A Noble Calling

by Rhona Weaver

  Win couldn’t help but grin back at him. “Just a little adventure. How’s that desk in D.C. looking now?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Marniski dropped Win off at his house later that afternoon and Win shed his field clothes and rushed to shower. He needed to get back to the office and file a report on the unintended run-in with the church’s militiamen. He peered through the blinds in his bedroom to watch one of the plainclothes SWAT agents shoo away a couple of tourists who’d decided they’d break the rules and hike the trail beside his house.

  There’d been a noticeable uptick in the number of tourists since the weather had hit a mild streak the last few days. With so many more people around, Win was grateful the Park Service had closed off the hiking trail and a couple of the boardwalks that were nearest his house; they’d even blocked a good part of the parking lot between the house and the highway. All the signs said something along the lines of Closed for Ecological Study or Closed for Wildlife Habitat Protection or some other innocuous lie intended to not tip off the public to the fact that someone might want to kill the resident FBI agent. While the park superintendent seemed genuinely concerned with the danger to Win, he clearly didn’t want to alert his visitors to a threat he hoped would simply disappear. Win was thinking the guy needed to remember the old saying “Hope is not a plan.”

  As he waited for the SWAT Team leader to show up and take him back to the office, he checked a short text on his business phone from Jason, smiling at photos the boy had sent of potential Yellowstone art to hang in the storage room that Deb had appropriated yesterday for their intelligence analysts. The kid was clearly fascinated with all the recent FBI activity, and Win hated having to keep him out of the office for the time being—way too much sensitive stuff floating around right now. They still hadn’t made it to Win’s promised steak dinner, but they’d shared several quick suppers in the office with the workmen before the FBI’s domestic terrorism effort really got ramped up. Win had made it his business to encourage Jason to apply for college, and Jason had made it his business to bring Win into the twenty-first century by way of social media.

  Win watched the SWAT agent through the slit in the blinds while he thought back on his last conversation with the kid.

  “Said you grew up on a cattle farm, a small-town guy, but you were one of the best high school quarterbacks in the country. A four-star recruit—big-time player. Quarterback at Arkansas, did awesome in five games and got hurt. Never came back as a quarterback, uh . . . played receiver and was second team All-SEC your junior and senior years. Big-time player.” Jason’s eyes were wide with admiration.

  Win, who was digging into a bag of chips, stopped eating and cocked his head to hear Jason out. “Where’d you get this stuff?”

  “ESPN search, Google search. What? You never did a search on yourself? There’s all sorts of cool stuff. Photos, everything! Said you won rifle marksmanship competitions in high school, and you’re a Sigma Chi, went to law school. Uh, there are two Law Review articles you wrote—couldn’t make much of those—but man, you are legit!”

  “Whoa, whoa!” Win was blushing and laughing. “Yeah, okay, I googled my name a few years ago and it embarrassed me, so I never did it again. I don’t do any of the social media stuff. Never did. My coaches wouldn’t allow it in high school or college. I saw some friends get hurt by it. I figured you might learn some things about a person, but you could also get some wrong impressions. Can’t really know a person from the internet.”

  Jason seemed honestly puzzled there could be things about a person that couldn’t be gleaned from an online search. “Like . . . what do you mean?” he asked.

  “Well,” Win dug deeper into the bag of chips and looked at him. “C’mon now, it didn’t tell you I’m scared of spiders and heights, I was shy around girls forever, I can’t dance worth a hoot, and I’d’ve never made it out of college without spell-check.”

  “That’s the stuff you’d put on Facebook, Snapchat, or Instagram! Dude—I mean, sir, you need to get out there!” Jason had railed on and on about the wonders of social media and the advantages of knowing everything about everybody with the click of a keypad.

  Win shook his head as he moved away from the window to go meet his ride. Nothing like being declared outdated at the ripe old age of twenty-eight by a seventeen-year-old, home-schooled, part-time employee of the National Park Service.

