A Noble Calling

by Rhona Weaver

  “And your proof the bad guys knew about the drones?”

  “Who else is in this photo?” Win held up the last photo in the batch. It showed Win sitting with his hands on his knees, while Hechtner was still holding the gun; Trey was slightly turned to the right toward a large boulder. Win was praying some sign of Luke would show up in a more enhanced version of the photo. He confidently answered his own question. “You can’t see anyone in this run of the photo, but Luke Bordeaux was standing in the shadow of a boulder the entire time. In fact, shortly after these photos were taken, Luke told us to move out of the clearing to avoid detection by the drones. Luke knew about the airplane and drone surveillance and stayed under cover, but Hechtner didn’t know until Luke told him about it during our meeting.”

  The inquisition had gone in a totally different direction than Phillips had expected, but he was considering what Win had said. He handed the last photo to Agent Stoddard. “Get this shot to the photo lab ASAP and see if they can further enhance the shadowed areas.” The man left the room and Win sat back down.

  Phillips tried to get control of the meeting back from Win. “So, Ranger Hechtner, you haven’t commented on the photos. Tell me what you see.”

  Trey took the “Don’t answer the question directly” approach. “Sir, I wasn’t aware of the aerial surveillance until Luke told us to get under cover.”

  Phillips was getting a little exasperated now. “Do either of you gentlemen see anything unusual with the Park Service’s Special Response Team leader holding the FBI agent he was assigned to protect at gunpoint?”

  Win looked down at his hands. Oh boy.

  “Sir, I took Agent Tyler’s gun from him before Luke Bordeaux joined us. I didn’t know the extent of their informant relationship. Luke was coming to the meeting at my request, and I didn’t want a confrontation between them. This all happened just over twenty-four hours after Agent Tyler was nearly killed by a sniper. He was a little edgy, and rightly so. I believed holding the gun was the safest course for everyone. I never pointed his weapon directly at him, and I returned it to him when he asked for it after Luke arrived.” Trey calmly recited the event as if it were an everyday occurrence.

  “Win?”

  Win paused to meet Phillips’s eyes squarely. The man could see a lie a mile away; Win wanted him to feel they were truthful, not just hear it. “That’s exactly what happened, sir. It was a small thing. . . . It may have helped us get the information we needed from Bordeaux.”

  A light tap on the door and Agent Stoddard appeared with two photos and handed them to Phillips.

  Win didn’t breathe for the moments Phillips spent looking over both photos. He finally handed them to Win and nodded. The first photo was the original, close-range aerial showing nothing by the boulder. The second photo was blurred, but there was definitely a man standing within the shadow of the rocks. Thank you, God, Win whispered to himself.

  Phillips moved to his chair behind the desk and ran his hand along his chin for a couple of seconds. Win knew they’d won round one.

  “Ranger Hechtner, if you’re going to assist in operational planning, I need to know the full extent of your relationship with Luke Bordeaux.”

  Trey let out a deep breath and leaned forward in his chair. “I met Luke shortly after I moved to Yellowstone a little over five years ago. He was starting a hunting-guide business and I’d transferred here from Zion National Park. Luke and I became good friends. We did things socially with our wives and children. About fourteen months ago he was indicted on poaching and conspiracy charges. In my opinion, those charges were fabricated by the FBI agent stationed here. The Park Service assisted the FBI in the prosecution of the case, and my contact with Luke ended then. I hadn’t seen him in nearly a year until yesterday.”

  “How would you characterize your relationship before his trouble with the law?”

  “He was my best friend. He was like a brother to me, sir.”

  All the men were quiet.

  “Why’d you volunteer to work with us, Hechtner?” Phillips asked.

  “This is my home and the place I’m sworn to protect. Candidly, sir, many of the other agencies, including some of the Denver FBI folks, are spending their energy and time infighting and jockeying for position on the case, while our agency is sidelined. I’ve been here a relatively long time. . . . I know the people and the park. I think I can contribute to your effort.”

