“I’m just here for moral support,” he said, and grinned.
Meyer said, “Excuse me, Your Honor, may I make a point?”
“Of course.”
“There was a code of sorts on one of the vehicles in the Lost Trail Pass ambush. It’s a series of numbers: two-three-thirteen. These same numbers appeared on this.” He turned over the plastic Baggie that contained the photograph of Waller taken from the plane. “If you’ll look on the back of this picture, the same numbers have been written. This photo probably was used by the assassin to identify the victim. It ties both crimes together.”
She studied the picture and the back and laid it on her desk. “Have any idea what these numbers mean?”
Meyer shook his head.
“Some kind of code,” Hardistan said. “My people are working on it.”
“Looks like a date. Perhaps February third, 1913.”
“Or 1813 or 1713. Nothing significant happened on any of those dates,” Hardistan said.
She turned back to Vail. “I like a man who comes into these things prepared, Mr. Vail,” she said. “Most of the time they come in with a lot of vague accusations and they hem and haw their way through the meeting trying to keep their feet out of their mouths. Fishing expeditions. It’s a pleasure to find someone who knows what he’s talking about. Do they have representation yet?”
“Charlie Everhardt is their attorney, we assume he’ll handle this.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh God, Charlie. He’ll object to every warrant, every wiretap, every access sanction….”
Vail nodded her through the list. “That’s why I wanted you, Judge.”
“How so?”
“They say you’re tough but fair. I figure whatever windows you open for us will hold up in court.”
“Who suggested that you come to me?”
He thought for a moment and said, “Somebody I met in Washington.” Classy, she thought. It was either the President or Marge Castaigne, and he’s not going to play that card.
“I’ve heard you have judges for lunch.”
“Only if they’re digestible.”
Her response was a hearty laugh. “And the rest of the time you just con them, is that it?”
Hardistan smothered a laugh. Meyer and Flaherty watched the interchange with fascination. Vail just looked at her with a cryptic little smile but did not answer her.
“Okay,” she said, “what do you want?”
“Wiretaps, access to financial records, close surveillance including satellite observation inside houses, access to their computers.”
“That’s a very big package.”
“They’re a very big threat.”
Meyer sat and stared at the back of the photograph of Waller as they talked. Then suddenly he said, “Of course.”
Everybody looked at him. Meyer explained the tetragrammaton “Yahweh” to the group.
“It appears in Exodus, Chapter Three, verses thirteen and fourteen… two-three-thirteen. This is a code for the word Yahweh, which is the name of their commune and also the word for God. I think what they’re saying is that God committed these acts.”
Everyone in the room leaned across the desk and stared at the back of the picture.
“Nice hit, Ben,” Hardistan said.
“Or maybe Engstrom thinks of himself as God,” Vail said. “He certainly has a messianic complex.”
Judge McIntyre stood up, walked to the window, and stood for a minute or two with one hand on her hip, staring outside. “I am rather obsessive concerning the Constitution,” she said. “I consider it the most important document ever written, and the most fragile. Easy to tear, almost impossible to repair. I am particularly concerned when individual freedoms are at risk… speech, religion, right to privacy, freedom from intrusion.”
“So am I, Your Honor. Remember, I was a defense advocate for ten years.”
“You’re dancing close to the edge on this one.”
“Only way to win. It’s their game, we’re just trying to set the rules.” The judge returned to her chair and fixed a deliberate stare on Vail for a long minute or two. Finally she leaned forward and lifted the phone.
“Mary? Come in, please, bring your pad.” She hung up. “I’ll give you your Title Three with reservations,” she said. “You can have wiretaps on the headquarters and Engstrom and his leaders. You may have access to bank records of the Sanctuary and the churches, and I will give you search warrants for the fort and its surrounding buildings, but not private dwellings. I won’t grant Title Three to their computers. In other words, no hacking, Mr. Vail. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“Also, I won’t agree to wires planted in private homes. I consider that an invasion of privacy. But I will keep an open mind on these restrictions. If you can prove they are justified at some later date then I may revise my judgment.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.”
