by Rod Collins
He nodded. “I do. Where’s home?”
She shrugged. “I don’t really know.” She looked up at him, her blue eyes speculative. She studied his gaunt features, sensed his kindness, saw the sadness in his eyes, and reached over to touch his arm. “Where are you going? You don’t look to have anyone either.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I’d say you were running from something. I saw you hide the pickup behind the store. The one you told them about. And then you pulled a gun on Les. And you are riding the bus with a complete stranger. I think I’m just your cover … your camouflage. And you don’t wear a wedding ring. I’m right, aren’t I?”
“And nosy.”
“It’s key to survival on the street. You learn to observe, to watch people, figure out who is okay and who is dangerous. You are dangerous, but only to bad people.”
The bus pulled into the transit center. The driver opened the front and side doors to let the passengers disembark. Butler and Milly watched until the others left, and then they exited through the side door.
She said, “Astoria or Warrenton?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Well, if I was to run, I’d use a boat.”
He looked uncomfortable and she gloated. “That’s it, isn’t it? I know I’m right. So, take me with you … or I’ll start yelling ‘Rape.’”
“That’s no way to say thanks.”
“Look, I’m good company, and I can cook. Can you cook? Anything?”
“Girl, you don’t know what you are asking. Yes … I’m on the run. There’s a group of very nasty people looking for me. And there’s another group of very efficient federal agents looking for me. If you have any sense, you’ll take the money and run.”
She shook her head. “Nope. You need me, and I need you.”
***
At dawn the next morning, The Runaway rode the swells over the Columbia River Bar and motored out onto a rain-coated sea.
Milly, wearing new jeans and a new hooded sweatshirt, hair brushed and smelling of scented shampoo, stood beside him in the wheelhouse. Butler concentrated on piloting the boat, but he smiled and asked, “Do you get seasick?”
Chapter 63
Left and Right
TRUE TO HIS WORD, Bud returned the governor’s call thirty minutes later. His voice lacked warmth, but he managed to be polite and to give her a brief overview of the situation.
“Governor, other police jurisdictions are already bringing warrants for the arrest of some of these individuals. We’ve received several calls from bail bond skip tracers wanting to let us know they are on the way to take custody of bail-skippers. One is coming from Sacramento, another from Olympia, and a third from Boise.
“I think that, before this is all over, most of these miscreants will be in the custody of other police jurisdictions and behind bars where they belong.”
When asked if they had benefit of counsel, he said, “Governor, you don’t want to go there. Your prior association with the ACLU precedes you. I urge you to leave your biases out of this. But yes, they have an attorney – one attorney for fifty-two bikers. If we find they have no priors, they will be free to pay their fines and leave. Please keep in mind, their stated intent was to break their friends out of our jail.”
When he heard her say, “You don’t know that,” Bud hung up.
***
By day three, only five bikers were left in Lakeview. Sixteen others had been released to the custody of a variety of police agencies from four states: Washington, California, Idaho, and Nevada.
Thirty-one of the original fifty-two paid their fines for public nuisance and were released. A convoy of civilian pickups followed them west to the first hill out of the Goose Lake Valley.
When Bud heard about it, he was angry. “Whose bright idea was that?”
Sonny Sixkiller just laughed and said, “Your sheriff’s posse. Conway Singleton to be exact.”
“Not good! They’re just supposed to help me find lost hikers, not mess with nasty people.”
Sonny raised his eyebrows and smiled. “I think their message was very clear. ‘Don’t come back.’”
The only sour note was the arrival of two rather large US Marshals with an order signed by a federal judge for the custody of Gary Gentle, aka Starbucks, Calvin Culpepper, aka Road Kill, and Anthony Hames, aka Turkey.
“There goes your chance at fame,” Bud said to District Attorney Howard Finch.
“Or infamy. Think about losing that case. I’d have to move or hide.”
“You still have Michael Moore to prosecute. The one BB calls Beer Belly.”
Howard nodded. “Not as juicy.”
“I think it is, Howard. He threatened to tear the town apart. And he threatened both BB and me. And I don’t think this feud with The Romans is going away in a hurry. I want him to serve some time.”
“How does charging him as a felon in possession of a firearm, threatening police officers with bodily harm, and accomplice to a conspiracy to commit murder for hire sound? That should get him put him away for the next twenty-five to thirty years.”
“I’ll buy the steaks.”
***
Bud called his old friend Dutch Vanderlin. When Dutch answered, Bud said, “I thought you gave us the green light to prosecute the bikers who hurt Miranda Wright and shot at BB and Reverend Wildish.”
