ADX Praxis (The Red Lake Series Book 3) Page 18

  “Yeah we know what came up.” Barton said still laughing. “What’s the plan, now besides getting your balls out of the wringer with Paula?”

  “Check out the marina. I’ll take the boat up the lake if it’s clear. You bring the car. I’ll anchor off Rocky Nook Point by the state park. It’s a ways below that house where they held Paula.”

  “They’ll be long gone from there.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t think they’ll go far. If we need to get away we can cross the lake to the airport faster than anyone could drive around and get through town.”

  At Cody’s Marina the lot was clear. Together they checked out the boat, going over the engine for explosives, checking the bilge for intentional fuel leaks and lastly putting on a masks and fins to make sure the bottom was clear. While Harry was in the water Dirk swept the boat for electronic bugs. He found a GPS transmitter on the bridge. It was small and expensive, government quality. He walked over to the fuel dock where a cabin cruiser was taking on fuel. While he chatted to the owner about fuel economy he stuck the bug to the backside of the boats lazarette.

  Within an hour Harry slipped off the mooring lines and backed away from the dock. He turned to port and the binnacle swung to a heading of 270°. It would take time but he planned to motor up the west side of the lake and then cross near Upper Cransden, below ADX Praxis. After dusk, he would turn south toward Rocky Nook Point on the eastern shore.

  Dirk waited and watched the lot. No cars followed. He drove an irregular route out of town. Near the airport he opened the Hummer up and the few cars behind him fell away. Two miles later he turned off onto a paved side road where he would leave no dust. He waited. Soon two pickups and a green sedan passed. He let them disappear around the bend before reentering the highway. If he was being followed one of the vehicles would turn around and come back when they discovered he was not ahead of them.

  No one returned. Ten miles later he saw one of the pickups leaving a dust trail on the dirt drive of a ranch that snuggled up against the foothills. It did not return. He played this cat and mouse game up the west side of the lake. Occasionally he waited in some lay-by until Harry’s boat appeared far offshore, a remote blot in Barton’s binoculars.

  By late afternoon he was sure they were clear. He drove around the lake and cruised down the eastern shore. He stopped to eat in a diner above Praxis and then as the sun was nearing the tops of the mountains in the west he ran down the lakeshore highway to the state park and set up their campsite. Barton opened the ice chest, took out a beer and popped the top. He sat in his folding chair waiting for dark and the running lights of Harry’s houseboat off the point.

  Chapter 54

  After dropping Harry off at the Prop Shop Gavin Gaines had cruised home for a leisurely lunch with his wife. During the meal he heard his radio call on the scanner that softly droned in the kitchen. Whatever it was would wait.

  Despite forty years of marriage, he still loved his wife and felt a small thrill when he came home to her. He enjoyed their time together. Increasingly he wondered what kept him from hanging up his badge and making leisurely lunches a permanent part of his life. Habit he concluded, who he was as a person had become one with who he was as the Sheriff.

  He expected that one day, some deputy who was hungry for a better future would run a campaign on the need for change, calling for him to step aside and let the new generation take over. One day, he would lose and he would be done.

  His cell phone rang.

  “Gaines.”

  “They’re here.”

  “The Feds?”

  “Yeah. They came here. I said you were out and they went to the jail. Wilson told them paper or no paper he needed an order from you, so they came back. They’re sitting in your office now.”

  “Don’t tell them but I’ll be back in twenty minutes. If they become antsy to leave you can change your tune.”

  Gaines hung up; finished his pie, and kissed his wife with more passion than many younger men did theirs. “See you for dinner.”

  *

  Clemson was sitting in Gaines’ desk chair his feet up on the desk. The second man sat in a straight chair. He cleaned his fingernails with the tip of a pocketknife blade, his arms rested upon his corpulent lap. Flesh bulged over the collar of his shirt. Despite the air conditioning his face was florid.

  Gaines stopped to whisper to the deputy on the desk.

