by C. J. Box
“I get lonely,” Olig said, flushing. Then, “I don’t get it. What are you guys doing here?”
Joe said, “We came for you.”
“You need to come with us,” Nate said.
Something passed over Olig’s face, and he stepped back as far as he could in the small room. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said.
“Sure you are,” Nate said, growling.
“We’ve got Clay McCann,” Joe said.
Olig’s eyes flashed. “He’s here?”
“Downstairs,” Joe said.
“I want to kill that prick.”
Joe nodded. “I assumed that. Otherwise, I’d guess you would have been long gone by now.”
“Damned right.”
Nate shot a puzzled look at Joe.
“You were friends with Mark Cutler, weren’t you?” Joe asked. “He gave you the room up here while you two tried to figure out why McCann shot your friends from Minnesota, right?”
Olig nodded.
“And you two figured out that there were people in the Park Service in on the crime, right?”
He nodded again.
“So you stayed here until the two of you could get enough evidence on who was on which side and you could turn them in. But they got to Cutler, and you figured you were next.”
“I thought you might be them,” Olig said, gesturing to his gun on the floor.
“Nope,” Joe said. “We want to get them too. And we’ve set up a trap here tonight using McCann and you as bait. We want them to come in and incriminate themselves so we can throw the whole lot of them into prison.”
“This is a dream come true,” Olig said, rubbing his bear-cub hands. “But you need to leave me alone in a room with Clay McCann. Five minutes. That’s all I need. I’ve been dreaming of this for months.”
“You’ll need to stand in line for that,” Joe said.
“I should be first. He killed my friends.”
Joe shrugged, conceding the point.
Nate turned from Olig to Joe. “We can’t stand here talking all night.”
“I know,” Joe said. “I want to make sure Mr. Olig is with us.”
Olig said, “You bet your ass I am.”
As the three of them went down the hallway, Joe asked, “Besides revenge, why did you stay?”
Olig sighed. “Guilt. Then fear. I should have been at Bechler with my friends that day, but I was pissed at Rick. I didn’t like his idea about going national with the bio-mining protest. Since I’ve been up here I’ve found myself thinking of things differently.The black and white I used to see when it comes to environmentalissues had turned gray. I figured, shit, we might find a cure for cancer with those microbes, or something. We shouldn’t automatically oppose everything. I mean, what makes us so fucking smart? We’re the beneficiaries of people before us figuring out shit that makes our lives better or helps us live longer. Why stop now, just because we think we know it all? The last thing I thought about, though, was that those microbes could be used for energy development.”
“So you figured that out, huh?”
“Not me,” Olig said. “Cutler had his suspicions. We all knew about the flamers, but Cutler was a geologist and thought about why they burned. He also told me he was going to show you. That was the night before he was killed.”
“So you saw the message to us?” Joe asked.
“Yeah,” Olig said. “I prowl around at night when everyone’s sleeping. Otherwise, I’d go crazy in that little room. I scared some guests a few times though,” he said, chuckling at the recollection.
“Do you know how far the conspiracy goes within the Park Service?” Joe asked.
“No. But Cutler was starting to think it went pretty high. At least to the chief ranger.”
“Bingo,” Joe said.
“And of course Layborn is involved, that prick. He spent way too much time asking about me around here after my friends got killed. He has informants, but luckily none of them knew to give me away. But I’ll tell you, I spent a lot of sleepless nights in that room back there.”
“Was this before or after your dates with Scarlett Johansson?” Nate asked.
“Hey,” Olig said, “that’s cruel.”
“I’m a cruel guy,” Nate said.
“So here’s what we need you to do,” Joe said, interrupting.
They were nearly to the lobby when Joe heard the radio crackle on his jacket. He plucked it off and turned up the volumeslightly.
“I see someone coming,” the FBI ranger stationed on the road said. “They’re driving one of those snow coach things they use in the winter up here. ETA is ten to fifteen minutes.”
“Joe, did you hear that?” Portenson asked from somewhere.
