An Element of Risk

by Don Easton

  “I know. It worries me. Then again, he’s a Mountie. God knows if he’s even had any training or experience when it comes to working undercover. He might be sleeping.”

  “More likely passed out from drinking all night,” Schneider replied in a tone that revealed his displeasure. He pushed a button on his watch to illuminate it. “It’s one a.m. We’ve only got twelve hours before Ferg’s funeral starts.”

  Dawson was distracted when he heard their replacements approaching. He gestured toward them and said, “Good, they’re here. They can feed the bugs for a while. Let’s get back to our car.”

  Schneider eyed the logging camp as he stood up. “You know somethin’? If they haven’t killed him, I think I will.”

  They returned to their vehicle and Dawson cranked up the heat. At 1:15 a.m. his phone vibrated and he quickly fished it out of his pocket.

  “Is it Jack?” Schneider asked excitedly.

  Dawson looked at the call display. A combination of disappointment and frustration came over him. “Nope. Washington area code,” he replied.

  * * *

  Jack felt smugly satisfied when he used Reverend Bob’s phone to call Dawson. He knew they’d be upset — but also knew the news he had to share would make up for it.

  He paused after his call was answered. “Hi, Wayne. It’s Jack. How’re you doing?”

  “How the fuck am I doing?” Dawson yelled.

  Oh, you’re really pissed.

  “Jesus Christ, it’s about time you called!” he roared.

  “Sorry, I’ve been a little busy. This is the first chance I’ve had. Where are you?”

  “Outside the bloody camp. We’ve been taking turns watching from the bush and have been worried sick. You should’ve given us a sign to let us know you were still alive.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “Ferg’s funeral is in twelve hours, by the way.”

  “I know.” The thought of the funeral caused Jack to feel depressed as he stared out the open window of the Dodge Ram at the Coggins brothers. They were both sprawled face down on the road beside him. Each facing in opposite directions with their hands tied behind their backs with their own belts.

  “So, what’s happening?” Dawson asked.

  “What camp are you at?”

  “The logging camp. What’d you think? All of us will need fucking blood transfusions for all the mosquitoes and God knows what other things have been chewing on us.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You could have at least gone outside for a walk or somethin’ and then called us.”

  “I wasn’t able to.”

  “Why not?”

  “I thought you might have placed a wrong number call to me?”

  “I tried! Three times! Check your messages.”

  “I see.” Jack waited a beat. “Zach said it didn’t go to voice messaging when he called.”

  “Zach? Zach who?”

  “Zach Coggins. He and his brother Luke are with me right now.”

  Dawson’s voice dropped a level. “I’ll be damned.” He then said to Schneider, “He’s with the Coggins brothers.”

  “That’s great,” Schneider said in the background. “So, it was them who killed Ferg?”

  “No,” Jack stated to Dawson. “It was another guy by the name of Reverend Bob.”

  “Reverend Bob?” He paused. “How close are Zach and Luke to you? Do you have much time to talk?”

  “I’m sitting in a truck and they’re outside. Talking isn’t a problem.”

  “Okay … good,” Wayne replied. “This Reverend Bob, is he there, too?”

  “Yes, but he’s dead.”

  “He’s dead?”

  “Yes, him and his son. A kid by the name of Jeremiah. I killed them both by arranging to have them smash their truck into a tree.”

  Dawson paused. “Goddamn it! This isn’t the time to be playing jokes! Maybe you think it’s funny, but —”

  “I’m not joking.”

  “Bullshit you’re not! We’d have heard something!”

  “Listen to this,” Jack said, placing the phone in his lap before firing a burst of three bullets from the M16 over the heads of the Coggins’ brothers. He then yelled, “I told you to lay still and no talking!”

  “We weren’t talking,” Zach whined while squirming deeper into the mud.

  Jack picked up his phone. “You hear that?”

  “Jesus Christ! Where are you? We didn’t hear any shots here.”

  “I’m not sure. About a two-hour drive southeast of Ferndale.”

