Rappleyea looked like a guy who didn't get into conversations with human beings very often. A pudgy sort in baggy jeans and a shapeless black V-neck sweater over a green T-shirt, he had long pale yellow hair, almost white, pulled back behind his ears from a central part, and he blinked out at the world through perfectly round tortoiseshell glasses.
Parker and Elkins and Wiss had trailed Rappleyea, and the other one, Fred Wheeler, to this bar-restaurant diagonally across the road from the motel. It was a squarish room, booths on both sides, tables in the middle, bar at the back, no nonsense about no smoking. It was maybe half full at seven on a Wednesday evening, most of the customers already dressed for hunting.
Rappleyea and Wheeler took a booth on the right, and Parker and Elkins and Wiss took the next one beyond them, Wiss with his back to Rappleyea so he could listen to their conversation, Parker and Elkins facing him so they could watch the other two.
But there was no conversation to listen to, and nothing interesting to watch. Rappleyea had some sort of handheld computer game he was playing, pausing only to order his dinner, then eating one-handed so he could continue to play with the other. Wheeler read a car magazine through his dinner, thoroughly, slowly, doggedly, as though he expected to be tested on it later. They didn't speak, didn't look at each other, barely admitted there was anyone else at the table.
Wheeler ate the way he read his magazine, doggedly and completely, and was finished first. "See you," he said—Rappleyea nodded, not looking up from his game—and got to his feet and left. Rappleyea was still eating, being slowed down by his one-handedness.
'This should be fun," Elkins said, and stood. He strolled over to the cash register, looked at the local-attraction brochures on the narrow shelves underneath it, chose one, and ambled back, nodding in pleased surprise over a color picture of a cataract somewhere in the Bear Paw Mountains. He started to slide into the next booth, across the table from Rappleyea, and as Rappleyea looked up, startled, Elkins showed his own surprise and embarrassment as he hastily got up again, saying, "Oops, sorry, wrong booth. I'm back there."
"Okay," said Rappleyea, and looked down at his game.
Which Elkins pointed at, saying, "Is that a Game-Boy?"
"No, it's a Q-Pac," Rappleyea said, not quite looking up.
Elkins said, "What, is that better?"
"It's different, that's all." Rappleyea finally gave Elkins complete eye contact, holding up the computer game as he said, "You can play it with one hand, if you're busy doing something else." 1
"Well, that's pretty good," Elkins agreed. "Listen, are you from around here? Do you know any white-water rafting we could drive to?"
"No, I'm sorry, I'm not local, I wouldn't—"
"Oh, sure, that's right, I saw you over at the motel. I'm from Chicago myself, near Chicago. Where do you live?"
Rappleyea fumbled with this rapid-fire dialogue, saying, "Well, I— I live here now, well, I don't exactly; I've got a job here."
"Much industry in these parts?" Elkins asked. "I thought it was mostly scenic, and hunting, and like that. You a guide?"
"No, I..." Rappleyea was stuck, involved deeper in conversation than he could handle. Elkins waited, smiling, friendly, interested without being intrusive, not pushing his new friend, and finally Rappleyea said, "I'm working security, up at a lodge near here."
"A lodge," Elkins echoed. "Like a hotel?"
"No, it's private, it's a real rich guy, he's almost never there, it's just us security people in the place."
"Sounds like a cushy job," Elkins commented. "How come they make you live in the motel?"
"Oh, that's just temporary," Rappleyea said. His left hand still held the game, but it was obvious he'd pretty much forgotten about it. He said, "We had a robbery, a while ago, and the police want to—"
"A robbery!" Elkins was delighted. "Up at this rich man's place? They get much?"
"No, the alarms went off, they got caught. Some of them got caught."
"You caught 'em," Elkins suggested, grinning, pointing at Rappleyea.
"Well, not all by myself." Clearly, Rappleyea was enjoying being the center of somebody else's attention.
"How come you let some of them get away?" Elkins demanded, then laughed, and said, "No, I'm kidding." Sticking out his hand, he said, "Frank Emerson, that's me."
