“FBI,” two said.
“Secret Service,” the other two said.
“And away we go,” Sheriff Salter muttered.
* * *
Barry sat up in bed, alert, all senses working hard. Stormy slept peacefully beside him. Pete and Repeat were asleep on the floor. It was 4:30 A.M. Barry slipped from bed and tugged on jeans, moccasins, and shirt, and padded silently from the bedroom, letting Stormy sleep. The hybrids rose and followed Barry. He closed the door behind him so whatever slight noise he might make would not disturb Stormy.
He let the hybrids out to relieve themselves, and while they were out, he made a pot of coffee. While the coffee was dripping, Barry stepped out the back door to stand for a moment in the warm early morning air. He did not know what had awakened him, except that it was not caused by danger. Pete and Repeat were calmly sitting on the porch; had there been an intruder, the big hybrids would be anything but calm. The early morning was bright with stars.
Waiting for the coffee to brew, Barry sat down on the back steps. While he slept, his mind had been busy. Someone had gone to a great deal of trouble and expense to bring in John Ravenna. Who? Organized crime? Maybe. But for some reason he could not readily explain, Barry doubted that. While he had absolutely no basis for his suspicions and ultimate conclusion, Barry believed this planned assassination to be totally political.
Barry hated politics. He had lived under just about all forms of government, and had found that in the end, very few of them were worth a damn. Power corrupted and politicians would inevitably lie, disregard their constituents, and vote a straight party line, or simply ignore the wishes of the majority of taxpayers. The only thing Barry despised more than politics in general and politicians in particular was the Internal Revenue Service. It was totally out of control, and all the politicians would do about it was blow hot air.
The simplest and best form of government Barry had ever lived under had been during his time with the American Indians. You did not lie, you did not steal, you did not cheat, you did not assault a member of the tribe, and you did not commit murder against a member of the tribe. Do any of those things, and the punishment came down swift, hard and harsh, and in some cases, very final.
Barry poured a mug of coffee and returned to the back porch. All right, he mused, so who has what to gain by the death of Congressman Madison? The party that was not in control of the House and Senate, of course. With the twenty-first century just around the corner, Barry had been forced, for the sake of survival, to keep up with as much technology as possible, and to read up on current politics, as distasteful as the latter was.
He knew that Cliff Madison was an avowed conservative, and many liberals hated him for it. Especially a U.S. senator named Madalaine Bowman—nicknamed Tax and Spend. She had other nicknames, but they were not printable. Senator Bowman was capable of doing anything. She despised the military, despised conservatives, and loved all liberal causes. She had publicly announced that if she had the power to do so, she would outlaw all forms of guns . . . except those in the hands of the police and certain other selected individuals (all of them members of her political party, of course).
Barry also knew that President Hutton, while a Democrat, was a very conservative one, and Madalaine Bowman hated him.
Barry had read, much of it between the lines, that as much as Madalaine hated the president, she hated Cliff Madison a hundred times more intensely. But that was no reason to think she would go so far as to hire an assassin to kill either one. Was it?
Yeah, it was.
Barry would tell Don Salter of his suspicions, and how the sheriff handled it from that point was up to him. But from where Barry sat, the needle of suspicion pointed straight back to Washington.
And, Barry thought with a sigh, he was finished here in this lovely and quiet part of North Arkansas. “If I had any sense, I’d pull out right now,” he muttered.
But he knew he wouldn’t do that. He’d take the risk and stick around, see how this thing turned out. He knew he had to stay because Stormy might well be in danger.
Barry sat on the back porch, sipped his steaming coffee and watched as the dark eastern sky gradually began to take on a silver hue. And as the horizon began to shift from dark to light, a germ of suspicion began to worm its way into his mind. He had lived far too long to accept anything at face value, and something about this planned assassination just did not add up. The Speaker of the House was an important man in politics, but killing him would really not alter very much in the day-to-day operation of the House of Representatives. Another member of the majority party would just step in and take over. So other than personal motives, what would be the point?
