by Kirk Russell
“There’s a tie to protecting Indie and everyone working on the project. Bismarck believes or is telling his followers a new millennium will begin, the great change he’s predicted, after he mind-melds with Indie. Bot clusters originating in Eastern Europe are helping drive his followers here. I doubt he knows it. The disruption and distraction could help someone planning an attack. That’s why I’m out here. That’s the real reason.”
Mara texted Grale and he turned his phone so she could read the text. It read, They’ll pass over low.
“Who will?” Jace asked. “Jets or an FBI helicopter? How far out is our helicopter?”
“Both are on their way, and I’m going to walk down to talk to the guys right there.”
“Don’t.”
Grale moved the flare gun to the hood where she could reach it more easily and said, “Watch the sky to your left. If you see fighter jets, launch the flare straight up. They’re not sticking around, but it’ll help our friends down there grasp we’re not alone.”
“This is macho bullshit, Grale.”
“Nah. I’m just going to talk to them.”
He started down slowly and just before he reached them, Jace heard the jets and turned toward two black dots coming low and fast. She fired the flare gun. The flare burst in a bright plume that the jets veered toward. They streaked straight over, low with a deafening roar. She saw the pilot in the first jet and then saw Bismarck’s followers down in the camp running for cover where there was none. What did they imagine would happen? Did they think American military jets would fire at them? Apparently so.
The jets were gone just like that, and Grale was down there talking. He pointed up at the sky, then shook hands with two of them as the FBI helicopter closed in. A guy in camo pants, a filthy T-shirt, and a ragged Army surplus coat walked halfway back up with Grale, who shook the guy’s hand again.
Soon after, they moved their vehicles, and she and Grale drove out. No one was arrested, no one apprehended. It made little sense to her. She felt relieved but still angry when she and Grale reached the paved road. It was a crazy first day of working with him and made her wonder about Grale in a way she never had.
The FBI helicopter circled several times then flew away as Grale got out of his car and walked back to her.
“Let’s go get something cold to drink,” he said, and Jace laughed at the casual attitude after the flyby and grenade launcher. She laughed but didn’t feel it inside. She’d just witnessed serious bad judgment on Grale’s part that could have gotten them killed.
“We couldn’t have shot our way out,” Grale said. “These are people who think the FBI exists only to keep the corrupt in power.”
“I don’t know about all that, but I know we shouldn’t have been out here without more agents. That was crazy, totally whacked out, and I don’t get it.”
“I came out alone, Jace, to deliver a message to Bismarck. I checked in with our office when I found his trailer. Bismarck and I know each other. I knew he’d recognize me and would want to talk, but I didn’t anticipate the group blocking the road.”
“Right, you didn’t anticipate. You screwed up. You could have gotten us killed.”
Grale nodded, but said, “The guy who walked halfway back up the hill with me served in Afghanistan right after 9/11. War messed with his head. His reality is different than yours and mine. He’s living Bismarck’s illusion, but he’s not a bad guy.”
“Right, he’s just crazy.”
“He’s damaged but he’s correct in this sense: the land they’re planning to trespass on is the property of the people of the United States. To him it’s like walking on his front lawn. He went to Afghanistan to protect it. He doesn’t see it the same as the Department of Defense does. If Bismarck says go, the guy you’re talking about will go. Bismarck will hang back and watch. It’s his followers I worry about, so if we can talk them out of it, that’s better than arresting them.”
“How is it you know how they think?”
“I don’t, but I know enough about Bismarck. I’ve tracked him a long time, and you’re better off not knowing him.”
“So, you’re protecting me, right? You said you were afraid or whatever that he would lock in on me. That’s what you said.”
“I am trying to keep him out of your life. It doesn’t take two of us, and you don’t need to know this guy. He’s bad news.”
“That’s crap, Grale.”
“It’s not.”
Grale was tense and watching her. It was a long way from what she’d pictured as their first day working together. They did stop for a couple of cold sodas, but it didn’t change much. She felt distant from Grale. That could be the drug investigation or just the newness of being here. Either way, it wasn’t a feeling she’d expected. She almost laughed aloud at what he said next.
“I’ve got a prescription refill I need to get and then a very short meeting with two DoD agents,” Grale said.
He started to say something more but must have changed his mind. He limped to his car, and watching him get in she knew the day could come when they didn’t see eye to eye enough to work together. That feeling surprised her, and she was unsure how to deal with it. Some of it was wrapped up in how uncomfortable she’d been out on the desert road, but Grale getting a prescription refilled was exactly what Mara would want to know about.
Jace picked up her phone and brought up Supervisor Mara’s number. She was about to call him when something inside said wait. For long seconds after Grale drove away Jace sat holding her phone for several minutes then laid it down without calling Mara. She started her car and drove away.
15
Ralin called me after I left Jace and had what might be a lead on Indonal. He’d reached out to Indonal’s family. A cousin looked at the trailer in the traffic cam photo and recognized it as a fishing trailer Indonal had inherited from an uncle who’d died.
“I’ll text you contact info on that cousin,” Ralin said, “and send you the photo of the fishing trailer he sent me.”