"Hi." Rappleyea awkwardly shook hands. "Dave Rappleyea."
"Nice to know you, Dave. Listen, I'm with my pals at this booth right here, why don't you come join us?"
"Oh, 1 couldn't horn in on ..." Rappleyea said, the words fading into a mumble as he snuck a quick glance at his game.
Elkins said, "Why not? Come on, we'd love to have you." Moving toward the next booth, he said, very cheerful, to Parker and Wiss, 'They had a big robbery up where this guy works, can you believe it? A peaceful part of the world like this? Come on, Dave, meet the guys."
"Well... okay," Rappleyea said. With a shy but happy grin, he slid out of the booth. His face was pinker than before.
In the next forty-five minutes, he told them everything they needed to know.
4
On the one hand," Elkins said, "it's tougher, because now the law is there, and they know there's something to look for, and they're looking for it. On the other hand, it's easier, because there's only the two guys up there, no eyes to watch the monitors."
'They're in the lodge," Parker pointed out. "Not in the staff house. They're sitting in there on top of the paintings."
Lloyd said, "With full communication with the outside world."
"Sog," Elkins commented.
"Not just Washington," Lloyd told him. "They're in touch with the state police in Helena, and the local police in Havre."
They had brought all four chairs into Wiss's room in the motel, but none of them were seated. It was after eleven at night, the television in Wiss's room was on to the news with the sound turned off—just in case a picture of the lodge or somebody connected to it would appear—and they were deciding how to deal with the changed playing field. They all paced while they talked, stopped or walked while they listened.
Parker said, "We've got to go in there soon. It isn't gonna get better up there. In the next day or two, they'll find the architect, they'll get their hands on the plans, they'll figure them out, they'll find that little private gallery, they'll call in the choppers."
"We're not gonna do it tonight," Elkins said.
Lloyd said, "We almost could. It's quieter up there than it's been for quite a while."
Parker said, "What about daytime?"
"When they see us coming," Wiss said, "they call for reinforcements."
'They've still got those lights," Elkins pointed out, "they'll see us no matter what time we come in, and that's the time they'll make their call." He turned to Lloyd. "What can you do about that?"
Lloyd shrugged, as though the answer were easy. "Divert," he said.
Wiss said, "Larry? What do you mean, divert?"
"It's the equivalent of a wiretap," Lloyd told him. "In the old days, you'd just tap a phone, listen in, that's all there is to it. Once the lax came along, they had to work up a technology so they could divert the incoming fax to their own machine, print it out, then send it on where it was supposed to go in the first place, without any footprints on it from the diversion.
The feds were doing that with the stock market swindlers for a long time before anybody caught on. And now the same kind of concept works for e-mail. Divert it so you can read it, then send it on as though nothing had happened, with only the original sender's track on it."
Elkins said, "What good does that do us?"
"Up till now," Lloyd said, "I've been diverting, then sending on, because all I wanted was to read what everybody had to say. Now, I don't send it on."
Wiss grinned. "Like shutting off a faucet," he said.
"Something like that," Lloyd agreed. "And from now on, if an answer is needed, I put together the answer myself, using all their passwords and technical
footprints from their previous messages."
Parker said, "So that's what you can do. If they send out an SOS, it comes to you and nobody else."
"By any means they want to try," Lloyd said.
Elkins said, "Except smoke signal."
"That's somebody else's department," Lloyd agreed.
Parker said, "And the answer to the SOS they get is from you, but they think it's from their friends."
"Exactly," Lloyd said. 'They say SOS, strangers approaching the lodge, I say help is on the way."
"Then we go in," Parker said, "and they don't send any more messages."
"But I do," Lloyd said. "They're making hourly reports, up to eleven at night and starting at eight in the morning, what they're doing, what they found, what the situation is. Nobody wants to feel isolated up there, so they're in touch with every level of command from Havre to DC."
Wiss said to Parker, "And Larry does that, too, sends in the reports, long as we need to."