  “If I pull my gun, come in with a shotgun and have it ready.”

  The deputy seemed puzzled.

  “Just do it.”

  The deputy snapped out, “Yes sir.”

  On the other side of the office glass Clemson noticed the Sheriff. He held up a folded paper that was probably a writ, a smug smile crossing his face. Gaines opened his office door.

  Clemson remained seated. He tossed the paper onto the desktop. “You are ordered by Judge Harriett Millstein of the 10th Judicial District to turn Harry Grim over to me. This has to do with national security.”

  “I thought it had to do with murder.”

  “It does Sheriff but you’ll have to wait in line. So why don’t you pick up the phone and tell the jail to get my prisoner ready.”

  “He’s been released.”

  “On whose orders?”

  “Mine.”

  Clemson pulled his feet down and swore. “Why the hell would you do that?”

  Gaines stepped aside so he was out of the line of fire from his office door. He pulled his forty-five and leveled it at Clemson. The fat man moved with surprising alacrity to pull the gun in his shoulder holster but the sound of a shotgun being racked beside his ear stopped him.

  “Are you crazy Sheriff? You do realize you are drawing down on a Federal officer?”

  “You’re also a murderer. You killed the woman in Grim’s office.”

  “Where the hell did you get that idea, little man? From Harry Grim?”

  “No, from the video of you beating her to death.”

  Clemson’s face turned ashen, then red as anger flared up. “I don’t have to take this.”

  Gaines’s voice brooked no insolence. “You are under arrest for the murder of Samantha Quilling. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?”

  Clemson shrugged.

  The Sheriff nodded his head slightly. In response the deputy used one hand to remove the fat man’s gun. The barrel floated in the direction of Clemson.

  “Put your hands behind your head and stand up slowly, turn around, face the wall, and then put your hands against the wall above your head.

  “Deputy,” said Gaines, “If he tries something, shoot him. That’s an order.”

  Gaines frisked Clemson. He pulled a thirty-eight out of a shoulder holster and another from an ankle holster beneath the cuff of Clemson’s pants. He set the pistols on his desk, then put handcuffs on Clemson.

  “You never answered. Do you understand you understand your rights, sir?” Gaines asked acerbically.

  “Yes you silly fool. I’ll be out of here in an hour.”

  “Maybe so, but you will have some explaining to do.” Gaines looked at the fat man. “You can go run now. Report to whoever you work for.”

  The man hesitated, when Gaines glared at him he left.

  Deputy, call up Lou Harding at the Clarion office. Tell him you have a story for him on the murder at the Edison Building. Tell him a federal officer has been taken into custody. Call Tanya Talbot at Channel 13, too. See if they will send a film crew over.”

  Clemson glowered. “You do that Sheriff and you’re digging yourself a hole straight to hell.”

  Gaines ignored him. “Lock him in a holding cell, Mitch. I’ll talk to Lou and Tanya when they arrive, then our boy here can do the perp walk for the cameras.

  Chapter 55

  The
networks picked up the story. On ABC, NBC, CBS, Fox, and CNN America watched anther corrupt Federal agent being escorted away in handcuffs. The man kept his face turned down as he was put into a squad car for transport to the jail.. Details were scarce but the networks identified him as John Doe. The Sheriff’s office in Red Lake reported they were uncertain of the man’s true identity because he carried multiple, high quality, but false id’s at the time of his arrest.

  *

  In Washington the lights burned late in many offices. Spook agencies scrambled to make sure they were not implicated while they simultaneously speculated on who might be.

  The Homeland Security Council met at the White House where Walter Furgeson tried to assure the President Sturgis Carrington that there would not be any fallout from the incident on his office.

  “Well who is he and who does he work for Walter?” The president asked irritably, silently thinking of the upcoming off year elections.

  “We aren’t sure.”

