“So, it’s that serious?” Turner asked.
“I almost got hit by a van on Broadway a few days ago, and I’m pretty sure the guy was aiming for me.” Jack nodded at Karen. “And a few minutes after I met up with her in Baltimore, we got chased by two guys who jumped out of an SUV and started shooting at us without asking any questions.”
“Holy shit,” Turner muttered.
“That’s what we thought.” Jack hadn’t mentioned anything to Turner about what was in the black box they’d retrieved from the cabin outside Bemidji. He figured it was better for Turner if he didn’t know about all that. “So we drove.”
“So this is more than just finding out if what happened to Troy is different from the official version you got?”
Jack took a breath and winced. The pungent odor of fish was everywhere in this town, and he still hadn’t gotten used to it. “It didn’t start like that, Ross, but that’s how it’s turned out. Look, I’ll tell you the whole story right now if you really want to—”
“I don’t want to hear the whole story,” Turner said matter-of-factly as he stopped walking and motioned for Jack and Karen to do the same. “I don’t care about any of the other stuff. In fact, the less I know the better. I just want to get this meeting with Bobby Mitchell over with. You’re an old friend, Jack, and I want to help you with Troy if I can, if there’s anything to find out.” He glanced down at the ground and kicked at a pebble on the wet street. “Look, I got busted for cocaine possession a year ago,” he mumbled, “and I can’t get in any trouble while I’m on probation. I could lose my guide license if I did, and I can’t have that. I’d have to leave Alaska, and I’d shoot myself before I did that. This is my home now.”
Jack and Karen exchanged a subtle glance as Turner kept staring down at his shoes.
“Well, look,” Jack said, “I don’t want you to—”
“It’s OK, Jack. I want to do this for you. Like I said, you’re an old friend. And there was that time you pulled my ass out of the sling. The cops were going to arrest me for that DUI. I still can’t believe you talked them out of it. That wouldn’t have looked good on the law school apps.”
Jack glanced over at Karen, who was smiling tenderly at him. He liked that smile. “How the hell did you get this meeting for us with Mitchell?” he asked, still thinking about how surprised he was that Karen had been able to cast her spell on him quickly and completely. He cared about her so much already, and he wondered if she had those same feelings for him. She’d acted like it at the bar in Missoula the other night, and then later in the room. But she’d seemed distant yesterday on the drive from Montana to Seattle. “I thought the captain of the Arctic Fire didn’t let his crew talk to anybody.”
“I didn’t get this meeting for us,” Turner answered. “It’s just gonna be Bobby Mitchell and me in there. You guys are gonna wait outside, because if Mitchell sees you two with me, he’ll probably run. I didn’t tell him I’d be dragging an entourage. And, by the way, people in Alaska tend to be pretty skittish to begin with.”
“OK,” Jack agreed. “But how’d you get to him?”
“We have a mutual friend, and we all like to hunt browns.” Turner glanced at the entrance to the Fish Head. It was just a few doors up the street. “And I think Bobby Mitchell wants to talk. It’s just a gut feeling, but I think he’s got a story to tell. It sure sounded like it when I spoke to him on the phone.” Turner glanced around the area before going on. “I’m betting the captain of the Arctic Fire threw two people overboard,” he continued. “Maybe he did it to save a greenhorn’s share of the haul money. Or maybe he did it for another reason, now that I’ve heard about those people blasting away at you in Baltimore without even talking to you first. Either way, maybe Bobby’s getting amped about getting caught up in something bad. Maybe he figures it would be a good idea to tell somebody about it now so he doesn’t go to jail for murder. So I can verify his story after the cops pick him up.” Turner shrugged. “Or maybe he’ll walk out of the bar as soon as I bring it up.” He tapped Jack on the chest. “If he does, then you’re stuck, because that’s all I got for you. You understand?”
It would suck if Bobby Mitchell turned out to be a dead end, but Jack understood that Turner would have hit his limit as far as helping them at that point. “Yeah, I got it.”
Turner started to move off, but then he turned around. “Are you both carrying weapons?” His gaze flickered back and forth between the two of them.
