Special Forces_Operation Alpha_Summer Breeze

by Jesse Jacobson

  “I’m sorry, too,” Red Feather said. “Maybe if you boys had gotten here quicker . . .”

  “Our response time was within range, Red,” Four Bears shot back. “You know where the firehouse is and you know our staff is almost all volunteers. We got here as soon as we could.”

  Red Feather nodded, “I know, Will. I’m sorry. I’m just flustered.”

  “The Sheriff radioed in. I told him this was arson. He’s on his way.”

  “I feel safer already,” Red Feather snarked.

  Four Bears chuckled.

  “Why is he laughing?” Rose asked Red Feather.

  “Because Sheriff Ford of the Rosebud County Sheriff’s Department has a reputation for being less than helpful at times, especially when there is a Cheyenne in the general vicinity,” Red Feather said. “He’s a saucy old fart.”

  “You said that, I didn’t,” Four Bears offered. “On the other hand, Sheriff Ford liked your grandfather a great deal. They even had a regular poker game together once a month. The other good news is, Sheriff Ford dislikes the big coal companies as much as anyone.”

  Right on cue, the headlights of a single vehicle appeared coming toward the ranch, it’s blue and white lights flashing. The Sheriff’s gold colored Bronco pulled up, a dark green Rosebud County Sheriff logo emblazoned on the doors. The emergency lights disappeared as the Bronco pulled near to what was left of Red Feather’s truck. Rose watched as a big burly man in his mid-sixties stepped out of the car and walked toward the truck.

  The sheriff was a big man in his mid-sixties, full moustache and beard, thick but neatly trimmed. His beard and hair were both gray. His hair was longer than Rose expected, creeping over his ears, poker straight, combed straight back. His gait was confident.

  “Four Bears!” he yelled. “A word please.”

  Four Bears rolled his eyes and smiled at Red Feather, “Well, his majesty calls.”

  He turned and walked toward the Sheriff. Rose noticed the Sheriff had given them only a cursory glance. She could easily hear the Sheriff’s booming voice.

  “You called me and got me out of bed at four in the morning for a goddamn barn fire with no livestock or people inside and no one hurt?” he hissed at Four Bears.

  “It was arson, Sheriff Ford,” Four Bears said. “Protocol dictates when . . .”

  “I don’t give a damn about protocol,” Ford barked. “That looks like Red Feather’s truck over there.”

  “It is, Sheriff,” Four Bear replied.

  “What the hell is it doing here?”

  “You can ask him yourself. He’s sitting right over there.” Four Bears nodded in their direction.

  Ford looked over at Red Feather, grimaced and sighed, pulled off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair, briskly, and turned back to Four Bears, “Anyone hurt?”

  “No,” Four Bears said.

  “The fire in the barn must not have been bad. It still looks structurally sound.”

  “It is, Sheriff,” Four Bears said. “Red Feather managed to get it out before we got here. If he hadn’t been on the scene, the barn would have likely burned to the ground.”

  “Alright, Four Bears, you and your boys can go,” he said.

  Four Bears nodded and signaled his team to load up. Ford made his way up to the porch. He looked at Red Feather first, then at Rose, “Well, you two look nice and cozy,” he said. “I know Red Feather, but who are you, miss?”

  “This is Rose,” Red Feather said. “She is Old Eli’s granddaughter.”

  Ford grunted softly and then extended his hand, “Well, I’ll be . . . I doubt you’d remember me. I met you once when you were knee high to a grasshopper,” he said. “I knew your grandfather well—he was a good man. Knew your mom and dad, too. You favor her a lot. The Lord took them too soon. I sure was sorry to hear about Old Eli.”

  Rose shook his hand, “Thank you.”

  “Sorry about this, Red, but this will have to be asked as part of the investigation,” Ford began.

  “You want to know what I’m doing here?” Red Feather interrupted.

  “Yeah, I do,” he said.

  “I can tell you that,” Rose interjected. “He was doing some landscaping work for me. This afternoon a representative of Mission Mining came here, threatened him and pulled a gun on him. He stayed to warn me. I invited him to dinner and he drank too much wine. I took his keys away and let him sleep in the spare bedroom.”

  Ford gave Rose a quizzical look, scratched his chin and turned to Red Feather, “That the way it went down, Red?”

  Red Feather nodded, “It is. You know better than anyone what life would be like for me to get a DUI off the res.”

  “Uh huh,” he acknowledged. “She said someone from Mission Mining pulled a gun on you, Red? Is that right?”

  Red Feather nodded again.

  Ford removed his hat and scratched his head briskly once again. He repositioned his hat carefully.

  “Well, that takes this whole conversation to a much broader level,” he said, “and it’s colder’n’shit out here. I don’t suppose you have any coffee, Ms. Summer?”

