‘‘You know what?’’ I said. ‘‘The tables are turned. We have the hostage. He’s got to get her out.’’
‘‘No,’’ said Volont flatly. ‘‘He won’t try to get her out of Linn County. He can’t. He could try to kill Herman, that was another matter. But to get her out? No. Not possible.’’
I looked at him. ‘‘He wouldn’t even try that, would he?’’
‘‘No.’’
‘‘Well,’’ I said, ‘‘it looks to me like there’s only one thing to do.’’
‘‘I’m not sure I want to know,’’ said Volont.
‘‘Sure you do.’’ My turn to grin. ‘‘Transfer her back up here.’’
Twenty-five
Nancy and her entourage arrived just about then. Good timing. We could see them coming up the drive on the little knoll the Sheriff’s Department and the Nation County jail occupy in Maitland.
‘‘Think about it for a minute,’’ I said, mostly to Volont. ‘‘I really think we better talk to Nancy…’’
Nancy, in a word, was a wreck. As one of her trooper escorts told Hester, she had driven all over the road most of the way.
Our favorite reporter collapsed into a chair in the investigator’s office. She looked up at all of us, not recognizing Volont.
‘‘I hope you appreciate this…’’
We got her some coffee, sent out for some lunch, and tried to get her to unwind in a controlled sort of fashion. She was very tired, not having slept most of the night. She’d been afraid to stay at a motel, so she’d pulled over at one rest stop, set her wristwatch alarm for half an hour, and tried to sleep. She’d done that three times. The third time, the alarm didn’t wake her, and she’d gotten about two hours’ sleep. In her car, with the windows up except for a crack. It had been about eighty-five degrees last night. And humid as hell.
‘‘I must look like shit,’’ she said. A remark that produced a polite silence.
‘‘You have a change of clothes in your car?’’ asked Hester. ‘‘If you do, why don’t you take a shower in the women’s section of the jail. Freshen up.’’
We called Sally, and she agreed to come right up.
‘‘Who threatened you in your motel?’’ I asked. ‘‘Do you know him?’’
‘‘No, I don’t know him. Introductions didn’t seem to be in order,’’ she said, a little testily.
Volont introduced himself. She’d never heard of him either, but he gave off an aura. Nancy was charmed.
‘‘Could you describe him, or her, or them?’’ he asked.
‘‘It was a him,’’ she said. ‘‘He was in running shorts, with a towel around his neck, and tennis shoes, and a Walkman, and an Army-colored tee shirt that said something about killing from a helicopter.’’
‘‘ ‘Death from Above?’ ’’ asked Volont.
‘‘Yeah, I think that’s it,’’ she said.
‘‘Hmm. How tall was he?’’
‘‘About five eight, just about my exact size,’’ she said. ‘‘Built like a swimmer more than a runner… smooth, you know?’’
‘‘Sure,’’ said Volont. ‘‘What did he say, exactly?’’
‘‘I’ll never forget it,’’ she said. ‘‘He said, ‘You’re getting into something that you shouldn’t. Remember your partner, lady.’ ’’ She stopped. Her eyes started to tear up. ‘‘Then he said, ‘Think about a bullet in your boob.’ ’’
‘‘Did he have an accent of any sort?’’ asked Volont.
She took a deep breath. ‘‘Yeah. Not really an English accent… you know how educated Brits talk? That way, but not with the nose, so much…’’
‘‘Just what had you done to provoke these people?’’ asked Volont.
Nancy glared at me. ‘‘Oh, just what I said I’d do for you…’’
‘‘More specifically, please,’’ said Volont.
‘‘Well, I got to Borcherding. I let him buy me a fuckin’ drink, for God’s sake. Asked him about his stupid rag, and about his computers, and just got the conversation going along. He started to talk about his right-wing opinions, and I guess I got a little mad, and I asked him if he thought them killing Rumsford was justified.’’
‘‘Oh,’’ I said. More than I had bargained for.
‘‘What did he say to that?’’ asked Hester.
‘‘He said that he thought it was!’’ she said. ‘‘That son of a bitch. I told him so too. Told him that he didn’t have to sound so fucking sanctimonious about it. Like he was goddamned proud of it or something.’’