They nodded.
Jack spoke up. “That’s another reason we drove to Seattle.” He’d explained to Turner in the plane that Karen was an ex-cop. “We both wanted our guns.”
“Good. Now I’m gonna give you some really good advice on surviving in Alaska. If you follow these three rules, you’ll be good to go. First, don’t be afraid to use those guns you’ve got. Don’t die with them in your belt. Too many people make that mistake up here. They aren’t for show. Second, always be ready for the weather to change, and not for the better. It can always snow harder here, and the winds can always blow stronger. Always assume it will get worse, not better.” He hesitated. “And this is the most important rule of all. Never, and I mean never, ask a man what his last name is in Alaska. Let him tell you, let him volunteer it. If he doesn’t, don’t worry about it and walk away without looking back when you and he are done.” Turner paused again. “An old man in a bar told me all that the first week I got here, and I’m glad he did. He was exactly right.”
As Jack watched Turner head up the street toward the Fish Head Pub, he quickly committed the three rules to memory.
“You shouldn’t be out in the open like this.” Stein was sitting behind the big desk of the hotel’s top-floor suite, going through the president’s detailed dossier for the next few days. “You’ll be vulnerable on an outdoor stage like this,” he observed, speaking up as he pointed at the line item on the dossier and then a picture of the venue on the opposite page of the thick green folder. “I think you should make this speech inside. We’ll have much better crowd control if you’re inside.”
Dorn lay on his back on the comfortable king-size bed with his hands behind his head. He stared up at the ceiling fan that was rotating slowly above him. “I’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, well, I’m going to talk to the Secret Service again. I want their take on this venue one more time.”
“I’ll make it easy for you, Rex. They don’t want me doing it there either. But it doesn’t matter. I’m the commander in chief, and what I say goes.”
“If the Secret Service says not to—”
“The people of California love me. They don’t want to hurt me. They want to be close to me. Besides, I’m as popular as any president in the last hundred years. Look at the numbers.”
“I’ve seen the numbers, Mr. President.” Stein glanced through the window beside the desk, out over Los Angeles, so Dorn would be certain not to see his frustrated—and slightly disgusted—reaction. He still couldn’t tell if the man was that arrogant or that naïve. “But it only takes one nut job.”
“Go be useful, Rex,” Dorn said.
The man from Vermont was so sickeningly full of himself. And it was getting worse every day. “What do you mean, sir?”
“Call Daniel Beckham and find out if he’s gotten that list from Roger Carlson yet.” Dorn sat up and swung his stocking feet to the floor. “The one that’s supposed to detail all of those Red Cell Seven assets I’m interested in.”
Stein gazed at the ocean in the distance. It was sparkling beneath the late afternoon sun. He’d tried to reach Roger Carlson twice today. Once on the regular number and once on that number he’d been given at that first national security briefing in Langley, Virginia. But he still hadn’t heard back.
“Make that call, will you, Rex?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Right now, Rex. Make it for me right now.”
CHAPTER 34
TURNER POINTED at Speed Trap’s chest. “Is that one of his canines
?”
Speed Trap pulled a thin silver chain out from beneath his plain gray T-shirt and let the tusklike trophy tumble from his fingers. “It is.”
“Damn.” Turner’s gaze intensified as he watched the sharp four-and-a-half-inch bear tooth swing back and forth across the kid’s chest at the end of the chain. “I’ve never seen anything like it, and I’ve been tracking grizzlies up here for a while. That’s impressive.”
“How’d you know there was a tooth on the chain?”
“If I shot a bear like that, I’d do the same thing,” Turner answered, tapping his own chest. “And I saw the outline of it beneath your shirt,” he admitted. “How many rounds did it take to put that beast down?”
“One.”
“Wow.”
“I dropped him right where he was standing with my thirty-thirty, man. The bullet hit his head and his chin hit the ground. It was my best shot ever. The guide said it was a one-in-a-million pop because most times even a thirty-caliber bullet just gives them a headache and makes them mad. Their skulls are that tough.”
