A Noble Calling

by Rhona Weaver

  The Jackson RA was nearing the takedown phase of a major methamphetamine investigation and FBI manpower on the Violent Crime Squad was stretched thin for at least another week. Win was in desperate need of clerical help, so Chief Randall sent over a Park Service clerk with top secret clearance, Janet Swam. She’d been helping him handle the logistical stuff, getting lodging and vehicles for the incoming agents and keeping the office running. Janet reminded Win of his second-grade teacher. She was ancient in a timeless sort of way, with severe hair, prim dress, and a ridiculously serious expression. She did, however, appear in his office with treats twice a day, so all was good.

  Bureau intelligence analysts were laying out chilling scenarios for Win to review. Everything from an armed takeover of park buildings with hostages, to the destruction of irreplaceable natural wonders with explosives was being considered. Then there was always the very realistic possibility that nothing would happen at all. Problem was, it was now his job to prevent a catastrophe, while at the same time not overreacting. Win was quickly learning that being the case agent on an investigation of this size was both exciting and incredibly exhausting. He knew he had to get his exercise and his sleep if he was going to stay on top of it.

  He slowed to leap a deep mudhole in the path and forced his mind back to the run. He hadn’t seen anyone else on the trail any higher than the cascading hot springs, now far below him. All he could see of the terraces this morning were pockets of fog mixing with the rising steam. He slowed to a walk as he crested the hill’s steepest point. He moved off the trail toward a clearing containing a sloping gray boulder that God must have put there just for folks to sit on and stare in awe at the wonder of the mountains in the mornings. On Monday, the first day that he’d made the run, he’d been stunned by the splendor of the view. Gray, purple, and blue mountains stretching to the horizon—their colors giving clues to the distance. In this clear air, at this altitude, he was guessing he could see for over forty miles. He slowed his breathing, unbuckled the bear-spray belt, and dropped it to the side as he walked to the boulder. He had a few minutes to kill before he started down the hill, so he sat down on the large rock and took off his sweaty knit cap. He leaned back on the cold granite and waited for the sun to clear the distant hills.

  He felt eyes on him before he heard anything. He sat up slowly and silently cursed himself for leaving the bear spray forty feet away. Win slid off the rock and saw him standing at the edge of the clearing. He’d probably seen more frightening sights in his life—but he sure couldn’t remember when. Luke Bordeaux was in full camouflage and armed to the teeth.

  “I aim to teach you a lesson, damn you.” He didn’t say it loudly and he didn’t say it with emotion. He said it as a fact.

  Luke knows. He knows I met with Ellie.

  “Threatening a federal agent isn’t real smart, Luke.” Win was amazed his voice wasn’t shaking.

  “This ain’t between me and the FBI. This is between me and you. We’re gonna see how well they taught you to fight in your FBI school.” He leaned the assault rifle against a tree and pulled off the large military backpack and his holster belt. He threw his canvas field cap down on top of the pack and ran a hand through his black hair. His eyes never left Win, and Win could feel their hostility even from the distance.

  At least he’s not gonna shoot me. . . . Some consolation.

  Win hadn’t been in a real fistfight since junior high school. It sure wasn’t his preferred method to settle disputes, but it was a whole lot better than gunplay. As Luke began moving slowly toward him, Win crouched slightly and waited. They were about the same size. Win might have an advantage in reach, but that was about it. Win thought of the huge stack of firewood at Bordeaux’s house—This guy is probably strong as an ox. And he knew there was little chance of his prevailing against a man who’d spent several years in the Army Special Forces. Win’s eighty hours of FBI defensive tactics training, which didn’t include a whole lot of actual fighting, would have to be supplemented by divine intervention and some creative thinking. Maybe the guy will get overconfident, Win thought. Luke Bordeaux certainly had every reason to be overconfident.

  Win lunged at him when Luke was just outside swinging range. Win came in fast and caught Luke with a blow to the face that turned him, but Luke landed a glancing strike to Win’s jaw, sending him hard to the ground. As he sprang up, Luke sidestepped and dropped him again with two clasped hands to the back of Win’s head.

