Wild Fire (45 page)

“Oh . . . well, that was smart.”

I said to him, “Fuck you.”

He completely ignored that and asked me, “Have you ever heard of Wild Fire?” He gave me a hint. “Highly sensitive government protocol.”

“To be honest with you, Bain, I don’t read all my memos from Washington.” I glanced at Kate, who was standing with her back to the fireplace, her hand in her gun pocket, and asked her, “Kate? You ever hear of Wild Fire?”

“No.”

I turned back to Madox, shrugged, and said, “I guess we missed that memo. What did it say?”

He seemed impatient with me and responded, “It wouldn’t be in a
memo,
John. I think you have most of what you need, so don’t be intellectually lazy and expect me to put it all together for you.”

I said to Kate, “He’s calling us lazy. After all the work we’ve done.”

Madox admitted to both of us, “Actually, you seem to have solved the homicide case, and you’re closer to the other thing than I’d thought. But you need to put it together.”

“Okay.” I went to the French doors and opened them.

It was a nice night, and a bright half-moon was almost directly overhead, lighting up the clearing behind the lodge.

Off in the distance, I could see the metal roof of the generator building, and the three chimneys belching smoke into the air. Also, there were two all-terrain vehicles and a black Jeep prowling around back there, as though they were guarding the building.

I said to Madox, “I see the diesel engines are running.”

“That’s right. I just had them serviced.”

I turned from the double doors and walked back to where Madox was still leaning against the bar. “Six thousand kilowatts.”

“Right. Who told you that? Potsdam Diesel?”

I didn’t answer his question. “Where’s the ELF transmitter?”

He didn’t seem surprised and replied, “I’m not overly impressed that you figured out this was an ELF station. It’s all there for anyone to see—the generators, the cables, the location here in the Adirondacks—”

“Where’s the transmitter, Bain?”

“I’ll show it to you. Later.”

I said to him, “Now would be a really good time.”

He ignored that, and we eyeballed each other. He didn’t look like a man with a serious problem. He asked me, “So, have you come to any startling conclusions?” He turned to Kate. “Kate? A eureka moment?”

Kate said to him, “Four suitcase nuclear weapons were flown on your two aircraft to LA and San Francisco.”

“Correct. And?”

She continued, “And your ELF transmitter will send a signal to detonate those devices when they reach their final destinations.”

“Well . . . close.”

I was getting a little tired of this bullshit, so I said to Madox, “The game’s over, pal. I’m placing you under arrest for the murder of Federal Agent Harry Muller. Turn around, put your hands on the bar, and spread your legs.” I said, “Kate, cover me.” I stepped toward Madox, who wasn’t doing what I told him to do.

I heard Kate say, “John . . .”

I glanced back and saw Carl at the door with a raised shotgun directed at Kate.

Across the room, another man stood at the open doors of the game room with an M16 rifle raised and pointed.

A third man walked in through the doors from the terrace, aiming an M16 at me.

As they both moved closer into the room, I saw that the guy who’d come from the game room was Luther, and the guy from the terrace was the guard at the gatehouse, whom I’d blasted with my air horn.

I glanced back at Madox and saw he was holding a big Army Colt .45 automatic, pointed at my face.

Well, I couldn’t say I hadn’t seen this coming, but it still seemed unreal.

Then Madox said to us, “You knew you weren’t getting out of here alive.”

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

K
ate and I made eye contact, and she didn’t look frightened; she looked pissed off about something. Maybe me.

Madox said, “All right, both of you, facedown on the floor.” He added, in case we didn’t know, “One false move and you’re both dead.” He further added, “No kidding.”

So we got facedown on the floor, which was the correct police and military procedure for disarming prisoners. Obviously, we were dealing with people who knew how this was done.

I heard Madox say, “Kate, you first. Weapons. Slowly. John, keep your face in the carpet, and don’t even
breathe
.”

I couldn’t see what was going on, but I heard what I thought was the sound of a boot or shoe kicking Kate’s Glock across the carpet, and Madox said to her, “Do you always carry your gun in your pocket?”

