Killer View (31 page)

“Mark Aker and Trilogy water,” Walt said.

“We should have known about Trilogy. That was a horrible oversight on our part. We didn’t even know that bottling facility existed. Very stupid of us.”

“The ranchers had contacted the vets before you got to them.”

“Aker saw how sick the livestock was. He was in the midst of trying to help when we had to ask the ranchers to turn him away. They made excuses that they’d switched to a local vet. And that might have stuck if the local vet had been made to play along. But Aker must have run into him, or followed up with him, and the lie was exposed. And Aker came looking.”

“But then Randy Aker was your doing,” Walt said.

“My people say no. Perhaps to protect me, but they say it wasn’t us. Our best guess is that it has something to do with the Samakinn. They left a note, long since in the hands of the FBI, a rambling manifesto about the wrongs of the country. They want their message heard. You know the drill.”

“And by covering up any news of the leak . . . the sabotage,” he corrected, “you’ve pissed them off.”

“A dozen miscreants don’t dictate how this country is run. They called some newspapers to make their claim. We fielded some calls as a result. We denied any mishap, as did the administration. No harm, no foul. Another group of wackos making unsubstantiated claims. No damaging articles ever ran. The Samakinn blogged about the spill on the Internet, but without any kind of proof...”

“Which is where I come in,” Walt said. “Why should I believe any of this? An NDA isn’t proof of anything.”

“No, it’s not.” He paused. “I thought you might go there.” He walked over to the office door and opened it, murmuring to someone on the other side. A young woman entered, and glanced at Walt as she crossed behind the senator’s desk. She spoke on the phone for several minutes while working the senator’s computer. Walt and Hillabrand waited in silence.

When the aide spoke, Walt thought it was to him. But it was, in fact, to the computer.

“Are we ready?” she said.

“We’re good on this end,” a voice returned.

Hillabrand moved to the door and waited for the aide, who motioned for Walt to take the chair.

She said, “You don’t have to do anything. Just sit.”

Walt moved around the desk to see the face of a twentysomething man on the screen.

“Sheriff Fleming?”

“Yes,” Walt said, sliding into the comfortable chair.

“Stand by for Vice President Shaler.”

The man vacated the screen. Walt saw only a set of drapes and some framed photographs. The ski mountain in the nearest photo was all too familiar to him.

Walt glanced over at Hillabrand, who stood half out the door. “Hopefully, you’ll believe her. I’ll be waiting just outside.” He pulled the door shut.

“Walt?”

She had sneaked onto the screen while Walt had been distracted with Hillabrand.

“How great to see you!” she exclaimed.

“Madame Vice President . . .”

“Enough of that, Walt. It’s ‘Liz,’ and you know better.”

“You look well.”

“I am, thank you. And you? You look tired.”

“I know your time must be limited. I was just speaking to Roger Hillabrand. He said you might clarify some of this.”

“Everything I presume Roger has told you is accurate, Walt. We were attacked, and we’ve had to play hardball to protect current negotiations. Its important for you to know that both houses have been briefed through committee. There is no cover-up taking place. It may take twenty-five years and the Freedom of Information Act for any but a handful of people to know about this incident, but that’s how the game has to be played sometimes.”

“They tried to frame Danny Cutter on a drug charge,” Walt said. “Is that protocol?”

“I can’t speak to specifics. I have heard that, in certain instances, pressure points were determined and taken advantage of in order to ensure full cooperation. They have to make absolutely sure that everyone will sign the NDA and cooperate fully. They can’t risk anything short of that. If a witness hesitates, there has to be backup. Some of this behavior is despicable, and I apologize for that. I’ve expressed my displeasure at some of the tactics used.”

“My wife? My children?” Walt suddenly saw Gail’s intrusion differently.

“What about them?”

“Never mind.”

“Tell me. Please.”

“It’s unrelated.”

“It may not be, Walt,” she said. “Please, tell me.”

He briefly explained Gail’s claiming the girls for herself—this after leaving the marriage because she felt overwhelmed by motherhood. It hadn’t added up until just this moment.

“I’m wondering if she didn’t get an anonymous phone call implying some kind of failure on my part. I’m wondering if there wasn’t some behind-the-scenes look at my divorce papers.”

