a small, brown, hairy spider, maybe a baby tarantula. Camm pulled back with an involuntary shiver. She hadn’t known it was on her, but now rubbed her neck vigorously. Cal knew it was hard to spook Camm, but he also knew she hated spiders. From their earliest childhood, it had been Cal’s job to get rid of spiders. Camm was so self-sufficient that she didn’t let Cal do much for her, so Cal had always been glad to perform at least that small service.
She shuddered again. “Get rid of it. Just get rid of it.” She turned her head away, refusing to look at it. Cal stepped over to some bushes and gently dropped it to the ground in a protected area, where it scurried to get away.
Camm was scowling when he returned. “I bet Lenny brought that thing into the car. He probably has insects and small rodents hidden all over his body.”
Cal sighed. “Yeah right, like he’s totally covered in spiders and rodents and stuff—just well hidden. Come on Camm, you are such a big, whiny baby.”
Camm smiled in spite of both Lenny and the spider. The light came back into her eyes. Cal had thrown down the gauntlet. “You’re a big, whiny baby with a poopy diaper.”
Cal countered immediately, “You are the poopy diaper.”
Camm pointed both index fingers at him and exclaimed, “You are the poop!”
Cal let her have the last word. This type of exchange was only a silly little ritual carried over from childhood, but for the moment, they both laughed, friends again. The tension had eased. They were, after all, lifelong best friends.
Camm sighed. “Cal, seriously, we have to talk to Lenny. He’s got to pay his own way!”
At that moment, Cal’s cell phone went off. Without looking to see who was calling, Cal said, “I’d better take this.” Turning away, he wandered off with his phone.
Camm stayed by the car, muttering to herself under her breath. She picked up the make-shift fan and continued the fruitless effort to rid the “odor de Lenny” from the car.
When Cal came back, the expression on his face had changed drastically.
Camm read his expression instantly. “What’s going on? Who was that on the phone?”
“A buddy from the Trona football squad. I told him to call me if anything else funny or weird happened. It looks like we have another Code Red.”
“Oh no!” Camm’s shoulders drooped. “Another one so soon? Who is it?”
“Dave McCurdy, but it gets worse.”
“How can it get worse?”
“Those old dudes in the suits are back. There are black SUVs and government agents everywhere. Even your old friend, Agent Allen, is there. Although, he said she doesn’t seem to be working directly with the other guys. I guess that’s government efficiency for you.”
“Agent Allen can hold her own. She knows what she is doing,” Camm said, sticking up for the FBI agent. “Those other guys better watch out.”
“I guess.” Cal remembered the white-haired men and the very real threats they had made. He wasn’t anxious to see them again.
He tilted his head. “But here’s the weird thing. No one knows what happened for sure. Dave was out with his party crew—you know, Jim, Sean, and Bob—and they just kinda came back without him. No one’s saying what happened to Dave, and no one, not even your sweet ol’ Agent Allen, can get near the other three. They were hauled out of Trona, in a black helicopter, no less, with not so much as a ‘by your leave’ for their parents. No one has talked to them or seen them since. Their parents are fit to be tied.
“All we know is that Dave’s parents have been told he met with a terrible accident and won’t be coming home—not even a body to bury. Jim, Sean, and Bob’s parents have been raising holy hell to find out what’s going on, but the Feds won’t even say where their sons have been taken. They could be at Guantanamo Bay, for all anybody knows.”
Camm looked exasperated. “This is going to make things more complicated.”
“Ya think?” Cal retorted sarcastically. “But wait, it’s more complicated than you know. They have set up a guard post or something just south of town, near the West End plant. No one who doesn’t already live in Trona is allowed to come into town, except to work at the plant. There’s talk of evacuating the whole town, but it may be just talk. Anyway, they don’t want to shut down the plant, so they are checking everyone’s ID who comes in or out of Searles Valley.
“If we try to go back, they will spot us a mile away. I don’t know what Jim, Sean, and Bob did, but I bet if the Feds catch us back in town, we’ll get the same treatment they got. Our parents will never know what happened to us.”
Camm put her chin in her hand and looked puzzled. Cal could tell she was thinking. For some reason, this brought back fond memories of a much younger Camm.
She finally asked, “Have they set up a road block on the north end of town, you know out by Valley Wells or Great Falls on the road that comes in from Panamint Valley?”
“I don’t think so, why?”
“I guess we’ll just have to use the back door then.” She gave a quick nod of her head.
Suddenly, Cal was paying full attention again. “What?”
“You know, rather than come in from the south, let’s head north to Vegas and Death Valley. We’ll come in from the north. It will take a couple extra hours, but if we get there in the middle of the night, they will never know we’re there, and we can find a place to hide out.”
