ADX Praxis (The Red Lake Series Book 3) Page 25

  “Know and prove can be different things.”

  “I’m a cop for God’s sake Harry, I know that. Do you think I never had a perp I knew was guilty but couldn’t make it stick?”

  “Sorry. It’s just that what I can prove isn’t enough to get these people off my back.”

  “So lets start with why they want to kill you. Then we can move on to the who and how.”

  “It started with Eddie Ames…”

  Gaines let him talk. A lot of it he knew. A little he surmised. Mostly he wanted to see if Grim was on the level or if he left significant parts out.

  “Where were you last night?”

  “Out on the lake.”

  “Doing what Harry?”

  Harry shrugged.

  “You didn’t happen to shoot Willard Stangl?”

  “No.”

  The answer came quickly; Gaines thought Harry would dance around the question.

  “Is this off the record, Sheriff?”

  “I suppose, unless you are going to confess to murder, then all promises are void.”

  “We talked with Stangl. Quite persuasively I should add.”

  “Well that explains the rope burns. When did you last see him and what condition was he in?”

  “That be right after I tossed him off the boat. He was alive and treading water in a hospital gown,” Barton said.

  Gaines nodded his head. “That sort of explains how he got out of the hospital. I should bust your ass for assaulting my officer.”

  “Thinking and proving are two different things,” Dirk countered.

  “You have bigger fish to fry, Sheriff,” Harry said, to bring them back to more pressing issues.

  “Don’t I know it. I’ve had the FBI, Secret Service, Homeland Security and the CIA looking over my shoulder, asking me questions, and at the same time telling me to mind my own business.”

  He thought for a little bit. “So they killed Ames because he found out the spies at Praxis were fake?”

  “It is more than that. It was a disinformation campaign from the Cold War era, but it became political, the Agency was using it to manipulate public sentiment about the war on terror and perhaps Muslims in general. “

  “You think this goes to the White House?”

  “It would explain the Secret Service’s presence. Anyway, they stopped using fakes and decided it was easier to frame someone and leave them to rot. No more dummy videos or embarrassing questions from reporters.”

  “You’re sure Wafi is innocent?”

  “I have the files. But how do I prove they are legit? If I come forward the CIA will be all over me.”

  “I can see why they wanted to lay their hands on you. But why not release the story and let the media begin grinding at it?”

  “Because there is more. And I want to get proof.”

  “Proof of what?” asked Gaines.

  “The CIA assassinated President Kennedy.”

  Gaines rolled his eyes. “You just lost my interest. Everybody smells a conspiracy.”

  “We have some evidence. Do you want to be the cop who let Kennedy’s killers go?”

  “Killer, as in singular, Harry. Lee Harvey Oswald, lone gunman according to the Warren report. End of story.”

  “There is a tie to him in the archives of the DPIO. I think the CIA or at least the DPIO pulled the trigger in ’63. This is a rogue agency, Sheriff.”

  The Sheriff sat silently considering. He stroked his mustache. “I have nothing to lose. They can’t take my pension. What do you propose doing?”

  “Minutes before that guy took a shot at us, I had a an anonymous message asking for a meeting. He said he would be here tomorrow. I think it might be Van de Meer himself.”

  “So, what do you propose to do?” the Sheriff asked.

  Barton smiled. “I have a plan.

  Chapter 68

  The Gulfstream jet set down at Beaumont Airport in the early morning hours. Two dark GMC SUV’s met the plane. Both bore the Insignia of the Bureau of Prisons. Warden Calder Hill waited in the dawn light.

  Claus Van de Meer stepped off the plane. Four men whose eyes roved endlessly across the tarmac followed him. Hill extended his hand in greeting but it was ignored.

  “This is a manhunt, Warden, not a social club.”

  Van de Meer climbed into the front seat and slammed the door. Calder Hill got into the rear.

  The four men loaded a number of bags and hard-sided cases into the rear of the second vehicle. One of the three opened the driver’s door on Van de Meer’s vehicle and gestured for the BOP driver to get out.

