Dark Tiger (29 page)

It was a few minutes after five in the morning when he turned onto his long rutted driveway. The stars had all winked out, and the black springtime sky was just beginning to fade to silver. Through the open truck windows, the woods smelled of dew and pine pitch, and they rocked with early-morning birdsong.

When he started down the long slope to the clearing in front of his house, he saw the Audi sedan parked there. He shook his head. He'd missed the signs—the bent-over grass, the tire treads in the soft dirt, the leaves knocked off the bushes that grew close to the driveway. He was tired after driving all night and eager to
be home, but that was no excuse. He couldn't afford to get careless.

He parked beside the Man in the Suit's Audi, and he and Ralph got out and climbed the steps onto his deck.

The Man in the Suit was sitting there in one of the Adirondack chairs. It was the first time Calhoun could remember that the man wasn't dressed in a suit and tie. Now he was wearing blue jeans and work boots and a green flannel shirt with a gray hooded sweatshirt that looked too big for him, and he was holding a large foam cup in both hands. He looked cold.

“I'm gonna put on some coffee,” Calhoun said. “Get you a refill.”

“Thanks, Stoney.”

“Then I'm gonna kick you to hell off my property. I've been driving all night, and I'm tired.”

“What we've got to do won't take long,” said the Man in the Suit.

Calhoun went inside, and when he went to pour the water for the electric coffeepot, he saw that his peace lily in its big clay pot was sitting in the sink, not in its regular place on the floor beside the sliding door that led out to the deck. Kate had given him the plant a couple of years earlier after they'd had an argument—her way of trying to put the issues, which now he couldn't even remember, into perspective. He'd repotted it twice since she gave it to him. Now it had a root ball the size of a soccer ball, and it put out a flurry of those delicate white flowers every couple of months to remind him how much he cherished a peaceful relationship with Kate.

He felt a pang of guilt. When he was preparing to go to Loon Lake, it had never occurred to him that the lily surely would die if he left it unwatered for six weeks.

Kate had come while he was gone and watered the plant. It
couldn't have been anybody else. Maybe she wasn't speaking to him, but she'd kept the symbol of peace between them alive, and that made him happy.

He went into the bathroom, peed, washed his hands, splashed water on his face, combed his fingers through his hair. He hoped the Man in the Suit didn't intend to debrief him. If he did, Calhoun decided, he just wouldn't cooperate. Not tonight. He was too tired, and his mind was still too jumbled. Before he said anything, he had to decide what he was willing to share, and that would require some clear, careful thought.

When he got back to the kitchen, the coffee was ready. He poured two mugs full and took them out to the deck. He put one on the arm of the Man in the Suit's chair, then sat down and sipped from his own mug.

“Mr. Brescia sent you, huh?” said Calhoun.

“I came to retrieve what you brought with you,” the Man in the Suit said. “I've been sitting out here for over an hour.”

Calhoun nodded. “Good thing it wasn't raining.”

“Well,” the Man in the Suit said, “I got to see the sky grow light, and I heard the birds wake up, so it wasn't a total waste. Kind of chilly, though.” He looked at Calhoun. “Let's have it, Stoney. I'm overdue for a hot shower and some sleep.”

Calhoun unzipped the pocket of his windbreaker, took out the vial wrapped in his handkerchief, and handed it, including the handkerchief, to the Man in the Suit.

The man unfolded the handkerchief. He held the vial up to the brightening sky. “What's in it?” he said.

“It needs to be tested,” said Calhoun, “but I'm going to suggest you keep it corked up tight. My guess is McNulty, or maybe the girl who was with him, got careless with this stuff.”

The Man in the Suit turned and looked at Calhoun. “They
died from botulism poisoning. You think this is botulinum toxin?”

Calhoun shrugged.

“That is absolutely lethal stuff,” said the man. “The most poisonous substance on earth.”

“So I understand.”

“Jesus.” The man was shaking his head. “And you were carrying this little glass vial around in your pocket?”

“I didn't seem to have too many other options,” Calhoun said. “Now you've got it, and that's a relief.”

“Where'd it come from?”

Calhoun shook his head. “I don't feel like talking about any of that. Not now.”