“I did, but the Attorney General overruled me. She said attacks on FBI agents would not be tolerated. Not a damned thing I can do about it. Besides, from what I see on TV, you sent a strong message that law enforcement in Lake County is swift and sure. Fifty bikers … and you and BB stared them down.”
Bud couldn’t help but add, “Fifty-two.”
Dutch snorted and then laughed. “Okay. Fifty-two.”
“What the news didn’t show was three city cops, a state cop, four correctional officers, and the seven of us. BB and I weren’t exactly alone.”
Dutch nodded into his phone and said, “I know. But you two were the most exposed. I understand you arrested all of them and told the law enforcement community to come and get ‘em.”
“I did. We are waiting for the last few to be picked up.”
Dutch said, “Why do you suppose so many weren’t arrested before this?”
“I’ve been thinking about that. Maybe it’s because they don’t stay put and they run in large crowds. And they are mean sonsabitches. I know I wouldn’t want to walk into any bar they take over and try to arrest one of them. Too damned dangerous. I’d have to have one of your SWAT teams behind me.”
“Anything else you want to chew on me for?”
“No. Just glad to hear it wasn’t your call to snatch our killers-for-hire. Stay well, Dutch.”
“You, too.”
Chapter 64
East to West
AN FBI EXECUTIVE JET lifted from the National Airport runway and banked sharply west out over Reston, Virginia, climbing rapidly, chasing the setting sun.
Miranda, belted into a comfortable lounge chair, turned and stared out the window, trying to identify some landmark other than the Appalachian Mountains.
She swiveled her chair back and faced Special Agents Wilcox and Brandt. “Well,” she said. “That was short and sweet. I mean, a short night’s sleep, like they can’t remember eight o-clock is still five o-clock our time. I think I only slept about two hours last night. It was a nice hotel, but this girl needs her rest. And then there was the tension of briefing the president. And why did our people grill us for hours and hours? It’s like they think we’re the bad guys.”
Wilcox stifled a yawn and shook his head. “Nah. That’s not it. The Bureau just wants to make sure we keep the CIA out of this. When you start talking terrorism, the CIA wants in. And there’s nothing like a CIA operation to mess up the prosecution.”
Brandt nodded. “Yep. As soon as we identify offshore operations, like Al-Alwani’s human-trafficking, the CIA tries to take over.”
“I thought that was the sp
lit: U.S. territory is FBI, and foreign territory belongs to the CIA.”
“In theory,” Brandt said. “Doesn’t always work that cleanly. Gets to be the chicken-or-the-egg kind of question. And we do post FBI agents at foreign embassies.”
“Well then,” she said, “where does that leave us regarding Al-Alwani?”
A crewmember opened the cabin door and walked the short aisle to the passenger area. He smiled. Miranda could hear a touch of Georgia peach in his voice when he said, “Howdy, I’m Andy, your copilot. Y’all okay back here?”
Wilcox grinned. “I haven’t used a barf bag yet.”
The tall young man, late twenties maybe, nodded, his appraising dark eyes fixed on Miranda. “Well, we might just have to do something about that. We haven’t practiced our loops or rolls lately.
“Anyway, I came back to let you know we’ll reach cruising altitude, twenty-five thousand feet, in about six more minutes. Air time to Portland is about five hours and thirty minutes. I’ll be back to fix y’all something to drink. Coffee, tea, soda, water. And we have some deli sandwiches Captain Franks and I brought along. Be back in a little bit.”
Wilcox looked at Miranda with a grin. “Mister Andy, your copilot, just about devoured y’all with his eyes. I’d watch that one, Miranda.”
She looked disgusted. “Men! Is that all you think about?”
Wilcox laughed and said, “Not me. That’s Douglas. All he can think about is Jenny Jackson. Hey, Douglas, you think your new medal will help in that department?”
“Jenny Jackson?” Miranda asked.
“He’s in love. Says her voice sends chills down his spine.”
The notion of love set Miranda’s mind on a path back to her brief time with Dell BeBe. Why, she thought, do I find an immediate connection to a person I’ve never met before? And why does my dedication to my career suddenly seem a little frivolous? And why do I think I’d like to be married again? It wasn’t so great last time. But BB doesn’t strike me as a bully. I wonder why his first wife left? Maybe for the same reason cop marriages don’t last. Too much job and too little home life.
She realized Wilcox was talking to her. “What?”
