Free Fire jp-7

by C. J. Box

  Cutler saw him looking at it, said, “That’s Sunburst Hot Pot. It’s much, much cooler than the hot springs, and it’s a really nice pool to lounge in”-he grinned slyly at Demming-“if one were so inclined.”

  Joe checked out the hot pot. If God designed a natural Jacuzzi, he thought, this would be it. It was waist deep, clear, and someone had fitted flat wooden planks into the walls to sit on. Obviously, the pool had been used for illegal hot-potting. Joe visualized Hoening sitting on one of the planks with a Minnesotafemale he had just lured out from L.A., and smiled.

  “Nice place for a date,” he said.

  As he circled the hot pot he felt an odd sensation of someone blowing air up his pant leg. He stopped and turned, studied the ground. It took a moment before he saw the series of quarter-sizedholes in the ground, each emitting a light stream. He squatted and held his palm out to one of them, feeling it on his skin. No doubt, he thought, the superheated earth under the surfacehad to release something, like a natural pressure cooker. He’d heard about visitors (and, more likely, Zephyr employees) burying chickens in the ground in secret places to bake them. He thought he could probably do that here. The idea intrigued him.

  The ground in the little tree-lined basin was nearly white, as if it had been baked. The consistency of the dirt was crumbly. Joe noted a long dark line in the earth that extended from deep in the trees and topped an almost imperceptible rise. The dark streak ran past the side of the hot springs and out the other side.

  “What’s that?” Joe asked.

  “Like I mentioned,” Cutler said, “the cool thing about the park is that all of the insides are pushed out in places. That’s a seam of underground coal. It’s not very big, and it’s hard to say how far down it extends. It’s one of the few places in the whole park where there’s any coal.”

  Joe had learned earlier not to wander away from the path establishedby Cutler for fear of breaking through and falling in, so he stuck close to him, as did Demming. He watched as the geologistwent downhill from the spring itself along one of the troughs of runoff that came from the hot springs, where he pushed aside some ancient pitch wood stumps and revealed a thermister and a half-submerged wood-sided box of some kind in the water. He called Joe and Demming over, and they squatted near him.

  With a small laptop computer, Cutler plugged into the thermisterand downloaded the last two weeks of temperature readings.Joe noticed both the instrument and the wooden box were covered with what looked like long pink hair that wafted in the soft current of the warm water.

  "I call this ‘million-dollar slime,’” Cutler said, pointing at the pink microbe growth. “This is the stuff used for genetic typingI told you about. I don’t know how it works, of course, but the company that harvests it can’t replicate it in a lab. They need to get it right here at Sunburst, and as far as they know, this is the only place on earth it can be found.”

  “Kind of pretty, but not very impressive,” Demming said.

  Cutler agreed. He told Joe that the bioengineering firm sent a truck into the park every month or so with a heated incubator in the back to harvest the microbes that had grown inside the box. The thermophiles were transported to Jackson or Bozeman and flown to the company laboratory in Europe.

  “Okay,” Cutler said, once again arranging the driftwood over the equipment so it couldn’t be seen from the trail, “we’re done here.”

  As they trudged back toward the pickup, Joe’s mind raced with new possibilities. Demming eyed him suspiciously.

  Joe said to Cutler, “You said Hoening and the others sometimescame along with you when you did your work. Did they ever come here?”

  “Sure, a couple of times.”

  “Did they know about the million-dollar slime?”

  “Definitely. It’s no secret. The contracts are public record, even though more than a few people have a problem with the idea.”

  “Like me,” Demming said.

  “Rick Hoening did too,” Cutler said. “Me, I keep my mouth shut and my head down. I don’t want anyone mad at me enough to take away the opportunity to spend my time out here, doing the good work.”

  Joe could tell Cutler said it for Demming’s benefit.

  “What’s the issue, anyway?” he asked.