Cal scowled with concern. “The Feds aren’t playing around, Camm. You know what will happen to us if they catch us sneaking around town, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course, I know. Are you turning chicken on me?”
“No,” Cal answered flatly. “I just wondered how you felt about spending the flower of your youth in a federal pen.”
“Let’s make contact with Agent Allen as soon as we can. She will help us think this through. We can trust her to not give us away to the NSA agents.”
“She couldn’t protect us from the NSA last time.”
“I know, Cal. It’s the best I can think of for now. We’ll work on it as we go, but we can’t just give up. There are innocent p
eople in Trona, people we grew up with, and like you said, they are not being told the truth. They deserve a chance to protect themselves.”
Camm laid her hand on his arm and peered earnestly up into his face. “Unless we do something, kids will keep on disappearing. Think of the Justenoughs. Think of Dave. We can’t let this keep happening. We know things, important things, things that might save lives. At some point, what we know may be critical to those people. We have to go back.”
While Camm talked, Cal contemplated her face. She was all worked up, preparing to take on the world again. It brought back visions of her chewing out the old white-haired man. Cal had wanted to kiss her then, and suddenly, he wished he could now. Staring down at her upturned face, all he knew was, wherever she was going, he was going, too.
“Okay, let’s go do it, but, you know, I’m way too pretty for prison.”
Camm laughed in spite of herself and gave Cal a friendly punch in the arm. “Load up, pretty boy. Here come Martha and Lenny. Time to hit the road.”
Suddenly, turning back to Cal, Camm gave him a quizzical look. “What did you say? The flower of your youth? When did you get to be so poetic?”
“Oh, you know, in college they make you read books and stuff. Don’t be surprised. It won’t be long and I’ll be as smart as you, maybe even smarter.”
Camm laughed, but her eyes considered him thoughtfully.
She was still distracted when Lenny walked up to her and held his arms out for inspection. His hair was wet, and his long, blond ponytail was pulled tight in back, but was uncombed. His t-shirt and shorts were damp as if he had washed them and used the hand dryer on the bathroom wall to mostly dry them out. Everything smelled like Martha’s bath soap.
“There! You happy now?” he demanded with pain in his voice.
“Yes,” Camm said as she guided him toward the car. “You smell like a rose.”
That did not make Lenny happy. “Dude! I don’t want to smell like a rose—that is so unnatural. I want to smell like a hunter-gatherer.”
Camm rolled her eyes, “Whatever, caveman. We’ll return you to the wild as soon as possible. Now, get in the car. There has been a slight change of plans.”
Any relief Cal felt from the resolution of the Camm-Lenny conflict was washed away by the nervous anticipation of going back to Trona, and maybe to prison. Cal knew those white-haired guys meant business. Nevertheless, he slid into his Camaro and started the engine.
Martha and Lenny sat close together in the back seat, discussing the pros and cons of rose-scented soap. Cal was surprised by how much of the talking was coming from Martha. She was deeply involved in the discussion, making some strong arguments about the advantages of smelling like a rose if you were a modern-day hunter-gatherer.
Glancing over at Camm, seated next to him, Cal smiled. The air in the car was a lot easier to breath now. If he was going down, at least he was going down with Camm. For better or worse, Team One was back in business, and that was what was important. Whatever they had to face, they would face it together. Cal couldn’t ask for more than that—at least for now.
Slipping the Camaro into first gear, he released the clutch and pressed hard on the gas. With a roar of the engine and a screech of the tires, they were on their way to Trona.
VII
Special Agent Linda Allen sighed, glancing between the paper in her hand and the two beefy young men standing guard outside the back door of the old Searles Mansion. It was true she had a court order giving her access to the mansion and everything inside, but when it came down to it, it was just a piece of paper. And those two very big guys had guns bulging conspicuously under their suit jackets. Of course, Agent Allen had her gun, too, but it was still two against one. Besides, a fire fight between different branches of the U.S. Federal Government, especially the NSA and FBI, was probably not a good idea.
The shorter guard noticed her standing by her car and scowled. After a quick head jerk to alert his companion, he talked into his shirt cuff, and then, cocking his head and holding a finger to his ear, listened to a response through his ear piece.
That’s real discreet, Agent Allen thought sarcastically. At this point, she had nothing to lose, so she marched up and thrust the paper out for their inspection.
“Here is a court order signed by a federal judge giving me access to this property, the building on it, and any appurtenances hereto, and everything on the property, inside the building, and in connection with said appurtenances. Please open the door and step out of the way.”
There were no appurtenances thereto, but she used the legal jargon, hoping to sound as official as possible.