“Don’t cross the line on this.”
“Understood.”
“By the way, I commend you on your choice of associates,” she said, nodding toward Meyer and Flaherty, who tried to look nonchalant but were obviously flattered by her remark. “I have one other concern.”
“What’s that?” Vail asked.
“If Engstrom is as dangerous as you say—and I’ll reserve judgment about that—you may start a shooting war when you move on him.”
“It’s a possibility.”
“How do you feel about that, Billy?”
“It’s the chance we take when we step in with subpoenas.”
“We don’t want another Waco, Your Honor,” Vail said. “And we don’t want a Mexican standoff. We’ll be very careful in defining the rules of engagement. Or perhaps…” He paused.
“Perhaps… ?”
“Perhaps come up with a different strategy,” Vail finished.
“That should be interesting,” she said.
McIntyre turned to her secretary and started dictating the terms of the entitlement.
CHAPTER 23
The WWN news set was a simple glass-enclosed studio. The bustling newsroom, dominated by its enormous wall-sized map with flashing lights, sprawled out behind the anchor desk. The afternoon anchor was Sheila Boyle, a redhead—savvy, hard-eyed, all-business—who had been the top Washington correspondent for NBC when Maxwell stole her and offered her the afternoon news chair, his network’s most coveted spot.
The TV in the lounge room of the AMOC was tuned to WWN but the sound was muted as Vail and his team settled down for the trip home. Vail was exhausted but his mind was still racing from the meeting with Judge McIntyre. He was staring at Sheila Boyle’s silent image on the screen when the screen split and a map of the Lima, Ohio, area flashed on her left.
“Uh-oh,” he said, and unmuted the set. Boyle’s no-nonsense delivery signaled trouble.
“In the small farming town of Wapakoneta, Ohio, a fast-breaking mystery story involves murder, the FBI, bank robbery, and possible connections to a right-wing extremist militia group…”
“Shit!” Hardistan snapped, sitting straight up in his chair.
“…Valerie Azimour is on the scene. Valerie, what’s the latest?”
Azimour flashed on the screen with Waller’s farmhouse a hundred yards behind her. As she spoke, a montage of scenes from the crime story flashed across the screen.
“Sheila, the death of a Wapakoneta, Ohio, farmer last night has taken a startling new turn since our exclusive report this morning.
“The victim was originally identified by FBI agents as Ralph Anderson, whom they say was gunned down as he worked on a tractor in his backyard last night, a killing that has all the earmarks of a professional hit and is being investigated by at least thirty FBI agents here in this quiet farming community.
“Now WWN has learned that the victim allegedly was a twenty-five-year-old ex-soldier named George Waller. And we have information that Waller may have been in the federal witness protection program, although we have not been able to confirm this i
nformation…”
“Who the hell’s she getting this shit from?” Hardistan said.
“… We also have information linking Waller to an abortive bank holdup in Denver five months ago. One of the bank robbers, Samuel Stevenson, was killed in that robbery, and a second man, Luke Sunder-gard, is serving twenty years to life in federal prison after pleading guilty to bank robbery and related charges growing out of that incident.
“WWN also has learned that both Sundergard and Stevenson were connected with the right-wing extremist group in Montana known as the Sanctuary. Waller’s connection to the robbery and the Sanctuary is unclear at this time, as is the reason he was in the witness protection program.
“Floyd McCurdy, the agent in charge of the Waller murder investigation, talked to us in an earlier report today but now refuses any further comment on the case. In Washington, FBI director Harry Simmons stated that it is FBI policy to withhold comment in any continuing investigation. FBI Deputy Director William Hardistan was on the scene of the murder earlier today and can be seen in this videotape accompanied by noted attorney Martin Vail, shown on his left…”
The image of Hardistan and Vail froze on the TV screen and held.