“Got it.”
“We need you down here now.” His voice sounded shaky.
“On our way,” Joe said. “And we’ve got Bob Olig with us. He’s agreed to help.”
“Jesus Christ,” Portenson said.
31
In the darkness of the gift shop adjacent to the lobby, Joe crouched down behind shelves of stuffed bears and snow globes and watched through the window as the snow coach descended the hill from the highway interchange toward the Old Faithful Inn. The boxy vehicle ran on steel tracks and was lit up with red running lights. Its headlights illuminated the swirling snow in front of it. Soon, he could hear the motor and clanking of the tracks. He got a close glimpse of it as the snow coach maneuvered under the overhang, but he couldn’t tell how many people were inside. While he doubted there was enough snow accumulation outside to make the snow coach essential, he guessed they had erred on the side of caution when they chose to bring it.
Portenson, Nate, Ashby, Olig, and McCann also huddled in the gift shop. One of McIlvaine’s assault team crouched behind the front counter, watching the black-and-white video monitor, switching smoothly between cameras one, two, and three. Joe couldn’t see the snipers behind the railing on the second level, but he knew they were there. McIlvaine checked in with each of them, and they either whispered or clicked a response on their radios.
Joe thought, The bad guys don’t have a chance in hell to get out of this one.
He looked over to see Olig glaring at McCann with naked hatred. McCann seemed oblivious to it. He looked bulky and nonthreatening in his parka. They’d both been briefed; both had agreed to perform their roles.
As if finally feeling the intensity of Olig’s death stare, McCannturned to him, asked, “You must be Bob Olig.”
“The only one you didn’t kill that day,” Olig said.
McCann shrugged. “It wasn’t anything personal.”
Olig started to reach for McCann but was stopped by Ashby. “Later,” Ashby said.
Portenson said to McCann, “Don’t fuck this up or I’ll do more than rip your ear off.”
Again, McCann shrugged. Joe watched him carefully. If anything, McCann looked calm, which unnerved Joe. Was the lawyer planning something, trying once again to stay ahead of everyone around him?
McIlvaine’s voice came over the radio: “Everybody ready? My guy in the woods says they’re getting out of the vehicle. He counts four men.”
McCann smiled at Olig. “Showtime,” he said.
With that, the lawyer sauntered across the lobby toward the blazing fireplace. Olig walked stiff-legged behind him. Joe guessed Olig was scared out of his mind, as Joe would be in the same circumstances.
The lawyer turned one of the big rocking chairs around and sat down, his back to the fire, framed by it. Olig stood nervouslyoff to the side where, if necessary, he could duck and hide behind a stone column.
Joe felt his heart race and tried to keep his breathing steady. He flicked his eyes from the monitor to the lobby outside the window, as if trying to decide whether to watch what was about to happen for real or on TV.
The heavy front door squeaked as it opened a few inches. A curl of snow blew in.
“Come on in,” McCann called. “It’s warmer in here.”
> The brain trust of EnerDyne Corporation entered the Old Faithful Inn.
Layborn was first, slipping through the door rapidly and flatteninghimself against the wall near the door, weapon drawn and aimed at McCann with two hands. The ranger flicked his eyes around the room, trying to see if anyone else was there. As planned, he could see no one else in the dark.
“Clear,” Layborn barked. James Langston, Layton Barron, and Chuck Ward followed. All wore heavy winter suits. All glanced around suspiciously. When Langston recognized Bob Olig standing near the fireplace, he cursed.
“Yeah,” Olig said, “I’m still here.”
“So,” McCann said, “did you finally bring my money?”
Barron said yes at the exact same time Ward said no. Joe cringed at their lack of coordination.
“What was that?” McCann said.
“We brought it,” Barron lied, as Ward deferred. “Does this mean you haven’t contacted the FBI?”
“Oh, I contacted them,” McCann said. “They’re on their way. I was hoping we could come to terms before they get here.”