“You're going to have to talk about it,” the Man in the Suit said.

“Not tonight.”

The Man in the Suit shrugged. “I'm not going to push you.” He drained his coffee mug, then stood up. He held the vial in his hand. “This is what I came for. Now I'll let you go to bed.” He wrapped the vial up again in Calhoun's handkerchief and slipped it into his shirt pocket. Then he held out his hand. “This was good work, Stoney. Thanks for doing it.”

Calhoun shook the man's hand. “It's not like I had much of a choice,” he said.

The Man in the Suit started down the steps. He stopped halfway down and turned back to look at Calhoun. “I almost forgot,” he said. “I've got a message for you.”

“A message,” said Calhoun.

“A message from Mr. Brescia,” said the man. “He asked me to remind you of the importance of absolute secrecy. You must tell no one anything about where you've been, what you've been doing, and what you've learned.” He hesitated. “The consequences
of disobedience would be dire, as I'm sure I don't need to remind you.”

“I get it,” Calhoun said.

 

When he woke up, the sun was streaming in through his windows, and Ralph was sitting on the floor looking at him.

“What?” said Calhoun.

Ralph just kept staring at him.

“Oh,” said Calhoun. “Breakfast.”

He got up, dumped some dog food into Ralph's bowl, and put the bowl on the floor. Then he dropped a handful of raisins on a bowl of Wheaties, poured a glass of orange juice, and took them out onto the deck. He sat in a chair with the late-spring midday sun blasting down on him and ate his breakfast.

Loon Lake seemed far away. Robin and Robert and all the others—Marty and June Dunlap, Harry and Jack Vandercamp, Franklin Redbird and the other guides, Kim and Mush, Ben and Peter, old Leon, and the dead people, Elaine Hoffman and Curtis Swenson—they were abstractions to him now, realistic but not quite real, like characters in a novel he'd been reading.

He'd done his job. Now it was all behind him.

When they finished their breakfasts, Calhoun and Ralph climbed into his truck and headed for Portland.

He pulled into the lot beside the shop a little after one o'clock on this pretty Sunday afternoon in the first week of June. Kate's old Toyota truck sat in its usual spot in the far corner, and there were half a dozen other vehicles parked there.

The bell dinged over the door when he pushed it open. Ralph squeezed in ahead of Calhoun and trotted over to where Kate had her elbows on the counter and her chin in her hands, listening to two white-haired guys who appeared to be telling
her a long fish story by way of flirting with her. When she saw Ralph coming toward her, she smiled and knelt down so he could lick her face.

Then she looked over toward the door, where Calhoun was standing. She gave him a quick half-smile that he didn't know how to interpret, rubbed Ralph's ears, stood up, and returned her attention to the two white-haired guys.

Calhoun wandered toward the back of the shop. Adrian was at the fly bins talking with a bald man and a young blond woman who might have been father and daughter. When he saw Calhoun, Adrian jerked his chin at him.

He nodded to Adrian and went into his office. His desktop had been cleaned off. He supposed Adrian had been using his phone and computer while he was gone.

He sat in his chair and checked the phone for messages.

There were none.

Ralph came wandering in. He went over to his dog bed in the corner, turned around three or four times, lay down on it, sighed, and closed his eyes.

A minute later Kate came in. She sat on the wooden armchair across from his desk and looked at him. She was neither smiling nor frowning. Calhoun couldn't read her expression.

“You're back?” she said. She was, if anything, even prettier than he'd remembered.

“Ayup.”

“For good, I mean?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

She nodded. “I'm glad.”

“Thanks for taking care of my plant,” Calhoun said. “I guess it would've died of thirst otherwise.”

“Your peace lily,” she said. “I didn't want it to die.”

Calhoun smiled. “You're talking to me. Did you notice?”

“I know,” she said. “I hadn't decided whether I would or not. Then you showed up, and not talking to you didn't make sense anymore.”

“Did it ever make sense?”

“When I figured you might never be coming back?” She nodded. “When I guessed you were off doing something dangerous that could get you killed?” She nodded again. “Bet your ass it made sense.”

“Well,” he said, “here I am. I didn't get killed.”

“You gonna tell me about it?”