  Phillips paused for only a second. “Smith, why don’t you and Stoddard take Ranger Hechtner down the hall and get some coffee. Let me visit with Win for a minute.”

  Win stayed put while the others left. Phillips pivoted his chair and stared out at the snow through the dirty window as he spoke. “Well, you’re even quicker on your feet than I gave you credit for. . . . Did you know Bordeaux was in the last photo, or make a wild guess?”

  “Not a wild guess. Maybe an educated guess.”

  Phillips turned back and met Win’s eyes. Win looked back and didn’t blink. They sat there in silence for longer than most people would have. Win remembered his daddy always said silence could be the most productive part of a negotiation. Phillips had apparently gotten that message somewhere too.

  The commander finally spoke. “If we believe your source, we have at least fifteen heavily armed, well-trained bad guys out there somewhere, another fifteen-plus still at the compound. We have several agencies more interested in their turf battles than in stopping a real attack, and we have an entourage of dignitaries who are determined to be here in five days. We have no aerial surveillance this morning because of the weather, we have little or no intel the bad guys aren’t privy to, and we have a very capable man volunteering to help us who is emotionally tied to one of the more dangerous bad guys. What would you do?”

  Win blinked and sat back when he heard the question. He answered slowly, “I’d have someone do some heavy leaning on all the agencies, including the Bureau, to get everyone on the same page, while I focused on finding the leak. I’d postpone any offensive action until the leak is sealed and I had a better feel for the overall situation. I’d have my folks do operational planning on various scenarios until the weather clears, and I’d keep all of my intel close to the vest. I’d also take advantage of Trey’s local knowledge in finding the leak and on operational avenues for the dignitaries and the compound. Sir, I do trust him, but I suppose given the circumstances, I’d have someone watch him like a hawk.”

  “Not a bad overall analysis. Can you watch him like a hawk?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Then he won’t have the opportunity to disarm you again.” Phillips actually smiled slightly. “You can work the case matters out of your own office, but I want nothing on your computer, phones, or office chitchat relating to the HRT operation. This is unusual, but we’re going to operate separately from most of the Bureau assets until we get this leak ferreted out. If Hechtner’s agency agrees, he’ll work out of this office under your direction. You’ll both report to Matt Smith. He’s my senior team leader. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He glanced at the window again, then back to Win. “I met with Mr. Givens earlier this morning and we’ve postponed any action against the compound for at least two days. Too many bad things could happen if we went in under these circumstances.” He started to stand. “Oh, you may notice my men tend to be a little ramped up before an operation—don’t let it bother you. We’re all on the same team here. Welcome aboard, Win.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Win smiled to himself. Not even 9:00 a.m., and they’d just won round two.

  * * *

  It would only be a few days now—all of the preparations had been made. Wasn’t much else left to do; it would happen one way or the other. The rain was coming down sideways, and the heavy gray clouds had obscured the mountains. Supposed to turn to sleet, then snow before noon. The radio this morning said it was alread
y nearly a whiteout at Mammoth and throughout the national park. It had been downright beautiful most of yesterday, and now winter was raising its ugly head. Spring had just been playing with them; it wasn’t anywhere near ready to settle in. Winter was set to roar back. He flipped up the collar on his tan slicker and pulled down his Stetson as the wind whipped a sheet of cold rain onto the covered porch. It was that way in the West: best not get your hopes up for spring’s fair weather—better to be on guard against winter’s lingering hard hand. It gave no quarter to the unprepared. He reckoned he was the same way.

  He was counting on the Federals overplaying their hand, so they’d lose either way they went. Raid the church compound and he’d have the press all over it—jack-booted Federal thugs infringing on their religious and civil liberties. A wonderful recruitment opportunity! If the Feds got cautious and chose to hang back, they’d just hit ’em with the original plan. They had the resources, they had the men, and Ron was chomping at the bit to go after the big score. He could go either way. . . . The Lord would show them His path.

