by Rob Buckman
"Lady of fortune, I thank you!" He said, looking up at the sky. Sitting back, he contemplated what a beautiful day it was. An hour later, he walked into the gas station, buying a soft drink and saying hello to the attendant. "Busy today?" He asked.
"No. Had one car in about an hour ago, bought some ice is all."
"Weekend will be here soon, business will pick up." With a nod, he left, walking over to the pay phone.
"Supervisor please." He said, punching zero.
"One moment, I'll connect you." The disembodied voice at the other end answered.
"This is the duty supervisor. Can I help you?"
"Yes. National Security code Omega 59-65-72 Delta Five." Mike said. He hadn't used the code for many years, but was betting it hadn't changed. The National Security Agency was one of the few departments of the federal government that could illicit information from the phone company without a court order.
"Err... I... one moment please." There was a long pause and heated argument. "Yes, sir. This is the district supervisor. Can I help you?"
"Yes. National Security code 59-65-72 Delta Five."
"I'm not sure I understand what you mean sir." Mike was losing patience fast. If this guy happened to check back with Washington he was sunk. He decided to push it as hard as he could.
"Then why don't you bloody well find someone who does!"
"Sir. There is no need to be abusive..."
"Like hell there isn't. Why don't you look up the damn code? Or else find someone who can read do it for you." Again the long pause and the heated argument, then a few clicks and a new voice.
"This is the regional manager, can I help you?" The guy had been smart, he'd pushed it upstairs.
"Did the last idiot give you a National Security Code?"
"Err... yes, he did."
"Then I have no need to repeat it do I," he snapped. "Did you check it?" Mike crossed his fingers, hoping the regional manager hadn't call Washington.
"Yes."
"Then what's the problem?"
"It just that we've never..."
"You're breaking my heart." That brought a stunned silence.
"Yes, sir. I understand. How can I help you?" He'd won. The man hadn't bothered calling Washington.
"Take this number down and give me a list of all the calls made from it in the last twenty-four hours." Mike read the number of the pay phone.
"That's restricted infor..."
"Look. Either you're dumber than you sound, or deliberately going out of your way to obstruct a National Security investigation! If that's the case. I'm sure your boss, or his, would be more than glad to explain the facts of life to you. They may be of some comfort as you find yourself walking down the road, unemployed!" An Idiot was one sub species of man that he couldn't stand.
"Yes, sir, would you wait just one moment." At last, the man had got the point.
A few moments later, he came back on and gave Mike the information he requested. There were only three numbers called in the last twenty-four hours, the first and last being the same number.
"Can you give me an address on these numbers?" He said, reading the number back.
"One moment please." Mike could hear something going on in the background, then a voice said. 'Check again'. A few moments later, the district manager came back on.
"I can give you the address on one of the numbers. The other is not only unlisted, but had no address associated with it. I can tell you the location of the phone."
"What is it?"
"Washington D.C. Sir."
"Thank you for your help. Can you connect me with that number?"
"Yes, sir." There was silence for a few seconds, then a ringing tone.
"Yes?" A voice said as the phone was answered.
"This is the Peregrine Falcon Preservation Society. We are making a survey to see if the general public know anything about the..." Mike began.
"I'm afraid you have the wrong number." The voice had a slight Boston accent to it and that was all the Mike needed to identify it later. He knew he'd get no information as to who or where the phone was located.
"I'm sorry to disturb you. Thank you for your time." He hung the phone back on its hook. Wondering what this was all about.
Something was going on, first the Sheriff accusing him of harassing someone game management and survey parties, when he had seen neither. Then Ms. Ballard and her claim of his stealing the land. Now he had two 'Bent Nose types' trying to buy his land and threatening violence when he refused. Nobody went around threatening people over a legitimate offer. Somebody wanted him off his land, just when he'd found the mother lode. Coincidence? Bullshit! Yet even that didn't feel right. There was no way anyone could know just yet what he'd found. This was something else. There had to be another reason, whoever it was, wanted his land. A reason they were willing, and ready to kill for to get. Maybe it was time to head up to the house and see what was going on up there, and do some checking around. Old feelings were stirring, feelings that usually went with an assignment. Already his mind and body were dropping back into the old way of thinking and acting, no matter how much he told himself he hated it. There was still a feeling of exhilaration. If someone was out to kill him, so much the better, he would now have a legitimate reason to kill. A reason that was his own, not some faceless entity at Langley. A savage grin spread across his rugged face, a grin of pure pleasure. This was his game, his domain, and his pleasure was made even sweeter by the fact he'd be fighting for himself this time.
CHAPTER SEVEN:
Edward shrugged, hanging up the phone, puzzled by the call. 'The Peregrine Falcon Society’? This was an unlisted number. It puzzled him how they had obtained it. Another time he might have paid closer attention to the call. Right now, he was pre-occupied with what to say to his boss in the next few minutes. He entered Roland Hawkins office, dreading his reaction to the news. Bad news was something he disliked giving, especially to this man. Something unpleasant happened to people who did that, but other than running, which would do no good at all, he had little choice.
