I let out my breath. “What are you doing here, Sheriff?”
“Investigating. I didn’t like the smell of things when I was here that day on the Holm’s case. I’ve been snooping around ever since. There’s another compound just north of here, on Sans Sanssabre land. It appears to be part of this operation.”
“That’s probably the where the illegal Mexicans are kept.”
“There’s no one there,” he says, “but there was not long ago.”
“Like everyone else, they’ve been evacuated.”
“Evacuated?”
“Things have happened lately and he’s moved everyone to somewhere in California.”
Sheriff Shwartzberg picks up his mike and calls in. He passes the word that he has an officer down, that he has a passenger and that he’s in route back to the office. And then he gives the order to call everyone in, including the reserves and to notify the county game warden and the Director of the Montana State Forest Service that he’ll be wanting a conference call as soon as he arrives at the office. After he gets the truck turned around and headed down the mountain he calls in again and asks that the number for the FBI be ready when he gets there. He holds the mike up to his face for a long time and then keys it again. “Carol. One other thing. I need the phone number for Mike’s wife.” There’s a long silence from the other end before the dispatcher’s broken voice comes back with the number. “Also, get me the number for her sister, Sue Grismole up on Seventh Avenue and then the flight tower at the airport.”
“Ten-four, Sheriff.”
I stay in my corner with my seatbelt on, worried about the sheriff’s reckless driving down this slick, snow-covered backwoods road. I tear up during his call to the sister as he briefly explains the reason for waking her and asks her to meet him at her sister’s home. I’m impressed by his authority at getting people up and moving in the middle of the night with but brief and sketchy reasons. Once on the highway, he flips on his blue lights, hits a speed I didn’t do even as a teenager and then gets on the phone with the local game and forest service people. He gives them a much more descriptive explanation. It doesn’t sound like they believe him at first. He finishes it up with an order to call their state level superiors. “If you need higher authority than me, I’ll call the governor,” he says. “Idiots,” he mutters after he punches “end” on the phone. Then he’s on the phone with the flight tower at the airport. They have no filed flight plans for Victor’s Vandermill’s aircraft. He tells them to call Missoula, Great Falls and Helena. “Tell me about this baby thing,” he finally says to me after ending his calls.
I sit up from my slouched position and start reciting everything I know, glad that my mind is on something besides road signs and mail boxes flying by at galactic speeds, glad that his attention is on the road and not the phone or radio. By the time I finish with the women being moved to a location in northern California and have answered his questions as best I can, we’re landing in Kalispell.
Chapter 41
As they recognize the higher intelligence of man, and are thus fearful of him, they stalk him much more carefully, and thus much more aggressively.
–from the journals of Zechariah Price
“Mister Price.”
I open my eye to the clock on the wall that reads 6:35. The last time I remembered looking at it, it read 4:30. The Sheriff’s dispatcher’s hand is on my shoulder.
“Mister Price. Sheriff wants to see you.”
“Okay.” I pull myself upright. I remember the Sheriff leaving to visit the deputy’s wife and then my telling someone I was too keyed up to sleep. I remember sitting down on a sofa in their break room and then closing my eye.
My face hurts. I dig in my bag for the pain medication and then follow the dispatcher to where the sheriff is, stopping at a water fountain and popping two of the tablets. In a small office Sheriff Shwartzberg introduces me to Special Agent Blaine.
“Quite a story I’m getting from the Sheriff,” Agent Blaine says. He’s a fair size man, maybe 220 pounds with not an ounce of fat.
“I wouldn’t believe it myself if I wasn’t there,” I say.
“Agent Blaine contacted the Denver City field office,” says the sheriff. “Two agents should be with your wife any moment.”
“I’ll receive a call as to her safety as soon as they’re there,” Blaine says. “Now I’d like to hear the entire story in your words.”
“Can we talk along the way?” the sheriff says.
“Certainly. Let’s get going.”
I look between them. “Where?”
“Back up to Sans Sanssabre,” says Sheriff Shwartzberg as he heads for the door. “The Chopper is waiting.”
I talk nonstop until we’re in the air. Then it’s too noisy. We’re racing across the treetops when Agent Blaine raises his voice above the chopper noise. “What was the condition of Sans Sanssabre when you left?”
“What do you mean?” I say.
He just looks at me.
“I believe they were a bit pissed because I took the Huey. They managed to shoot me down and then shot at me more when I took the truck.”
“I’m referring to the buildings, Mister Price.”
“Buildings?”
He looks directly at my eye. “They weren’t by chance on fire, were they?”
“On fire? Hell no! I just walked or I should say, flew out. I snuck up to the roof at two in the morning when everything was quiet. Are you saying the place is on fire now?” As I say that I look out and see the smoke ahead of us. We rise over a ridge and there is Sans Sanssabre, engulfed in flames. He’s destroying the evidence. Nothing more is said as we circle to the upwind side and set down in the sabre area. I don’t worry about there being any cats now. I’m sure they have all hightailed it deep into the wilderness. The forest service has a couple trucks here already but they’re doing nothing but watching. As we step out of the helicopter and it goes silent, the sheriff keys up his shoulder mike. I don’t hear much of the conversation, but he says to the agent when he gets off, “It was too far along when they got here. They’re keeping an eye on the trees but they don’t think there’s going to be a problem until early afternoon. There are high winds forecast.
