Free Fire (36 page)

“How can they stay in business?” Joe asked.

“I’m getting to that,” Nate said, excited.

“Please get to it with your voices down,” Marybeth cautioned,gesturing at her sleeping daughters.

According to the papers filed with the Colorado secretaryof state, Nate said, EnerDyne was a research, development, and engineering firm created to implement coal gasification projects throughout North America.

“Coal what?” Marybeth asked.

“Gasification,” Joe said. “Turning hard coal into gas that can be transported in pipelines and distributed. I remember reading about it back when we had the mineral rights dispute around Saddlestring. Energy companies have been trying to figure out how to do it economically for years. The technology is there, but it’s too expensive to do in a cost-effective way, at least so far. They’d have to build big plants to turn the coal into gas, and since coal only costs pennies per ton to mine and ship, it doesn’t make financial sense.”

“That’s right,” Nate said. “Wyoming and other states have billions of tons of coal in the ground. There are seams of coal in the West that are miles thick and stretch across half the state—the largest deposits in the world. If that coal could be made into gas, it could solve all of our energy problems and change the face of the economy. We could be energy independent.”

“My God,” she said.

“If it could be done cheaply,” Nate said, “it would be what everybody wants.”

“But nobody has figured out how to process coal into gas that way,” Joe said.

“Which is why it’s significant how EnerDyne plans to do it,” Nate said. “It says here their plans are proprietary, but they do have to leak a little the general concept of it to the SEC in order to be listed as a public company and to attract investors. And what it says here is ’EnerDyne is the leading company in the world in a new method to
organically
gasify coal.’ ”

“Organically?” Joe said.

“Think about it,” Nate said.

Joe and Marybeth exchanged looks, and it seemed to hit them both at the same time.

“Microbes,” Joe said. “They want to find a microbe that will react naturally with coal to produce gas.”

“They think they can find it in Yellowstone,” Marybeth said.

“And maybe they have,” Nate said.

“Flamers,” Joe said. “Free fire.”

Marybeth looked at him.

“There’s a little seam of coal near Sunburst geyser. It’s next to the flamers Hoening talked about and I went and lit.”

“Oh, man,” Nate said, and whistled.

“Maybe someone figured out that the microbes in Sunburst were reacting with that stream of coal to produce gas just under the surface. And if that particular thermophile was introduced to one of those miles-thick seams of coal Nate was talking about . . .”

“It would be worth billions,” Nate said.

Marybeth said, “But they’d need a permit to do it. And if they thought there would be a protest by environmentalists to block any new permits, that might definitely be worth killing for.”

It took a few minutes to sink in. As Joe thought about it, many of the previously floating facts started to drop into place, to become links in a chain of a new theory.

“Who are the company officers?” Marybeth asked softly.

Nate found the incorporation papers. “Layton Barron is the CEO. I’ve never heard of him. In fact, I’ve never heard of any of these people except for the last one. We’ll have to do more research, I guess.”

“Nate . . .” Marybeth prompted, “I’ll do the research as soon as I can get to a computer. But in the meanwhile, what are the names?”

“Oh. Okay. Layton Barron is the CEO. Michael Barson is the CFO. Katherine Langston, VP of development. C. T. Ward the Third, VP of operations. Any of those names ring a bell?”

“Nope,” Joe said.

“This last one will. Guess who’s the attorney of record?”

“Clay McCann,” Joe said.

“Got him,” Nate said.

Marybeth started to say something but stopped abruptly and cocked her head. “I hear someone coming,” she mouthed. Joe sat back and stopped breathing. He heard it too. Gravel crunching.Footfalls outside the cabin, getting closer.

Nate had his .454 out, cocked, and aimed at the door in one liquid movement. Instinctively, Marybeth rose and moved into the shadows between the beds of her sleeping daughters.

The knock on the door was light, barely audible.

Joe stood, Nate behind him and to the side.

“Your weapon,” Nate whispered.

Joe drew the Glock out of the holster, worked the slide as quietly as possible, then kept the gun pointed down in his right hand as he approached the door. He hated being in a situation where his family was right there, behind him, exposed.