  ______________________

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ______________________

  The sheriff asked to use the restroom as soon as they got inside. While he was gone, Rose nudged Red Feather, “Should we tell him what we suspect about the Monkshood?”

  “We might as well,” Red Feather replied. “He’s going to find out from the coroner anyway. And you heard Four Bears—the sheriff is no fan of the coal companies.”

  Rose and Red Feather took Sheriff Ford through the events that had occurred in the last two days, step by step. They told him about Rose’s initial visit from Lenkov, the implied threat to her, the altercation between Red Feather and McCoy, the fire and Red Feather’s suspicion surrounding Monkshood poisoning. Rose showed him Eli’s computer and sat quietly while the big man read all the emails. To Rose, the Sheriff seem to be listening intently, even sympathetically.

  Ford sipped the last of his coffee, “Would you like some more?” Rose asked.

  The big Sheriff shook his head, “No, thank you. When we’re done I’m going to try to get back and get a couple more hours of shut eye. Any more coffee and that’ll guarantee me I won’t sleep a wink.”

  “What do you think, Sheriff?” she asked.

  “I know Lenkov,” he said. “He’s a real rattlesnake. He used to work for the Russian mob up north someplace. The FBI has a file on him. They sent me all kind of warnings when they knew he was in the area. And McCoy has a rap sheet longer than my arm, mostly thumb-breaking stuff. The problem is, we have no witnesses to Rose’s conversation with Lenkov or Red Feather’s fight with McCoy. You never saw who started the fire and didn’t get a license plate or a make and model of the vehicles as they sped away. Your story is compelling, I’ll give you that, but you can’t prove a single thing . . .”

  “Yet,” Red Feather interjected. “That’s why we need the autopsy. If the corner determines Eli died of asphyxiation and not from a heart attack . . .”

  “You’re right about one thing. It will prove he was murdered,” the sheriff interrupted. “Yeah, I get that, and it will open an investigation, for sure, but based on everything I know about Lenkov, there will be no evidence that points to him or anyone in his organization. The man is smart and sly. Hell, he may even point his finger your way, Red Feather. You’re the one who planted the stuff in his garden in the first place.”

  “So, you believe there is nothing we can do?” Rose asked.

  Ford shook his head, “I didn’t say that. I’ll order the autopsy as soon as the coroner’s office opens and I’ll be sure to get it expedited. I’ll have a couple of my boys show up here in a little bit and poke around. We’ll see if we can pick up some tire marks in the dirt—or anything that might help us identify the vehicles that were out here tonight. I’ll pull up Lenkov and McCoy and their known associates and see if anything pops up.”

  “It’s a
start,” Red Feather said.

  “Thank you, sheriff,” Rose said.

  Ford nodded, “In the meantime, y’all get some rest.”

  “What do you think?” Rose asked as they stood on the porch watching the sheriff pull away.

  “That went much better than I thought,” Red Feather conceded. “Looks like Four Bears was right about Ford disliking the coal companies, and he seemed to take to you right away.”

  “It sounds like he liked my grandfather a lot,” Rose added.

  “That should help,” Red Feather replied.

  “I’m so angry right now I could scream,” she said. “I feel so . . . violated. They tried to kill my grandfather and now they have the balls to come out here and try to burn the place down. Who the fuck do they think they are?”

  “We’ll get to the bottom of it, Rose,” Red Feather promised. “The sheriff was right, though. We can’t prove anything yet. We have to take it one step at a time, slow and easy.”

  “I don’t do slow and easy very well,” she said, fuming. “I’m not standing still for this.”

  “We should go back inside and try to get some rest,” he said. “There is still a couple of hours before sunrise. I’ll need a lift into town from you in the morning.”

  Rose nodded, her arms folded. She was still stewing.

  Red Feather fell into a deep slumber. The next thing he recalled was waking to the sound of an engine starting. He jumped to his feet and looked out the window. It was Rose. She was taking off in her car without him.

  He ran to the front door, but the rental Toyota was already thirty yards away. He called after her, but she either didn’t hear or was ignoring him. His truck was unserviceable and he had no phone. By foot, he was more than two hours from the nearest neighbor. He was stuck there, wondering where she was going and what she was up to.

  ______________________

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ______________________

  Two hours later, Rose arrived in Billings, Montana, home of the central offices of The Mission Mining Company. She crossed the Yellowstone River, then turned north, past MetraPark Arena. She continued on Bench Road past Two Moon Park and pulled into the offices of the coal company.

  She parked her car and shut off the engine just as her phone began to ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Ms. Summer, this is Sheriff Ford.”

  “Yes, Sheriff.”

  “I just wanted you to know, your grandfather’s body is being transported to the coroner’s office as we speak. The coroner is a good friend of mine. I asked him to expedite the autopsy and told him what we were looking for.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff.”