Parker said, 'Tomorrow morning, we buy orange coats. Tomorrow afternoon, we go hunting."
5
About a quarter after one the next afternoon, Parker and Elkins and Wiss climbed out of their gray Jeep at the top of Marino's road by the shack, well above the lodge. All three wore bright orange coats, red and black wool hats with earlaps, black corduroy pants, and tall brown boots. All three wore, in their right ears, under the earlap, a small transmitter from which the tinny voice of Lloyd spoke to them from time to time, down in his room at the motel in Chinook. Hooked to the underpart of the rigid brims of their caps were small microphones, so they could talk back to Lloyd. All three had Remington .35s broken open over their forearms, and fake hunting licenses in clear plastic packs fastened like targets to the backs of their orange coats. All three had black moustaches and black-framed eyeglasses.
"We're starting down now," Elkins said.
Lloyd's little voice, like a leprechaun in the ear, said, "Is it cold?"
Wiss, embarrassed for his protégé, sounded irritated instead, saying, "Of course it's cold, Larry. We're not here to chitchat."
"Sorry."
It was cold enough to see your icy breath, cold enough to make the gloves they wore necessary, though the gloves might cause a little trouble if they had to use the Remingtons. They walked down the paved road, ice crystals crackling with a dry rustle beneath their boots. Ahead the sentry towers loomed, lights off but cameras still on, looking inward.
"Frank!"
Not Lloyd, not the voice in the ear, but someone behind them. Parker and the others spun around, and a guy was there, on the road a few yards uphill from them, holding his arms well out to the sides, palms forward, to show he was unarmed. He was in a black pea jacket and black wool cap, a bulky guy, probably in his late thirties, with a big heavy-boned face.
Sounding astonished, and not happy, Elkins said, "Bob! For Christ's sake—"
"Don't worry about us," Bob said, patting the air to calm everybody down, while the voice in Parker's ear asked, "What's happening? Bob? Who's Bob?" Nobody was going to answer Larry, because nobody was going to tell Bob there was another pair of ears here.
Elkins said, "They're gonna revoke your parole, Bob." He really didn't want this guy here.
'They did, yesterday," Bob told him. "I said to you, it was taking too long, Frank. Harry and me took off, so where else we gonna go?"
Wiss, sounding like a stern parent, said, "Not here, Bob."
"We won't horn in on you, honest to God," Bob said. "It's your play. Just so you know, Harry and me, we'll be up by your car. You need a hand, you can count on us. You want us out, we're out."
"We want you farther out than this, Bob," Wiss said.
Bob shrugged, turning mulish. "Well, this is the way the hand plays," he said. "We'll stay up there till it's over, we'll help if we're needed, we'll divvy when it's done, you go your way, we'll go ours."
Larry in the earphone had grown silent, so he'd caught up with what was happening. Wiss and Elkins looked at each other, then at Parker. Parker thought somebody around here wouldn't live through the day; too many people coming from too many angles. He said, "It's okay. They'll stay up there, on deck."
"That's right," Bob said, and tried to toss a manly smile in Parker's direction. 'Thanks, pal."
Parker shrugged. He said> "Come on," and turned away, walking downhill again. After a second, the other two followed, looking back uphill at Bob, who waved to them, then turned away, going back up the road toward his partner, Harry.
Parker and Elkins and Wiss walked on down past the ring of camera towers. Anybody watching? No. Still no. Occasionally, it seemed to Parker, he could hear
Lloyd's breath in his ear, but nothing else. The man didn't hum or whistle on the job.
"Gotcha!"
The three kept walking, didn't break stride. Wiss said, "Larry? They see us?"
"Picked you up on the perimeter cameras, now they're phoning Havre. Hold on."
The three kept walking, not on the road but paralleling it, looking around as though for game. Two minutes later, Larry's voice said, 'They're confused, because this is Thursday and the season doesn't start till Monday. They think you're jumping the season on purpose, you probably figure to be alone up there, maybe you're down from Canada."
Elkins said, "What do they plan to do about it?"
"Nothing, unless you approach the house."