  He stood on the wide porch and watched his men troop back in from the firing range. They’d been at target practice in the awful weather since right after dawn. They had the look of soldiers, brothers-in-arms—slapping each other on the back, teasing, and laughing as they slogged through the mud back toward the assembly hall they’d set up in the big enclosed barn. It was nearly 9:00 a.m., time for him to lead the militiamen who remained at the compound in prayer. Most of the militiamen held regular jobs, but thankfully they’d all been able to take enough vacation time to work in the training and have a decent complement available to guard the compound at any given time. Dedication to the Lord aside, it hadn’t hurt that he’d given each of them a generous payout in cash. Commitment to the cause was critical, but everyone still had to pay their bills.

  The icy rain began to firm up and pellets of sleet bounced off the wet, wooden planks of the porch. The terrible weather should help Brother Ron and the fifteen men who’d left the compound move more freely into their assigned positions. Initial reports were that at least nine, maybe ten of their men were completely clear of the oppressors’ surveillance. They needed to shake the other boys loose, but there was still time for that. The Federals couldn’t use airplane or drone surveillance in the high winds and thick, low clouds predicted for tomorrow, much less in what was shaping up to be a blizzard today. Just another sign that the Lord stood behind their cause.

  The Federals had been a little slower in responding to the militia threat than either he or Brother Ron had predicted. He needed them to focus on that activity. He didn’t think it would even hurt if there were more confrontations—might bring in the national press a little quicker. Brother Ron didn’t agree with the strategy of continued confrontations at this stage of the game, but then, they didn’t have to agree. He was the Prophet. Yesterday’s shooting of the man, Richter, by the Feds hadn’t generated as much press coverage as he would have expected, but the turn in the weather and events in other parts of the country were factors in that, he supposed. He still needed to give prayer and thought to the botched assassination, but today it was important to focus on other issues.

  This afternoon they’d launch their updated website. Two of the younger guys were internet wizards. Their new recruitment piece showed their peaceful church, their smiling schoolchildren, their trained militia, and the oppressors looking down on them from the surrounding hills and ravines. Brother Luke had taken great video footage of the Feds in their various surveillance outposts, not quite infringing on the church, but darn close. He’d even gotten night-vision shots of the military drones and airplanes the Feds were flying out of Livingston. The man was truly amazing at getting in close and getting the shots—just wait till he went after them with more than a camera! The video would generate indignation and anger from God-fearing people across the land. Once the uprising began, there would be no lack of enthusiastic patriots ready to step in and support the New America.

  He pulled the heavy front doors open as one of the ladies made a dash from her car to the building. She stomped her rubber boots and grinned at him as she balanced two large pans. “Thank you, Prophet. Tell the men there’ll be homemade cinnamon rolls in the dining room after they finish. I’ll put more coffee on.”

  “Bless you, Sister Aubrey! That’ll motivate me to move a little quicker!”

  He hadn’t made it two steps before Sister Bethany yanked the heavy door open and rushed outside. She was hugging her jacket to her and shooing a little boy in front of her with one hand. Her long blue skirt and her brown hair were blowing wild in the wind. The child had his head and his eyes down. “You wanted to see Colby, Prophet. . . . He’s been a little terror this morning already!” Sister Bethany had apparently lost all patience with the youngster.

  He smiled a quick smile at her. “Sister, the weather has worsened—get back inside and Colby and I’ll have a man-to-man talk about this. I’ll have him right in.”

  He went down on one knee on the wooden planks between the six-year-old and the cold rain. His back blocked the frigid wind off the child.

  He gently raised the boy’s chin up to face him. “Your daddy’s off on a mission for the Lord, Colby. What would he think if he heard these reports I’m hearing about your bad behavior?”

  A single tear slid down the face of Corporal Jeffery’s little son. “I didn’t mean to . . . she was hittin’ at me . . . didn’t mean to make her cry . . .”