  Damn! All Win could see for a moment were brilliant, flashing lights amid the sharp pain.

  He gave up on conventional boxing and lunged upward toward Luke’s middle from the rocky ground. Luke sidestepped again and brought him back to the ground with a solid kick to the ribs. Win shook off the blow and rolled to the side, bringing Luke down with a twist of his legs. Something I learned has worked! He went for Luke’s hands while he had him down, but Luke was quicker and knocked him back with a knee to the stomach. Win tried to back away, gasping for breath, but Luke was on him in less than a second and knocked him flat on his back with a right fist to his jaw. Luke said nothing, but stepped back while Win staggered to his feet.

  It clearly wasn’t over yet. Win stumbled over a bare sagebrush, spit out some blood, and waited for Luke to move back in. His head was spinning and he was having trouble knowing where to focus—Luke solved that problem by pulling a deadly-looking knife from somewhere and moving it slowly in a circle in front of him.

  “That isn’t fair!” It was all Win could think to say as he took a step back and fought to clear his head.

  “Who told you life is fair?” Luke was in no hurry now. He balanced on the balls of his feet, just out of Win’s striking range, slowly moving the knife and waiting for an opening.

  Win couldn’t back up any farther. The boulder he’d been sitting on earlier was right behind him. He crouched a little and tried to focus on the knife. Watch the weapon, his Quantico instructors had said, the hand with the weapon will tell you where the person will strike. It was so hard not to focus on the man’s eyes, but nothing in Bordeaux’s eyes could kill him. The knife surely could. He saw the silver blade reflect the sun’s early rays. He was aware he was holding his breath, and he tried to breathe. Being shot is not looking so bad compared to this.

  Win sighed deeply and turned his palms up slightly. Among his brothers at home, this was the sign of surrender. He had no other options. “Why . . . why don’t you tell me why we’re fighting, Luke?”

  That was all it took. Luke was on Win before he could blink, throwing him against the boulder—his left hand pulling Win’s arm behind him and his right hand drawing the knife to Win’s throat. Win was pinned against the rock, staring right into the fury in Luke’s eyes. He felt pain as the knife touched the side of his neck.

  “Damn you! You leave Ellie out of this mess!” Luke hissed between clenched teeth. “You’ve got no right to drag her into your plots against me, against my friends! You’re trying to turn her against me! You’re trying to take everything I have—”

  “She called me, Luke.” Win closed his eyes; he knew this could go either way. “She. Called. Me.” He said it in a whisper, as if saying it too loud would make it sound more wrong than it was.

  Luke reacted as if he’d taken a body blow. He stepped back, blinking rapidly, and brought his free hand across his chest. He knew instinctively Win was telling the truth, yet accepting that truth was devastating.

  Even unarmed, Win knew he had the upper hand now. “She’s afraid, Luke! She’s afraid for you, for the kids, for herself! She doesn’t know what to do. She doesn’t want to lose you, but she thinks they’re pulling you away. She says you’re too proud to ask for help. Maybe I can help you both.”

  “You ain’t out to help anyone but you! If you go near her again, I will kill you!” Luke’s voice shook when he said it. He turned on his heel, silently donned his gear, and blended into the forest.

 
The man appeared and disappeared as if into thin air. There was no sound, no movement on the trail or in the trees. For a few moments Win thought the fight could have been imagined. But his head was throbbing, his legs were shaking, and his ribs ached. He moved a hand to his neck and felt the blood. All too real. Win glanced down at his skinned knuckles; he’d only gotten in one good lick on Bordeaux.

  Where do I go from here? He could press charges against Luke for assault. Luke would get arrested, Ellie would pull back, and they’d have no possibility of an informant within Daniel Shepherd’s cult. Just based on what they had now, if warrants started hitting on the men who were staying in the mobile homes at the Bordeaux place, Luke and Ellie could both face harboring fugitives charges. That would be bad enough, but things could easily get much worse for them if the agents were able to tie them to any type of conspiracy against the Israeli Ambassador or other dignitaries who would be visiting the park next month.