He did that, and I called Indonal’s cousin from my car and asked, “What makes you certain it’s the same trailer?”
He laughed and said, “Because I got my feelings hurt. Eric doesn’t fish, or hardly ever, and I’m a big fisherman. I fished a lot with Uncle Mac. I thought he’d leave the trailer to me. But it’s not like Eric didn’t know about the trailer. The whole family met every year at Panguitch Lake in Utah. That’s the lake in the photo.”
I looked at a map of Panguitch Lake and searched for camping areas with trailer hookups. I remembered the lake but hadn’t been there in years. Google had it as a three-and-a-half-hour drive, so seven hours round trip on a chance guess that Indonal would head there. Like Jace said, that’s a lot of ifs to assume he’s gone there, but in another way it’s human nature to go where we remember as safe and familiar. The cousin wanted to know Indonal wasn’t wanted for a crime before acknowledging, “Yeah, that’s a place Eric might go.”
“Have you talked to him?”
“Not in a couple of years.”
I thanked him for his help, then left Jace a message.
She texted back, Why aren’t we going out to local law enforcement first?
I texted, Talked to Indonal’s cousin and this looks like a viable lead. I’d like to check it out.
We wouldn’t get back until late tonight.
Jace’s approach was more efficient, but I needed to see things firsthand. It’s how I’m wired. I was fine with making the drive alone, rather than arguing over getting the county sheriff out to the lake and then waiting to hear back. I didn’t expect Jace to come with me and let Mara know that. No sooner than I did, Jace called and we did almost the same back and forth.
“Why not call and talk with the Garfield County Sheriff’s Office?” she asked.
“How about you finish your move-in, and I’ll check
out the lake? It doesn’t take two of us.”
“Out and back, seven hours in the car, isn’t going to make your back better. What do you do about back pain on a drive that long? NORCOs?”
“They don’t work well with driving. If you want to come with me, call me within half an hour.”
“You’re the original ‘stop, think, there must be a harder way’ guy.”
“Enough fits that I want to check it out. If you talk with Ralin, he’ll tell you the three of them have worked day and night for seven years. Indonal hasn’t been out fishing, hiking, and checking out lakes. He was towing a trailer at night when the traffic cam caught him and was on his way somewhere. That onramp headed him in the right direction on the right road. I doubt he’s got a long list of places he might go. I’d go someplace I know.”
“Don’t leave until we’ve talked.”
“Half an hour.”
I called Eckstrom’s girlfriend, Trent, on the chance she might know something about Indonal and a twelve-foot trailer.
“Nope. Can’t help you. Sorry,” she said. “And my boyfriend was Alan, not Eric. I don’t exactly keep track of what Eric does. What’s the big deal about some crappy old trailer anyway?”
Jace texted that her movers were there and to go without her, but by then I was already seventy miles down the interstate on my way to Utah.
16
Jace
Jace agreed to the apartment switch then called the movers and met them in the lot near the U-Haul with her stuff. She unlocked the U-Haul and one of the two reached in, put one hand under the couch she’d almost left behind, and pulled it out of the van as if he were picking up his coat.
Both guys laughed as she told them the hamster and snake story. They were cool with moving the bed from last night’s apartment to the new one. They were also fast and into getting done, paid, and gone. Inside of an hour the move was down to the last cardboard boxes. She’d drop the rental van tomorrow.
She checked her phone as they left. When she didn’t see any messages from Grale, she called the Metro police undercover officer, Wycher, and asked if they could meet. He was okay with it but short with her, as if he didn’t have time to talk even though he was sitting in a car watching a house.
That changed after she got there. In person he was a talker.
“Not that many years ago, this area was foreclosures right and left. Houses were super cheap and squatters would move into the empties. Neighbors would figure it out, call us, and we’d go knock on the door. But the squatters weren’t stupid. They’d send a kid to answer the door holding a lease. The kid doesn’t know jack but hands the lease to the officer standing there and that was game over.”
“Why? I don’t get that. Oh, yeah, I do, it becomes a civil issue.”
“You got it. Local law said an officer couldn’t do a thing if there was a lease. If you showed a lease it became, as you said, a civil deal. Gangs learned that and moved in. They leased a few, bought a few, and used squatters to cook meth, then started selling every drug you can name from houses that had been foreclosed on.” He pointed. “That light-brown stucco house right over there. Potello delivers there. I’m talking bags of pills. And right over there, I’ve seen FBI Grale parked.”
“Have you seen Grale go into the house?”
“No, he meets Potello—Poco, I call him Poco for short. Agent Grale is quick about it. He gets his fix and splits. And look, I know what you’re thinking, and I know who Grale is. He’s done some serious takedowns in his career, so I know why the FBI wants to protect him. And he was stand-up during the bombing we had in Vegas. But that was then, this is now. Look, I know users. It’s what I do. I’ve got film of Grale parked here with Potello. Poco is going down, and it looks like Grale’s going with him.”
He winked at her.
“Maybe they’ll share a cell,” he added.
“Or maybe you’re wrong. He’s got back injuries and doesn’t like to wait in pharmacy lines. He likes the convenience of Potello. You could be reading the situation wrong.”