Barry finished his coffee while mulling over that question in his mind.
Diversion.
Sure. It was so obvious it was elusive.
But if this planned assassination was a smoke screen, then who was the real target?
The president of the United States, of course.
Now things were beginning to fit.
It was common knowledge that VP Adam Thomas and President Hutton did not get along. VP Thomas was a good and close friend of Senator Madalaine Bowman, as was Congressman Calvin Lowe, who would be next in line for the Speaker’s position. And then the VP’s slot.
“Well, now,” Barry muttered. “Isn’t that something?”
But it was all conjecture. No proof.
Barry stood up, a smile curving his lips. No proof—yet!
Thirteen
Nine A.M. Stormy and Ki were at Will’s Grocery & Bait Shop waiting for John Ravenna to make an appearance. They were chatting with Mr. Will and thoroughly enjoying the man’s anecdotes and background on the area. He had told them stories about how rowdy Chief Monroe had been in his youth, and how Sheriff Salter had been no angel while growing up.
“I think men who were about half-rogue while growin’ up make the best cops,” Will said. “They know firsthand the pitfalls of standin’ too close to lawlessness and what it can lead to.”
“Don’t men like that tend to overreact in any situation that turns violent?” Stormy asked.
Will shook his head. “No. At least that’s been my experience. You take men who grew up dependin’ on their wits and their fists to survive, they can see trouble buildin’ and head it off.” Mr. Will shifted his gaze to the outside. “Company’s comin’.”
“My God,” Stormy whispered. “That’s Robert Roche!”
Even Mr. Will was impressed. “The Robert Roche? The richest man in the world?”
“One of the richest. In the top five, at least. Maybe higher.”
“He was in here yesterday, buyin’ bait and such. I should have recognized him. I must be gettin’ senile.”
Ki smiled and put a hand on his arm. “You’ve always seen pictures of him in a business suit and shirt and tie. The way he’s dressed now, he looks like a farmer.” She glanced at Stormy. “You want me to start shooting him now?”
“Now wait just a minute, ladies!” Mr. Will blurted, alarm in his voice.
Stormy laughed. “With a camera, Mr. Will. Relax.”
“Oh,” the store owner said, relief evident.
Stormy shook her head. “No. Hold off. Let’s try to get on his good side. After all, he is our boss, in a way.”
Robert Roche recognized Stormy immediately and was all smiles and cordiality. “Ladies!” he said, taking the hand of each. “How good to see you. I knew you were in the area, covering the Speaker’s visit. I’ve been making inquiries as to where you were staying.”
“Oh?” Stormy said.
“Yes. I’m planning a little informal get-together for the Speaker. I wanted to invite you both, and gentlemen friends of yours, too.” He smiled at Stormy. “I knew you were here, of course. I won’t take no for an answer. You see, I know your little secret, Ms. Knight.”
“What little secret, Mr. Roche?”
Robert leaned close. He smelled of very expensive cologne. “The my
stery man in your life, Stormy. Your secret love. You really didn’t think you could keep something like that quiet for very long, now, did you? Besides, I’ve already included your names on the guest list. It will have to be given to the FBI for them to look at. But then, none of us has anything to hide, now, do we?”
Ki looked at her friend in amazement. As long as they had known each other, this was the first time she had ever seen Stormy rattled.
“Ah, why, ah, no. Of course not,” Stormy finally managed to mutter.
“Of course you don’t. That’s settled then.” The billionaire smiled, but his eyes were as hard as flint. “I’m so looking forward to meeting your gentleman friend,” Robert said. “I know how to get in touch with you; I’ll have my aide give you a jingle, ladies. Until then.” He turned away, bought his bait and supplies, and left without another word.
“So you’re seein’ Barry Cantrell, eh?” Mr. Will said, a twinkle in his eyes.
Stormy sighed. Were there any secrets in this part of the world? “Yes, sir. I am.”