“Walt, I would never condone such a thing. I want you to know that. The president and I are briefed regularly about the situation out there but certainly haven’t heard all the details. Nothing about what you claim happened to Danny Cutter, and most definitely nothing to do with you. I can, and will, make some calls.”

“A thing like this,” Walt said, “the sabotage, it can’t be contained. Not once it’s in the water. You know that, right?”

“Do you mean the news of the event or the contamination itself?”

“Both.”

“As to the contamination, it was minimal. There’s a tremendous volume of water we’re dealing with. Levels are well off of where they were two and three weeks ago. Another two weeks, we’re told, and we’re in the clear.” She pursed her lips as her attention was drawn offscreen. “As to the spread of information, we believe it can be contained, has to be contained. We need your cooperation, your assistance, in seeing that happens.”

“I signed the NDA, Liz. I’m not going to risk a stay in Leavenworth. I won’t say anything.”

“It’s more than that. It’s Mark Aker. We need to extract him before he’s forced to publish something that could be damaging.”

“Maybe Roger didn’t tell you everything. What the Samakinn seek most is notoriety. Credibility. They believe credibility comes through verification, confirmation the sabotage was effective.”

“Scientific proof,” Walt said. “Like a veterinarian’s report on the sheep.”

“The sabotage is under investigation. The Samakinn must have had inside help. Roger’s people have been working twenty-four/seven with the Bureau, attempting to turn up the mole. Our information is that the Bureau has surveillance in place. They are ready to strike. We both know what happens to Mark Aker if he’s anywhere near them when that strike occurs.”

“I need whatever intel’s available,” Walt said, sitting forward in the chair.

“I’m not privy to the details. It’s too far out of my area of operations.”

“But you said yourself, Mark has to be extracted.”

“There’s a genuine fear of Ruby Ridge here, Walt. It’s one of the things holding the Bureau back. If they make this into a standoff, the Samakinn win the press coverage they so desperately seek. It’s a no-win for us. And that’s got all of us looking at alternatives. But if Mark Aker’s out of the equation, there’s a lot more leeway. There’s still time for you to help us fix this.”

“I have nothing,” Walt said. “I can’t do anything without something to work with.”

“Work with Roger. Cooperate with him, Walt. He’s not the enemy. That’s the purpose of this call: to try to bring you two closer together. His people have their suspicions, suspects. Maybe between the two of you . . .”

Walt had focused on Hillabrand as a suspect for too long to now reverse himself and make him an ally. Just the suggestion of working with him turned Walt’s stomach: the man had pursued Fiona, possibly in order to monitor Walt; he’d denied knowledge of Randy Aker’s death, which seemed unlikely.

Worming inside him was the realization of how misplaced his suspicions had been, how biased he’d been against Hillabrand’s big money, how eagerly he’d labeled Semper the corporate villain, the ranchers as easily compromised accomplices. Senator Peavy had tried to steer him toward Washington, had repeatedly said how he was trying to help Walt, and Walt had reacted negatively, immediately distrusting the man. Perhaps the plan had been for Shaler to seek him out in person and explain the events. It all played out so differently now.

“Listen,” Liz Shaler said, “I’ve got to go. But I want you to think about everything I’ve said. Follow your instincts on this, Walt. I’ve always trusted your instincts.”

“Thank you.” But he was questioning his instincts, and her praise only drove home that point.

“We need to pool our resources, find this group, and extract Mark Aker. Nothing short of that is acceptable.”

“Agreed.”

Even over a webcam, there was a look to Liz Shaler’s eyes that would haunt him. A fierce determination that flirted too close to fear. A take-no-prisoners defiance that mixed with the terror that any mention of radioactivity brought. She seemed to be telling him, without words, that if Mark had to be sacrificed for the “greater good,” then that was what was going to happen.

ROY COATS LIVED WITH THE PAIN. THE DOC HAD STOLEN all the serious meds; aspirin hardly helped. He felt his best when sitting quietly by the woodstove, the brand name of which was reversed on his cheek in angry blisters. The wound in his leg left him a cripple; it was a caked, spongy mass of scab and infection. His armpit wound was less of a concern. It hurt far less. But if he tried to venture outside into the biting cold, his face lit up in pain. He waited—impatient, hurting badly, and foul of mood—ready to tear the head off the next thing that came through the door.