“Yes?” Joe asked, keeping his voice calm.

“Mr. Pickett, it’s Simon. I saw the light on . . . . I’m sorry to bother you, but you’ve an urgent message at the hotel from Mr. Lars Demming. He thought you were still in the hotel, and insistedI come get you.”

It
sounded
like Simon, Joe thought. Nevertheless, he motionedfor Marybeth to get down and checked with Nate, who had his pistol raised in two hands, eye level, ready to fire if necessarywhen Joe cracked open the door.

Joe pulled it open quickly and stepped back, keeping the Glock loose at his side, ready to raise it.

It
was
Simon, off-duty in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, and the desk clerk looked into the muzzle of Nate’s .454 with absoluteterror.

“Sorry,” Joe said to Simon. “You can put the gun away, Nate.”

“Are you sure?” Nate asked.

“I’m sure.”

Joe apologized to Simon as they crunched through the gravel on the way to the hotel. Several times, Joe had to reach out to steady the desk clerk, who was shaking so badly he had trouble walking.

“That’s a first,” Simon said. “Like something out of a Westernmovie.”

“You get used to it out here,” Joe said, distracted, his mind racing with what he’d learned about EnerDyne and Clay McCann.

The old-fashioned black telephone sat ominously on the front desk, and as Joe approached it he tried not to think the worst. Maybe Judy had taken a bad turn, maybe she died. Maybe someone had gotten to her in Billings . . .

“Joe Pickett,” he said as he picked it up.

“Joe!” Lars sounded unexpectedly buoyed. “I’m damned glad they found you.”

“Me too. How’s she doing?”

“Much, much better. The doctor said a full recovery is pretty likely. I’m just so . . . happy.”

“Thank God,” Joe said, feeling weight he didn’t know was there lift off his shoulders.

The line was silent for a moment, and Joe thought perhaps the connection had been lost. Then Lars spoke softly. “I’ve reallygot to apologize to you. I said some bad things to you, and I’m sorry. Judy has been filling me in on what happened, how you stayed with her and made sure she got sent here so no more harm could come to her. I didn’t understand before. I’m just real damned sorry I said what I said.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Joe said, knowing how hard it was for a man like Lars to say those words. “Apology accepted. I’m just glad she’s doing all right.”

Lars said, “Better than all right. She’s sitting up, talking, eatingeven. Except for those damned tubes, she looks pretty good. Beautiful, even. Yes, she looks beautiful.”

Joe smiled. He could hear Judy’s voice in the background saying, “Oh, stop it, Lars.”

“She wants to talk with you,” Lars said. “That’s why I called and woke you up. Well, that and to apologize.”

“I was awake,” Joe said. “No problem.”

“Oh, one more thing. Judy says she gave you my truck to use.”

“Yes,” Joe said, not expecting what would come next.

“Keep it as long as you need it,” Lars said. “I don’t mind. We’ll be here another couple of days. I got one of my road crew guys to pick up Jake and Erin to bring them here.”

“Thank you. I’ll take good care of it.”

“Watch the transmission,” Lars said. “Sometimes it slips. I need to replace that pressure plate in the clutch—”

“Lars,”
Judy said in the background.

“Okay, okay,” Lars said to Joe. “Here she is.”

Joe waited.

“Hey there.” Her voice sounded tired but strong.

“Welcome back,” Joe said. “I was worried.”

“I’m tough,” she said, which made Joe smile again. He was surrounded by tough, good women.

“When we were in the clinic,” Demming said, “you came into the room and asked me who the shooter was. I could hear you but I couldn’t talk.”

"Yes.”

“I can now. It was James Langston.”

“The chief ranger?”
Joe was stunned, but it made sense now why Langston had been so interested in where Joe was staying while at the same time making a point not to meet with him.

“I saw him clearly. I thought he was there for backup, obviously.The dispatcher didn’t say who was coming, so I assumed. . .”

“Wow,” Joe said. “And you’ll testify to it?”

“Of course. But I still can’t believe it.”

“Neither can I,” Joe said, “but this thing is big. And it just got bigger.”

“What should we do?”

Joe looked around the empty lobby, trying to sort it out. Should she contact someone else with the information? If so, whom? Should he?

