Vengeance Is Mine

by William W. Johnstone

  The cordless phone in Stark’s pocket rang. He looked at Elaine, who said, “You can let go, John Howard. There’s enough nails in this sheet to hold it.”

  Stark nodded and stepped back from the wall. He pulled out the phone and answered it.

  The call came from the gate down by the river road. These days, Stark kept it closed and locked, and guards were on duty there around the clock. The man on the phone was the ranch hand named George. He said, “There’s an hombre from the government here to see you, Senor Stark.”

  Stark frowned. The only government official he could think of who might be coming to see him was Hodge Purdee. He asked George, “Is it Senor Purdee from the Border Patrol?”

  “No, senor.”

  George was the laconic type, so getting information out of him was sometimes like pulling teeth. “The guy’s name isn’t Kelso, is it?” Stark asked. The visit from the DEA agent in the hospital still rankled in Stark’s memory.

  “No, senor. He says his name is Calhoun.”

  Stark didn’t know anybody from the government named Calhoun. Suspicious of some sort of trick, he said, “Is he alone?”

  “Sí, senor.”

  “Did he show you any identification?”

  “Sí, senor. It says he works for the National Security Council.”

  Stark frowned. The NSC advised the president on security matters. Calhoun might be just a flunky . . . or he might be someone pretty high up in the government.

  Stark was curious enough to want to find out. “Send him up to the house,” he told George.

  “Sí, senor.”

  Stark broke the connection and returned the phone to his pocket. Elaine looked at him and said, “We’ve got company coming?”

  “Somebody from the National Security Council,” Stark said.

  “My goodness. I’ll get a pot of coffee on.” She ran her fingers through her hair and then brushed sawdust off the short-sleeved shirt and the blue jeans she wore. “I should probably clean up a little, too . . .”

  “You look beautiful,” Stark told her, taking her in his arms for a quick hug. “You don’t need to get all gussied up for some bureaucrat.”

  “Well, I appreciate the sentiment, John Howard, but I want to run a comb through my hair, at least.” She slipped out of his arms and hurried from the room.

  Stark walked out of the bedroom and along the hall to the living room. Through the newly installed picture window he could see the lane leading from the highway to the house. A moment later a car came along it and stopped in front of the house. It was a gray, late-model sedan, no doubt a rental car. The man who got out was also rather grayish, from his thinning, close-cropped hair to his conservative suit. He also wore a white shirt and a dark blue tie that the Texas heat seemed to wilt as soon as he stepped out of the air-conditioned interior of the car. As he came toward the house he slipped off a pair of sunglasses, folded them, and put them in his shirt pocket.

  Stark opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch. “Morning,” he said pleasantly enough. “I’m John Howard Stark.”

  The man paused at the foot of the steps. “Good morning, Mr. Stark. Thank you for agreeing to see me. My name is Zachary E. Calhoun. I have my credentials right here . . .” He reached inside his coat.

  Stark reached back inside the open door and picked up the shotgun that was leaning against the wall beside the door. He didn’t point the scattergun at Calhoun; he just held it casually under his arm, where he could get to it in a hurry if he needed it. The sight of the weapon was enough to make Calhoun pause in his motion. The government man’s eyes widened.

  “I assure you, sir,” Calhoun said, “you don’t need that weapon.”

  “Just bein’ careful,” Stark drawled. “Better than bein’ surprised.”

  “Well, uh . . .” Calhoun finished taking out a leather folder from his jacket. “I’m sure once you’ve looked at my identification you’ll see that you don’t have any need of that shotgun.”

  “I’m sure,” Stark said. He leaned forward to take the folder. He flipped it open and studied the identification cards under clear plastic on both sides. There were several of them, all sporting Calhoun’s photograph and thumbprint. One card identified him as a member of the National Security Council. The others said that he was authorized to enter the White House, the Capitol Building, the State Department, and several other governmental offices in Washington.

  Stark closed the folder and handed it back to Calhoun. “Looks like you’re who you say you are,” he commented.