“…McCurdy earlier today stated that Hardistan and Vail stopped off while en route to Chicago on an unrelated matter. Neither Hardistan nor Vail was available for comment…”
The camera zoomed in on Vail’s face. He stared grim-faced at the TV monitor.
“… Vail, you may recall, won a staggering multimillion-dollar verdict in an Illinois racketeering case last fall involving two of the nation’s largest corporations. The CEOs of both corporations, Tom Lacey of Western Pulp and Paper, and Harry Grossman of the Atlas Chemical Company, were sentenced to prison terms, although their convictions are currently under appeal.”
The screen split again. Boyle was on the left.
“Valerie, does the FBI have any suspects in this murder case at this time?”
“We don’t know. They’re playing this one very close to the chest, Sheila. Except for the brief interview we obtained earlier today at the crime scene, they are refusing any comment at all.”
“Thanks. Valerie Azimour, live from America’s heartland. In Phoenix, Arizona, today—”
Hardistan grabbed the remote and snapped off the television set. “God damn her!” he roared. “Doesn’t she realize what she’s doing?”
“She doesn’t care, Billy,” Firestone answered. “She’s doing her job.”
“Job my ass. Where’d she get the information on Waller?”
“Who knows? A leak somewhere, obviously.”
“Maybe not,” Flaherty said.
“What do you mean?” Hardistan asked.
“Maybe it was a tip,” Flaherty said.
“From who? Who the hell would tip her?”
“One of them,” Flaherty ventured.
“Why?”
“Smoke us out. The more she finds out, the more they find out.”
“I’m sending a team in to find out where the hell she got her information,” Hardistan said.
Vail had remained silent during the discussion, but now he spoke up. “Don’t do that, Billy. She won’t give up her source. And if you interrogate her, it’ll confirm what she already knows.”
“You really pissed her off, didn’t you?”
“This isn’t about me. She’s a pro and she smells a hot story.”
“So we let her get away with it?”
“Stonewall her. Everybody stonewall her. Then anything she gets has to come from the outside.”
“What good’s that do us?” Firestone said.
Hardistan thought about what Vail said and finally nodded. “You’re right. We’ll know what they want us to know, and maybe they’ll slip up and give up too much.”
“Why not just put a wire on the WWN switchboard?”
“Whoever it is won’t stay on the line long enough,” Hardistan said. “Waste of time, and it brings Azimour back into the loop. We tried that in Ohio and she fucked us royally. Martin’s right We sit tight and say nothing.”
Later, Firestone was napping and Meyer and Flaherty were in the communications center running comparison tests on banks and robberies.
“How long will it take you to get the people together to enforce the warrants, Billy?” Vail asked.
“I’ll need to know how many banks are involved. So far the warrants specify Fort Yahweh, the four churches, and the personal accounts of Engstrom, Metzinger, Shrack, Bollinger, Karl Rentz, and James Rainey, plus an unspecified number of bank accounts.”
“Pick a number. Ten banks. How long?”
“The way it works, I have the locations checked out, decide the size of the force at each location, order the necessary agents into the area with backup vehicles and proper weapons, write up the rules of engagement. You know we’ve got to be prepared for serious resistance, Martin. The rules of engagement will reflect that.”
Vail sighed and nodded. “How long will all that take?”
“Busting ass… ten days.”
“How about a week?”
“We’re talking about a lot of people, hardware…”
“The longer we wait, the more time they have to shred records, blow hard drives, hide weapons—”
“You letting this Azimour woman force our hand?”
“Hell, Billy, she could start speculating on our operation at any moment. She mentioned the Illinois RICO case already. I’ll put my team on a twenty-four-hour clock, see if we can come up with the banks and any links they can turn up.”
Hardistan shrugged. “Okay. A week.”
“Thanks.”
“I better get started then.”
Hardistan got up and walked to the rear office of the jet. Vail reached over and shook Sam Firestone. The big man opened one eye and stared at him.
“I hope this is important. I was enjoying the best sleep I’ve had since I met you.”
“Can you arrange a sit-down with Engstrom?”
“For you?”