She didn’t reply, and Madox continued, “A lot of good it did you.” Then, he asked her, “Any more weapons?”

“No.”

“Where’s your holster?”

“Small of my back.”

He ordered, “Take her holster, and take off her watch, her shoes, socks, and jacket, then wand her.”

I heard the sounds of these items being removed and tossed aside, then Madox said, “Frisk her.”

Next, I heard Kate say, “Get your fucking hands off me.”

Madox retorted, “Do you want a strip search, or a frisk and wanding?”

No reply. Then Luther’s voice said, “Clean.”

Madox ordered, “Turn over.”

I heard her turn over, then a few seconds later, the wand made a hit, and Carl asked, “What’s that?”

Kate replied, “My fucking belt and zipper. What’s it look like?”

Madox said, “Take your belt off.”

I didn’t know if they wanded her again, but I didn’t hear a buzz, so the BearBanger hadn’t been detected.

Madox instructed, “Carl, pat her down.”

I couldn’t see where he patted her, but she said to Carl, “Having fun?”

A few seconds later, Carl said, “Clean.”

I didn’t know
where
that BearBanger was on Kate’s body, but either it had escaped detection or they had it and didn’t know what they had.

Madox said to the other security guy, “Derek, put the shackles on her.”

I heard metallic sounds as the shackles were clamped and locked, then Madox said, “Your turn, John. You know the drill. Gun first.”

Still lying facedown, I brought my hand under my chest as though reaching for my gun, and I pulled the BearBanger out of my shirt pocket, then laid it on the carpet under my stomach.

Madox had apparently moved behind me, near my feet. “Don’t even
think
about being a hero, or your wife is dead.” He added, “Yes, I know she’s your wife.”

“Fuck you.” I pulled my Glock from my belt and slid it across the carpet.

“What else? No lie, John, or I put a .45 slug in your ass.”

“Ankle holster. Left side.”

Someone pulled up my pants leg and took my holster and .38 revolver.

Then, two guys pulled off my shoes and socks, and my leather jacket and watch. Madox said, “Wand him.”

One guy, I think Luther, walked around me with the wand, but nothing set it off.

Madox continued, “Frisk him.”

Someone patted down my legs, took my wallet, then patted down my back. Luther reported, “Clean.”

I said, “Bain, Luther was squeezing my ass.”

Luther wasn’t amused and said, “Shut your fucking mouth,
sir
.”

“You’re supposed to
pat
, not
squeeze
.”

I felt a heavy boot smashing into my right rib cage as Luther shouted, “Asshole!”

Madox warned Luther, “Don’t
ever
do that without my permission.”

After I caught my breath, I couldn’t resist pointing out, “Not
that
well disciplined, Bain.”

Madox said, “Shut up.” He informed me, “I really don’t like your sarcasm.” He snapped, “Roll over!”

I needed to roll over without exposing the BearBanger on the carpet under my stomach. So, instead of doing a simple sideways roll, I made a pretense of being in pain from the kick in the ribs and did a passable imitation of a beached whale flopping around so that I wound up in the same place on the carpet with the BearBanger under my back.

I could see Madox now, standing near my feet, and Carl standing near Kate, pointing the shotgun at her.

Luther was off to my right side, holding the wand, which he was slapping into his hand, as though it were a billy club that he was thinking about swinging at my head.

The other security guy, Derek, was someplace I couldn’t see from where I was lying, but I figured he’d repositioned himself behind my head with his M16 pointing down at me.

The only good news here was that Madox, for some reason, hadn’t just opened fire.

He seemed to sense what I was thinking and said to me, “If you’re wondering why I’m taking all this time and trouble with you two, the answer is I need some information from you. Also, I don’t want blood on this Persian carpet.”

Both those reasons sounded good.

Madox instructed, “Take off your belt.”

I unbuckled it, pulled it through the loops, and tossed it aside.