  Calhoun nodded in satisfaction and put the folder away.

  “Now,” Stark went on, “if you’ll just step inside so we can check your retinal scan . . .”

  “What?” Calhoun burst out, looking shocked again.

  Stark grinned. “I’m just joshin’ you. Come on in, Mr. Calhoun, and tell me what I can do for you.”

  Stark stepped back to let Calhoun go first. The government man entered the house. Elaine came into the living room from the other side and said, “Oh, hello.” Stark saw that she had not only brushed her hair but had put on a little lipstick as well.

  “Mr. Calhoun, my wife, Elaine. Darlin’, this is Mr. Zachary E. Calhoun, of the National Security Council.”

  “It’s my pleasure, Mrs. Stark,” Calhoun said smoothly, seemingly on more familiar footing now. “I’ve been hearing a great deal about you and your husband in recent weeks.”

  “Well, we never set out to be famous,” Elaine said. “We’re just common folks.”

  “Hardly. You’ve set the entire country on its ear.”

  “We never meant to do that. Down here we’re just John Howard and Elaine. Have a seat, Mr. Calhoun. Make yourself comfortable, and welcome to our home.”

  “You’re very gracious,” Calhoun said as he sank into an armchair.

  Stark sat down on the sofa, laying the shotgun beside him. “What can we do for you, Mr. Calhoun?” he asked again.

  Before Calhoun could answer, Elaine said, “Now, John Howard, don’t be rude. Mr. Calhoun, would you like some coffee?”

  Calhoun nodded and smiled. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

  “No trouble at all. I’ll be right back.”

  She left the room. Calhoun looked across at Stark and said, “Your wife is quite charming.”

  “I’ve thought so for over thirty years,” Stark agreed. “But I still want to know what a government man wants with me.”

  “Right to the point, eh? I can respect that.” Calhoun leaned forward slightly and clasped his hands together. In a lower voice, filled with gravity, he said, “The president sent me down here to see you, Mr. Stark.”

  “The president himself?”

  “Yes, sir. He wanted me to make it clear to you that I’m speaking on his behalf.”

  Well, that might be true or it might not be, Stark thought. He couldn’t exactly call up the White House and check out the veracity of Calhoun’s claim. For the moment, though, he would proceed as if the man were telling the truth.

  “That’s mighty impressive. I’ve never heard directly from the president before. Back in the sixties, I enlisted in the marines before I got one of those letters that start out ‘Greetings.’ ”

  Calhoun nodded. “Yes, we’re aware of your military record. A lot of people in Washington have learned a great deal about you in the past month or so, Mr. Stark.”

  “Why are y’all so interested in a rancher from Texas?”

  Calhoun’s voice had a certain crispness to it as he replied, “Don’t be disingenuous, sir. You know perfectly well why you’re of interest to Washington.”

  Stark shrugged. “I reckon I do. I just think it shouldn’t be so newsworthy whenever a man and his friends stand up for what’s right.”

  “Perhaps not, but this day and age . . . At any rate, you’re now a famous man, not just in Texas, not just in Washington, but across the country. Even internationally. They’ve certainly heard of you in Mexico.”

  Stark
was about to say he didn’t doubt that, but Elaine came in carrying a tray with three cups of coffee, a pitcher of half-and-half, and a sugar bowl. “I didn’t know how you take your coffee, Mr. Calhoun. I have artificial sweetener, too, if you’d prefer.”

  “One sugar and some cream is fine,” Calhoun said.

  Elaine set the tray down on a table, put sugar and cream in the visitor’s coffee, and handed the cup to him. He sipped it appreciatively, nodded, and said, “That’s very good.”

  Elaine handed Stark his cup, took her own, and sat down in another armchair. “Go ahead with whatever you were talking about, gentlemen,” she said. “Unless, of course, you’d rather have some privacy.”

  “It might be better—” Calhoun began.

  “Anything you’ve got to say to me, you can say in front of my wife,” Stark said.