‘‘Oh,’’ said Hester.
‘‘Then it went on for a second or two,’’ said Nancy, ‘‘and then he said, ‘You better watch out, you don’t know who you’re talking to,’ or something like that, and then I slapped him.’’
The surprised laugh I barked out just came, unbidden. I looked at her. ‘‘You don’t do undercover stuff often, do you?’’
‘‘It’s not my fuckin’ fault, Houseman.’’
As soon as Sally showed up, we placed her in charge of Nancy, to see that she was undisturbed with her shower, and to get her any communication services she needed. Just before Nancy and Sally headed to the shower rooms, Volont stood.
‘‘You’re Sally?’’ he asked.
She looked up at him. ‘‘Yes.’’
He stuck out his hand. ‘‘I’ve heard a lot about you. My name is Volont.’’
While Sally and Nancy were occupied, we all started in on the sandwiches the Maitland city officer had brought up.
‘‘It wasn’t him,’’ said Volont, eating a hamburger.
‘‘It wasn’t?’’ asked George.
‘‘No. Jacob Nieuhauser’’-he swallowed-‘‘is about six feet two, about two hundred pounds. He has a midwestern U.S. accent, with a little bit of southern drawl he picked up in the Army.’’
‘‘Good description,’’ I said. ‘‘That’s just what he sounds like on the phone.’’
‘‘I’ll get the description of the man to the RCMP,’’ he said, ‘‘and see if it fits anyone they know.’’ He paused. ‘‘These are really very good hamburgers,’’ he said.
George looked happy about that. It meant that Volont was in a good mood, or at least getting there. George wasn’t out of the woods yet, but the wolves were falling behind.
We had to keep it quiet, among us. The real reason for transferring Nola back to the Nation County jail. The official reason was that we had to do extensive interviewing with her. That would help too. There was always the chance that she could provide the names of the real shooters in the park.
Sally and Nancy came flying around the corner, Nancy’s hair so wet that she was leaving a trail of spray. Thankfully, she was dressed.
‘‘Why didn’t somebody tell me about Borcherding and blowing up the jail? I gotta get the hell out of here, I can talk to him… Christ’s sake, the man fuckin’ loves me… He’ll talk to me. I can get the whole front page…’’
The woman was resilient, I’ll give her that. She insisted, so she left.
I got to break the news to Art that Nola Stritch was coming back to Nation County. He had to put on extra security. He didn’t like it.
Then it was time for serious planning.
Volont felt that Gabriel would bite. He wasn’t sure that he’d actually, as he put it, ‘‘scale the walls himself,’’ but he did think that he’d be close enough to take direct control of any operation to spring Nola. We agreed. After all, he’d not been in the woods with his subordinates when the killings took place. He’d not been at the Stritch farm when Bud was killed, if not by a subordinate, then by a follower. It was a subordinate who’d panicked and started the sequence that had killed Rumsford. He’d sent a subordinate to frighten Nancy. He’d sent a subordinate to rocket the Linn County jail. None of those things had gone as planned. It was time for the colonel to take direct command.
That said, things got difficult. We didn’t know when, how, or with what he would act. Hell, we couldn’t be positive he’
d act at all. That makes readiness a little tedious. What we needed was information, and of a sort that would give us at least a little warning. Trip wires.
Volont wanted to scatter several of his people around the town in critical positions, such as restaurants, bars, motels, etc. To be alert for Gabriel and his people. Basically a good idea, except, as I said, ‘‘it’s gonna look like a CPA convention.’’
That was a problem. In a city, perhaps, FBI agents can blend. Not in the rural areas. They aren’t from around here, and it’s very obvious.
He sort of agreed, and suggested Iowa DCI provide the people.
‘‘So,’’ said Hester, ‘‘just how many agents we talking here?’’
Volont figured, given ten positions, thirty would do it.
‘‘Sorry,’’ said Hester. ‘‘Even I know we’re way too thin on the ground for that. Two, maybe four, but for no more than a week.’’
The legislature continued to refuse to fund Iowa DCI at a reasonable level. Some of us suspected it was because the legislators feared DCI would establish a vice unit.