“That’s right,” Turner agreed. “Well, like I said, it’s damned impressive, pal.”
“My guide thought so too.”
“I wish I’d been your guide that day, Bobby.”
For the last ten minutes Speed Trap had been telling Turner the story of shooting the massive, nine-foot Kodiak bear as they sat at the small, smoky bar of the Fish Head Pub. Turner was listening closely to the story of the hunt and seemed to be sincerely appreciating and enjoying every detail as they sat there drinking beers—which Turner was paying for.
It had been over a year, and Grant still hadn’t bothered to listen to the whole story of what had happened on Kodiak Island that day. Grant always walked away whenever the topic came up, and Speed Trap knew exactly why—because his Kodiak bear was so much bigger than any bear Grant had ever shot. And Grant couldn’t stand his little brother beating him at anything, especially hunting.
“Actually, Ross, people call me Speed Trap.” He liked that handle so much more than Bobby. It made him sound important and daring. Bobby made him sound like a little boy.
Turner broke into a wide smile after taking several gulps of cold amber from his tall, twenty-two-ounce glass. “Got a few tickets under your belt, huh? So you like going fast?”
“I love it. I always wanted to win Daytona, you know? I always wanted to drive one of those cars for a living. Shoot, what I really wanted to do was fly fighter jets.”
“Me too,” Turner agreed. “But I was too tall. So what kind of rig you got?”
“An F-one fifty.”
“Of course you do.”
“But it isn’t stock anymore, if you know what I mean. I made a few changes to the engine and the transmission and it goes now, man. I mean, it fucking flies.”
“I bet.” Turner took another long look at the tooth hanging from Speed Trap’s neck. “Well, Speed Trap, people call me Griz.”
It was Speed Trap’s turn to smile broadly. “I can see why.” He could feel the beer starting to kick in, and he chuckled loudly as he thought about Turner’s nickname. “You look like a damn grizzly bear, and a Kodiak at that. Not some inland midget brown that eats nothing but bugs and berries.”
“Yeah, well, I—”
“Did you really come to Dutch to talk about bears?” Speed Trap asked out of nowhere. “Or are you here to talk about something else?”
Turner stared intently at Speed Trap for a few moments. “What do you mean?”
“I called Wilson Keats right after you called me the other day.”
“And?”
“And he said you’d been asking around about the Fire for the last week. He said you talked to some of your friends on the state force over in Anchorage about what happened to Troy Jensen. He said you talked to some of the Coast Guard guys about it too.”
Turner nodded deliberately. “Yeah, I’ve been asking around. I’m not going to lie to you, Speed Trap.”
“Are you a cop?”
“No.”
“Well, what’s the deal?”
Turner took a long guzzle of beer. “OK, here it is. I go back a ways with Troy’s older brother, Jack. I’m doing him a favor on this.”
Speed Trap finished what was left in his tall glass and put it down on the bar. Then he leaned back in his stool. He appreciated Turner being a no-bullshit guy.
“Want another one?” Turner asked, pointing at Speed Trap’s empty glass.
Speed Trap wanted Turner to appreciate that he was a no-bullshit guy too. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Do what?”
“You don’t have to bribe me with beers.”
“I’m not,” Turner answered firmly. “I’m just trying to find out for an old friend what happened to his younger brother.”
Speed Trap thought about what was at stake here. This could end up being a mistake, he knew, but if Troy was still alive out there somewhere, he wanted Turner to find him. Troy had saved his life that night on the Arctic Fire, and he’d never forget the huge debt he owed the guy for as long as he lived. No matter what Sage and Grant did to him, he’d never forget.
Jack grabbed Karen’s arm as they stood at the end of the alley down the narrow street from the Fish Head Pub. “Oh, Christ.”
“What? What’s the matter?”
Jack gestured at the two guys who’d just sauntered past them. One was a man-mountain with long blond hair, and the other was short and wiry. But the little one still looked to Jack like he could hold his own in a fight. In fact, he looked like he could hold his own in a fight with the devil. “Look at that jacket,” he said, pointing at the guy with the long blond hair.