He said to Derek, “Shackle him,” and Derek ordered, “Raise your legs.”

I raised my legs, and Derek slapped the ankle bracelets on and locked them in place. I was surprised how heavy they were, and I dropped my legs, causing the shackles to rattle.

Luther pulled the pen out of my shirt pocket, then passed the wand over me. My zipper also set it off, so Luther stuck the wand down my pants and said, “No brass balls, Colonel.”

Everyone got a little chuckle out of that, except me and Kate.

It occurred to me that I’d pissed off everyone in this room—maybe including Kate—and that though they’d been mostly professional so far, it could get very personal very quickly. So I thought, for my wife’s sake, I should try to keep my mouth shut.

I looked over at Kate, who was lying about ten feet from me, also on her back, and also wearing shackles. We made eye contact, and I said to her, “It’s going to be okay when they get here.”

“I know.”

Of course, it wasn’t a matter of “when” but a matter of “if.”

Madox barked, “Shut up. Speak only when spoken to.” He said to Luther, “Frisk him again.”

Luther did a rough frisk, going so far as to stick his thumb in my testicles, then said, “Clean.”

Madox moved to the bar and started going through our jackets, credentials, shoes, and belts, then he dumped the contents of Kate’s handbag on the bar and rummaged through the items. He said to us, “I count six fully loaded magazines. Did you think you were going to have a firefight?”

The other three idiots laughed.

I couldn’t resist saying, “Fuck you.”

Madox informed me, “That’s what your friend Harry kept saying. Fuck you. Fuck you. Do you have anything
intelligent
to say?”

“Yeah. You’re still under arrest.”

He thought that was funny and said, “So are you.”

Madox was still going through our things on the bar, and I saw him take the batteries out of our cell phones, then examine my pen. He still hadn’t found Kate’s BearBanger, so I hoped she still had it.

Madox said, “Well, here’s Detective Muller’s credential case. John, why do you have that?”

“To give it to his family.”

“I see. And who’s going to give
your
badge to your family after you’re dead?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

“You wish it was.”

He had our notebooks now, and I knew he couldn’t read my notes because no one, myself included, can read my handwriting. But he said to Kate, whose handwriting is very neat, “I see you have a logical mind. Rare for a woman.”

She replied, of course, “Fuck you.”

He ignored that as he flipped through her notebook. “Kate, does anyone know you’re here?”

“Just the FBI and the state police, who are on their way.”

“If there was anything like that happening at state police headquarters, I’d know about it.”

That was not what we wanted to hear.

He asked me, “John, what do they know at 26 Fed?”

“Everything.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then don’t ask.”

“You were seen speaking to Harry, Friday afternoon as you both got on the elevator at 26 Fed. What did you speak about?”

I
really
didn’t want to hear that Bain Madox had a source inside 26 Federal Plaza.

“John?”

“We didn’t talk business.”

“All right . . . I’m a little pressed for time, John, so we can continue this later.”

“Later is good.”

“But I’m not going to be so nice later.”

“You’re not so nice
now
, Bain.”

He laughed and said, “You ain’t seen nothing yet,
pal
.”

I advised him, “Go fuck yourself.”

He was standing directly over me now, with those hawk eyes staring down at me like he was in flight and he’d spotted an injured animal on the ground.

He said to me, “There are two kinds of interrogations. I don’t know about you, John, but I actually prefer the kind without blood and broken bones, and screams for mercy.” He turned from me and said, “Kate? How about you?”

She didn’t reply.

He continued on that subject. “Also, there are two ways to go through the wood chipper—dead or alive.” He informed us, “Putyov went through dead because that was just a killing of convenience. But you two piss me off. However, if you cooperate, I’ll give you my word of honor that you’ll have a quick, merciful death by a gunshot to the head before you go through the wood chipper and become bear food. Okay? Deal? John? Kate?”

I couldn’t quite see what was in that deal for me, but to buy a little time, I said, “Deal.”

“Good.” Madox said, “All right, you asked to see my ELF transmitter. So, I’ll show it to you.”