  * * *

  SSA Stuart had taken over Johnson’s office while he was on leave, and her eyes were on the computer screen when Win knocked on the open door. She glanced up at him in anger. “As a result of your little romp with Marniski this afternoon, Wes may call in the Hostage Rescue Team to consult—consult—HRT! They won’t just consult, they’ll deploy! They’ll take the case over and marginalize our squad’s impact and visibility! And as for you—I know your type. Big man on campus during your jock days in college, brownnoses your way through law school, decides to go on some crusade to rid the world of evil, and ends up in the Bureau on the fast track based on your good looks and our ever-present good-ole-boy network! I’m hitting the nail right on the head, aren’t I, Agent Tyler?”

  Win stood in the doorway, holding his paperwork, too stunned to answer. She was standing now, leaning toward him over Johnson’s large antique desk. She never lowered her voice.

  “Then, it all came crashing down, huh, Tyler? Got on the wrong side in the Brunson case and held on to this job by the skin of your teeth. So I’m stuck with having to deal with you on what could be a major domestic terrorism case—stuck with working with some cowboy who thinks he’s a stud and has no idea how to handle these types of high-level operations!” She gave him an imperious wave and sat down at the computer as if he weren’t even there.

  Deb and another agent were standing in the hall when Win backed out of the open doorway. Their shocked expressions told him they’d heard every word of Ms. Stuart’s rant. Win didn’t even pretend to know how to respond to his supervisor, much less to his colleagues who’d overhead.

  “Never thought of myself as a cowboy.” It was all he could think to say. The agent just raised his eyebrows and shook his head. Deb stood there and closed her eyes for a moment. Win moved past them down the hall to his office, threw the file on the desk, and sat down hard in his chair.

  The light knock on his door was Deb. She moved inside his office and closed the door before he could even acknowledge her. Raw anger, humiliation, and confusion were competing for his top emotion.

  Deb rested her hands on the back of one of the wooden chairs and didn’t sugarcoat it. “You came here on an LOE transfer. So you’re not getting a lot of respect from some of our people. So what? What did you expect?” Then her tone softened. “I read your reports and listened to the audio on your informant meetings with the Bordeaux. All of it real good work. You’ve got the attention of the big bosses. They’re impressed and Emily feels threatened. She’s on the fast track to a promotion at Headquarters, and she doesn’t need anything or anyone making waves.”

  “I can’t figure out what I’ve done to cause her to lash out like that. . . . I was fixing to give her my report on the contact with the two militiamen. She’s been here less than three full days. I need to be able to work with her. She’s my boss on this case,” he stammered.

  Win expected Deb to leave. But she didn’t.

  “You don’t know, do you? I guess there’s no reason for you to know, you’ve only been assigned to the Denver Field Office for a few weeks. You have a right to know—it’s no secret. Emily has been, ahhh, seeing Samuel Cushing for over a year now. Probably another reason she isn’t keen on you.”

  Win’s eye’s widened as his stomach dropped. “Are you serious? Cushing from Headquarters? The Deputy Assistant Director over Public Corruption?” Samuel Cushing was the driving force behind the Bureau’s reversal on the Brunson case. In Win’s view the guy was probably dirty. Samuel Cushing had banished hi
m here and would like nothing more than to find a reason to end Win’s short career with the FBI.

  “Yeah, one and the same. Emily has her eye on a job at Headquarters, and Cushing has been greasing the rails for her. But if this operation falls apart for her, even he won’t be able to get her to Washington. Mr. Strickland won’t take any crap from Headquarters, and he won’t recommend anyone who he doesn’t think is up to the job. So Emily has two reasons to hate you: You’re in Samuel Cushing’s gunsights, and you’re showing her up on this case.”

  “Whoa.” Win leaned back in his chair. That put a different spin on things. And not in a good way.

  Win didn’t ask Deb what he should do, but she told him anyway. “Just do your job, cover your ass with memos and emails, and try to stay clear of her. She’s so hyped up she’ll probably hang herself on this deal if you give her enough rope. And come join some of us for dinner and a beer tonight. You can’t work every minute of the day. Several armed agents can surely cover your back this evening. Besides, Emily did get one thing right—you sure aren’t hard on the eyes!”