Vail nodded. “You know his people, don’t you?”
“Some of them.”
“Can you get to him?”
“I can try.”
“Tell him he can pick the place.”
“Can I tell him why?”
“No.”
“Can you tell me why?”
“Later.”
“How many people are going to be at this summit?”
“Tell him he can bring his whole staff if he wants to.”
“How many people are you going to take with you?”
“One. You.”
“You’re nuts, Martin.”
“So I’ve heard.”
CHAPTER 24
At six a.m., Henry Woo parked his car in the FBI lot and ran through a drizzling rain to the side entrance of the Hoover Building. It had been a good weekend for Woo. He had spent two whole days with his wife and ten-year-old son. The day before, the youngster had worn him down during their lengthy trek through the Smithsonian followed by dinner and a movie. It was the first time they had enjoyed the luxury of a weekend together in weeks.
But throughout the weekend the challenges of the coming week had lurked in the back of his mind. As Hardistan’s logistics expert, he had to juggle investigative teams between Ohio and Montana, coordinate the FBI and ATF task forces and equipment for the service of warrants to the Sanctuary, and move men and equipment into the Fort Yahweh area without attracting too much attention. All this, and keep operational all the other cases with which the Bureau was involved.
Right down Woo’s alley. He liked nothing better than a good challenge.
Hardistan was already in operations, a spacious room in the basement that was a melange of electronic equipment, maps, and high-tech communications gear. Hardistan sat in the middle of the room staring dolefully at the large map on the wall. He sighed with relief when Woo entered.
Woo took one look at his unshaven, bleary-eyed boss and knew he
had spent the weekend at the Bureau, grabbing forty winks when he could in a small, windowless room adjacent to his office, which contained a cot, a small refrigerator, a sink, and a shower. It was not uncommon. Since the death of Hardistan’s wife, the Deputy Director spent most of his waking hours on the job. He had not taken a vacation in four years, despite the urging of his staff and personal physician.
“We need to double our staff,” he growled when Woo came in.
“Maybe not,” Woo said cheerfully. “I think we can move people around and cover all the bases.”
“Doesn’t anything ever bother you?” Hardistan asked, reminding him of the overload on the Bureau’s field staff.
“Love it, love it,” a smiling Woo said. Hardistan was continually astounded that the dull, boring job of keeping track of men, equipment, and operations obviously delighted the youthful Harvard graduate.
“We can bring two or three teams in from every district office and move them into say, Butte, Helena, Missoula, and Great Falls,” he said, pointing at the map. “We’ll bring in equipment at night. I’ve got Larry Olsen out there now, renting space for the Humvees and weapons. I figure we can move the force into the fort from all four towns in no more than two and a half to three hours. We can do that the night before we serve them. I won’t need more than six to eight people to secure each of the banks and individuals. And we can move the teams from Ohio if McCurdy doesn’t come up with something soon.”
As soon as Floyd McCurdy had taken over the investigation of George Waller’s murder, he set up his plan of action. The initial assumption was that the killer had followed Firestone and Vail in his own plane, flown over Waller’s residence, and taken Waller’s photo from the air to assure a positive identification. He would have stayed in a motel or hotel and rented a car. His plane would have been parked at an airport during the two days he was in the Lima area. There was, of course, the chance that the killer lived in the area, but it was so coincidental that McCurdy ruled it out for the time being.
Hardistan sent in sixty-eight agents to scour the countryside. McCurdy used Wapakoneta as the headquarters for the search. The FBI rented a small storefront and immediately set it up as a search base. Phones and desks were brought in and a base team of ten was assigned to work the desks and also conduct phone interviews. They immediately set up interfaces with the AAA, the FAA, the state highway department, and the state licensing bureau. Experts laid out a huge map of the region, spotting airports, landing strips, motels, hotels, bed and breakfasts, rooming houses, and car rental agencies in the target area, a square divided into four segments, with Wapakoneta at the apex. Each segment was thirty miles square, with fifteen teams assigned to each segment.
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