Only the gardens aren’t burning, but I can see it won’t be long before the Bengal garden starts up. “The tigers,” I say. They both look at me. “There are three Bengal tigers in the first dome building. Is there any way of getting them out? There are also cows and pigs in the barn.
The sheriff looks at Agent Blaine who shrugs his shoulders. He then keys his mike. “Carol, get in touch with that wild exotic animal outfit. Tell them I have three Bengal tigers that they can have if they can get a vehicle up here.” Then he’s talking to the forest service again. “Can you all get something in to move that truck on the west side out of the way, and clear those gates? See if you can get some water on those dome buildings. There’re animals in there, and possibly evidence.” Back to dispatch. “Carol, patch me through to those animal people when you get them.”
And so the day wears on. We fly back to Kalispell where not only does Agent Blaine hear from the Denver agents, but I’m able to talk to Tanya. The conversation is short but I’m assured that she is okay, and so are the girls. Dallas field agents have been sent to them as well. I continue accounting my story to the special agent, take an hour nap and then start over again, this time on tape. It’s mid-afternoon before I remember my journal. I pull the disk from my coat pocket and hand it to the Agent.
“What’s this?”
“I forgot all about it. I attempted to keep a journal about everything. When they found it and took it away I started over again. I was planning on emailing it to the Seattle Times before I made my escape, but they had disabled my modem.”
He’s thrilled. Once he has everything he wants, he disappears. Where, I don’t care. It’s all out of my hands now. He does say a plane will be by in the morning to take me to Denver.
At six o’clock in the even
ing, a Sheriff’s deputy drops me at Kalispell Motor Lodge. He points to a steak house across the street and says, “Can’t go wrong with the food there.”
I go with his recommendation, drool over the steak in the menu and then choose a chicken salad sandwich. By seven-thirty I’m dialing the motel clerk and setting a wake-up call for eight a.m. Five minutes later I’m sliding into dreamless sleep.
Chapter 42
It’s six o’clock as I fumble for the phone which is making noise only a few feet from my head. I slur something into the mouth piece even I can’t understand.
“Good morning Mister Price. This is Sheriff Shwartzberg.”
“Morning.”
“Your flight touches down in an hour. Someone will be by to pick you up in twenty minutes.”
“Thanks,” I say and he’s gone. I waste no time getting up. I shower and then grimace at the soiled and smelly clothes I have to put back on. Twenty-two minutes after the call I’m checked out and ready to go. It’s another ten before a Ford Explorer badly needing a bath pulls up and Agent Blaine get out. I’m out the door before he gets around the SUV.
“Morning Mister Price. Sleep well?”
“Like a baby.” I do feel great. I think most of it is the weight of worry and stress that are lifted off of me. And I can’t wait to get to Tanya. Once settled in my seat and buckled, I ask, “Anything new?”
“You said Victor Vandermill is a billionaire.”
“That’s what I was told.”
“We can’t find him listed anywhere other than as CEO of Sans Sanssabre. No history before that, but of course we’ve only had twenty-four hours on this so far and the IRS isn’t being fully cooperative. The bureau has not been able to locate anything in California associated with that name.
“Then you believe Victor Vandermill is an alias?”
“I’m inclined to, yes, but we’re pursuing all avenues. There have been two bodies found in the ruins of Sans Sanssabre. A man and a woman. No identification at this point.”
“Ulla has to be the woman.” A wave of sadness passes through me.
“The housekeeper of sorts, right?”
“Yes. My second favorite person there. I think he’s eliminating those he can no longer trust.”
“You’re assuming they were murdered. Why is that? They could have just not made it out after the fire was started.”
“Maybe,” I say, “but I doubt it. I think he had to tie up any loose ends, or loose tongues, on his way out. I’m sure that’s what I was hired for, to identify for him who those people were. The guy you found with Ulla, I don’t know who that would be.”
He sits silent for a couple blocks. He’s not telling me everything, so I ask. “How did they die?”
He stops at a red light. “Shot in the head. Both of them. Who else was there?”
“Jesus! They didn’t even try to hide it this time.” I think for a moment. “Like I said yesterday, other than Ulla, as far as I know there was only Victor Vandermill, Lance Evans, at least one if not two of the security guards, Henri Cassell, and Ace, the pilot of the Huey I wrecked. Randolph Spriggs would be the pilot of the second bird.” And then I remember my last conversation with the little guy from Australia. “Oh, and there might have been Merwin Boggs. He was Doctor Zitnik’s assistant. I think he had serious misgivings about what Vandermill was doing. I do know he felt trapped. I’d be willing to bet he’s the other one that was killed and left to burn.” Tightness rises in my chest but this time I know it’s simply grief for these two unfortunate people who made bad choices in their lives.
“I don’t imagine a flight plan was filed,” I say.
“In our dreams. Any idea how many that helo can carry?”