"Excuse me for interrupting, sir, but I'm afraid I have some rather bad news to report." There was a visible sheen of perspiration on his fore head. He'd have to change his shirt again.
Roland Hawkins looked at him, a frown of distaste passing across his face. Just then, he was contemplating the problem of the drugs and prostitution, and their effect on society. Plus the safest and most profitable way of introducing them at his Lake Tahoe resort. Potentially, it was a lucrative market, the rich always had a taste for forbidden fruits such as drugs and young girls, or boys. The forthcoming project at the 'Peregrine Creek' lodge was better suited to this purpose he decided. More control over the property, and control of the local police department. The interruption drew his mind away from empire building plans. So it was with some irritation that he turned his attention to his secretary.
"Well! What problem can't you solve by yourself that you have to disturb me with?!" His contempt for underlings with problems ill disguised. Edward was not that easily intimidated. Having developed a thick skin over the years working for other men of this ilk. Also knowing when to crawl and when to stand up—now called for standing up.
"It's not a question of a problem that I cannot solve, but one of the competences of others who were hired to do the job, and acted without authority."
"Spit it out man and stop waffling." Roland snapped.
"I have been informed that my instructions were not carried out as agreed upon concerning Mr. Grainger." Roland Hawkins could smell trouble coming from a hundred miles away, his mental nose telling him that it was coming now. It would be better at this junction not to antagonize this person, to do so now might only complicate matters later.
"I'm sorry I snapped at you Edward. My mind was on other problems and I'm afraid I took them out on you. Please tell me what has transpired concerning Mr. Grainger!" This tack came as somewhat of a surprise to Edward, and mollified him.
"
As planned, our contact investigating Mr. Grainger moved into 'Peregrine Creek'. Again, information was sparse. It was with some difficulty that they managed to get anything. The people up there are very tight lipped. At this point, they exceeded their instructions and contacted him directly, using the excuse of making him an offer for his land. As expected, it was flatly turned down in no uncertain terms. Then the situation started to go awry, in that a misunderstanding, or error in communication crept in ..."
"Please get to the point Edward." Roland said with a smile, suppressing his natural inclination to get up and strangle the living shit out of the man.
"Instead of trying to gather information, our people moved to phase two of the plan. Attempting to intimidate him."
"So, he is in hospital then?" Roland Hawkins asked hopefully.
"No, sir. He injured one man, and ran them off at gun point." He stood waiting for the eruption, unaware of the lie he'd been told and repeated.
Never in his life had Roland Hawkins felt so shocked. Not due to the news that one of his man was injured. More to the preemptive action being taken after being explicitly told not to do so. He did not doubt Edward's word that he had instructed the men. The person in question was the same individual who'd created the problem in the first place. All his plans hinged on legally obtaining the land Grainger was sitting on. If, this had put those carefully built plans in jeopardy, the person or persons responsible would pay a very high price. A very high price indeed. Yet in one respect, the man might have inadvertently done them a favor.
"Edward. It's time that our man meets with an unfortunate, but fatal accident. As we discussed, and I want you to see to it personally.
"Yes, sir."
“Also, as soon as you've done that, make sure our other employee, the witness to this disagreement files a police report."
"I take it that the report should indicate that Mr. Grainger threatened our employee."
"Oh, yes. Also that the unfortunate man proceeded back to the property alone against his supervisor’s advise."
"Yes, sir, anything else."
"Yes. We will immediately move to the second phase of our plan. Also, I think we should move to 'Peregrine Creek' in the next day or so. It means moving up our schedule, but we do need to begin final preparation to start this project."
"I agree sir, I have just received word of the arrival of that special consignment." That made Roland Hawkins smile. Maybe, it would please him enough to direct his anger somewhere else.
"Go ahead and hire all the staff we need, and move them to the ranch. With any luck, by that time Mr. Grainger will be in jail." He pondered the different angles of the situation before continuing, then. "Please invite Ms. Ballard and have her accept our invitation to come up this week end. By the way, what of the document she was looking for?"
"If it ever existed, it ceased to as of last night. There was an unfortunate fire at the county records building."
"Good. We will have to make sure that the Ballard women knows of this tragedy, see to it."
"I shall arrange that at once sir."
"Yes. I am very interested in meeting Miss Ballard face to face before her departure."
"Yes, sir." Knowing what that meant.
"Have all of our other guests responded to our invitation?"
"Yes, sir. All except one person."
"Good! Excellent." If all went well this weekend, he would put together the most lucrative business deals in the world. The only fly in the soup was Mr. Mike Grainger and Ms. Ballard, and that should be taken care of by this weekend. As to Kat Ballard, she will be the icing on the cake.
"If something should go wrong with our plans for Mr. Grainger?" Edward asked. Roland Hawkins looked at him a moment. Something in the manner of a spider contemplating a fly hovering over its web.
"Good point Edward. We should leave nothing to chance. The ever so resourceful Mr. Grainger might just find a way out of the difficulties we are arranging."
"We do have the professional help on hand just in case." Edward added.
"Yes. True." Roland Hawkins thought about the problem for a moment. "I think my original idea should be put into action. See to it that Mr. Grainger is contacted. If Mr. Grainger isn’t in jail, make sure he is invited to dinner this weekend."