  “Think about it, Joe,” Demming said. “It’s illegal to take a twig out of the park. We don’t allow oil or energy companies in here to drill, or lumber companies to come in and cut down the trees. This is a national park! But for some reason, we allow bioengineering firms to come in here and take the microbes. We’re talking about thermophiles that have made millions and millions of dollars for the companies that use them. And who knows what other uses are being made of the species here? It’s a damned crime. Hypocrisy too.”

  “Hoening got worked up for the same reason,” Cutler said. “He talked to me about it several times. He thought it was outrageousthat a big company could come in here and take resourcesfrom the public and profit from it. He was kind of a Commie at times, I thought.”

  Joe hadn’t thought of it that way. “Who lets them?” he asked.

  Demming and Cutler exchanged a look. “The Park Service,” Demming said. “They negotiate contracts with them, two or three years’ exclusive use of the microbes obtained from certain hot springs. The companies pay a few hundred thousand dollars for the rights.”

  “Does the Park Service or the government get a royalty on what’s found?”

  “Of course not,” Demming said.

  “Then why do they do it?”

  She shrugged. “They just do. The NPS will do anything for cash since we’re so underfunded. Or so we say.”

  “Who has the contract for Sunburst, then?”

  She shrugged, looked at Cutler. “I can’t remember the name,” he said. “But it’s foreign, I know that.”

  Joe stopped abruptly.

  “What?” Demming asked.

  “This might turn out to be something,” Joe said. “If Hoening was worked up about bio-prospecting, and his complaints were too loud, it might be a reason to silence him.”

  Her eyes widened for a moment, then narrowed as she thought about it. “I’d like to think that, Joe. But as much as I don’t like it, there’s nothing illegal going on here. Nothing worth killing about, for sure. The bio-mining operation is perfectlylegitimate, even though I think it’s a stupid idea that goes against park policy.”

  Her words deflated him somewhat. He said, “Still, though, this is the only thing we’ve found that might be a motive.”

  She shrugged. “So where does Clay McCann fit into this?”

  “He was the lawyer who filed the application for the permit.”

  “I can’t imagine that kind of legal work would be so lucrativehe’d kill to keep the business, can you? He was probably hired because he’s local, and probably didn’t have many bill-ablehours.”

  “Let me think about it,” he said.

  It was almost evening as they approached the turnoff back to Old Faithful. Joe, Demming, and Cutler had batted around the theory Joe had advanced, but nothing new or solid came from the discussion. After a while, each lapsed into their own thoughts.

  Joe wished Marybeth and his girls would be waiting for him, but their reunion was still days away. He wondered if Nate had turned up anything talking with Zephyr people. He tried not to think about George Pickett. Instead, he pushed his father’s appearanceout of his mind, as far away as he could push it. He was unsuccessful, though. He felt a sense of growing dread the closer they got to the inn.

  He thanked Cutler for making the time that day.

  Cutler didn’t answer, his eyes on the rearview mirror.

  “Damned if I don’t see that red truck behind us again,” Cutlersaid.

  “Pull over after you’ve made the turn,” Demming said. “Let’s see who’s been following us all day.”

  “Cool,” Cutler said.

  They took the turn to Old Faithful and in the first stand of trees that couldn’t be seen from the
highway, Cutler drove off the asphalt and hit the brakes.

  Joe and Demming bailed out the passenger door. She drew her weapon, glanced at Joe.

  “Where’s your gun?” she asked.

  He felt his face flush. “In my daypack in the truck.”

  Her eye roll was brief but damning.

  “Let me get it,” he said.

  “Forget it, Joe,” she said, stepping out onto the road and slippingher pistol back into her holster. “He’s gone. The red truck never made the turn.”

  Joe was greeted at the desk by two messages. The first was a flyer reminding all guests that the Old Faithful Inn would close for the winter the following day at noon. The second was from Dr. Keaton and George Pickett, inviting him to dinner at the employee cafeteria.