  “What the hell?”

  “Let me bring you up-to-date, starting when Vath and I were at the Jack in the Box restaurant Saturday night.”

  “Hang on; I’m gonna put my phone on speaker so Schneider can hear.”

  Jack then outlined what had taken place and was only interrupted by the occasional expletive.

  “Holy God, mother of Jesus,” Dawson exclaimed when Jack finished.

  “Give me a sec,” Jack said, then he reached in the glovebox and retrieved the truck’s ownership papers. It gave the owner’s name as Robert Finnius along with a rural address.

  Wayne listened as Jack gave him the address. ­“Schneider tapped it into his phone. According to Google, you’re about a three-hour drive from where we’re at.”

  Jack sighed. “I’m sorry, Wayne. Tell Ralph and anyone else with you that I’m sorry. Apologize to Betty, too.”

  “For what?” Wayne replied. “As far as I’m concerned, you should get a medal.”

  “The funeral. You won’t be able to make it out here, clean up the mess I made, then make it back in time.”

  “You’d be surprised,” Wayne replied. “Unlike you Mounties, we don’t ride horses,” he added jokingly. “Any place to land a chopper where you’re at?”

  “I’m close to a rifle range they made. A few rocks for the pilot to watch for, but still lots of room to land.”

  “Good. We’re on our way. I’ll call you once we’re in the air. When we get close, flash the headlights and we’ll be able to use the chopper’s spotlight to find it.”

  “Will do.”

  “And Jack … hang on to the phone you’re using, okay? At least until we get there.”

  Chapter Fifty-One

  It was 2:45 a.m. when Dawson, Schneider, and four other ATF special agents arrived by helicopter. ­Corporal Frisby and Constable Willisko had been sent back to Canada, as their function to assist the cover team was no longer needed.

  Jack watched as the Coggins brothers were taken into custody. He then turned to Dawson. “Mind if I borrow your phone to call my wife? She’ll be worried, and I don’t want to use Reverend Bob’s phone in case the number falls into the hands of the bad guys later.”

  “I almost forgot,” Dawson said, reaching into his pocket. “I had my guys retrieve your phone from the camp. I won’t tell you what the guy said when we roused him out of bed, but he wasn’t happy.”

  Moments later Jack limped down the road out of earshot and called Natasha. “Hi, hon. Everything is okay and we can talk.”

  “Did something bad happen?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “It’s the middle of the night, and I know you like to reach out to me if you’ve been through some sort of ordeal.”

  “Actually, something good happened. The investigation is completely wrapped up and I’m watching a bunch of ATF agents take some bad guys into custody.”

  “You found out who murdered Ferg?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s great to hear.” Natasha paused. “I hope it gives Betty some comfort.”

  “I hope so, too. She doesn’t know yet, but soon will.”

  “Where are you?”

  “In a backwoods area somewhere in Washington. I’m not exactly sure.”

  “Your voice sounds awful. Are you really okay?”

  “Really tired, but I’m okay. I need you to — ouch! Son-of-a — sorry, I need you to do something
for me.”

  “It doesn’t sound like you’re okay. You’re hurt, aren’t you?” Natasha said accusingly.

  “I sprained my knee doing some zip-lining. Really … I’m okay.”

  “Zip-lining? Sounds like you were having fun.” She paused. “Too bad you hurt yourself. I’d have thought that was safe.”

  “I thought so, too, but it wasn’t as much fun as you’d think. The cable was at too steep of an angle and I crash landed.”

  “That’s crazy!”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “Sounds like the owner is vulnerable for a lawsuit,” Natasha noted.

  “I’m not really into suing people,” Jack replied. “I killed him instead,” he added flippantly.

  Natasha was silent for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was sombre. “Was this the same person who killed Ferg?”

  Jack’s reply was lighthearted and factitious. “Yes, how did you know?”

  “It’s not funny, Jack. I’m scared enough for the work you do. You laughing about killing someone doesn’t help.”