We thought. ‘‘You know,’’ said George, ‘‘there’s a really good chance that some of the people used to come for Nola will be the same people who killed Kellerman in the woods.’’
We could live with that.
‘‘No,’’ said George. ‘‘You miss my point. Nichols wants those people at least as badly as we do.’’ He beamed. ‘‘ His people can pass for just about anything.’’
The preliminary call to Nichols got his fullest cooperation, and an estimate of fifteen agents almost immediately, for two weeks.
Volont shook his head. ‘‘I always knew DEA was squandering our tax dollars.’’ He carefully stacked his note pages on the desk in front of him. ‘‘That takes care of the trip wire.’’ He kept stacking. ‘‘Now we need something to make damned sure that, one, we can take them, and, two, that they don’t get Nola.’’
‘‘Don’t look at me,’’ I said. ‘‘I’m just an idea man.’’
‘‘Well,’’ he said, ‘‘first things first. How soon do we want Nola up here?’’
‘‘Friday would give us a couple of days, Gabriel might still be a little off balance, and it is a court day,’’ I said. ‘‘That give us enough time?’’
We needed a formal request, either from our county attorney or from the State Attorney General’s office, to have Nola transferred. I tried our county attorney. He got right to the point.
‘‘Why in the name of God would you want to do that?’’
‘‘We need to talk to her,’’ I said.
‘‘I’ll have to consider this’’ was the answer I got.
It wasn’t the answer I was looking for, but it did bring up a very good point. Legal believability. Hester took care of that for us. She called Nola’s local appointed attorney. Told him that we were going to have Nola back in the county on Friday, the 2nd of August, and if he wanted to proceed with any motions, he’d better hurry, as we didn’t want to transport her twice. Then she called the county attorney and told him that Nola was going to have to come back up on Friday, for a hearing on a couple of motions her attorney was filing. He, assuming that I and DCI weren’t communicating, told Hester that Nola was coming back anyway and not to worry about it.
Hester hung up, and smiled all over herself. ‘‘That’s just about how I got Mom and Dad to get me my first car.’’
The icing on the cake came about two minutes later, when the county attorney’s secretary called the Sheriff’s Department and told us to expect Nola Stritch back in the jail on Friday. Not five minutes after that, a ‘‘friendly’’ employee at the Clerk of Court’s office called me. She said that Nola’s attorney’s secretary had called with a request that someone stay in their office a little late, as he was going to be filing a writ of habeas corpus that same day. She also told me that the attorney had asked to speak to the judge.
And so grind the wheels of justice. Brilliant maneuver on Hester’s part, and we now had the front part of a time frame.
Now, for an estimate of the threat. That was mostly Volont’s area, although, having seen the arms cache at Wittman’s, we were all pretty sure the threat level was pretty damned high.
Volont said he thought that Gabriel would be able to field a unit of five to six reliable people within a week, maybe twice that many after that. That meant that we had to narrow the ‘‘Save Nola’’ window and do it publicly. He also thought that, the way that Gabriel preferred to work, he’d have to do a reconnaissance of the jail area. He’d want to get our routine down right, and that would take two days. If he struck the jail, that’s how it would go.
If, on the other hand, he decided to take her away during a court hearing, we would have a more difficult problem. Scouting the courthouse would be a piece of cake, and getting people in there would be even easier. Even with security in place. One of those rockets in the front door, for instance, and security would just no longer be a problem.
He doubted that they’d try for her while she was in transit. Not that it would be at all difficult but there was a better chance for her to get injured or killed if something went wrong while trying to stop a security van. If we were right at all, we had to assume that he loved her.
So… routine protection for transport. Well, routine for someone of Nola’s stature. Great, but subtle, precautions at the courthouse and the jail.
‘‘Where do we want him to strike?’’ asked Volont.
‘‘Pardon?’’
‘‘The difference between good security and excellent security,’’ he said, ‘‘is this: Good security warns you, and may even prevent an occurrence. Excellent security, on the other hand, also channels the intruder to just where you want him.’’