  Win felt himself blushing as Deb turned, opened the door, and walked out of his office.

  * * *

  One reason he’d been avoiding spending free time with the Denver agents was his fear that they’d discover why he was sent to Yellowstone and look down on him. Based on Deb’s comments, they all knew about the Brunson disaster anyway, so there was no reason to avoid them. He couldn’t hide behind work forever. He needed to make connections. Expand your circle of friends, that’s what Blake had suggested. He knew his brother was right; most folks in the Bureau were really good people. Deb seemed nice enough. Pushy, for sure, but in sort of a maternal way.

  At the hotel’s bar that night there were nine Denver agents gathered, all of whom had several more years in the Bureau than Win. Mr. Strickland was clearly not sending inexperienced agents to Yellowstone to work the case. Win’s worries about being ostracized for perceived past sins in Charlotte were soon forgotten—the agents were all welcoming and friendly. Most everyone in the group had changed into more casual clothes and settled into a night of leisure. Win wished he had the same luxury, but he knew the lure of new intel on the case would call him back to his office tonight. One thing for certain about the Bureau, you could actually work 24/7 if you were so inclined. He had to remind himself again that he needed a break. He needed some down time, some time to unwind.

  Deb introduced him to an agent named Ramona Gist, a petite, black-haired woman who managed to sit beside Win at dinner and immediately take an interest in everything he had to say. She wore a brown leather jacket over a tight white sweater with skinny jeans. He was thinking they looked sorta spray-painted on. Her big silver earrings spun when she shook her long black hair, which she seemed to do a lot. She was maybe mid-thirties and fairly attractive, with a good figure and large brown eyes. She was on the Domestic Terrorism Squad in Denver and said she just loved the West. Ramona was also recently divorced with two small children—something one of the men mentioned but she hadn’t brought up. He couldn’t figure how she could show him phone photos of her golden retriever and forget the pictures of her kids.

  Win felt a little panic creep in when he realized Ramona was set to interrogate him on his private life with the same intensity he might use on, say, a bank robber or kidnapper. She had also done a little research and knew way more about him than he would have liked. It occurred to him, as most everyone else ordered another drink after dinner, that he hadn’t been with a woman except Shelby in well over five years. He’d forgotten how this was done. Well, there was the bear girl the other day. . . . I did alright there, but then I’ll probably never see her again. He felt his confidence begin to slide.

  Before Shelby, there hadn’t been many romantic relationships; he’d always been busy with sports, school, and work. His parents had been ruthless in drilling into him his responsibility toward women. He was to be a protector and provider. A man who respected and cherished women. He would never take advantage. Since junior high school his mother had told him his football prowess and his good looks gave him an even greater responsibility to be a role model for his brothers and his friends. He was cut very little slack when it came to dating. He had a duty as a Christian to be above temptation—not that he got that right every time, but he sure did try.

  It wasn’t that he was never hit on or didn’t have the urge from time to time to proposition some woman—those things happened but were never acted on, because for the last five years he’d had Shelby to fall back on. He was taken. He was engaged; he’d be polite and gently deflect any admirers. He’d buck up and resist any temptations. He was taken. It occurred to him as Ramona leaned into him, laughing at someone’s joke . . . I’m not taken anymore. There was no safety net. He was on his own, and this aggressive woman had a bead on him.

  He’d also been told at least a million times that he was naive about girls. That unfortunate trait was definitely not coming in handy with Ramona. She kept maneuvering closer to him and he began to notice how nice she smelled. But one thing he did know for sure about himself, he liked being the hunter way more than being the hunted. And one thing he knew for sure about Ramona was that there were enough red flags with her to start a parade. When Ramona casually touched his leg for the second time, he started looking for an escape strategy and found it sitting directly across from him. The older agent sitting across the table from them was watching Ramona’s less-than-discreet flirting and Win’s occasional deer-in-the-headlights looks with equal amusement. He finished his second beer and asked Win if he’d looked over the park’s collection of missing person’s files.