"Yes, sir."
"It brilliant, even if I do say so myself. We need to cover our tracks very carefully. What better way, than to have it seen that we invited Mr. Grainger to our home to discuss purchasing his land. If something should happen to him between now and then, it would be no fault of ours. I hear tell there are lot of unsavory people living up the mountain."
“Yes, sir, so I have heard.”
“Who knows, one of them might just dispose of Mr. Grainger just to steal his gold, or his claim.”
"Very good, sir."
"If he should find a way out of the trouble—I say 'if'—then his coming up to the ranch would give us another opportunity to arrange a timely accident, wouldn't it?"
"Yes, sir, it most undoubtedly would."
"Make sure that you stress the importance of the meeting, and the possible advantages to him, both financial and personal."
"I will sir."
"I would hate to have to go to the expense of sending men up to Thunder Mountain to hunt him down."
"I would hope that it doesn't come to that, sir"
"Just in case, we must take all due precautions to ensure that we have the law on our side, including the FBI." The chuckle he gave had no humor in it, none-what-so-ever.
CHAPTER EIGHT:
Mike stood contemplating the pager light. The tiny red telltale winking at him, and he wondered who was calling. He didn't normally receive calls, and after two years, he sometimes wondered if the damn thing still worked. All his mail and calls were shunted to a mail and answering service in Denver, and his bank took care of the bills. Having few friends and no direct living relations other than his grandparents, who'd write to him, He didn't expect to receive any mail, so he rarely checked. Never in the last two years that he had the phone had anyone called him, until now. The flashing pager was not the only surprise he'd received upon walking into the house on Thunder Mountain. Happily curled up by the fireplace was Max's girlfriend, who even wagged her tail a little as he came into the room, Max of course was his usual enthusiastic self. Running around all excitedly, panting, and woofing in greeting. A quick pat and a little rough house concluded the greeting and he had a chance to look round. As far as he could tell, nothing had been disturbed or removed but his sixth sense told him that someone had been there. To confirm, he checked the security system, and upon hitting play, after rewinding he saw a multi-camera view of his two playmates from the day before. They had moved through the house with professional ease, disturbing as little as possible. Each item moved was replaced in exactly the same position. They didn't act as if they were looking for anything in particular, just surveying the house and it's content's. Mike rewound the tape and ran it again. This time looking to see if they had planted any bugs. Again, he drew a blank. He ran it once more, this time not looking at anything in particular, just watching. Sometimes it was possible to discern what someone was up to just by watching the pattern of their movements. They didn't act as if they were aware of the video monitors, that wasn't to say they hadn't spotted them. At length he switched off, resetting the system before going upstairs to the kitchen. As far as he could tell, the two men had just wandered around the house looking at this and that. Maybe they were looking for something out of place, something out of the ordinary, something that didn't fit. If so, they were out of luck.
Not that anyone would find anything out of the ordinary, all the items he didn't want people to see were safely hidden away from even to closest search. Coffee, breakfast, and coffee were the first order of the day, every one participating in the preparation one way or another. Even if it just meant getting in the way, which Max did frequently. Maxine, watching from the doorway, a disapproving look on her
face didn't hesitate when he placed a plate on the floor for her, trotting up beside Max and happily chowing down. Mike took his into the living room, and sitting down on the couch, contemplated the view through the panoramic window while he ate. Whoever built this house originally had taken advantage of the terrain, building on four levels. The first, or lowest level contained a garage come stable, plus storerooms and workshop. The outside walls were constructed of field stone blocks in two rows. The center gap between them being filled with dry sand. This ensured excellent protection from the winter deep freeze. Once snow packed itself around the base of the house, it kept the place snug and warm with only a little heating required. The back of the house had been built into a cliff that rose behind it. Acting as a windbreak in the winter, and a giant sunshade in the summer. From the basement, a short flight of stairs led to the kitchen, pantry, laundry room, gun, and tack room. This in turn led up to the main or living room with its fabulous view of the mountains and valley below. The double-glazed windows wrapping around the whole room. On each side of the living room, another short flight of stair took you up to the bedrooms. One master bedroom and four guest rooms, each with its own fire place, toilet, shower and sunken bath. All the floors, except the living room had sundry spare rooms that could be used for a variety of purposes, as Mike had done. One of them was a dark room, another contained his stereo, T.V and other electronic equipment, including a high powered radio transceiver and satellite up-link. All in all, it was a good house, well planned, with an eye to the future with children in mind as well as guests. It was built for long winter stays, as noted by the storage space for food, clothing, and blankets. On balance, it was too large for Mike, not being the entertaining kind, nor having a wife or children, but he didn't care. The place suited him fine and you never knew when someone might drop in. There was a road of sorts that led up to the house. But unless you had four-wheel drive like his Range Rover and strong nerves, it was not something to be attempted by the faint at heart. Horses were part of standing orders for a trip up here, or walking. Sitting down in the living room with another cup of coffee and a 'Blackroot' cigar Mike punching in the number of the answering service on the cell phone.
