Wild Fire

by Nelson DeMille

  Kate said, “John, you should save your appetite for dinner.”

  “I’ll just have a few.” I popped the pig in my mouth. It tasted great—hot, firm crust, spicy mustard.

  Madox said to Kate, “Please help yourself.”

  “No, thank you.” She shot me a concerned look and said to him, “You go ahead.”

  Madox also picked a pig with a blue toothpick, but chose the yellow mustard. So maybe I picked the wrong mustard.

  Actually, I felt fine and had another, this one with the yellow mustard, just to be on the safe side.

  Madox chewed, swallowed, and said, “Not bad.” He chose a red toothpick and offered the piggy to Kate. “Are you sure?”

  “No, thank you.”

  He ate it himself, this time with deli mustard. So I had another.

  Hot dogs made me think of Kaiser Wilhelm. His absence at his master’s side was a case of The Dog That Did Not Fart in the Night.

  Dogs alert their masters, and everyone else, that someone is approaching—and I had the strong feeling that Madox did not want Kate and I to know if anyone was outside those doors.

  Also, if Kaiser Wilhelm was here, I’d feed him about twenty pigs to see if he keeled over, or if Madox stopped me.

  On the other hand, maybe I was over-analyzing this, as I tend to do when my bloodhound instincts are aroused.

  I thought it was time to increase the discomfort level, so I said to Madox, “I, too, have a confession to make. You know about the Borgias. Right?”

  He nodded.

  “Well, after you invited us here, we got this toxicology report on Harry Muller showing high levels of sedatives in his blood. And, Kate has been . . . well, concerned about . . . you know.”

  Madox looked at me, then Kate, then back at me, and said, “No. I don’t know.” He added in a curt tone, “And perhaps I don’t want to know.”

  I continued, “I guess this comes under the category of being bad dinner guests, but Kate . . . and I guess I . . . are a little concerned that you may have . . . a staff member who has access to powerful sedatives, and this could be the person who used them on the deceased victim.”

  Mr. Madox did not comment on that, but he did light a cigarette without asking if anyone minded.

  I made eye contact with Kate, and she seemed more uncomfortable than Bain, who actually appeared offended.

  To make him feel better, I took another pig-in-the-blanket—blue toothpick, yellow mustard—and popped it in my mouth. “On the other hand,” I went on, “it appears that Detective Muller was sedated by means of a tranquilizer dart, followed by two hypodermic injections to keep him sedated.” I looked at Madox, but there was no reaction. “So, maybe we can rule out a Mickey Finn in the scotch or knockout drops in the mustard tonight.”

  Madox sipped his scotch, drew on his cigarette, then asked me, “Are you suggesting that someone here is trying to . . . sedate you?”

  “Well,” I replied, “I’m just extrapolating from the evidence at hand.” I made a little joke to lighten the moment. “A lot of people say I need sedating, and maybe it would do me some good—if it wasn’t followed by a bullet in my back.”

  Madox sat quietly in his nice green leather chair, blowing smoke rings, then he glanced at Kate and pointed out to her, “I think if you believe that, then dinner is not going to be much fun.”

  Good one, Bain. I really liked this guy. Too bad he had to die, or if he was lucky, spend the rest of his life in a place less comfortable than this.

  Kate decided to take the offensive. “I’m interested in Carl.”

  Madox stared at her, then said, “Carl is my oldest and most trusted employee and friend.”

  “That’s why I’m interested in him.”

  Madox replied sharply, “That’s almost the same as an accusation against me.”

  “Perhaps Detective Corey and I should have informed you that no one who was on this property this weekend is above suspicion. And that includes you.”

  At this point, Madox should have told us to forget dinner and asked us to leave his house. But he wasn’t doing that because he was no more through with us than we were with him.

  In fact, this is the point where you’ve crossed the threshold, and now you begin the transition from the unknown suspect to the person you’re speaking to. Hopefully, the suspect has already said something incriminating, or will when you start to bully him. Lacking that, you need to rely on the existing evidence and good hunches. It all ends with me saying something like, “Mr. Madox, I’m placing you under arrest for the murder of Federal Agent Harry Muller. Please come with us.”

  Then, you take the guy downtown and book him. Or, in this case, I’d have to take him to state police headquarters, which would make Major Schaeffer happy.