  The guy paid his tab and continued, “It’s been a curiosity of mine the last several years. A missing person file, per se, doesn’t rise to a criminal investigation, but there could be a pattern in several of those files—maybe, maybe not.” He shrugged. “If you have a few minutes sometime, I’d like to visit with you on a couple of the most recent cases. Doesn’t have to be tonight, but I’ve got some time.”

  Win knew the guy was giving him an out either way. He could go back to the office with him and escape Ramona or decline and let the budding romance play out. He took the first option in a heartbeat.

  “Yeah, I noticed those files. I actually read through several of them. If you’ve got time tonight, that would be great. Gee, Ramona, good meeting you. . . . I’ll see you around, I’m sure.” She said something Win was glad he didn’t quite catch. He stood up to leave, and she smiled and threw her hair back again, shaking those earrings. Her eyes said he would definitely see her around.

  He said his good nights to the agents who remained at the table or at the bar. Pulling on his heavy coat, he met the other man at the dining-room entrance. They walked down the dimly lit street toward the office and Win noticed two of the SWAT agents had dropped into step several yards behind them. He hadn’t noticed them in the restaurant.

  “Your name’s Murray, right? Thanks for bailing me out in there,” Win said.

  “Yeah, I go by Murray. Ken Murray, Violent Crime Squad Supervisor. Been hearing real good things about your work. Listened to your informant interview with Ellie Bordeaux this afternoon, all those references to the Scripture and prayer—thought Ramona might not be your type.” Win was glad it was dark; he knew his face was red.

  The man chuckled. “Ramona is a good gal in lots of ways—a real good agent by the way. Don’t let her after-hours behavior fool you; she’s a sharp investigator with great analytical skills. But in her private life, I’m afraid she has the subtlety of a bull moose in rut and the single-mindedness of a heat-seeking missile, so don’t be shy about telling her where you stand. She’s had three husbands that I know of and is in the process of destroying two or three marriages in the Denver office. None of us knew she was going to be in Mammoth tonight, so Deb sort of got strong-armed into introducing you two.”

  “Appreci
ate the heads-up.” He could still smell her perfume on his shirt and felt grateful his loneliness hadn’t grown to the point where he was tempted to cross his own lines of behavior to ease that void. He couldn’t imagine a worse basis for a relationship. But there he was, being naive again. He knew it wasn’t a relationship Ramona was interested in tonight. He shook his head to clear those thoughts and turned back to Murray.

  “So you’re the supervisor over the missing persons cases? I actually kept the hard copies of those working files here in the office when I scanned everything into our digitized system. Some of the cases are very compelling, really tragic. Don’t know if you’re aware, but ATF has a missing informant who was last seen here at Mammoth twelve days ago. The rangers found his car abandoned at a trailhead last week. No sign of the CI—that guy could end up being added to the missing persons list.”

  Someone slammed a car door in the darkness and Win flinched at the sound. The older agent didn’t break stride. His words in the cold night were reassuring. “Win, there hasn’t been an FBI agent specifically targeted and killed on American soil in over twenty-five years. Oh, once in a great while there’s a threat, but as dumb as criminals can sometimes be. . . . They aren’t dumb enough to bring the wrath of the Bureau down on their heads by taking out one of our people.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was a text from a number he didn’t recognize and Win didn’t bother to read it. His personal phone was being monitored, and if it were anything of interest, he’d get a quick call from the Bureau’s communications folks—so he just let it slide. It had been another in a long series of nights at the office. He’d gotten maybe five hours of sleep last night. Win fiddled with the dining room’s window shade while he waited for his ride to the office. He hated living in the house with the blinds drawn all the time. He figured it must be driving the cat nuts. But then, he’d never know, since the cat still wouldn’t get near him. He peered around the shade at the early-morning light. The days were getting longer, and at 6:03 a.m. there was plenty of daylight. A clear, sunny morning was starting to materialize.