  Jack took a moment. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m still coming down from what happened. I feel tense and jittery. I think I was trying to convince myself that what happened didn’t freak me out.”

  “Are you, uh, concerned with how he died?”

  “No, not at all. He tried to drive over me and then hit a tree and died from his injuries minutes later. Everything’s okay in that department.” When Natasha didn’t respond, he continued. “Honest. I’m safe. Lots of ATF agents are with me and the only remaining bad guys are in custody.”

  Natasha sounded irritated. “You said there was something you needed me to do.”

  “Yes, I need you to phone an informant and first tell him he no longer owes me anything because the guy who killed the ATF agent is dead.”

  “By the ATF agent, you mean Ferg?”

  “Yes, but my informant only knows him as the ATF agent.”

  “And you’re not calling your informant because …?”

  “I was about to get to that. I’m not calling in the event someone down the road decides to check who I called. I don’t want them to know I spoke with the informant at this time.”

  “A grey area,” Natasha stated, matter-of-factly. “What if they check this phone?”

  “I’ve got a disposable phone in the top drawer of my bedside table that I keep in case I need it for a UC scenario. Use it, but go for a drive, then call him when you’re at least ten minutes away from the house. Make sure you stick to residential areas so our car isn’t observed by any street cameras. After that, turn the phone off before returning home.”

  “This needs to be done when?”

  “As soon as we hang up.”

  “So I should probably take the boys with me.”

  “You’ll be less than thirty minutes. It’s up to you. I’m sure they’ll be okay.”

  “You’re going to be cooking a lot of dinners,” Natasha muttered.

  Jack pretended to chuckle, but in reality he was feeling apprehensive over what he was asking Natasha to do.

  “After I tell your guy that he doesn’t owe you anything, then what?”

  “Tell him that the car salesman is back in Canada and doesn’t know anything about what happened, but may find out soon.”

  “Okay, anything else?”

  “Yes. Tell him I’m sorry, but my identity as a police officer has been exposed. He’s going to have to handle that element of risk that he and I spoke of. He’ll know what it means.”

  “And that’s it?” Natasha asked. “Only those three things?”

  “Yes, that’s it. No, wait. Also tell him I feel like I owe him one get-out-of-jail-free card.”

  “Okay … you feel like you owe him one. Got it. So when will you be home?”

  “Hopefully later tonight. I’ve got a lengthy statement to write, which I’ll get started on right away. I also expect that I’ll be taken back to Seattle to be interviewed.”

  “Ferg’s funeral is this afternoon. Are you going to make it?”

  “Maybe not to the funeral, but I want to pay my respects to Betty.”

  “Tell her I’m sorry, as well. I feel so bad that I can’t go.”

  “I explained to her earlier why you couldn’t. Don’t feel bad. You’re a cop’s wife. She’ll know how you feel.”

  “I know, but tell her anyway.”

  “Okay.”

  “After I pay my respects to Betty, I’ll need to get a ride to the border. I’ll call you when I know more.”

  “Good. I better get going if you want this done.”

  “I love you, Natasha Lynne Taggart.”

  “I love you, too, Jack Bruce Taggart.”

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Jack’s next call was to Rose.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, after he explained what had happened.

  “I’m fine. I sprained my knee coming down off the tower, but other than that I feel good. Great to be alive.”

  “And you’re telling me that the person who is dead is definitely the one responsible?”

  “Yes, it was Reverend Bob. He told me himself how he drove over him and then shot him after. He and his son are both dead.”

  “And you killed them,” Rose murmured, perhaps to herself.

  “It was either them or me.”

  Rose’s tone became cynical. “So, what a surprise. The person who murdered your friend is dead.”

  “It’s not like I had a choice,” Jack said. “I’m told that about two dozen law enforcement officers will be here within the next hour or two. This will be investigated thoroughly. I’ll be writing my statement as soon as I hang up and there’ll be lots of evidence to support what I say happened. The Coggins brothers may even tell the truth because they weren’t the ones who shot at me.”