  On that subject, I was starting to think that Schaeffer’s surveillance team hadn’t seen us going to the Custer Hill Club, or if they had, and reported it, Schaeffer was not doing anything about it. And why would he? More important, I pictured Tom Walsh having dinner or watching TV instead of reading Kate’s e-mail to him. Actually, I had the feeling that the cavalry would not be arriving soon, or ever. So, it was up to us to make the arrest.

  This case, however, had some unique problems, like the suspect’s private army, and some familiar problems, like the suspect’s status as a rich and powerful man.

  And, of course, aside from the homicide, there was the suspicion that the suspect was involved in a conspiracy to nuke the planet. And that was my more immediate concern, and my and Kate’s jurisdiction.

  So, with that in mind, it was time to go nuclear, and I said to Bain Madox, “Speaking of houseguests, you had a guest who arrived Sunday, and has apparently not left yet. Will he be joining us for dinner?”

  Madox stood suddenly, then walked to the bar. As he poured a short one, he remarked, “I’m not sure what—or who—you’re talking about.”

  I didn’t like him being behind me, so I, too, stood, and motioned for Kate to stand. As I turned toward the bar, I said to Madox, “Dr. Mikhail Putyov. Nuclear physicist.”

  “Oh. Michael. He’s gone.”

  “Gone where?”

  “I have no idea. Why?”

  “Well, if he’s not here,” I said, “then he seems to be missing.”

  “Missing from where?”

  “Home and office.” I informed him, “Putyov’s not supposed to leave home without telling the FBI where he’s going.”

  “Really? Why is that?”

  “I think it’s in his contract.” I asked, “Is he a friend of yours?”

  Madox leaned back against the bar with his glass in his hand, and seemed to be in deep thought.

  I asked, “Was that a tough question?”

  He smiled, then said, “No. I’m considering my reply.” He looked at me, then at Kate. “Dr. Putyov and I have a professional relationship.”

  It sort of surprised me that he’d say that, but I guess we all realized that it was time to be honest, open, and sensitive to one another’s needs and feelings. Then we could all hug and have a good cry together, before I arrested or shot him.

  I inquired, “What kind of professional relationship?”

  He waved his hand in dismissal. “Oh, John—can I call you John?”

  “Sure, Bain.”

  “Good. So, what kind of professional relationship? Is that the question? Okay, how can I describe this . . . ?”

  I suggested, “Start with nuclear weapons miniaturization.”

  He looked at me, nodded, and said, “Well, that’s a good start.”

  “Okay. Can I also say suitcase nukes?”

  He smiled and nodded again.

  Well, this was easier than I expected, which might not actually be a good sign, but I continued, “Two more houseguests—Paul Dunn, adviser to the president on matters of national security, and Edward Wolffer, deputy secretary of defense.”

  “What about them?”

  “They were here—correct?”

  “T
hey were.” He added, “You can see why I don’t want people snooping around.”

  “You’re allowed to have famous and powerful friends over for the weekend, Bain.”

  “Thank you. The point is, it’s no one’s business.”

  “But in this case, it might be my business.”

  “Actually, John, you may be right.”

  “I am right. Also, James Hawkins, Air Force general and member of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. He was here, too. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “Who else?”

  “Oh, about a dozen other men, none of them important to the business at hand. Except Scott Landsdale. He’s the CIA liaison to the White House.” He added, “That’s secret information, so it can’t leave this room.”

  “Okay . . .” I didn’t have that name, but I’d be disappointed if there wasn’t a CIA guy involved in . . . whatever. I said, “Your secret’s safe with us, Bain.”

  Madox explained to Kate and me, “Those four men make up my Executive Board.”

  “What Executive Board?”

  “Of this club.”

  “Right. So, what did you guys talk about?” I asked.

  “Project Green and Wild Fire.”

  “Right. So, how’s that going?”

  “Fine.” He looked at his watch, so I looked at mine. It was 7:33, and hopefully Walsh was getting around to reading his personal e-mail. Hopefully, too, the state troopers would be arriving soon. But I wasn’t counting on that.

  Madox said, “Well, now I have some questions for you. Are you alone tonight?”

  I did a good imitation of a laugh. “Sure.”

  “Well,” he said, “it doesn’t matter at this point.”

  I didn’t want to hear that.

  He asked, “How did you figure this out?”

  I was happy to reply, “Harry Muller. He wrote us a note on the lining of his pants pocket.”

  “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

  Kate 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.