  PART FOUR

  YELLOWSTONE GAME PROTECTION ACT, 1894

  AN ACT TO PROTECT THE BIRDS AND

  ANIMALS IN YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL

  PARK, AND TO PUNISH CRIMES IN SAID PARK,

  AND FOR OTHER PURPOSES,

  Approved May 7, 1894 (28 Stat. 73)

  SEC. 3. That if any offense shall be committed in said Yellowstone National Park, which offense is not prohibited or the punishment is not specially provided for by any law of the United States or by any regulation of the Secretary of the Interior, the offender shall be subject to the same punishment as the laws of the State of Wyoming in force at the time of the commission of the offense may provide for a like offense in said State; and no subsequent repeal of any such law in the State of Wyoming shall affect any prosecution for said offense committedwithin said park. (U.S.C., title 16, sec. 25.)

  15

  “DID THEY SEE YOU?” MCCANN ASKED BUTCH TOOMER after the ex-sheriff had returned from the park in his red Ford pickup and entered the law office. McCann had asked while ushering him into his office past Sheila, who eyed them both with open suspicion. When he closed the door he heard her cry, “Hey!” but ignored it.

  Toomer had an annoying habit of wearing his aviator shades while he was working, so no one could see his eyes. He sat heavily in the chair across from McCann and lit a cigarette. “Yup,” he said. “I’m pretty sure they saw me.”

  McCann felt a sharp pain in his chest. He placed his hand over his heart and rubbed it as he spoke. “I thought you were going to be inconspicuous.”

  Toomer waved his cigarette, dismissing McCann. “It couldn’t be helped. There’s no one in the park-no traffic. Of course they saw my truck, but I don’t think they saw me or were close enough to make the plate. And there’s no way they could be sure I was following them. There’s only the one road system, you know. Any fool would notice the only other car on the road, for Christ sake.”

  McCann breathed a little easier. It made sense. “What did they do?”

  The ex-sheriff withdrew a notebook from his jacket pocket. “Started the morning at Old Faithful, like we thought. Then they switched vehicles on me and I almost lost them. They got in a Park Service truck with the manager of the area by the name of Mark Cutler.”

  “You’re sure it was Mark Cutler?” McCann asked, his mouth suddenly dry.

  Toomer seemed to be studying him, but McCann wasn’t sure. He wished he’d take off those damned sunglasses.

  “Sure enough,” Toomer said finally, as if annoyed at being questioned. “He’d changed into a Park Service uniform, though, sort of doing a switcheroo on me. But I’d seen him beforeand confirmed it was him by calling the hotel and asking if he was in. I guess Cutler volunteers for the Park Service when he’s off-duty from Zephyr. He’s some kind of expert on geysers.They said his shift was over at ten and he was going out on geyser duty, so that confirmed it.”

  “You didn’t identify yourself when you called?”

  “No,” he said sarcastically, “I told them my name was Clay McCann, the infamous killer lawyer.” Despite the sunglasses, McCann could tell Toomer rolled his eyes as he spoke. Toomer said, “Are you going to question everything I say? What, do you think I’ve never done surveillance before? Do you think I’ve never carried out an investigation?”

  “Sorry.”

  Toomer grumbled and shook his head, then resumed his report.He outlined the tour Cutler had taken him on-the Upper Geyser Basin, the Firehole River, finally Biscuit Basin and SunburstHot Springs.

  McCann felt himself go cold.

  “What?” Toomer asked.

  “They went to Sunburst? Why?”

  “Damned if I know.” He shrugged. “They carried some equipment from the truck in there but I didn’t get out and follow them on foot. If I had, my cover would have been blown for sure, because that area is officially off limits. I waited until they got back to their vehicle, then followed them out.”

  “How long were they there?”

  “An hour, hour and a half.”

  “But you didn’t see what they did at the hot springs?”

  “I told you that already.”

  McCann closed his eyes, felt his heart race.