“Arctic Fire,” she whispered as she read the flowing white script that was embroidered on the black jacket beneath the colorful image of the ship bursting through the top of a wave. “What do we do?” she asked breathlessly. “We can’t just leave Ross in there.”
“We’ve gotta go get—”
“What’s wrong?”
Jack and Karen whipped around. Turner was now towering over them. He’d exited the pub through the back door by the restrooms after taking a leak and walked up the alley behind them.
“Look at that.” Jack stabbed excitedly in the air at the Arctic Fire jacket, which was about to disappear into the Fish Head Pub.
Turner glanced at the jacket and the man wearing it. Then he put one hand on Jack’s shoulder, the other on Karen’s, and leaned down so his mouth was close to their ears. “We’ve gotta get out of here, boys and girls. And we’ve gotta get out of here now.”
They were so close to the United States now the leader swore he could smell it. He swore he could smell the scents of trees and dirt and fresh water drifting eastward toward the ship on the wings of the prevailing winds. He was so close to guiding the Pegasus to its target, he realized anxiously. He was so close to changing world history forever.
He knelt down on the bridge and touched the dark, round scar on his forehead to the metal floor. Please, he prayed. Please let this happen.
“What did you tell that guy at the bar?” Maddux demanded angrily.
“What guy?” Speed Trap asked innocently. His wrists and ankles were tied tightly to a chair in the Arctic Fire’s galley, and he was terrified. Over Maddux’s shoulder he could see Sage and Grant watching from the doorway.
“Whoever it was that you met at the Fish Head,” Maddux snarled. “I want answers, and I don’t want to have to ask twice. I don’t have time for this.”
“I didn’t meet anyone there. I swear to God.”
“Liar!”
“No, no, I just went there to have a beer by myself. That’s all!”
“That’s not what the bartender said.”
“Huh?” Of course the bartender would remember him talking to Turner, Speed Trap realized. Who was ever going to forget a guy like Ross Turner? “Oh, oh, him,” Speed Trap said loudly, trying to make it seem like he’d just remembered Turner. “He was
just some guy in the bar. He was there when I got there. I’d never seen him before in my life and—Oh, God!” Speed Trap gasped.
Maddux had nailed him with a crushing right fist to the stomach that felt like a bowling ball had hit him squarely in the gut going a hundred miles an hour. Maddux was small but he packed a hell of a punch, and for what seemed like an eternity Speed Trap couldn’t breathe. Finally, the air began seeping back into his lungs as Maddux grabbed his long blond hair and roughly pulled his head back.
“It hurts, it hurts,” was all he could gasp as he stared up helplessly into Maddux’s cold eyes. “It hurts so bad.”
“But you can keep it from hurting again if you tell me everything you told that guy.”
“We just talked about a bear hunt I went on last year when I shot this trophy bear on Kodiak.” Speed Trap tasted blood as he spoke. “That’s all. I swear it was.”
“Did you float a raft out the back of this ship to Troy Jensen the night he went over the side?”
Speed Trap shook his head hard. “No, no,” he answered, trying to watch Maddux as the man walked behind him. But he couldn’t turn his head far enough to see what was happening. “I’d never do that. I’d never—”
Speed Trap’s lies were interrupted when a clear plastic bag came down over his head roughly and wrapped tightly around his neck. Within seconds he could feel himself starting to suffocate as the plastic went down his throat deeper and deeper with every breath. But there was nothing he could do about it. All he could do was watch Sage and Grant watch him pass out. All he could do was pray they’d help him.
“Mr. President,” Stein began as soon as he moved past the Secret Service agents who were posted inside the suite doorway of the Los Angeles hotel, “you’ve got to listen to me.”
“What is it?” Dorn snapped as he straightened his tie in the mirror. “What do you want now, Rex?”
“I spoke to the agent in charge, and she’s very concerned about this speech tomorrow. You’ve got to reconsider. It’s not too late to move the thing inside.”
Arctic Fire Page 24