“I said, I’d like to see your FBI Star. I’ve never seen one before.”
“Oh. Well, it’s in my briefcase.”
“So, get it.”
Brandt unbuckled and stepped to the closet where their bags were stored. “I’ll do it.”
Wilcox smiled and said, “Did you have any idea what the director had up his sleeve?”
“No. And I think it was last minute at best. He wanted just you and Brandt – then you opened your big mouth – so here I am.”
Brandt handed her the briefcase and said, “Nope. Your medal was in the works already. The director just took the opportunity to have you come back here for the ceremony.”
She set the briefcase on her lap, but didn’t open it.
“Miranda Wright, you let us have a look,” Wilcox demanded.
She unsnapped the locks and opened the case. The medal was tied in a velvet pouch. She undid the slip knot and poured it into her bandaged left hand. All three agents stared at the single blue star surrounded by gold leaf and a round blue medallion.
Brandt took a deep breath and said, “I never gave medals much thought, but this one gives me the shivers. Congratulations, Miranda. Well deserved.”
Wilcox picked the citation from her briefcase and read aloud. “In recognition of her courage in the line of duty, leading to a serious injury inflicted by criminal adversaries while defending the Reverend T.J. Wildish and Dell BeBe on Dog Lake, Oregon, said injuries resulting in emergency room sutures and prolonged medical treatment, it is with great pride and my personal privilege to award Special Agent Miranda Wright the FBI Star. Signed, Barnett Bidwell, Director, FBI”
A voice from behind them said, “Wow. I’d like to hear about that, ma’am.”
They all turned to see copilot Andy, his eyes wide in admiration. “I didn’t know we had a VIP aboard. I’ll have to bring out the champagne.”
Miranda said, “I’ll have you know Agents Wilcox and Brandt were also honored by the director. Each was awarded the FBI medal for meritorious achievement.”
Yeah, thanks to Butler, Wilcox thought somewhat cynically.
“Wow again. Congratulations! It makes me proud to know y’all.”
Miranda nodded and said, “Thank you.”
He sat down in the fourth swivel chair, looked at her bandaged hand, and said, “Now, then. How did you get shot?”
Chapter 65
Time and Angst
LATE ON THE SECOND DAY of what came to be labeled “The Biker Invasion,” Bud held his only press conference. Carol Connor, editor of the Lake County News arranged the use of the high school gym. A half-dozen TV network cameras were up and running, including one from Klamath Falls.
Radio stations from Bend, Klamath Falls, Medford, Alturas, Eugene, Salem, and Portland had sound technicians and reporters in place, ready to broadcast live.
The entire country was fixed on the erroneous, but sensational, story of two country cops stopping fifty-some bikers from devastating the small western town of Lakeview, “devastating” being the current buzzword on the major network channels. And people wanted to see what the heroes looked like.
Bud didn’t see any reasonable way to avoid the press conference, but Dell BeBe was free to avoid the press if he wanted. He chose not to be interviewed.
“And leave me on my own?” Bud growled when BB said he was going back to his cabin, then on up to Portland.
“They’ve subpoenaed me to testify before a federal grand jury,” he explained. “You have no complaints coming, Bud. I was there when you needed me.”
“And you don’t like the press any more than I do. Right?”
“I like to keep my mug out of sight. You don’t have that privilege. Gotta go.”
“Drive safely, old friend. And say hello to Miranda for me.”
BB surprised Bud when he stopped and frowned. He turned to look at Bud, and in a serious tone he seldom used, said, “You think there’s something there for me?”
“If that’s what you want, then I certainly hope so. She’s a beautiful woman. She’s smart. And she’s cool under fire. She does talk all the time, but I don’t suppose an old bachelor like you would mind.” Bud grinned and added, “Maybe then you’ll stop pestering me. By the way, let’s talk about this cold case I mentioned when you get back.”
BB nodded. “I’d like that.” Bud shook his head and smiled at the sight of his officers armored up, guarding the doors to the gym. He nodded when Sonny said, “Boss, just remember to keep your cool.”
There was thunderous applause as Bud, dressed in starched khaki pants, mirror-polished boots, and a Lake County Sheriff’s short sleeved shirt, walked through the side door and into the Lakeview High School gym. The bleachers on each side were filled to capacity with onlookers. About two dozen who couldn’t find a seat leaned against the walls. The bright hardwood floor was covered with scuffed white canvas to protect it from folding chairs, light tripods, cables, tables, and foot traffic.