“Barry is a real nice young feller. I like him. Liked him from the git-go.” Again, the man cut his eyes to the front of the store. “But here comes one I don’t much cotton to, ladies. This here is John Ravenna pullin’ in the drive. And I’d sooner stick my hand into a gunnysack full of rattlesnakes than mess with him. He’s a bad one, ladies. I don’t know why he’s here. But he’s up to no good. I’ll bet on that.”
Mr. Will introduced Ravenna, and while John was ever the gentleman, both women fought back the urge to recoil from him. The eyes of the man were fish-cold, the voice just too unctuous.
“I do enjoy your reports on the telly, Miss Knight,” John complimented Stormy. “I watch them whenever possible.”
In Ireland? Stormy thought. You must have one hell of a satellite system, buster. “Thank you. ‘Telly’ gives you away, Mr. Ravenna. England, perhaps?”
“Ireland, actually. But I do spend a great deal of time in London. Business, you know?”
Killing business, the words jumped into Stormy’s head. “I have an idea, Mr. Ravenna. I’d like to do what we call a human interest story. An Irishman’s views on America.”
Stormy watched Ravenna’s eyes change from ugly to awful. But the smile never left his lips. “An interview, Miss Knight? I’ll certainly give that some thought. Yes. I really will.”
John Ravenna bought a pack of cigarettes and left the store without another word. But his back was stiff with anger.
“I ain’t the most brilliant feller in the world, Miss Knight,” Mr. Will remarked, “but I do know this: you just made a bad enemy there.”
“Yes,” Stormy said softly. “I believe I did.”
* * *
“Feds were damn firm in what they want from us,” Chief Monroe said to Sheriff Salter.
“Yes. And?”
“They can go suck eggs, far as I’m concerned. You heard me tell them that Jim Beal’s bunch is not involved in this thing and I won’t give them a list of people I think are part of his AFB. You know damn well they’ve got a snitch in that group, and we both know it’s Wesley Parren. I don’t know about you, but I don’t blame Wesley for rollin’ over for the feds. Hell, the IRS had him bent over a barrel with his pants down around his ankles and were fixin’ to stick it to him. Poor guy had no choice in the matter. Goddamn government.”
Don said nothing. He did not want to start the chief off on the government, even though he pretty much agreed with him.
When Russ saw that Don was not going to take any bait, he asked, “How about this John Ravenna?”
“I gave the feds his name, and they said they’d check him out. But they didn’t seem too excited about it; said they’d get back to me.”
“Don’t hold your breath until they do. If the people out of the Little Rock office were handling this, they’d work with us. But these are back east feds. And to tell you the truth, I don’t think they really trust us, Don.”
Don said nothing. He sat and stared off into the distance with a faraway look in his eyes.
“What’s wrong with you, Don?” the chief asked, after a moment of silence. “You’ve been actin’ odd since yesterday afternoon.”
“Just have a lot on my mind, I guess, Russ.” Yeah. Like a man who turns into a wolf right before my eyes, and then tells me he’s seven hundred years old. You could say I have a lot on my mind. If I’m not losing it, that is.
“People tell me that Ravenna fellow’s a nice guy. A little on the odd side, but nice.”
“That’s what I hear,” Don replied. And he’s a thousand damn years old.
Maybe I am losing my mind.
“You got people on him, don’t you, Don?”
“Following every move he makes.” Provided he doesn’t pull a Barry Cantrell and change into a goddamned wolf and go loping off into the timber.
“Good. You’ll keep me informed?”
“You know I will. Russ? We still have a few red wolves in this area, don’t we?”
“Damn few. I haven’t heard of a sighting in a long time. Why?”
“How about gray wolves?”
“Wiped out nearly a hundred years ago, so I’m told. I’ve never seen a timber wolf in the wild. Why all the sudden interest in wolves?”
“Oh, just curious. I wonder if they’re as vicious as people claim they are?”
