“What the hell is going on?” Matt yelled.
“Matt,” the Denver agent said with a sigh, “I just don’t know. I’m receiving so many conflicting signals it’s beginning to resemble a fire drill in a lunatic asylum.”
Matt told him of his suspicions and that he had confided in the sheriff.
“That’s stretching pretty far out in left field, Matt. But it’s just crazy enough to make sense. Are you on a speaker phone?”
“No.”
“Being taped?”
“I don’t think so.”
“All right. The sheriff, by the way, is a good man. I’ll check him through on your theory, though, just to make sure. When you get to a secure phone, call the DCI, at home, and no one else.”
“Understood.”
Telling the sheriff he’d be back in touch, Matt pulled out in his rental car. He drove until after dark, then turned into a gas station and used a pay phone to call the director of central intelligence at his home.
“Is your phone clean?” the DCI asked.
“No roaches here.”
“Simmons told me your theory. It fits. It’s obscene, but it works. I can understand why they would want it covered up. I have been with the bureau director all afternoon, walking out in the country. Both of us are old political hands, and neither of us can remember this much pressure being exerted over one rather minor domestic operation. So you have to be correct in your assumptions and the operation must continue. Unfortunately, there is no way to dissuade the campers from going in without upsetting the apple cart, so to speak. I do not like to have my people killed. The Bureau does not like to have its people killed. This is becoming a rather personal matter. People must be taught that one does not bother the woodcutter while the woodcutter is cutting wood . . .”
That double-speak meant that if you disturbed the woodcutter, he was going to use the chainsaw on the person who bothered him.
“... the agency team will be in place, as will the bureau team,” the DCI continued. “Once you begin logging, it is going to be rather messy around here, I’m afraid. But that is not your concern. Sharpen your ax and go to work, Husky.” He broke the connection.
“Time to start clearing some land,” Matt said.
* * *
Back in Denver, Matt used his own money to resupply a few articles. He had thought of and rejected a dozen ways to stop the others from going into the wilderness area. He was bound by secrecy and could not divulge the danger that waited for them in the Primitive Area. If he were to level with his old friends, and they talked, Matt could be prosecuted and imprisoned for violation of the secrecy oath.
The whole thing left him with a bad taste in his mouth. But like the saying goes: Life’s a bitch and then you die.
* * *
“Matt Jordan,” came a voice from behind him.
Matt turned and looked at Nancy Lavelle. She ran up and hugged him for a long time in the hallway that led to the hotel ballroom. They had wanted to hold the reunion in the high school gym. But the old facility had been torn down several years back.
“Damn, boy!” she said, pulling back and hitting him on the shoulder with a small fist. “You’re hard as a rock.”
“And you’re prettier than you were back in ’67,” Matt said.
Nancy rolled her eyes. “That, friend, gets you a free drink. Come on. They’ve got a dandy little cozy bar in this joint.”
Matt had a draft beer and Nancy ordered an old-fashioned. They both sat for a time, looking at each other. “I have to ask,” Nancy broke the friendly silence. “We’re all acting like a bunch of teenagers over the rumor . . .”
“Yes, I work for the CIA,” Matt said with a slight smile. And because I do, some of you or all of you just might not come back from this camping trip.
“Are you packin’ a rod?” Nancy whispered, ending it with a choked-off giggle.
“Yes,” Matt laughed, then opened his specially tailored jacket so she could see the butt of the .380.
She rolled her eyes and then got serious. “It was Wade’s idea that we all fly in early. Now I’m glad we did. You haven’t see any of the others?”
“Not a soul. At least not to recognize.”
“Oh, you’d recognize them. They really haven’t changed that much. And you haven’t changed at all, except . . .” She bit off the last and cut her eyes downward.
“Except what, Nance?”
“Your eyes have changed.”
“Same color as before. Spit blue, one lady told me.”
“Same color as before, right. But they’ve changed. Your lips move in a smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes.”
Another lady had told him the same thing. “I’ll have to get some tinted glasses so I won’t look so sinister.”
Nancy waved her hand and Matt twisted around in the chair. The old gang had entered the lounge. Nancy had been right. Matt knew them instantly. But his eyes were on Susan.
The men of the class of ’67 all shook hands and whomped each other on the shoulder and told Matt how by-damned boy but you look in shape. The ladies all hugged and kissed him on the cheek and then Nancy suggested they move to a larger table and let’s get this damn party going!
The management, wisely assuming that this bunch would eventually get noisy, suggested discreetly that they use a private room off the main lounge. Not only was it larger, but they could have full dining room services.
“You know they just kicked us out of there,” Dennis said, once they had all been seated in the other room. He grinned and Matt liked him on the spot. “That means the management is the best dollars can buy and on top of things quickly. I’ve heard good things about this hotel.”
Matt felt eyes on him and turned to stare into the gaze of Norman. Norman had been the most subdued of the bunch during their greetings, and Matt had felt that odd, since he and Norm had been the closest back in their youth.
“Something on your mind, Norm?”
The black man smiled. Actually, Norman was not black and neither was his wife, Polly. They both looked like they had good tans that never faded. “One thing about you hasn’t changed, Matt. Right to the point and to hell with subtleties.”