  “Maybe this is political, said the President’s Chief of Staff? This area is a Red state; perhaps it’s a way of embarrassing our party before the elections. What do we know about the man who arrested our John Doe?”

  “Registered Democrat in a county that is redder than your blood. The voter’s logic seems to be that he wouldn’t cut anyone special favors. He’s been re-elected for twenty years. Ex-military. Never made waves politically.”

  When Furgeson finished, the President asked what was heard around Washington.

  “So far everyone is denying culpability. However, two days ago the FBI sent out an inquiry about operations from other jurisdictions in the Red Lake area. They must have smelled something was up.”

  “What did Director Gunnerson have to say?”

  “He was not available, Mr. President. I think he wants to leave you hanging on this one, sir. He hasn’t forgotten that you didn’t support his request for an increase in last years budget.”

  “Then find somebody who knows what the Bureau was looking for. Try the EAD’s. Most of them covet Gunnerson’s job and would sell their mother to be next in line for his desk. Start with Nathan Simpson, as head of Intelligence, he must think he’s the frontrunner. Don’t promise anything but drop a hint about scratching one anther’s back.”

  The President’s displeasure was apparent.”

  “Anything else, Sir?”

  “See who comes looking to spring this guy. Whoever, he is working for, will want him, out.”

  After Furgeson left the oval office Carrington turned to his Chief of Staff. I don’t want to be embarrassed by this. Is there anyway we can get my Secret Service detail to look into this?”

  “I could run it by them. It would be a stretch.”

  “Check it out. I think Furgeson is more concerned with inter-agency squabbles. I want someone checking it out whose job is to protect my back.”

  *

  Director Gunnerson sat behind his desk and drummed his fingers on the desktop. Across from him, in one of the leather chairs, sat the EAD of Intelligence Branch.

  “So we’ve heard nothing?”

  Nathan Simpson shook his head, “Every agency acts like they never heard of Red Lake. But I received some more information that raises red flags.”

  Director Gunnerson waited without comment.

  “A local reporter out there pushed for interviews with certain prisoners at ADX Praxis. The Warden assures me the man has been appeased and accommodated. I read the piece, it seemed innocuous enough but tie that to Edwin Ames’s body being snatched and one has to wonder if this could be a foreign action?”

  “But who? Ames was a Russian mole. Who else is at Praxis?” asked the Director.

  “Wafi, the Crystal Lake Arab bomber, Abdul-Alim Khalili, the terrorist who was convicted of trying to blow up an airplane, Zhou Zhengzhong who worked for the Chinese, and a couple other minor spies.”

  “Put some men on it. How do we know this John Doe is actually a federal agent?”

  “It was reported that way on all the networks.”

  “Well, call this backwater hole and find out who started the story. Maybe there is no connection to the government.”

  “I suspect that’s wishful thinking, Sir.”

  “As long as it’s not the Bureau’s, we have somebody’s ass in the wringer Nate, and whoever it is we will squeeze for cash in the next appropriations budget.

  *

  At the CIA headquarters in Langley the Director phoned Claus Van de Meer.

  “Is this thing in Red Lake one of ours Claus?”

  “Not officially, Sir.”

  “Well, nothing about your whole operation is ‘official”. The Director said, stressing the final word.

  “He has been covering up some loose ends in our operations, I’m afraid he has proven inadequate, Sir.”

  “I don’t want to see the Agency or my name tied to this Claus. Are we clear on that? Do whatever you need to, just make sure we have deniability.’

  “Yes Sir.”

  “Gunnerson has already been kicking the hornet’s nest. He was on Capitol Hill yesterday and all but accused us of operating illegally within the US. I have already received two calls from senators on the The Senate’s Select Committee on Intelligence.”

  “The threat will be mitigated, I assure you.”

  *

  At the Canaan County jail the first inklings of nervousness nibbled at Kurt Clemson. Why was he still in jail? He was certain he would be out in a matter of hours. So many things could be buried under ‘national security’.