The FBI microphones were good, Joe thought. These guys were good at this kind of technical stuff. He could even hear Langston mumble to Ward out of McCann’s earshot, “Not in this storm they aren’t.”
“It can all still work, gentlemen,” McCann said cheerfully. “It’s not too late to come to terms.”
“What do you mean?” Ward asked. Ward looked anxious, scared, looking for a way out, something he could grasp. Joe stared at him with morbid fascination. It seemed so odd to see him in this light.
“You pay me what you owe me and let me run the operation from here on out,” McCann said. “You guys have really screwed everything up with your endless plotting and meetings. You’re like the worst kind of mid-level managers trying to launch some crappy brand of soap. You overthink everything and make poor decisions, like isolating me. I’m your best asset, and always have been. That you couldn’t see that shows you’re a bunch of amateurs, that you’re out of your league in a game played for keeps. None of you has ever faced a jury or a judge when it’s just you, naked, standing there. None of you knows how to think on your feet.”
The four of them were momentarily entranced by him. Joe was too. McCann had decided to take this in another direction.
“That bastard,” Portenson whispered. “He’s out of control.”
In the lobby, whorls of fire roiling behind him, McCann said, “If we’re going to get all of this behind us and make a lot of money, which is all I’ve ever cared about and the only reason I associated with dolts like you, I need you idiots to shut up, quit having meetings, and listen to me. We’re going to do things differently,which means smarter. For once.”
He paused to let his words sink in. Joe tried to read the four men both through the glass and on the monitor. Langston looked angry, defensive, struggling with his first impulse to pull rank and ream someone out. Barron tried mightily to distance himself from Langston without physically moving, and appearedready to concede. Ward stared at the floor, confused and resigned to the bad choice he’d made. Layborn sneered at Mc-Cann’s words.
“He’s fucking us,” Portenson moaned.
“Hold on,” Joe said, “I think he knows where he’s going.”
Clay McCann said, “No more accidents like Mark Cutler.”
“We had no choice,” Langston said. “He was about to-”
“No more ambushes of park rangers like Judy Demming.”
“That wasn’t planned,” Langston said, stammering. “It just happened.”
“Okay,” Portenson whispered inside, clearly relieved. “We’re back on track. He just got the bastards to incriminate themselves.”
McCann changed the subject. “When we agreed that I would take care of Hoening and the Gopher State Five, you agreed to pay me for it. I did my part. You didn’t do yours.”
Barron said, “The SEC-”
“Fuck the SEC,” McCann said. “My deal was with you.”
“We can still pay,” Barron said. “If we can get things back on track like you say. If we can make an announcement to attract investors-”
McCann exploded: “That’s what you should have done months ago!”
Layborn said to Barron, “Why are you letting this asshole dictate to us? Can’t you see what he’s doing?”
Ward looked terrified, Joe thought. He almost felt sorry for him.
“So,” McCann said, “I’ll ask you one more time. Did you bring me my money?”
Silence. Ward looked as if he was about to break down. Joe saw Langston make eye contact with Layborn, giving him a prearranged signal.
“Even better,” Layborn said, unleashed, narrowing the distancebetween him and McCann. “I brought you this,” and before Joe could react, he raised his weapon and fired twice, pop-pop, the gunfire splitting the silence. The impact of the bullets sent McCann toppling straight over backward in his rocking chair.
“Jesus!” Ashby shouted, scrambling.
Suddenly, Layborn swung his pistol toward Bob Olig, saying,“And you-”
Through the radio, McIlvaine barked, “Pull!”
And Layborn’s head exploded from automatic gunfire. His headless body stayed erect for a second before crumpling to the floor.
“Freeze!” McIlvaine shouted from the dark. “All three of you, down on the ground, hands behind your heads, now!”
Ashby threw open the gift-shop door. Joe, Nate, and Portensonran out behind him. Joe felt adrenaline shoot through him like electric currents as he scrambled, the afterimage of Layborn’s death seared into his vision.
