Part 38 (2/2)
Ward was in apparent shock, staring at a river of Layborn's blood as it snaked across the floor toward him.
As Joe walked toward the still-living triumvirate of EnerDyne,he saw something white and blood-flecked rolling slowly across the hardwood floor and reached down and snagged it as if spearing a lazy grounder at shortstop. Layborn's gla.s.s eye looked at him accusingly from his palm. He remembered what Demming had said and rotated the eye. Yup. The National Park Service logo was on the other side.
Joe's heart was still beating hard when the agent from the gift shop came out beaming, said to Portenson, ”We got it all on tape. It's perfect.”
”Then shut the system down,” McIlvaine said, with a menacingsmile.
By then, McCann had been helped to his feet and was standingthere gasping for air. Despite the Kevlar vest under his parka, the impact of the bullets had punched the breath out of him, and he wheezed raggedly. Olig had stripped off his vest and thrown it across the room as if wearing it another second insulted him somehow. He was furious, he said, about how close he'd come to death, how long the agents had waited.
Joe squatted next to Chuck Ward. Ward still had the distant, almost animal look of shock on his face. Joe had seen many game animals in the back of pickups with the same look.
”How could you do this?” Joe asked. ”How could you betray the governor like this? Worse, how could you betray Wyoming?”
Ward studied the hardwood floor inches away, tears forming in his eyes.
Joe repeated his question, and this time it got through. He absentmindedly worked Layborn's gla.s.s eye in his hand like a big prayer bead.
”He knows everything, Joe,” Ward said.
”Who?”
”The governor. Our boss. Nothing gets by him when it comes to revenue.”
”I don't believe you.”
”Then don't. You're so naive.”
”You're lying.”
Ward turned away with a bitter smile. He was lying, Joe thought as he stood up. Of course he was lying. Of course course he was lying. he was lying.
Portenson skipped over and gave Joe a bear hug, almost lifting him off the ground. ”It was perfect,” Portenson said. ”Your plan, it was perfect! Even better, it's federal prosecutor-proof! This is the biggest arrest we've ever made in our office, and I was in charge! I'm going to get the h.e.l.l out of this f.u.c.king state afterall.”
He kissed Joe sloppily on the cheek, and Joe looked away.
”I'm next,” McIlvaine said, stepping up after Portenson let go. He wrapped his arms around Joe and clamped hard, nearly squeezing Joe's breath out.
”Okay, okay,” Joe grunted.
But McIlvaine didn't let go. Instead, he squeezed harder. Suddenly, what was about to come next hit Joe like a hammer. The realization was worse than McIlvaine's grip.
”Get his weapon,” McIlvaine ordered one of his men, who plucked the Glock out of Joe's holster.
Across the room, before Joe could shout out a warning, two agents clubbed Nate to the ground with their rifle b.u.t.ts. They took his .454 and cuffed him behind his back, shouting at him to ”stay the f.u.c.k down.” ”stay the f.u.c.k down.”
Joe tried to get loose, arching his back in a wild jerk, attemptingto take McIlvaine to the ground with him, but the FBI commander was too strong. After Nate was bound with an agent on top of him and a gun jammed into his temple, McIlvaine pressed his mouth to Joe's ear.
”I'll let you go now, but don't try to save your friend. There are way too many of us, and you saw what happened to Layborn.”
When McIlvaine released him, Joe staggered away, sucking in racking breaths. He saw Portenson staring at him, shaking his head sadly.
”We had a deal,” Joe said, gasping.
”Yes we did,” Portenson said, ”and I honored it. But you didn't have a deal with him. him.” He gestured toward McIlvaine.
”He's been on our list for quite a while,” McIlvaine said, confirming without saying what the whispering campaign on the radios had been about.
Joe threw himself at Portenson and his fist caught the FBI agent square in the nose, hard, smas.h.i.+ng it flat against his face in a concussion of dark red blood. Portenson dropped to the floor, unconscious. Joe tumbled on top of him, c.o.c.ked his arm back for another blow, when McIlvaine and two other agents tore him away.
Before cuffing Joe around a knotty pine stanchion to keep him out of the way, McIlvaine leaned into his ear again and said: ”Don't you know by now? Never trust a Fed Never trust a Fed.”
Through a fog of rage and betrayal, Joe watched as the a.s.saultteam read Miranda rights to James Langston, chief ranger of Yellowstone Park; Layton Barron, CEO of EnerDyne; Chuck Ward, chief of staff for the governor of Wyoming; and Nate Romanowski,ex-special forces officer and outlaw falconer. Layborn's body had been rolled up in dustcovers taken from tables in the restaurant. Portenson moaned from where he lay on the couch near the fire, holding a handkerchief to his head.
McIlvaine had ordered up another snow coach from the South entrance to take everyone away. It would be three hours before the tracked vehicle could get to Old Faithful, he reported to his men.
Across the room, Joe and Nate locked eyes.
”I'm sorry,” Joe said.
”Don't worry about it,” Nate mouthed, ”it's not your fault.”
”It is,” Joe said. ”I'll get you out. I promise.”
”You promise?” Nate said, arching his eyebrows, the words visibly relaxing him, making him smile.
With every fiber in my soul, Joe thought but didn't say, becauseMcIlvaine stepped between them to block the exchange. The commander winked at Joe, then wheeled and kicked Nate in the ribs so hard Nate curled up into a ball, his face purple from pain.
”Stop it!” Joe screamed, but at the same time he felt incrediblyindebted to Nate, wondering if he could possibly come through with his promise and thinking, I have to I have to.
That's when del Ashby shouted, ”Hey! where'd McCann go? And where is Olig?”
The room froze with silence. Even Joe turned from Nate and looked around.
The front door burst open, and the FBI agent who had been stationed in the woods entered, shook the snow off his coveralls,and said, ”Who just took the snow coach?”
32.
The flamers were being lit one by one, the whole line of them, columns of angry fire reaching as high as six feet into the snowy night sky, melting the falling snow with sharp sizzles that sounded like zzzt zzzt, warming the air around Sunburst Hot Springs so much that Bob Olig felt comfortable taking off his parka and tossing it aside.
Clay McCann leaned back against the trunk of a lodgepole pine, noting how the flames played on Olig, made him look biggerand meaner than he really was, making him look like some kind of biblical avenger. The handcuffs bit into the flesh of Mc-Cann's wrists.
”Just take them off for a minute,” McCann said. ”Please? I need to scratch my ear where that maniac tore it off. It really hurts and I need to scratch it.”
”Gee,” Olig said, roaming around looking for more flamers to light, ”I really feel for you.”
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