  Win tried to think about the logical, practical side of this problem: building a strong case for the Bureau. But his heart kept going in another direction. These were real people whose lives were very likely to be torn apart, and he would be one of the driving forces in that destruction. He folded his arms across his eyes and leaned against the cold boulder as the sun burned away the last of the fog below. His heart ached worse than his head. He didn’t even know what to pray.

  * * *

  Win was glad no visitors were expected at the office today. He had angry-looking red scrapes from Luke’s fist on the side of his jaw and above one eye. The shallow knife cut was visible on his neck. He entered the back door of the office after 7:45 a.m. and set about checking messages and reading all of the morning’s required FBI bulletins from Denver and Jackson Hole. Mostly routine stuff today, thank goodness, nothing dramatic on the case. The surveillance supervisor was locked away in a downstairs office, probably frantic over the frequency with which they were losing their subjects. With any luck Win could dodge her till this afternoon. Three of Jason’s carpenters were putting finishing touches on the new downstairs locker room and gun safe. Janet was in the conference room, organizing his hard copies for the working files on the subjects. She was the least-inquisitive person he’d ever met; she didn’t even comment on his obvious injuries when she came upstairs to offer him two doughnuts from her daily box of goodies.

  He took the scheduled call from his supervisor at 9:30 and was glad they weren’t on video. Win could tell Jim West was preoccupied with the impending meth bust in Jackson, so he said nothing about the fight with Bordeaux. He was supposed to be developing Ellie Bordeaux as an FBI source. He reasoned that dealing with her volatile husband was just an unfortunate part of the process. Was Luke a danger to Ellie? No, nothing he’d seen in the man made him think that—Luke Bordeaux saw himself as Ellie’s defender, her protector. Win would write up an innocuous incident report for the online file and leave it at that. Hopefully, Jim would be too busy to peruse it closely and it wouldn’t come back to bite him.

  Somehow, deep down, Win felt Luke’s attack was justified—a bit excessive, but justified. He hadn’t felt right talking to the man’s wife behind his back, especially after the guy had already warned him off. Knowing it was for the Bureau and the greater good hadn’t eased his conscience. After Luke whipped him, he actually felt better about it, as if he’d paid his penance. He knew it wasn’t a logical feeling, but it was no less real. Win also knew Bordeaux could have killed him barehanded this morning. Luke had roughed him up, but he’d deliberately pulled his punches so no serious harm was done. Luke Bordeaux was sending a message, man to man.

  * * *

  “Hey, Sport! What happened to you?” Gus Jordon was topping the stairs as Win crossed the hall to the communications room just before noon.

  “Ran into something on my run this morning. No big deal.” Win shrugged it off and shook hands with the Deputy Chief.

  Gus walked from room to room, admiring the results of the renovation, then they took coffee into Win’s office. They talked about the welcome spell of fine weather before Gus stated the reason for the visit. Chief Randall had run into the Montana ATF supervisor at a luncheon in Missoula yesterday, and the ATF guy wanted to quietly get the word out that their informant at the Arm of the Lord Church had missed a couple of scheduled contacts. It had been nearly a week since he’d last been seen, and ATF was getting concerned. The man was a drifter named Wayman Duncan. Gus had his latest mug shot, a physical description, and his vehicle information. Could be a real problem or the guy could have skipped out with ATF’s money. Gus laughed and said ATF was notorious for losing informants right after they’d paid them.

  Win grinned at that, and pain shot through his jaw. He gingerly placed a hand on it and nodded. He’d get the word out to the FBI surveillance agents in the field.

  Gus was weighing whether to intrude into the agent’s business. He finally spoke. “I think I can guess what you ran into on the trail this morning, Win,” the ranger said. “I’ve been in this business a long time. That’s a knife cut on your neck—a warning, I’d say. Was it only Luke?”

  “Yeah. But Luke was enough.” Win managed to smile.

  As they walked out of the building, Gus made him an offer. “We don’t have any special agents assigned here now, so tomorrow I’m going to interview the bear researchers who saw the armed men and took those photos. I’d be pleased to have you ride along. Roads aren’t anywhere near clear yet, so I’ll be following a snowplow into the park at 6:30 in the morning and following it out late. You’d get to see some of your new stomping grounds and interview two more of the case witnesses.”