  “You want some water or something? A drink?” Toomer asked. “You look pale all of a sudden.”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Good, because I need some money for today.”

  Trying to recover, McCann opened a desk drawer and pulled out a binder of blank checks.

  “I’d prefer cash.”

  “I don’t have cash.”

  Finally, Toomer removed his sunglasses so he could glare at McCann. “I don’t want to go down to the bank and cash a check from you. The rumors would start to fly. You’re poison around this town, and I can’t be associated with you. Don’t you get that?”

  McCann swallowed. “Yes. But I don’t have five hundred in cash.”

  Toomer snorted. “You mean seven fifty. Don’t try to mess with me. We agreed on a hundred an hour.”

  “If I don’t have five hundred in cash, I don’t have seven fifty either.”

  “Get it by tomorrow. And make it eight hundred for my trouble.Plus the four thousand you owe me for weapons training. I’m tired of working for you for free.”

  McCann pursed his lips and nodded in agreement, wonderingwhere he would get the money. What could he sell, fast? He’d hoped he could send Toomer away with a check and have some money in the bank from his partners by the time the ex-sherifftried to cash it.

  “I’ll have it tomorrow,” McCann said.

  “Good.”

  Toomer just sat there, his eyes narrowing. “What’s the deal with Sunburst Hot Springs? When I said it I thought you were going to jump out of your chair. I thought this had to do with what happened down in Bechler.”

  McCann said, “It does. Don’t worry about it. I didn’t hire you to answer your questions, Butch.”

  “Why exactly did you hire me?”

  “I think we’re through here,” McCann said. “I’ll get you your fee tomorrow.”

  Toomer smiled a half-smile, put his sunglasses back on, and stood up and left without shaking McCann’s extended hand.

  “Don’t mess with me, Clay,” he said as he shut the door.

  Mccann’s insides were burbling. This thing was coming apart. He should have been out of the country by now, on an island,sipping a drink and being petted by a woman he’d yet to meet. Instead, it seemed like the sky itself was crushing down and the walls were tightening in on him like jaws of a vise. He wondered what Cutler had told Pickett and Demming.

  He punched the button for the intercom.

  “Sheila, get me Layton Barron’s home number in Denver.”

  No response.

  “Sheila?”

  “What do you think I am,” she screeched. “Your fucking secretary?”

  Barron’s wife answered and McCann asked to speak to Layton. She covered the phone while she called to her husbandbut McCann could hear her through her fingers, which he imagined as bony but finely manicured.

  Barron said, “Yes?” He didn’t sound pleased.

  “You know who this is.”

  “I can’t believe you
called me at home.” His tone was angry, astonished. “I’m going to-”

  “If you hang up on me, you’re going to spend the rest of your life in prison,” McCann said flatly. “Your bony-fingered wife will be alone with all of your treasure.”

  Pause. Then: “Honey, I need to take this in my office. Will you please hang it up in a second?”

  There were no pleasantries once Barron picked up his privatephone. “Look, I tried to call you back yesterday,” Barron said, sounding as if he were speaking through clenched teeth. “I tried that number you gave me three times. First it was busy, then it rang and rang. And how do you know about my wife?”

  “Forget that,” McCann said.

  “Then why are you calling me? How did you get my home number?”

  “Forget that too,” McCann said. “I want you to shut up and listen for once.”

  He could hear Barron take a breath. “Go ahead.”

  “We may have trouble up here. A couple of investigators”- McCann glanced at the business cards and read off the names- “went to Sunburst today with Mark Cutler. They may be too stupid to put things together, but that’s getting too close for me.”

  “Jesus,” Barron said softly.

  “I want to get out of here,” McCann said. “I want you to live up to your end of the deal. I want my money, now!”

  “Clay, it’s not what you think. We’re not trying to screw you, not at all. The SEC’s been camped out in our building for three weeks. It has nothing to do with you at all, but I can’t move any money right now. They’re going over everything for the past four years. It’s a fucking nightmare.”