  Rose was silent for a moment, “Okay, I believe you. It’s just …” She then stopped talking.

  “Just what?”

  “These situations that you keep getting yourself into …”

  “Like I said, it was either them or me. You’ve got to believe that.”

  Rose’s sigh was audible. “I do believe you. Let’s hope Lexton does, too. Keep me posted.”

  * * *

  By 7:00 a.m. there were numerous agents from the FBI, ATF, and Washington State Police at the scene. Dawson, Schneider, and Jack were shuttled back in the helicopter to Seattle.

  Shortly after arriving at the ATF office, Jack finished writing his statement. It was 9:00 a.m. when he went to a coffee room with Schneider. In the meantime, Dawson copied his statement to hand out to his superiors for a hastily scheduled meeting.

  As they waited in the coffee room, Jack saw Schneider looking at him. He seemed both nervous and embarrassed.

  “Something wrong?” Jack asked.

  “Yeah … there is.” He cleared his throat. “I want to apologize for how I behaved the night Ferg was killed. I know it wasn’t your fault. What I said and how I acted when I called you was way out of line.”

  “It’s okay,” Jack replied. “You weren’t the only one who was angry with me. I was angry at myself for not crossing the border that night. I still am.”

  “I’d say you more than made up for it.”

  Jack grimaced. “What I did might help, but nothing can make up for what happened.”

  Schneider swallowed. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, he said, “Hey, how about you wait while I go find you a crutch to use? You look like you’re in a bit of pain.”

  “Thanks. That’d really be appreciated.”

  Jack didn’t mind Schneider’s excuse to leave. He felt exhausted and preferred to be alone with his thoughts. Thoughts that when you’re exhausted turn into questions. Questions that make life seem impossible to handle as your mind plays with the “what ifs.” What if I’d crossed the border that night, would Ferg still be alive? What if I was shot and killed last night? What if the cable broke and I was run over? What if …

&nbs
p; He closed his eyes in a bid to fall asleep, but the thoughts prevailed. When he did start to drift off, his body would twitch and he’d awake.

  At 10:15 a.m., Dawson and Schneider walked into the coffee room together.

  “Here you go,” Schneider said as he handed Jack a crutch. “I was going to have the guys sign it for you, but most of them are still out at the scene.”

  “That’s okay. Thank you,” Jack replied, then stood and adjusted the crutch to fit his height. He looked at Dawson. “I’m ready. I imagine your Internal Affairs or whoever oversees this sort of thing will want to interview me.”

  “Not today,” Wayne replied. “Your statement was so detailed that nobody had any questions. It also matches the evidence at the scene, right down to the bullet holes through the tower and shell casings found along the top of that rocky ridge where you hid. If anyone does have any questions, they can contact you later.”

  “Good,” Jack replied.

  “What we’re going to do is go back to my place, shower, change, and get ready for Ferg’s funeral.” He glanced at his watch. “We might even be able to squeeze in a nap.”

  “Uh, about the funeral, I —”

  “If you’re worried about what to wear, I’ve got some clothes that I think will fit you. If they don’t, don’t worry about it. I’ve already spoken with Betty and she wants you to have a seat beside her. She won’t care about what you’re wearing.”

  “No, it’s not that. I’m an undercover operator and would prefer not to have my picture on the news. Being close to her would ensure that.”

  “Oh,” Wayne replied, looking somewhat taken back. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Would you tell her that I really appreciate the gesture, but I’m sure the media will be everywhere.”

  “That’ll be for certain,” Schneider agreed.

  “What I’d like to do is meet her privately for a few minutes,” Jack added. “Perhaps before the funeral?”

  “Okay … I understand. I’ll arrange it,” Dawson said.

  “Then I’d like a ride to the border, or considering that all of you’ll want to be at the funeral, I could take a bus. I really don’t mind.”

  “Not on your life,” Schneider replied. “If Betty heard that, she’d chew our asses off.”