“Actually,” I said, “I’ll just take those lists of your houseguests and staff, and we’ll be on our way.”

“John, this is not funny.”

It was Madox speaking, but it could just as well have been Kate.

I could see and hear all four men moving around the room, then Madox said, “Okay, Mr. and Mrs. Corey, you can stand now. Hands on your heads.”

I began to sit up and grimaced from the pain in my ribs, which was not imaginary anymore. I put my hand behind my back to push up, palmed the BearBanger, and stuck it in the back of my tightie whities, then got to my feet. So far, so good.

I turned toward Kate, who was standing and looking at me. I said to her, “You’re going to have to bear up later.”

She nodded.

Madox reminded me, “Shut up.” He glanced at his watch, then said to Carl, “Let’s move out.”

Carl ordered, “Follow me. Ten-foot intervals.”

Carl headed toward the open doors of the card room, and Madox said to us, “Move. Hands on your heads.”

We followed Carl.

I had never walked in shackles, and even though there was some slack in the chain, it wasn’t easy to put one foot in front of the other, and I found myself shuffling, like the men on the chain gang. Plus, the metal was already chafing my bare ankles.

Also, my beltless pants were dropping, and I had to hitch them up a few times, which caused Luther to shout, “Hands on your head!”

I could see that Kate, ahead of me, was having a lot of difficulty walking, and she almost stumbled. But her tight jeans held up, and she kept her hands on her head.

I didn’t know who was following, so I glanced over my shoulder and saw Madox about ten feet behind me, his Colt .45 in his hand, swinging at his side.

Luther was bringing up the rear with his M16 rifle at the ready. Derek, the air horn victim, had stayed back in the bar, and he was collecting everything that was taken from us.

Madox said to me, “The next time you turn around, you’ll be sprouting a third eye in the middle of your forehead. Understand?”

I think I understood what he was saying.

So, as it turned out, Mr. Bain Madox was not so charming, well mannered, or even civilized. Goes to show you. Actually, I think I liked him better this way—gloves off, all pretenses dropped, and, more important, he was taking us to the ELF transmitter.

Carl halted in the middle of the card room, and Madox said, “Stop.”

Kate and I did as we were told, and I looked around. On one wall was a big dartboard whose target was a full-color photo of Saddam Hussein’s face.

Madox reminded me, “You asked when the war was going to start. Well, the operational date is March 15—the ides of March—give or take a day or two for glitches. But I’m starting it early. In less than an hour.”

“Are we getting dinner first?”

Luther, at least, thought that was funny.

Madox, who was ahead of me now, seemed a little tense, or maybe preoccupied, and didn’t reply to my question.

Anyway, Carl had slung his shotgun over his shoulder, and I got a good look at it. It was a Browning automatic shotgun, probably 12-gauge, and it would fire five rounds as quickly as you could pull the trigger and stay on your feet. For Carl, that would be no problem.

Madox’s Colt .45 automatic held seven rounds in the clip and one in the chamber. The gun was notoriously inaccurate, but if a blunt-nosed .45 slug hit you anyplace, you’d go airborne, and as my ex-military buddies liked to say, “It’s the fall that kills you.”

Luther’s M16 was another animal altogether. Very accurate at medium distances, and if Luther was carrying the fully automatic version, it could spray twenty steel-jacketed rounds at you in less time than it took to say, “Holy shit, I’m dead.”

In any case, we’d lost Derek, the air horn guy, who probably had an appointment with an ear doctor, and now Kate and I had to contend with only three guys. But they weren’t your normal run-of-the-mill street scum—like my Hispanic friends who sort of closed their eyes when they fired at me, or the Mideastern gentlemen who, I honestly believe, can’t be trying to hit anyone when they fire their AK-47s.

Anyway, not only were these three guys paramilitary but Kate and I were shackled, beltless, barefoot, and in a tight spot.

Bottom line, this was not the time to go BearBanger. And I hoped Kate understood that.