Everything was happening at once: agents were thundering down the stairs in their heavy boots; Olig was screaming and cursing from where he was now hiding behind the fireplace; Langston, Ward, and Barron were dropping to their knees and flopping onto their bellies as ordered.
Within half a minute all three were cuffed and searched. Only Langston had a weapon. Barron was pleading, saying he had no part in anything, was an innocent businessman. Langston hissed at him to shut up, but Barron was already offeringto testify in exchange for a lighter sentence.
Ward was in apparent shock, staring at a river of Layborn’s blood as it snaked across the floor toward him.
As Joe walked toward the still-living triumvirate of EnerDyne,he saw something white and blood-flecked rolling slowly across the hardwood floor and reached down and snagged it as if spearing a lazy grounder at shortstop. Layborn’s glass eye looked at him accusingly from his palm. He remembered what Demming had said and rotated the eye. Yup. The National Park Service logo was on the other side.
Joe’s heart was still beating hard when the agent from the gift shop came out beaming, said to Portenson, “We got it all on tape. It’s perfect.”
“Then shut the system down,” McIlvaine said, with a menacingsmile.
By then, McCann had been helped to his feet and was standingthere gasping for air. Despite the Kevlar vest under his parka, the impact of the bullets had punched the breath out of him, and he wheezed raggedly. Olig had stripped off his vest and thrown it across the room as if wearing it another second insulted him somehow. He was furious, he said, about how close he’d come to death, how long the agents had waited.
Joe squatted next to Chuck Ward. Ward still had the distant, almost animal look of shock on his face. Joe had seen many game animals in the back of pickups with the same look.
“How could you do this?” Joe asked. “How could you betray the governor like this? Worse, how could you betray Wyoming?”
Ward studied the hardwood floor inches away, tears forming in his eyes.
Joe repeated his question, and this time it got through. He absentmindedly worked Layborn’s glass eye in his hand like a big prayer bead.
“He knows everything, Joe,” Ward said.
“Who?”
“The governor. Our boss. Nothing gets by him when it comes to revenue.”
“I don’t believe you.”
> “Then don’t. You’re so naive.”
“You’re lying.”
Ward turned away with a bitter smile. He was lying, Joe thought as he stood up. Of course he was lying. Of course he was lying.
Portenson skipped over and gave Joe a bear hug, almost lifting him off the ground. “It was perfect,” Portenson said. “Your plan, it was perfect! Even better, it’s federal prosecutor-proof! This is the biggest arrest we’ve ever made in our office, and I was in charge! I’m going to get the hell out of this fucking state afterall.”
He kissed Joe sloppily on the cheek, and Joe looked away.
“I’m next,” McIlvaine said, stepping up after Portenson let go. He wrapped his arms around Joe and clamped hard, nearly squeezing Joe’s breath out.
“Okay, okay,” Joe grunted.
But McIlvaine didn’t let go. Instead, he squeezed harder. Suddenly, what was about to come next hit Joe like a hammer. The realization was worse than McIlvaine’s grip.
“Get his weapon,” McIlvaine ordered one of his men, who plucked the Glock out of Joe’s holster.
Across the room, before Joe could shout out a warning, two agents clubbed Nate to the ground with their rifle butts. They took his.454 and cuffed him behind his back, shouting at him to “stay the fuck down.”
Joe tried to get loose, arching his back in a wild jerk, attemptingto take McIlvaine to the ground with him, but the FBI commander was too strong. After Nate was bound with an agent on top of him and a gun jammed into his temple, McIlvaine pressed his mouth to Joe’s ear.
“I’ll let you go now, but don’t try to save your friend. There are way too many of us, and you saw what happened to Layborn.”
When McIlvaine released him, Joe staggered away, sucking in racking breaths. He saw Portenson staring at him, shaking his head sadly.
“We had a deal,” Joe said, gasping.
“Yes we did,” Portenson said, “and I honored it. But you didn’t have a deal with him.” He gestured toward McIlvaine.
“He’s been on our list for quite a while,” McIlvaine said, confirming without saying what the whispering campaign on the radios had been about.