The taller guard took the paper and quickly scanned it. “This was signed by a judge in Washington D.C. Does a D.C. judge have jurisdiction in California?” he asked flatly, obviously not expecting an answer. No one moved out of the way. No one opened the door.
Agent Allen set her jaw and stood a little straighter. “The D.C. circuit has jurisdiction over FBI investigations. I am here on an official FBI investigation. That order is effective. Unless you obey that order immediately, you will be in contempt of court.”
Truthfully, she wasn’t sure if the D.C. court had jurisdiction or not. Typically these sorts of orders were not served on other federal agents, and usually nobody questioned their authenticity. She had, in fact, used a judge in D.C. hoping to blind-side the other agents, who were probably monitoring the closest Federal Court for just this kind of order, so they could oppose it.
It was crazy the NSA would not assist a legitimate FBI investigation. They should be helping each other—after all, they were on the same side. But lately, she had felt they were her competition. They certainly acted like it.
“We were not given notice of the motion for this order. I don’t believe the order is enforceable without proper statutory notice.” This came from the tall agent who had brought up the issue of jurisdiction.
Agent Allen studied him. Interesting. He seems to know his stuff.
Under different circumstances Agent Allen might have considered him good-looking. He was tall, maybe six foot five, with dark hair, dark complexion, and brilliant blue eyes. Normally, his chiseled features would have been appealing to her. She was not, after all, made out of wood. Right now, however, she just wanted to kick him in the knee, or maybe somewhere else.
Agent Allen was prepared with a quick rebuttal. “This property is still owned by the same company that owns that plant over there.” Agent Allen pointed in the direction of the large Trona chemical facility, spouting smoke and fumes. “The legal owners of this property were given the required statutory notice, and they chose not to respond. The order is based on de facto legal notice and is legally enforceable.”
The two guards looked at each other, and the shorter one shrugged. The other, the good-looking one, was not willing to give up so easily.
“The NSA has taken legal custody of this building and related property, ceded by its owners without objection or opposition. Therefore, any notice of a request for an order granting access to the building should have come to the NSA.” The guard gave her a slight smile, indicating he thought he had won.
Agent Allen noticed, against her will, that his teeth were straight and very white. At the same time, she realized his aftershave smelled enticing. I’m not familiar with that particular scent. Hmmmm.
However, she was not willing to concede defeat, especially not based on his animal magnetism. If anything, she was now prepared to take off the gloves.
Her thoughts raced as she tried to remember what she had learned in her Federal Civil Procedure class in law school. “There was no public notice, statutory or otherwise, given of your agency taking custody of this property or building, and we, the FBI, were not given specific actual or statutory notice either. You cannot legally demand notice be given to you in lieu of the actual owners unless you have notified, pursuant to law, all interested parties of your action. Your failure to receive notice of our motion for this orde
r is due only to your antecedent failure to follow proper notice procedures once having obtained custodial control of the premises.”
She kept a straight face, but thought, Could I sound any more obtuse?
After a deep breath, she continued, “You must comply with this order or be in contempt of court. Open the door and step aside!”
The guards stiffened noticeably. Mr. Animal Magnetism cleared his throat as if he were going to say something, but instead glanced at his partner. Agent Allen knew what she was seeing—they were showing all the signs of defeat, at least on the legal argument front. But, they did not move out of the way. Finally, Mr. Animal Magnetism, after clearing his throat several more times, said, “We have to inform our superior first.”
“Look, Mr. What-ever-your-name-is, just move out of the way.”
“Roberts, my name is Roberts, and I still have to inform our boss.”
“No need.” Agent Allen deliberately emphasized each word in her next statement. “Just obey the court order and open the door. I will take it from there.”
The other guard responded, “We don’t have the key to the door, nor the code to turn off the alarm. We have to wait for Mr—”
Just then a black SUV roared into the dirt parking area, skidding to a stop and throwing a bellowing cloud of dust into the air. Agent Allen frowned. These guys had been playing her all along, stalling for time until their boss could arrive.
The door to the SUV flew open. Out stepped one of the old white-haired men. He was the taller of the two, the one with short hair. Agent Allen disliked this one the least. She still didn’t like him, but she definitely disliked the other one—the one she had met with briefly in Washington D.C.—more, much more.
The white-haired man had shed his coat and tie, undoubtedly due to the very warm spring temperatures. Walking casually to where his guards were standing, he held out his hand for the court order, which was obediently handed to him by Mr. Roberts. The old man gave Agent Allen a smile devoid of all warmth, and then, without comment, carefully perused the paper. His face showed no expression, and he seemed to be reading every word in the whole document. She had served a lot of papers, but no one had ever stopped to read them while she waited. Tapping her foot impatiently, she was sure it took an ice age for him to read the whole thing.
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