  “You ride in back,” he ordered. The driver got into rear and the CIA man took the driver’s seat. Behind them, the other three men climbed into the vehicle that Warden Hill had driven. Both cars sped off.

  Along the fence line Sgt. Ray Maddox observed from the front seat of an unmarked van. He became friendly with Sheriff Gaines a few years back while investigating the disappearance of Alan Chandler. When Gaines called to ask for an unofficial favor he agreed to stake out the airport.

  He dialed Gaines’ number.

  “They just arrived. The one in charge is heavy set and soft looking. The others look like killers.”

  “How many?”

  “The boss and four others came off the plane. Warden Hill from Praxis and Van de Meer are in the lead with a driver and BOP guard. The other three men are with another BOP guard in the rear vehicle. Both cars are black SUV’s, have government plates, and the BOP insignia on the doors.”

  “Thanks Ray. We’ll talk.”

  The SUV’s made their way up the mountains on Highway 218. They spread out a bit on the curves. By the time they reached the top of the pass, the morning sun shone brightly upon Red Lake.

  From a side road that led to the Cold Creek Campgrounds a Sheriff’s cruiser pulled out. It followed along close behind the trailing SUV. The driver slowed, not wishing to draw attention.

  When the lead car disappeared around a curve. The cruiser’s flashing lights came on. The GMC pulled to the shoulder.

  Deputies Gonzales and Connors took their time getting out of the car. They approached slowly.

  “What can I do for you officer?”

  “License please.”

  “The driver handed over his license.”

  “This will take a minute. Gonzales walked back to his patrol car where he pretended to run the license. When he returned, he nodded to Connors. Both men drew their sidearm.

  “Step out of the vehicle and keep your hands on your heads.”

  From up the hill another squad car rolled into sight and stopped. The officers pulled shotguns and aimed at the SUV.

  “I’m a federal officer for God’s sake!” shouted the driver.

  “Keep your hand s on your heads!” Gonzales ordered again. The three men stood beside the vehicle.

  “You first,” Gonzales said to the driver. Against the car, hands on the roof and spread your legs.”

  The man reluctantly did as he was told. When he was frisked Gonzales found a weapon in a shoulder holster. He cuffed the man.

  “Listen you ignorant hick. We are federal officers on official business.”

  Gonzales kept himself out of the line of fire as he frisked each of the other three men.

  “I have identification!”

  Gonzales pulled the man’s wallet.

  “This says Central Intelligence Agency.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Do you have a gun permit for this state? Because a CIA shield doesn’t mean anything domestically.”

  The man scowled.

  “Search the car for illegal weapons.”

  The men sat cursing in the back of the two squad cars as a small arsenal of heavy weapons and ammunition was removed from the SUV. As the Deputies worked, the radio’s they confiscated from the CIA men squawked, the lead car was looking for them. The deputies ignored the calls.

  “I’m going to have to take you in until we can sort this out. Th
is is a shit load of guns you are carrying. Besides who knows if these identifications are real.”

  “We’re driving a Bureau of Prison car!” The driver protested.

  “That’s a little hokey too. Any of you work at the prison?” When no one spoke he added, “I didn’t think so.”

  The sirens came on. They raced down the mountain toward Red Lake. On the outskirts of town they passed the other SUV waiting on the shoulder, but passed so quickly there was no chance for Van de Meer to see his men pass by. In his rear view mirror Gonzales saw the SUV pull a u-turn and head back up the hill.”

  “Radio in Mitch, tell the sheriff we’re coming in.”

  When the call came, Gaines picked up the phone and called Harry’s cell phone. “They’re going back toward you. Try not to kill anyone Harry.”

  In town the Sheriff was unavailable. The men were put into holding cells. They bellowed, roared and threatened. They demanded to make a phone call. But nothing could be done without the sheriff’s okay. Finally, the men ran out of energy for protest and settled down.