“I think it’s about fifteen, including the crew.”
“That’s a big bird.”
“It’s built as a military helo, Air Force, although what Vandermill has is a civilian version.”
“So, based on the names you have, he may have flown out with six or seven people. Lots of room for company records.”
“He’s had a week to get that all out, so chances are they just got into the Huey and flew away. I know he didn’t go very far in their first leg.”
“Why’s that?”
“It only has about a three hundred mile range with a full load of fuel. It had to come from somewhere else to pick them up. That means at best maybe two hundred miles.” My psychic machine suddenly goes to work. “But of course you already knew that. You already knew the compliment of the Huey as well, didn’t you? This is your way of verifying my data. You’ve had no luck so far finding where they stopped to refuel.”
He gives me a mild grin.
I decide to have a little fun. “You also had a conversation with your wife this morning because you didn’t go home last night. She’s thinking this Bureau life is getting old.
His grin fades. He creases his brow and gives me a serious Bureau look.
“It’s been building for a while. This may be the straw that forces you to make the choice of her or The Bureau.”
He hits the brakes and then swerves into a grocery store parking lot. I’m holding on for everything until he screeches to a stop. I should have kept my mouth shut.
“Who in the hell are you?” he demands.
I’ve never been good at keeping my mouth shut once I get started on verbalizing a psychic read. His aura is now going crazy but it’s too late. This is what I call an easy one. “You aren’t going to have much problem making the decision because you’ve been secretly thinking about retiring anyway seeing as you have your twenty in The Bureau. Besides, you’re a silent partner in a business with your brother-in-law in Illinois which is in dire need of your full attention. Take a few minutes today, call her and tell her. You can’t imagine how happy she’ll be.” That last part I throw in, maybe because I think it would be a good thing to do, or maybe because of my own guilt for not calling Tanya very often during my “find the writer in me” stint I’ve been doing for the last year.
He turns in his seat and fully faces me. I wonder if he’s going to pull his Bureau issue piece out from under his arm. He doesn’t, but he does hold both hands, palms out, at me. “Okay! Okay! Enough! Where the hell are you getting your information?”
“From you.”
“Excuse me!”
“You’re a good agent in that you don’t let your personal problems show and you don’t let it get in the way of your work, however it rides on the outside of you like an open book for any psychic to read.”
“Are you trying to tell me you’re a psychic?”
“I have a talent for reading people’s emotional aura.”
“You got more than emotions here, Mister!”
“Sometimes I get more than emotions and things just come to me, such as the brother-in-law aspect. The emotions are easy. Everyone carries an aura about them that shifts colors with their moods and thoughts. The details–well I don’t really know how I get those. If I were to stand back and watch myself, I’d think that I’m guessing at why your emotions are what they are, but then I come to find out my guessing is accurate.”
“Jesus! I don’t believe this.”
“You’re in business with your brother-in-law, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And the fact that you’re considering retiring is something that you haven’t mentioned to a single person as yet. There’s no other way I could have possibly known that.”
He leans back against his door.
“It’s ability I’ve had most all my life. It’s gotten stronger recently. It may be why I’m not among the dead of Sans Sanssabre. I had one meeting with Victor Vandermill in which I learned that he personally killed Doctor McCully and that his intentions were to kill me as well. But I had everything to lose, because he threatened Tanya’s life if I didn’t cooperate. It was when I read off of him that he intended on killing Tanya anyway that I decided that I had to take the helicopter and run. It was all or none. I figured that
if I could get the story out he would have no reason to kill her. If I didn’t try, we were both dead.”
He stares at me for a long time and then says, “I don’t believe this.”
We arrive at the airport in time to receive four special agents arriving straight from Washington, D.C. After I’m introduced we go into a private conference room and for the next couple of hours I’m grilled once again. Agent Blaine doesn’t participate. He sits and listens and takes notes. He is the one who finally terminates the session. They push a few more questions and then depart to track down their rental SUV, complaining because they have to share one.
“Let’s get you out of here,” Agent Blaine says. Since the plane that’s waiting for me is Government Issue I don’t think I’ll be subject to the full body scan and pat down.
Go figure.
Agent Blaine’s ID passes for a ticket for both of us. There is still one hitch. They want to open my bag. That creates a momentary ruckus because as I extract the laptop from the bag for a young lady’s inspection, a .38 slug falls out and bounces across the table. There’s a hole in one side of the bag and all the way through the computer. I have an urge to get sick. The young lady calls someone and keeps an eye on me. Maybe she thinks there’s a gun to go with the bullet somewhere and I’m accustomed to shooting my own computer.
“You might remember in my testimony that while I was racing away in the truck,” I quietly tell the agent, “I was shot at through the windshield. I had thrown the laptop onto the passenger side. As I sped out, the guard obviously tried to plug me through the door as well. It seems the computer saved my life.”
“Yes, it does,” he says. “I did see in one of the reports from a sheriff’s deputy that there was a bullet hole found in the passenger door of the truck. You’re not only a psychic, but you’re a lucky psychic. I’ve got to say that much about you.”
Sabre-Toothed Cat Trilogy Page 38