The required knock on the cabin door won his attention.

He grunted loudly, admitting whoever it was. The burn’s infection kept him from speaking much. He could move his lips enough to get a few words out, but that was it.

The doorknob turned, and Newbs poked his head through, then stepped inside cautiously.

“’Bout time,” Coats said.

Donny Newbury was twenty-three but looked thirty due to the width of his round face and the thick scrub of a beard that he wore. He ducked his head, coming through the door, and filled the cabin with his wide shoulders and barrel chest.

“I brought Shilo,” Newbury said. He eyed Coats warily and stayed close to the door. “A collar and the radio gear. Fresh batteries, like you said. If you’d told me in time, I coulda brought something for . . . your face and all.”

Coats grunted. He took everything that had happened to him as a test. “What about Lakely?”

“Not happening,” Newbury said, tensing, in case it provoked something unexpected from Coats. “He went to the Mel-O-Dee, like you said. To meet that scientist girl for you. To make the deal and get the drum of waste and all. But it was fucked-up, Roy. I kept watch, like you said. From my pickup. He was in there too long, you know? He was going to drop the stuff and get her keys, or whatever, and make the switch. But it was fucked-up. The thing is, he shoulda checked the makes in the parking lot. Doesn’t take a fucking genius to spot the SUVs. At the Mel-O-Dee? Are you kidding me? Pickups and maybe an old Caddie or two. But spanking brand-new SUVs?”

“Get to the point,” Coats said painfully.

“Feds. I could see the flashes in the window. Fucking serious firefight. Couldn’t have lasted that long unless Lakely had gotten himself hunkered down. He put up a good fight. When it was over, the ambulance arrived. Only one ambulance there in Arco, so two of the body bags went in the back of a pickup. Three in all. Lakely, one of ’em, because he never walked out or nothing. But shit, Roy, he gave ’em hell, I’ll tell you that. And there was plenty of wounded on top of the other three.”

For Coats, the room wouldn’t stop spinning. Blood thumped at his temples and rang in his ears, and he thought his head might explode.

“The drum,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

A fifty-five-gallon drum of contaminated waste. Enough for a dirty bomb.
His dirty bomb
. Enough to make the world take notice. He’d have had the front page of every newspaper in the world. The Samakinn would have been heard.

But now he’d lost the drum. He’d lost Lakely.

“The girl?”

Newbury shook his head.

He’d lost the girl.

“But just because I didn’t see her come out don’t mean nothing.”

The feds had the girl. How much did she know about him? How much had he revealed in his lame-ass attempts at conversation? Most important of all, had she seen his truck? Did she know about his truck? If she’d seen his plates, he was done. Gone. They’d be on him like flies on shit.

It was all down to the doc. Again.
They had to find him
.

“You and Gearbox split up. Gearbox’ll take Shilo. You take the old road. We need the doc.”

They both heard the approach of the snowmobile. A moment later came the knock on the door.

“Huh!” Coats grunted.

Gearbox entered, looking half frozen.

“Newbs’ll fill you in,” Coats said. “You find the doc and you bring him back here. He’s gonna write that letter. We can still pull this off.”

He glanced down at his swollen leg. Maybe the doc could help with the leg. He could hardly move the thing without the scab cracking open. He needed some stitches.

If the doc hadn’t stabbed him, it would have been him in the body bag instead of Lakely.
Everything happens for a reason
.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” he managed to say. “Find the doc and bring him back here.”

Then he caught sight of himself in the window’s reflection and understood why Newbs had been staring so intently: the blisters had torn open, spewing a yellow fluid down his cheek. It looked as if his face was melting off.

WALT WENT THROUGH THE JAIL’S PERIMETER DOOR SHOULDER first, following the shiny spot beneath the comb-over belonging to his deputy, Jimmy Magna, who everyone called “Magnum.” The forty-five-year-old county jail suffered from poor design. Its security doors were like hatches on a submarine. At twenty-eight inches wide, they were so narrow that the stretcher carrying Taylor Crabtree had to be angled to fit through. The young man was missing a couple of front teeth, and his dislocated right shoulder was in a sling. Otherwise, he’d been lucky. Inmates didn’t look kindly on those accused of molesting girls young enough to be their daughters.