  *

  Harry and Barton waited beside the abandoned SUV. They suspected a man like Van de Meer would feel naked without his bodyguards. A couple minutes later the SUV rounded the curve, crossed the highway and pulled off in front of the parked car. The prison guard stepped out of the back. He was unarmed. He opened the car doors, found it empty, and looked back towards Van de Meer and shrugged.

  “Get out of here!” Claus screamed at the driver but he was too late. The rear door opened and Barton Dirk slid into the back seat, his gun drawn.

  “Turn off the ignition and give me the keys.”

  The guard did as told.

  “Who are you and what is the meaning of this outrage?” Calder Hill blustered, attempting to sound indignant.

  Harry Grim opened the front door and pointed his gun at Van de Meer.

  “This wasn’t necessary, Mr. Grim.”

  “Tell that to Stangl or Quilling. Step out of the car.”

  Claus complied. He was searched and handcuffed. Hill was ordered out. Amidst protest he complied. Barton cuffed him too. Then he chained the driver’s wrists through the steering wheel. Barton trotted up the road. He returned with the Hummer. Van de Meer and Hill were put into the back seat. The handles and door lock pulls had been removed. Harry sat in front, turned to watch them, his pistol in his hand.

  “Really Mr. Grim do you and Mr. Dirk want to face federal kidnapping charges?” Claus asked in an avuncular manner.

  “Probably about as much as you want talk about Praxis to the media.”

  “I know absolutely nothing about Praxis.”

  “Then I guess you just want to be dead.”

  Harry’s retort shut Claus up.

  Barton started the Hummer and pulled out. As the road curved a couple hundred feet later, he jerked the car to the side of the road and threw it into park.

  “No witness’s Harry. That’s always been the rule. In Afghanistan we would have faced court martial more than once if anyone was left to talk, this is no different.”

  Harry grimaced then reluctantly nodded his head.

  Barton hopped out. He trotted along the side of the road to the GMC. Hill and Van de Meer both craned their necks around. They were barely able to see Barton as he marched the handcuffed BOP guard and CIA man into the woods.

  Hill flinched when two shots rang out. Barton returned to the car whistling, he twirled a set of handcuffs on his finger.

  “He won’t need these, “ he laughed and dropped them onto the seat.

  ”You got blood on the seat!” Harry complained.

  “Damn it. Give me a paper towel. The little fuck splattered on me.”

  When Barton wiped his face the paper towel was spotted with red.

  They drove a half-mile down the hill, then turned onto a dirt road. For another ten minutes they bounced and turned. An occasional fire road led off into the woods.

  Barton turned onto a steep bulldozer track that cut up the hillside. Few vehicles could handle the grade. Rocks kicked up against the undercarriage as the Hummer climbed the slope..

  At the top they entered a clearing. On the far side, was the adit of an abandoned mercury mine. The shaft ran into the cliff face on the side of the hill. They parked on top of an old tailings pile that sloped away to the west. On the east side was a derelict stamp mill. The corrugated metal walls were rusted, A few sheets hung loose and banged as they worked in the wind.

  Harry ordered their prisoner’s out. They marched across the gravel. Rusted pieces of steel lay twisted on the ground. Near to the mill broken glass and old bottles lay in a pile. The mills windows were either shattered or covered with grime.

  Barton leaned on the door and it swung open. Suddenly, Hill took off running. He was fat and out of shape. With his hands locked behind his back he quickly fell and rolled in the gravel and dirt.

  Barton stood on the mill porch laughing.

  “Really Calder,” Van de Meer said in disgust. Where are you going and how would you get there?”

  Hill struggled to his knees. He looked at the woods. Barton popped off two shots that kicked up rocks close to Hill. Barton beckoned to him with the gun barrel, Hill stood. He limped slightly as he walked back toward Harry and Claus.

  “That mine goes down six hundred feet. The bottom is full of water. Try that again and I will hand you a flashlight and toss you in so you can inspect it,” Barton said with a smile that chilled the warden.

  Years of working in federal prisons left Hill afraid of little. But these men frightened him. He thought they must scare Van de Meer, too, or why else did Claus bring four others? And what happened to them? How did they disappear?