“Let’s have it, buddy,” Matt smiled around his words. “Or I’ll tell the Bar Association about how we used to steal milk from front porches.”
Norman laughed. “Yeah, but only from rich folks’ porches.”
“Why did you steal milk?” Nancy asked, a puzzled look on her face.
Matt looked at her. “Because sometimes our parents’ paychecks just didn’t stretch far enough. It was either the milk for breakfast or nothing at all.”
“I never knew that,” Wade and Frank both said.
Matt shrugged. “Ancient history. What’s on your mind, Norm?”
“’Bout two weeks ago I called the lodge to confirm my reservation. Desk clerk said he’d been talking to another person who had graduated high school in Denver, class of ’67. He said Matt Jordan had a room booked for six weeks. That sort of bothered me, Matt.”
Again, Matt shrugged his shoulders. “I’m on loan-out to another federal agency. I was working in the wilderness for them, and I’ll return there after this reunion to continue working. I’m glad you brought it up.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this, Nance?” Susan asked.
“Hell, she didn’t even tell me!” her husband said. “I bet that’s the first time in her life she’s been able to keep a secret for longer than ten minutes.”
Everyone laughed, except Tom Dalton. He sat there like a full-gospel minister in a whore house. Matt had firmed up his opinion of the man: he didn’t like him.
Norm said, “Why are you glad I brought it up, Matt?”
“Any of you people ever heard of the CWA? The Citizens for a White America?”
No one had. Or said they hadn’t.
“It’s a racist/survivalist group and they practice their plans for mayhem and terrorism in the wilderness area—the same place
you people plan on spending two weeks camping.” This was going to be his only shot, so Matt was thinking fast. “They’re dangerous, gang. Very dangerous. I would like to convince you all to change your camping locations to less isolated areas. They have lovely nature trails and more secure camp sites out there.”
“What government agency are you working with, Mister Jordan?” Tom Dalton asked. He put the question to him much like a king to a serf.
“Treasury Department. BATF.”
“What does that mean?” Polly asked.
“Alcohol, tobacco, and firearms,” her husband told her.
“What’s the B stand for?” Milli asked.
“Bureau, dear,” her husband said. “Matt, if they’re that dangerous, you can’t be working alone.”
“Why not? I’ve worked alone in and around far more dangerous groups than this pack of rednecks.”
Milli said, “But you must have . . . what’s the word all the cops use on the TV? . . . backup.”
“Yes, I do have backup available. But only if I decide to hit the panic button.”
“Then what’s to worry?” Dennis said. “They bother us, we’ll yell for you, and you come in with the troops.”
Matt smiled, rather sadly. “Are any of you familiar with the Great Primitive Area of Idaho?”
“We’ve all seen pictures of it, sure,” Susan said. “None of us has ever been there.”
Matt had already said too much if one of them was actually funneling money to the CWA. And because of that suspicion, he couldn’t tell them his backup teams were miles away—all the way across the state—and would need a day or two to get to him. He took another shot. “The man at the lodge tells me you’re bringing your kids in. That’s not smart, people. The CWA would hurt a child just as quickly as they would an adult.”
“The children will not be allowed to leave the company of an adult, Matt,” Susan said “And we all have whistles and short-wave radios. We’ll be all right, Matt. Will you be working close by?”
“If it’s all right with the group, I’ll camp with you.”
“Great!” Dennis said. “Fine with me.”
It was fine with everybody. Except for Tom Dalton. He sat scowling. Of course, Matt thought, maybe that was his normal expression.
“You’ll be armed, of course?” Polly asked.
“Oh, yes,” Matt assured her.
“He’s armed now!” Nance said. “Nasty-looking little gun.”
“What type of firearm are you carrying, Mr. Jordan?” Tom asked.
“Beretta .380.”
“That doesn’t have a lot of knockdown power, does it?”
“That depends on the type of ammo used. The ammunition I use is not available to the general public.”
“And why is that?”
“Because it explodes on contact. At adequate pistol range, this type of ammo gives me the same shocking power as a much larger and much heavier caliber.”
“Of course, it’s illegal,” Tom said smugly.
“When my ass is on the line, Tom, legal doesn’t mean a damn thing to me.”
“We used any kind of ammo we could get our hands on in Nam,” Norm said.
“That was war,” Tom said. “In America, a criminal suspect should be accorded all the rights due him.”
“Tom,” Frank Nichols said, speaking up for the first time.
“Yes?” Tom said haughtily.
“Fuck you.”
Tom’s mouth dropped open and he stared across the table at the man. “I beg your pardon!”
“Let’s clear the air right now,” Frank said. “I am sick to death of street gangs and punks and thieves and muggers and rapists and drug dealers and murderers and off-the-wall groups like this CWA Matt just told us about operating under our noses. I think if this nation is ever going to win the fight against crime and drugs, all of us are going to have to surrender some of our rights and give the police more power. And I don’t want to hear any of your back East liberal crap.”
Matt gave Tom credit for some nerve. He glared across the table at the bigger man, no backup in him. “I suppose you’re one of those great white hunter types with a gun in every room and the heads of dead animals you’ve slayed staring out from every wall.”