"I see the house now," Wiss said.
They slowed, moving toward the lodge. The people inside were lawmen, and so would ask questions first. But the image they should be given was of dumbass hunters, maybe half-smart wiseguys looking to make a kill before it was legal. They should not be given an image of people stalking the lodge with robbery in mind.
"Angle to the right," Parker said, "as though we meant to go around the house."
They could see it clearly now, looming ahead of them through the trees, gleaming white in the world of gray and brown and dark green. The two lawmen
inside were not visible, but were certainly watching the three orange coats approach.
Wiss said, "Larry, the next message you get, divert."
"Oh, I know. Nothing happening now, though."
Parker said, "We should stop here, talk it over among ourselves, point different directions, discuss which way we want to go."
They did that, and then Parker pointed toward the house, saying, "Now I'm saying maybe we should go see if somebody's home."
Wiss and Elkins looked toward the house. Elkins said, "And we're talking it over, do they know much about hunting around here?"
Wiss said, "We're wondering, will they help us, or call the cops?"
They looked at one another, and shrugged, and moved their arms around. "And now," Parker said, "we're deciding what the hell, let's just go over there and knock on the door."
They all nodded at one another, then moved toward the house, angling first to get back onto the paved road, then walking downhill.
"That's far enough, fellas."
The loudspeaker had a brassy loud twang to it, and seemed to be coming from the trees all around them, not from the house at all. The three stopped and looked around.
"This is private property. Move outside the perimeter of the towers."
The three turned to one another. Parker angled
himself so his face was away from the lodge as he said, 'They might have a directional mike in there."
Elkins, sounding aggrieved, said, "I don't see why we can't just ask. It Wouldn't kill them to be friendly."
"Besides," Wiss said, "my own opinion is, we're kinda lost."
Parker turned to face the lodge. "Well," he said, "if we just keep going downhill, we'll get to the road some time or other."
Wiss said, "But where on the road? This thing isn't panning out at all."
"Move along, fellas."
"Screw this," Elkins said. "What are they gonna do, shoot me? I'll be right back." He took a step toward the house, then stopped and said, "Jesus, wait
a minute, I'm carrying a rifle." Turning, he extended the Remington to Wiss, saying, "Here, you hold it for me."
"Sure."
Without the rifle, Elkins started toward the lodge again, and made about half the distance before the door over there opened. This north side of the lodge featured a wide white door, heavily framed with half columns. Leading to it were four broad shallow wooden steps, gray-painted, up from where the road curved around close to the house before circling it to meet the even more elaborate entrance at the front.
This entrance was elaborate enough, with plenty of room on the top step for the guy who now came out, looking stern. He was a tall man, not heavy, and wore what seemed like a military greatcoat in dark blue over a flannel shirt and blue jeans. A dark blue hard-billed officer's cap was on his head. So this would be the state CID inspector, casual in the house, putting on his official wear to repel the interlopers. Pointing a rigid finger at Elkins, he said, 'This is a restricted area, my friend. Move along out of here."
Instead of which, Elkins kept moving forward. He was about twenty yards from the CID man now, not hurrying, closing the gap. Behind him, Parker and Wiss also moved forward, more slowly. Holding his hands out, Elkins said, "Mister, this isn't a very friendly way to treat a fella. We're just trying to—"
"Stop right there," the CID man said. "I am a peace officer, and I am ordering you off this property."
"Listen," Elkins said, still moving forward, "if you're a lawman, that's fine, here, I'll show you my ID," reaching in under the orange coat, on the right side, toward his back pants pocket, "my friends and me are just up here to"—bringing out the Colt Super Auto .38, suddenly rushing forward, Parker and Wiss coming fast—"keep your hands where I can see them or you're a fucking dead man! Back! Back! Back!" Crowding the astonished CID man back across the broad top step toward the open door.
'You mean— You can't—"
"Moxon!" Elkins shouted, using the CID man's name to give him a second shock. "Shut up and listen! You want to stay alive!"
Firebreak Page 16