  The men were led into the ramshackle mine shack. Barton used a bicycle lock to chain their handcuffs to a large oak beam of the stamp press.

  Harry set a chair down for each. He went over to a small table where he poured himself coffee from a thermos. Barton sat on the other side of the table. He popped the clip on his gun and began to reload. Claus counted as he reloaded for the four spent shells. It left him feeling a little sick.

  “What did you want to see me about Claus?” Harry asked.

  Claus appeared intransigent and said nothing.

  “Oh by the way, was that man who shot at us yours?”

  “Which one?”

  “Medium height, very fat, and a lousy shot?”

  “That would be Bernie. We call him, Fat Man.”

  “He’s now the dead man

  Claus shrugged. “I warned him. I laughed when he asked if he should kill you.”

  “I appreciate your confidence in us.” Harry looked over at Barton,

  “We need to go clean-up. I’ll need a hand with the bodies. We’ll be back, Claus, Harry said nonchalantly as he headed to the door. Barton followed him out. Their voices carried inside.

  “Why don’t we just leave them there?” Barton asked with some irritation.

  “Because some eager beaver cop or good Samaritan will stop and when they see the bodies we will have fifty cops up here on a man hunt.”

  “I told you we should of left them in the car.”

  “Use your head you ignorant ape. We don’t want their car found or the mineshaft is the first place they’ll look. And we couldn’t leave the bodies in the car in case some nosey idiot stopped.”

  They had stopped on either side of the car bickering like an old couple.

  The car doors slammed and the engine roared as someone gunned it. Then it pulled away. Van de Meer and Hill were left hearing only the calling of birds and the creaking of the mill as it expanded in the morning heat.

  “We need to get out of here!” Calder announced. He jerked on his chains.

  “Start sawing at the beam with the chain,” suggested Claus.

  Hill actually began to try it.”

  “You can cut through in probably three months!” He laughed heartily.

  Hill was not amused. “What the hell
is going on? I thought you said things were under control.?”

  “A miscalculation. Mr. Grim and his boy Dirk were better and more persistent than I thought.”

  “They are going to kill us!” Hill panicked and began to shout.

  “Help! Help! HELP!” He yelled until he was hoarse and quit only when a fly flew into his mouth and he suffered a coughing fit.

  “You are a fool Hill. Panic will not help. They want something or we would be dead already. We just need to learn what it is.”

  “Probably money.”

  Claus rolled his eyes. “Not everyone is like you Calder. There are other things men seek, information, revenge, maybe power.”

  “I never should have let you talk me into this.”

  Claus began laughing harder. “That’s a good one Hill, your avarice did the talking.”

  Minutes ticked slowly by. Flies buzzed in the air. Small ones tormented the two men, crawling into their eras or eyes seeking moisture. The constant buzz left them on edge. The air grew hot inside the metal building. Finally they heard the growl of an engine climbing the hill. Through the broken window they saw the Hummer pull a circle, Barton backed it into the mine opening. The engine died.

  “Open the back.” Harry’s voice echoed out of the shaft.

  “Grab his feet.”

  “Damn it!”

  Then there was silence. Finally they heard the men returning. Barton swung the old wooden gates closed. They squeaked in protest. When they were shut the Hummer was out of sight.

  They strolled toward the shack.

  “What should we do with them?

  “I want to get some payback on the little mother fucker for trying to kill me. And when I get tired of his screaming, I’ll drop his ass down the mineshaft and go home. I’m tired of this shit,” Barton said in a querulous voice.

  The building’s door swung open and they walked in.

  Harry sighed wearily. “I have a problem Claus, my friend wants to kill you. I’m not sure that is in my best interest. On the other hand if I let you go, I figure you won’t stop trying to kill me.”

  “I could give you my word?”

  “I don’t think that would do it for me.”

  Barton merely snorted.

  “What is it you want?”

  “Hmm. A little information for starters, like tell me about the prisoners at Praxis.”