  “Look here, son.” He met the boy’s eyes. “Men of the Lord don’t hit girls. Men of the Lord are kind and gentle to their sisters—and all girls are your sisters. Men of the Lord set the example for other men. Isn’t that what God teaches us?”

  “Un-huh . . . uh, yes, sir.” Colby sniffed back a sob.

  “We have people watching us, Colby. Some evil, some just lost, but they’re looking for reasons to keep us down. We have to be shining examples of God’s love to the world. Are you doing that?”

  “Nuhh-uh. . . But she hit me first!”

  “What?” He had to stifle a grin at the boy’s indignation.

  “No, sir. Sorry. Sorry I hit her.”

  “Then you go tell your sister that, and your teacher, and your class. And you tell them from here on out you’re going to be a real man of the Lord. Can you do that, Colby?”

  “Yes, sir.” He nodded and dropped his head again. He was dying to run for the door.

  “I saw your marks in reading and writing last week. Good work! I’m really proud of you, and I know your mom and dad are too.”

  The child’s eyes shot up. They sparkled at the praise.

  “Go on back to Sister Bethany. I know I’ll be hearing only good reports!”

  The little boy ran toward the double front doors just as the Prophet’s phone buzzed.

  “Yello!” He called into the phone and stood as another gust of liquid ice hit the back of his slicker.

  “Hey, after watching the stars last night, I’ve decided to come on back to the church this morning. No reason not to!” He laughed that sinister laugh of his. “I thought you’d want to know, on account of the fine weather, Legion won’t be a factor for a couple of days, but Malachi will be with us soon. It’s happening. Malachi is coming.” His voice got tighter. “If you’re still set on it, we can buy a couple of ponies in the lowlands. We can make the purchase within the next ten days. I have Two on it. Whatever you say.” He waited.

  “Ah, look forward to seeing you—you can tell me all about it! On the purchase . . . no, no, not with the weather this helpful. Not really any need today. Take care.” He slipped the phone into his pocket and smiled as he stepped off the porch directly into the sleet for the short walk to the big barn. He was going to be a few minutes late for prayers.

  The code with Brother Ron on the brief cell phone call was a key-word code: simple and effective. He decoded it again as he walked. One of t
heir sources in law enforcement, or stars, had told Ron that the Feds had Ron back under visual surveillance, so there was no point in Ron staying out. Having him tagged was no great loss, since he was scheduled to come back to the compound tonight anyway if the Fed’s Hostage Rescue Team, or Legion, wasn’t set to attack tomorrow. The coded message told him the HRT raid had been postponed for at least two days due to the bad weather. And the purchase of two ponies? His smile widened. He’d just vetoed Brother Clay’s planned killing of two FBI surveillance agents, within the next ten minutes, somewhere in the park. The militia’s sniper, Clay Ferguson, or Two, would be disappointed, but no need to stir the pot today with Malachi on the way!

  Now about those prayers . . .

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  By ten o’clock that wintery morning, Win was trying his best to project some degree of competence while surrounded by the Hostage Rescue Team’s high-octane juggernaut.

  Supervisory Special Agent Matt Smith, who was called an operator supervisor in HRT parlance, was a tall guy from Georgia in his late thirties who looked like he could play linebacker for any NFL team. He had a friendly, down-to-earth manner that contradicted his penetrating eyes. He assigned Win the job of developing suspects related to the information leak. Trey was to assist Win and would also serve as HRT’s main resource to get a feel for the park’s terrain, including the small patch of real estate twenty-four miles southwest of Mammoth where the dedication of the Cohn Monument would take place in five days, on May 12th.

  Win set up shop in an empty space down the hall from Phillips’s office. While the support staff got him plugged into the FBI computer systems and set up a landline, Win pulled out a yellow legal pad and began work the old-fashioned way, writing down the known time line of the intelligence leaks. He’d been at it for well over three hours before Trey stuck his head in the makeshift office.

  “The team’s breaking for lunch, so I’m free. What’ve you got?”