He shook his head and said, “I’ve been doing this a long time, and I’ve seen a lot of shit go down. I know what I’m looking at. Go check out Poco’s drug shop, then tell me he’s legit. He’s sitting behind bulletproof glass.”
“Potello isn’t Grale. I’m talking about Grale.”
He paused on that, then looked at her hard and grinned.
“Maybe you’re not the right agent to be investigating him.”
***
Jace drove to Potello’s drug shop after the Wycher meeting. It had a walk-up window with a tray to slide things in and out from behind what looked like bulletproof glass but probably wasn’t. It was a tiny shop.
Mara called before she made it back to her car. It turned into a long call and involved more evidence on Potello that Mara wanted to pass on and talk about at length. The detail he went into told her he cared about Grale and valued him. And still, he was very critical of Grale. When Mara finished he asked, “What’s your read on Wycher?”
“He’s the type who’s born certain,” she said. “When I questioned his conclusions, all of a sudden he’s too busy to talk and gave me a dead-eyed stare.”
“What did he see Grale do?”
“He saw what he thought was a quick, suspicious-looking exchange between Grale and Potello, who he calls Poco. He didn’t seem to have any proof other than his experience.”
That seemed to frustrate Mara, but she couldn’t help that. He wanted to talk it out, so she walked back through it with him, trying to get to a definitive conclusion, but they just couldn’t do that yet. When they finished, she called Grale and got his voice mail, so she left a message and then texted him, Where are you?
Headed to Panguitch, he texted back. No big deal. I’ll let you know what I find.
17
Panguitch Lake was a soft blue off my left shoulder as I checked out trailers in the hookup area and campsites along the lake before returning to the store. At the store I bought bottled water, salted peanuts, coffee, a candy bar, another bottle each of Tylenol and Aleve, and a Panguitch Lake map as an old-school way of keeping track of areas checked off.
The lake was about two miles long with a road wrapping it, so I had just enough time before dark if I kept moving. I passed Bear Paw and Lake View resorts, then was in and out of small roads before turning into an area called East Shore. There I didn’t see much of anyone, almost no traffic at all.
Past Skoots Creek I bore left onto the West Shore Road and checked out Church Road, Hyrum Lane, and Eagle Lane, and crossed another creek, Blue Spring, before stopping to mark the paper map with areas checked.
The light was still good but paling as I rounded a shadowed corner on a dirt road and scanned through trees, and just like that, there they were: an old aluminum-sided trailer and a new-model GMC pickup.
Funny how it goes sometimes. I didn’t feel excitement or adrenaline but did feel relief as I knocked on the trailer door then walked around it and the pickup. The trailer was just like the photo the cousin sent. The pickup was registered to a Brad Smith in Vegas, so maybe Brad was a friend or Indonal bought it recently.
I called Mara before alerting the Garfield County sheriff. Mara wanted to impound both vehicles, but after we talked it through, he backed off and said he’d track down Brad Smith from the office. I texted him a photo of a license plate. A couple of Garfield deputies came out, and a locksmith arrived a few minutes later and got us into the trailer and pickup cab.
Worst case was Indonal was inside and dead, but I hadn’t smelled anything as I’d waited for the deputies. Inside, it didn’t even smell of food or as if he’d even slept there. I checked the tiny refrigerator. Nothing. Empty. I left my card on his pickup’s dashboard. Then the deputies and I knocked on doors in the area. The few who answered my knock were aware of the trailer and pickup, but no one had
seen anyone. I showed photos of Indonal and several made the connection to the missing coders. I underscored that he wasn’t wanted for a crime.
“We just want to know he’s safe.”
At twilight I headed home. Jo was out to dinner tonight with a couple of friends. I made a sandwich, opened a beer, and went through the news channels. The usual experts and commentators debated whether Indonal and Eckstrom were traitors shopping Indie’s source code. An “expert” saw possible payoffs of tens of millions of dollars.
I had the opposite feeling. That Indonal retreated to the lake rang true to me. My gut feeling was I’d like the guy. Either way, I felt we’d find him soon and I was much less worried about his safety. If he was running, he wasn’t working very hard at it. By the time I finished the beer and the sandwich I was done with the TV.
I started to stand and couldn’t. The pain was so sharp I had to sit. A few minutes later I tried again and couldn’t quite get there. It was another half hour before I could make it to the kitchen for my pills and then to a hot shower, which had always helped. An hour later Jo was home and I felt better. But I was shaken. I’d truly been unable to stand and should have told Jo, but I didn’t that night.
18
August 7th
I felt better in the morning but was worried. If Dalz was headed here, there was a good chance he’d arrived and joined a team targeting Indie. Nothing I’d learned substantiated that, but given the threat chatter aimed at the AI, nothing made more sense. And I had a gut feeling that it couldn’t be anything else. I drove to the office early and ran into Jace outside.
“We need to talk,” she said.
“How about we get a coffee and talk?”
We went around the corner of the FBI building and walked to the Starbucks. After we’d ordered to-go coffees and were outside heading back to the office, Jace said she’d spent time with Laura Trent, Alan Eckstrom’s girlfriend, yesterday evening.