“I’m thinking,” he said. “Sometimes, it takes me a while.”

“I know it does,” she said, chiding him.

“First,” Joe said, “make sure you’re safe there. As long as you’re alive, you’re a threat to him and everyone he’s involved with, even though he thinks you’re dying. We’ve learned a lot in the last hour, Judy. None of it is good. Your life is still in danger, so call the Billings PD. If you have to, make up a story, but make sure they send some men to the hospital to stay outside your door. Make sure no one comes to visit you except your kids.”

“Okay . . .” she said, almost in a whisper. The giddiness she’d started the conversation with was gone.

“Make a deposition,” Joe continued. “Get your statement down on tape and on paper. If nothing else, it will make it less likely they’ll try to get to you if they know you’ve got a statementwith the police.”

“And if they do get to me,” she said, “Langston will still go to jail.”

Joe didn’t want to say it that way, but Demming was sharp. And when he said the name Langston aloud, it triggered a question.“What’s James Langston’s wife’s name?”

“Hmmm . . . I met her a couple of times. Tall, skinny, cold. Katherine, I think.”

“Katherine. Are you sure?”

“I think so.”

“Katherine Langston is listed as VP of development for EnerDyne.Either she’s involved or James is protecting himself by using his wife’s name. Probably both.

“Oh,” Joe continued, “I nearly forgot to ask you. Did you recognize the men in the black SUV?”

“I didn’t recognize the driver,” she said.

“Could you pick him out in a photo? Like from the entrance gate video?”

“Absolutely.”

Joe nodded. “Good. I’m pretty sure I’ve got a couple of picturesof him.” Joe described the driver.

Demming said, “That’s him.”

“What about the passenger?”

“He looked familiar.”

“In what way?”

“I’ve been trying to figure that one out,” she said. “I know I’ve seen him before, but I don’t know his name. It seems to me he was up here a year or so ago with your governor.”

Joe felt a chill shoot through his spine.

“He stuck to your governor like glue,” she said. “He seemed like a nice guy but real intense.”

The profile from the video, Joe thought. He knew now why it was familiar to him too.

The name should have struck a nerve when Nate said it. Vice president of operations for EnerDyne, but under his formal name. James Langston wasn’t the only officer at EnerDyne playing name games.

“Joe?”

“I’m here,” he said weakly.

“What’s wrong?”

“His name is Chuck Ward,” Joe said, “aka Charles Ward, aka C. T. Ward the Third. He’s Governor Rulon’s chief of staff. Now I know why he didn’t want the governor to send me up here, and why he had to take some personal leave.”

“He’s the guy you’re working for?” Demming asked, disbelieving.

“He was,” Joe said.

“Does the governor know?”

Joe started to say,
I’m sure he doesn’t
but his world was turninginside out. Given the implications of free fire, he was sure of nothing.

Instead, he said, “I have no idea what the governor knows.”

“Get out of there,” Demming said. “Get out now.”

Joe mumbled that he understood her, told her to call the Billings PD right away, said he’d come see her as soon as he could.

“Meaning what?” she asked.

“Meaning I’ve got to go.”

Joe did four long circuits around the outside of Mammoth Hotel in the dark, rubbing his face, running scenarios through his head, stopping once to throw up. He had a headache from lack of sleep and too much thinking and his mouth tasted of stale smoke and regurgitated dinner. As he walked, it got darker and colder. Storm clouds rolled across the black sky, extinguishingthe moon and stars, covering Yellowstone Park like a lid on a boiling cauldron.

Winter had arrived.

On his fifth circuit, hard little pellets of snow strafed the ground, hitting so hard on the pavement they bounced. In the darkness, it looked like the road was awash with waves. He thought he felt tremors through his boot soles, and concluded that he probably did.

He stopped in front of the Pagoda. A single light was on from within a cell on the second floor. Clay McCann was awake.

“McCann!” Joe shouted.

After a few moments with no reaction, he shouted again.

The shadow of a face appeared at the window. Joe recognizedthe lawyer’s profile. The thick window was frosted so McCann couldn’t see who had called his name outside.