Frank smiled. “No, sir, I do not hunt and never have. However, I do own a gun. I belong to Defenders of Wildlife and Friends of Animals and Defense of Animals and several other groups who believe that animals have rights. But if conditions continue to worsen in the streets and in the courts, I might be forced to start carrying a gun for self-protection.”
Scratch Frank off your list, Richard, Matt thought. And that narrows it down considerably.
“This is certainly going to be an interesting trip,” Dennis said dryly.
“I’m going to get some air,” Tom said, standing up and pushing back his chair. He looked down at Susan. “Coming?”
“No.”
He stalked from the room.
“Susan, honey,” Milli said. “Is your husband always this charming?”
The group laughed until the management came into the room and told them they’d have to quiet down, they were bothering the other diners.
They were still laughing when they left the hotel and went looking for another place to eat.
8
After returning from dinner, Matt met the children of his former classmates. The older kids had looked after the younger ones while the parents had dinner out.
Susan’s daughter, Traci, 17, had her mother’s good looks and easy temperament. Tom, Jr., 11, was a well-behaved and likable kid with a good sense of humor. Wade and Nancy were taking the youngest of their three kids. Sara was 11 and cute, and Matt could see the mischief sparkling in her eyes. Dennis and Milli had brought their boy, Walter, a teenager, who was built like his father and had his mother’s good looks. He was a good kid, Matt suspected, one of high intelligence and the ability to push his parents to the wall. Norman and Polly had brought their two kids, Judy and Johnny. Just approaching their teen years, the brother and sister were cute, polite, and well behaved.
Matt felt like a jerk, knowing the danger that both parents and kids would soon be facing. He excused himself and went to a pay phone to call the DCI.
“I’m not going to do it,” Matt told his boss. “I refuse to put these kids in danger without their parents knowing what we’re really up against.”
“I see,” the DCI said slowly. “Have you told them anything about the operation?”
“Yes. Norm found out I was pre-registered at the same lodge. I had to come up with something, so I told them about the CWA.”
“And they still want to go in?”
“Yes. They apparently think I can and will protect them.”
“Have you found any weak links in the group?”
“Tom Dalton for sure. I think the rest of them would keep their mouths shut.”
“That is something neither of us knows for certain. Here it is, Matt: either you go in, or I send someone else. Either way, this operation is green-lighted.”
“And the kids be damned?”
“That is a rather vulgar way of putting it, Husky. You warned them of the CWA and they still persist. I’ll make you a side bet that should you tell them of the Unseen, they will laugh in your face.”
“You know I won’t violate the secrecy oath, sir.”
“I’m counting on it. I will make this proposition: I can have helicopters standing by to take them out at the first sign of danger. How about that?”
Most older agents do not like to use helicopters. They are too slow and too vulnerable to ground fire. Most older special operations agents don’t like boats, either. Helicopters fall out of the sky and boats sink.
“Are you there, Husky?”
“All right, sir. I’ll go for that.”
“I’ll have the choppers in place by the time you’re ready to go in. Radio your exact location to the backup people as soon as you make your campsite. Good luck, Matt.”<
br />
“Thank you.”
The connection was broken.
He turned from the phone and spotted Susan across the hall, watching him. He walked over to her.
“Secret agent stuff, Matt?”
He smiled. “As a matter of fact, yes, if you want to call it that. Where’s Tom?”
“Pouting in his room, probably.”
“His room?”
“Yes. The kids and I are in one room, Tom is in another.” She waved a hand “It’s a long story and not a very happy one. I think I’ll file for legal separation when we get back from Idaho. You’ve met him, what do you think about him?”
“I think he’s pompous, arrogant, and a total asshole.”
She smiled and shook her head. “That’s what I remember most about you, Matt: you tell it like it is. That is an ... apt description of Tom.”
“Then why did you marry him?”
“You want to sit down out here, Matt? I really don’t care much for barrooms.”
“Fine.”
“Like a lot of frat boys, Tom was arrogant in college. I thought he’d grow out of it. He didn’t. He is very much into men’s clubs and male bonding and that sort of thing. Tom is old New England money. He was privileged, pampered, spoiled. The marriage was a mistake. But... times rock on and we, I, rather, just rocked along with it. Now it’s time to get off the boat. I suspect he’ll spend two or three days camping and then leave.”
Matt stared at her. “Susan, he won’t be able to leave. Don’t you people have any concept of where you’re going? There are no roads; no vehicles allowed. If he tried to leave by himself, he’d be lost in twenty minutes. I wish to God you people would change your minds and pick a less isolated area to camp.”
“Is there something you’re not telling us, Matt?”
“I’m not telling you, Susan, because I can’t tell you. I’ve told you all that you’re going to be in danger. That should be enough.”
“I’m sure there will be other campers with children in the area, Matt.”
He was forced to agree with that. He couldn’t justify telling one group and not the other. Now he was beginning to see the bind the DCI was in. That was only one of the problems in having to operate under total secrecy: innocent people sometimes got hurt.
Watchers in the Woods Page 8