  Calhoun wasn’t fazed. “Of course,” he said. He smiled briefly at Elaine and went on, “I was just telling Mr. Stark how famous he is in Washington right now.” He looked at Stark. “It’s because of your influence that I’m here. I’ve come to ask a favor of you, Mr. Stark.”

  “If there’s anything I can do for the country, I’d be glad to.”

  “I’m happy to hear that.” Calhoun took another sip of his coffee, then set the cup aside. “What we’d like for you to do, Mr. Stark, is to use your influence to bring this so-called vigilante movement to a close.”

  Stark frowned. “The only ones calling us vigilantes are the network anchormen who don’t like what we’re doing. And what makes you think I could stop it?”

  “You started it,” Calhoun said bluntly. “The whole movement gets its impetus from you.”

  Stark shook his head. “All I’ve done is tried to protect my family and look out for my neighbors. If folks make it out to be more than that, that’s their lookout.”

  “You know it doesn’t work that way,” Calhoun insisted. “You’re leading by example, Mr. Stark. People want to do what you’re doing.”

  Elaine said, “That’s a good thing, isn’t it? If not for the men over in New Mexico who caught those terrorists, Lord knows how much terrible damage would have been done.”

  “That’s certainly true in that one case,” Calhoun agreed, “but there are certain procedures to be followed, certain ways of doing things—”

  “Or not doing things,” Stark put in.

  Calhoun was beginning to look annoyed. “Despite the good that’s been accomplished by the activities of certain people along the border, they’re also causing some problems.”

  “Like what?” Stark said.

  “There’s a considerable amount of friction between us and the Mexican government at the moment. If it continues, we run the risk of developing quite a diplomatic rift.”

  “Then maybe the people in charge of the Mexican government ought to stop worrying so much about covering their own backsides and root out some of the crime and corruption on their side of the border,” Stark suggested. “That’s where the trouble starts. If scum like the Vulture couldn’t operate over there without the law bothering them, they wouldn’t be smuggling drugs over the river into Texas.”

  “That’s a simplistic way of looking at things—”

  “The simplest solution is usually the right solution,” Stark snapped.

  “In a perfect world, yes, but there are political and socioeconomic factors at play here that are far beyond your understanding—”

  “Wait a minute,” Elaine said sharply. “Did you just call my husband stupid?”

  Calhoun held up his hands, palms out. “Not at all, not at all. I was just saying that the situation is very complex, and there are things we know in Washington that aren’t common knowledge down here in Texas.”

  “You know what’s going on better than we do, when we’re the ones who live here?” Stark said. “I don’t think that’s very likely.”

  Calhoun plowed ahead, obviously intent on carrying out the mission that had brought him here, even though he must have sensed it unraveling. “Nevertheless, the president has asked me to ask you directly, Mr. Stark, to join with us in an effort to restore peace and security to this region. The president is confident that you’ll see your way clear to do the right thing in this matter. After all, you’ve served your country so well in the past, what with your service in the marines, and we know that you’d like to serve it now as well.”

  Stark’s eyes narrowed. “So what you want is for me to go on TV and talk to the newspapers and tell everybody who’s taken up arms to stop the invasion of this country by drug smugglers and terrorists . . . to just quit it. To go home and put their guns away.”

  “Exactly,” Calhoun said.

  “No,” Stark said.

  Calhoun blinked. “No? But, Mr. Stark, you seem to have such a good grasp of the issue—”

  “The issue is that you want everybody to go back to just lettin’ the government take care of them and tell them what to think and what to do, from the cradle to the grave. Well, I won’t do that.”

  “You said you’d do whatever you could to help the government—”

  “No, sir,” Stark broke in. “I said I’d do whatever I could to help the country. That’s not the same thing as the government.”

  “Of course it is!” Calhoun exclaimed, his frustration finally getting the best of him. “What else is the country if it’s not the government?”

  Stark stared at the bureaucrat for a long moment and then sighed. “If you don’t know that, Mr. Calhoun,” he said, “I don’t reckon I could ever explain it to you.”