He shook his head.

She blew out a quick, exasperated breath. “Well, Jesus Christ, anyway.”

“I can't, honey.”

“You can't tell me where you've been, even?”

“No. I can't tell you anything.”

“I don't get it. How come?”

“Well,” he said, “I can't tell you that, either.”

“But I'm supposed to smile and welcome you home, right?”

“Sure,” he said.

Kate rolled her eyes.

“Come on, honey,” said Calhoun. “Don't do this. Let's not do this anymore.”

She glared at him for a long moment. Then she shrugged. “Yeah, I guess you're right. If it's something you can't talk about, the hell with it.” She smiled. “I'm happy to see you, Stoney. I am. I'm glad you're back. I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

She stood up, went around the desk, pushed his chair back on its rollers, and sat sideways on Calhoun's lap. She draped her left arm around his neck and slid her right hand under his shirt. She rubbed his chest and kissed the side of his throat and pressed
her breast against his arm. “We've got to get caught up,” she murmured. “Tonight, steaks and bourbon, your place?”

“I'll have to check my schedule,” Calhoun said, “but I think I can squeeze you in.”

 

Calhoun met Mr. Brescia at the coffee shop near the Stroudwater Inn on a Saturday morning three weeks after he'd come home from Loon Lake. Mr. Brescia was sitting at an outside table sipping from a mug of coffee and reading a newspaper. An attaché case sat on the brick patio floor beside his chair.

When Calhoun sat down across from him, Mr. Brescia looked up, nodded, folded his newspaper, and put it on the table by his elbow. Then he held his hand across the table. “Mr. Calhoun,” he said. “Thanks for coming.”

Calhoun took his hand. “I don't figure I had much choice.”

“Well, of course you didn't.” Mr. Brescia didn't smile. Calhoun guessed he didn't smile very much. “I thought you deserved to hear the epilogue to your story,” Mr. Brescia said.

Calhoun shrugged. “I don't care. It's ancient history.”

A waitress appeared. Calhoun asked for coffee. Mr. Brescia said he was all set, thank you.

After the waitress left, Mr. Brescia said, “I thought you might like to know that we decided to give the girl, Robin, immunity in exchange for her testimony.”

Calhoun shrugged.

“She said she tried to seduce you,” said Mr. Brescia. “She said she was unsuccessful.”

Calhoun said nothing.

“Robert Dunlap was paying Curtis Swenson, the lodge's float plane pilot, to smuggle cases containing vials of
botulinum
toxin over the border from Canada. As you know, we've managed
to button up the highway crossings between our two countries pretty tight. But there are thousands of miles of unprotected border where you can swim a river or drive an ATV or a snowmobile or, in this case, fly a float plane back and forth across the border without being detected. Enemies of our country have begun to exploit this for their purposes. McNulty was onto it before he died.”

“You saying Robert Dunlap was some kind of terrorist?” said Calhoun.

“Not him,” said Mr. Brescia. “He was just an entrepreneur making what must've seemed like easy money, as were the pilot and the girl and a taxidermist named Soria in Pittsburgh. Dunlap hid those vials in the containers of dead fish packed in ice that they flew down to the UPS office in Greenville, and from there were shipped to Mr. Soria in Pittsburgh. At the end of the line, though, yes, there were terrorists who aimed to kill thousands—maybe millions—of Americans with that poison.”

“Did you catch the terrorists?”

Mr. Brescia shrugged. “We got some of them. We've got others in our sights. Once we convinced Dunlap and Soria of how serious we were, they were most cooperative. Your girl, Robin, of course, was a big help.”

“She ain't my girl.”

Mr. Brescia almost smiled.

Calhoun said, “Robert Dunlap murdered Elaine Hoffman and Curtis Swenson, too, don't forget.”

Mr. Brescia waved the back of his hand at Calhoun as if he were brushing away a couple of murders.

“I figure Swenson got greedy,” said Calhoun. “Did Robert tell you why he had to kill Elaine?”

“He guessed she had figured out what he was up to,” Brescia said, “and he was worried that she'd tell you.”

“Dunlap killed her right after I got there,” Calhoun said. “He saw through me that quick?”