  The evening news played in the Commons room of the jail. Bored inmates sat in aluminum chairs, idly watching free people move around Beriut, DC, Paris or Timbucktu, doing what they pleased, suffering whatever blight, disaster, disease or war that was occurring that day.

  Suddenly, Clemson saw himself being escorted out of the sheriff’s station to an awaiting van. His head was low, at least they couldn’t see his face. But, a moment later, his booking photo was on the screen. A couple nearby faces turned and glanced at him before returning to their own business.

  It worried him that his arrest was on the national news. Claus Van de Meer was not one to brook embarrassment for his department. There was nothing Kurt could do for now but wait until someone came for him.

  *

  Anthony Bartolli was stuck in Red Lake fighting an extradition order for a client he would rather not have. His client rode with the Ángel de Muerte motorcycle gang. A gang that parlayed drugs, violence prostitution and extortion into an extremely profitable, multi state, crime organization.

  Money flowed freely, particularly into Antonio’s pockets. The Ángel de Murete’s business practices provided him with an endless supply of lucrative work. However, all things have a price. After he tried to decline a particularly offensive case, it was made clear to Antonio that the word “No” was not in his vocabulary.

  Jose Martinez was picked up in a hick town called Mason Forks on public drunkenness. He was riding alone at the time when he stopped at a place called Moses Bar. A few drinks later a fight ensued. Jose never saw the baseball bat coming that Moses used to subdue him.

  The Sheriff’s office ran Jose’s prints, they came back attached to a federal arrest and hold warrant, the result of an ill fated business venture. Jose used his one call to phone the ‘familia’ as a consequence Antonio found himself in a protracted hearing at the Canaan County courthouse.

  Sitting at the hotel bar, Antonio’s cell phone rang. He was on his third scotch and inclined to ignore it, but feared also permeated his life, so he picked up.

  “Bartolli.”

  “If Jose Martinez would like to see his problems go away, I have an opportunity for him.”

  “Who is this?” he querously asked.

  “No need to know. But if he provides a favor, I can return it.”

  “You better give me more information than that if you want my attention.”

  “No you little wop bastard, you listen
to me. I have a message for Mister Martinez. Pass it on or you will regret it. He can choose whether to take a chance or not.”

  Antonio shut his mouth and listened.

  Chapter 56

  Barton and Harry sipped bourbon around their campfire . Overhead myriad stars decorated the black canopy of night. Bull frogs called in a nearby creek and occasionally the cry of a barn owl drifted down to them from a pine tree out on the point. A small portable radio played music softly. Harry leaned toward big band or swing on his play list.

  Together they reviewed events.

  “The man named Kurt was under arrest for murder, yet on the news he is referred to only as a John Doe. Does that mean they don’t know who it is?” Barton asked.

  Harry shrugged. I think the sheriff has his suspicions but can’t prove who he works for. It’s easier to embarrass him publicly.”

  “Well it makes it hard to get to him.”

  “I imagine he’ll be out soon. I have a contact at the jail. When someone springs him we will know it before he is out the door.”

  “We need to talk to him. He has things to tell, whether he wants to or not.”

  Harry sipped his drink before he spoke, “Their shooter is dead, and so is the operative who was at the house where Paula was held. The pilot probably didn’t know anything about operations, but he’s dead too.”

  “How many you reckon they have left?”

  “Enough.”

  “I wonder how Chan’s doing?”

  “I forgot to tell you. They found him floating in Lake Tahoe.”

  “Figures, the guy should have kept his mouth shut.”

  “Why do you think they took out the girl?”

  Barton stared into the flames, then answered slowly. “I’m not sure. Maybe she was a threat, or became collateral damage. I guess it could have been personal and the opportunity presented itself. I’ll ask him when I see him.”

  Barton topped off his drink.

  On the radio the news came on. It was local, mostly small time stuff, accidents, fires, local events. The word Praxis caught their ears.