‘‘The jail,’’ I said, without having to consider it. ‘‘No civilians to worry about.’’
‘‘Good choice,’’ he said. ‘‘ Festung Houseman.’’
The way to arrange that, it turned out, was to have obvious, busy, and daunting security at the courthouse. Almost completely hidden security at the jail. An ambush, as it were. I was a little uncomfortable about that, but didn’t say anything. We were fast leaving my area of expertise now, and I wasn’t at all sure about what was the correct move. That happens to you when you suddenly deal with the real physical power of the federal system. I mean, you can sort of visualize what they can do. But when it comes time to not only see it but use it… well, overwhelming is a good word.
Volont put in a cautionary word. ‘‘Remember,’’ he said, ‘‘this man is not like your usual criminal. He’s not psychotic. He’s certainly not some sort of mad serial killer.’’ He looked out the window at the jail. ‘‘He’s a soldier. Maladjusted, perhaps, but a soldier. He does not kill for the pleasure of it, but only when necessary to further the mission.’’ He looked back at me. ‘‘So there is no familiar criminal motive that will set him off. Mission, and perhaps some ideology. But mission, always mission. Don’t forget that.’’
‘‘Okay,’’ I said. ‘‘So we have to predict his mission. But the soldier business. He’s not obeying orders, is he? I mean, not from some sort of political leader or anything?’’
Volont thought a second. ‘‘No.’’
‘‘So he sort of determines his own mission, his own assessment of what’s necessary?’’
‘‘True,’’ said Volont. ‘‘But very much in keeping with the doctrine he picked up in military service.’’
I thought that one over. ‘‘This is going to be even more interesting.’’
‘‘Why’s that?’’ asked Volont idly.
‘‘Well,’’ I said, ‘‘his troops will be following orders. Are they the same quality as Gabriel?’’
‘‘We’ll have to see, won’t we?’’ he said. ‘‘I can tell you this. .. the one time I know of where Gabriel was heavily involved, his soldiers weren’t quite as good as he could have wished.’’
At any rate, I was absolutely certain that the assets we ha
d available in the Nation County Sheriff’s Department wouldn’t be able to come close to containing Gabriel and his little army. We needed resources, and we all knew where they’re kept.
The judge issued an order, saying that he had scheduled the habeas corpus hearing for Nola Stritch at 11:30 A.M. on Friday, August 2nd. Because of that, and because her attorney would ‘‘require time to discuss the subject of the hearing with his client prior to the hearing being held,’’ Nola was to be at the Nation County jail by 0800 on Friday. That meant that she would have to leave Cedar Rapids at about 0630. That also meant that the security people would have to be transporting her part of the way in the dark. The judge had also directed the Nation County Sheriff’s Department to do the transporting. We had to call his chambers and remind him that she was a federal prisoner and the U.S. Marshal’s office would be handling that part of it. He agreed, of course, but sounded a little put off. We weren’t supposed to know he ever made a mistake, I guess. Well, he was one of the older judges… I get the same way myself.
All in all, I was feeling pretty good about things. Not so good as to let Sue come home, though. Not until this was done. Just to be sure. She wasn’t too happy about it, but was convinced it had to be done. Staying with her mother meant that she’d likely be playing bridge with the ladies. Sue hates bridge.
‘‘You be careful,’’ she said. ‘‘Very, very careful.’’
She had no idea what was happening, none at all. But if you’re married to a Norwegian like me, you just tell him that every once in a while, to make sure he remembers. Can’t hurt.
I went home about 1930, just in time to have missed the first thirty minutes of a good movie on HBO. TV dinner. Pills. To bed at 2300. Dull, dull, dull. I couldn’t even go up to my mother-in-law’s for supper, because if I was being watched, I didn’t want to lead anybody there.
You have to do it that way.
For Wednesday and Thursday, I really didn’t have much to do. So I took Wednesday off, and spent most of it in the basement, working on my model of HMS Victory. Put horses and vangs on the driver boom and gaff. ‘‘Yo, ho, ho and a bottle of rum.’’ It rained most of the day, hard enough to make me wonder if I should be building a slightly larger boat. Ship.
Known Dead ch-2 Page 33