“Not from what I see on the TV.” He chuckled. “You’re thinking about those big hybrids of Cantrell’s, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Well, sort of. They’re more than half-wolf; anyone with eyes can see that. Yet I’ve seen dogs that were a lot more vicious than Pete and Repeat.”
Russ laughed. “Did Cantrell name those hybrids, you reckon?”
“Yes. Both of them.”
“Well, the man’s sure got a sense of humor. I have to say that.”
After seven hundred years on this earth, he’d better have a good sense of humor, Don thought.
Don’s walkie-talkie cracked out his name. He took it out of the leather carrying case attached to his belt and keyed the mike button. “Go ahead.”
“Mr. Ed Simmons, the Speaker’s chief aide, and family just picked up the keys to their lake house, Sheriff. Thought you’d like to know.”
“That’s ten-four. Thanks.” He turned to Russ. “You heard?”
“I heard. That means Congressman Madison is only a couple of days behind him. I better get all my reserves ready to go.”
“Yeah. Me, too. Those that can take time off from work, that is.”
“I’m gettin’ a real bad feelin’ about this thing, Don.”
You are? I’ve got two men in this area who can’t die, and to make matters worse, one is under contract to kill the Speaker of the House. And you’ve got a bad feeling, Chief? Don nodded his head. “Yeah. I do, too, Russ. A real bad feeling.”
* * *
“So are we going to Robert Roche’s little ‘get-toether’?” Stormy asked Barry.
“It would look awfully odd if we didn’t. Sure, we’ll go.”
“That place is going to be swarming with federal agents,” Ki reminded him. “As soon as Roche turns that guest list over to the feds, your life is going to get very interesting.”
Barry smiled. “My life has been interesting since about 1315, Ki. But you’re right. I’ve never really faced modern technology before. Not to this extent. I have a hunch Roche has already turned that list in to the feds. He probably did it before he talked to you. One doesn’t get to be worth billions of dollars without having the ability to stay one step ahead of everybody else, all the time. I’m thinking that Robert Roche planned all this very carefully.”
“It’s time to go public, Barry,” Stormy urged. “Time to stop running.”
He shook his head. “Not just yet. Oh, if I thought my doing that would throw a kink into this planned assassination, I would do it without hesitation. But my going public would only cause more confusion in this area, at a time when it’s least needed. Within twenty-fo
ur hours after the announcement, there would be a thousand or more reporters in here, from around the world. Plus about ten thousand rubberneckers wandering all over the place and clogging up the highways—with more coming in by the minute. Just think about it for a moment. My God, there would be a traffic jam stretching out for miles in all directions. And we certainly don’t need that now.”
“You think the feds are going over that guest list now, Barry?” Stormy asked.
“If Roche has turned it in, and I strongly suspect he has, the feds are scrutinizing that guest list as we speak.”
* * *
“Everybody on this list checks out clean,” Special Agent Van Brocklen said. “Except for this Barry Cantrell.”
“Have you run him?” Special Agent Miller asked.
“As far as I could. I’m checking on his social security number now.”
“Good luck. That might take a week. What else do you have on him?”
“He just moved into the area a few months back and doesn’t have a job.”
“So?”
“So why the hell would he be invited to a party at Robert Roche’s house?”
“That is a very good question. What did he used to do for a living?”
“I don’t know. Like I said, I’m waiting on social security to give me a background.”
“Let’s don’t wait on them. Go see the local sheriff. The people out of our Little Rock office say he’s a real straight-arrow type.”
“On my way.”
“Inspector Van Brocklen?” an agent called, hanging up the phone.
Van Brocklen turned. “Yes?”
“Congressman Madison decided to leave early. He and his wife will be landing in Memphis tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. They’ll be here about the middle of the afternoon.”
“Well, that’s just friggin’ wonderful!” Van Brocklen said. “Why doesn’t he make our jobs just a little bit more difficult?”
Special Agent Miller smiled. “Ours is but to serve, Van.”
“Yeah, right,” Van Brocklen said sourly. “You bet.”
Fourteen
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