  Calhoun’s face reddened, but with a visible effort he brought his anger under control. “We’ve gotten off on the wrong foot here, and I apologize,” he said. He managed to summon up a smile. “Here I’ve abused your hospitality, and you’ve made me so welcome in your home.” He looked at Elaine. “I’m truly sorry, Mrs. Stark.”

  “That’s all right,” she said, always the good hostess. Stark knew that it took a lot to make her upset with a guest. She was a lot more tolerant than he was in that respect. A part of him wanted to grab Calhoun by the collar and chunk him out of the house.

  Calhoun drank some more of his coffee, smiled again, and said, “I don’t think I’ve explained myself fully here. When I said that we want you to join us, Mr. Stark, I meant that literally. There’s a job waiting for you in Washington.”

  That statement came as a genuine surprise to Stark. “A job?” he repeated. “For me?”

  “That’s right. We’d like to offer you a position as a consultant to the director of Homeland Security. You obviously have a fresh, effective way of looking at things, and we think you could be a great deal of help to us in solving the problems of protecting the country from those elements that wish to harm it.”

  “Consultant, eh?” Stark said. “What’s a job like that pay?”

  Calhoun smiled. “A great deal more, I assure you, than you’ve ever made from ranching.” He named a figure that made Stark and Elaine exchange startled glances.

  Stark looked back at Calhoun. “How would this job work?”

  Calhoun warmed to this subject. “Well, you’d consult with various other advisers to the director, and you’d have a staff that would handle research and things like that, so that you could make an intensive study of the problems that confront us and prepare reports suggesting possible procedures that might have a beneficial effect. These reports would go directly to the desk of the director, of course, and then his staff would study their feasibility—”

  “And not one damned thing would ever get done,” Stark said.

  Calhoun was taken aback. “What?”

  “Any report I wrote would get tossed in a stack with a dozen other reports and ignored. But in the meantime, I’d be sitting in some office somewhere, out of sight and out of mind, until everybody forgot about me. Things down here along the border would go back to the way they were before, where the drug smugglers could get away with whatever they damned well pleased, killing whoever they
wanted and bringing more and more of their poison into the country.” Stark came to his feet, and his voice was harsh with anger as he went on, “But I’d be drawing my fancy government salary for being quiet, wouldn’t I? That’s why you really came here, to pay me off and shut me up.”

  “You don’t understand—”

  “There you go, callin’ me stupid again. But I’m smart enough to know a skunk when I smell one.”

  Rattled by Stark’s sudden vehemence just when he had thought things were starting to go well again, Calhoun turned in desperation to Elaine. “Mrs. Stark, please help me convince your husband to listen to reason.”

  Elaine smiled sweetly at him. “Mr. Calhoun, would you like some more coffee?”

  Calhoun blinked, obviously surprised by the question. “Uh, no, thanks.”

  “Then get the hell out of my house, you government whoremaster.” Still smiling, Elaine added, “Pardon my language, please.”

  Gaping, Calhoun looked back and forth between Stark and Elaine and finally settled his baleful gaze on Stark. “I warn you, there’ll be some very serious repercussions accompanying your unfortunate decision not to cooperate.”

  “I don’t cotton to being warned in my own house,” Stark said. “I believe my wife asked you to leave.”

  Calhoun stood. “You’ll—”

  “I know,” Stark broke in wearily. “I’ll regret this. That’s what fellas like you always say right about now. But you know what I really regret?”

  Calhoun just stared angrily at him and didn’t say anything.

  “I regret not tossin’ you out on your ass before now,” Stark said. He reached down and picked up the shotgun from the sofa. “You’re leaving.”

  Without a word, Calhoun turned and stalked out of the house. Stark and Elaine followed him to the porch and watched him get in his car, slamming the door hard behind him as he did so. Stark still carried the shotgun tucked under his arm. Calhoun drove away fast.

  “The nerve of that son of a bitch!” Elaine said.

  “He was right about one thing, though,” Stark said slowly. “The government can come down mighty hard on us if they want to. They make for a bad enemy.”