  Win jumped at the opportunity to get out of the office and away from that stress for a day. “Sure, sure, I’ll get the surveillance supervisor to cover the office.”

  “I’ll pick you up at your place at 6:15. Wear warm hiking gear. I’ll bring the coffee.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The next morning, for the first time in months, Win actually found himself excited about doing something related to work. He was a little sore from the fight with Luke. Okay, he was a lot sore, but his cuts and bruises weren’t nearly as noticeable. He did his push-ups and sit-ups, read his Scripture, had a cup of coffee, and was showered and ready to go before six. He tried to coax the cat to him with one of the new toys, but gave up and was content with watching Gruff stalk the light from his cell phone across the hardwood floor. He was feeling more like himself this morning. Maybe he was coming out of his three-month slump. He told himself it was about time.

  Gus picked him up before sunrise, and the ranger’s Tahoe slowly followed a huge snowplow up a steep, icy road any southern boy would have considered impassable. They entered an area Gus called the Golden Gate, where the highway extended around a sheer rock cliff. The road was suspended here and the drop was hundreds of feet. The snowplow’s V-shaped steel blade sent tons of snow cascading over the side of the cliff. Win’s anxiety over the road’s condition was suddenly overridden by the stunning beauty of the sun clearing the eastern mountains and pouring golden light onto thousands of draping icicles and small frozen waterfalls. Ice hung from every crevice on the surrounding yellowish cliffs. The wondrous scene was topped by a silent fifty-foot waterfall of ice suspended above a stream near the highway. They were less than five miles southwest of Mammoth, but they’d already climbed nearly a thousand feet in elevation, and ten-foot piles of snow lined much of the road. They’d climbed back into winter.

  The road crested the mountain pass and entered an upland valley surrounded by even higher mountains. The valley floor was covered with low, barren brush; swaths of evergreens dotted the rolling hills, and broad patches of snow filled shallow ravines. After following the plow for another mile, Gus pulled off at a snow-covered parking area and pointed out a shimmering lake. “Ice is breaking up, so there’s usually some wildlife around Swan Lake. Got extra binoculars if you need them.” He turned the crack
ling radio down low and they sat in the warm truck, poured coffee from Gus’s thermos, and looked to the west.

  As Win dug his field glasses out of his day pack, he spotted two coyotes loping along through the barrens only twenty yards from where they sat. “Coyotes in front of us. . . . Ah, what’s the scrubby little bush that sticks up everywhere?”

  “Sage, that’s sagebrush. It’ll be green and fragrant in a few weeks. It takes hold in most of the cleared areas between four thousand and ten thousand feet elevation. It’s not related to the type of sage you cook with, but it smells real good.”

  As Win made another sweep of the area with the binoculars, he was thinking he had no idea anyone cooked with sage, but then if it wasn’t grilled, fried, or breakfast, he was pretty much clueless about cooking. He made a mental note to get a plant identification book.

  “This country’s so different from what I’m used to. . . . Wow! Elk at two o’clock.”

  Six large bull elk with velvet antlers were making their morning pilgrimage to the lake. Their deep-rust-colored heads and chests contrasted sharply with their golden coats and white rumps. Their heads were up, ears alert, antlers swinging in step, as they moved through a snow-covered meadow with a dignity proclaiming them sovereign over this valley. Awesome! Win was running out of superlatives.

  They kept up the watching and the talking for over an hour, and Gus dug out some of yesterday’s doughnuts, which were still plenty good, and they had another round of coffee. The sun gained ground on the valley and turned every frost-covered blade of grass into crystal. Two bald eagles swooped in and soared through the steam rising from the surface of the lake. A group of buffalo bulls crossed the road within ten yards of them and lumbered past. The massive heads swung to acknowledge the SUV, but it caused them no alarm. The frost and snow had frozen to their shaggy brown-and-black coats, and the sunlight made them sparkle with every movement. The condensation from their deep breaths formed foggy rings above each head, and they moved away like huge, shrouded ghosts through the barren sage. Win felt overwhelmed by the wonder of it all. He decided if he wasn’t in Heaven, he was pretty darn close.