  “We should get a preliminary report this afternoon. Tests and what-not, they’re going to take longer.”

  “I’m so grateful.”

  “Old Eli was a friend of mine. If someone did him dirty, I’m gonna find out, I guarantee you that, ma’am.”

  “Thanks again. Stay in touch.”

  The call ended.

  Rose got out of the car, smoothed out some of the wrinkles on her business suit caused by the sitting position during the long drive, and walked to the entrance of the office building.

  Inside the lobby Rose asked the receptionist to speak to the President of the company, Mr. C.H. Paulson. Rose’s rigid posture and curt tone alarmed the receptionist, who quickly picked up the phone.

  “Who shall I say is here?” she asked.

  “Rosemary Summer,” she replied.

  “I don’t see you on his calendar.”

  “Just call him,” she demanded.

  The woman dialed an extension, “There’s a Rosemary Summer here to see Mr. Paulson,” she said into the phone. She paused as she listened for a response.

  “Ok, then, thank you,” she said. She hung up and looked at Rose, “Please follow me, Ms. Summer.”

  Rose followed the woman into the elevator. She pushed the button for the top floor. The elevator opened to a view of an enormous conference room, encased in all glass, with a view of downtown Billings in the foreground, framed by a beautiful mountain range and rolling hills off in the distance.

  “Have a seat,” the receptionist asked. “There is a meeting in progress, but he will be in, soon. Would you like coffee? Tea? Water?”

  “I’m good, thank you,” Rose replied.

  Rose walked over to the window, looking out over the Billings understated skyline. The conference room made her think briefly of her job but the events from the evening before had all but made her forget work. The fire, the potential murder of her grandfather—it changed everything. She was pissed now, and she was no longer going to act like a shrinking violet. She would not allow herself to be intimidated by Lenkov, his mountain man, or anyone else. She was after justice, and she would not be denied.

  All the same, she decided to not share what she suspected about Monkshood poisoning. She would wait for the autopsy results. She also didn’t want to alert anyone at Mission Mining that she knew about it. If it was true, an early alert might allow them to cover their trail. No . . . on that, she would wait.

  She looked it her watch. Ten minutes had gone by. She sat, once again, stewing. Ten minutes turned into fifteen. Fifteen turned into twenty. Finally, the door opened. It was Vlade Lenkov and his man mountain, Mr. McCoy.

  McCoy had a bandage taped across his nose. He wore sunglasses, but the bruises from both his black eyes were visible down to his cheekbones below the frames. Red Feather had done quite the number on him, she thought.

  “Ms. Summer, it is good to see you again,” Lenkov greeted. He smiled, but the expression looked cold, his tone condescending.

  “I asked to see Mr. Paulson,” Rose said, firmly.

  “Mr. Paulson is not here, but I am glad you are,” the Russian replied. “It will save me a trip out to see you later.”

  He sat at the head of the table. McCoy moved behind Lenkov, standing four feet behind him with his hands interlaced just under his beltline.

  “But first,” he continued, “you came to see me. What do you have on your mind?”

  “I want to know why you sent your Pitbull to attack my landscaper, and why you tried to burn down my grandfather’s barn?” she demanded.

  Lenkov chuckled, “Ms. Summer, I’m afraid you have it all wrong. Mr. McCoy was there to deliver a letter on my behalf, nothing more. It was Mr. Red Feather who attacked him—it was unprovoked.”

  “That’s your story?” Rose snapped. “That Red Feather attacked your man?”

  “It is the truth. He is just now considering whether or not to press charges against your gardener. As to an accident at your barn last night, I have no knowledge of such a thing. I can only hope no one was hurt?”

  “I didn’t say the fire occurred at night,” Rose noted. “If you didn’t know about it, how did you know it was at night?”

  Lenkov chuckled again, “My mistake. It was simply an assumption on my part.”

  “I don’t believe you, Mr. Lenkov,” Rose said.

  He shrugged, the smile unwavering from his face, “Whether or not you believe me does not matter to me. What does matter to me is your response to this letter, which Mr. McCoy was unable to deliver yesterday, due to the violent attack imposed upon him by your . . . gardener. Please, have a seat.”

  Rose sat in a chair on the opposite side of the table from Lenkov.

  He slapped an eight by eleven envelope on the table and slid it across to her. She picked it up.

  “What’s in this?” she asked.

  “A modification to the offer we have made on your grandfather’s property,” he said. “Please . . . indulge me. Open it and read.”

  Rose opened the envelope and pulled out the papers. It was a formal offer for her grandfather’s property. She had been trained to not show emotion when reading legal paperwork in the same room with opposing counsel but she found it hard to squelch a gasp when she saw the proposed price. Mission Mining was now offering twice the current m
arket value for the property. She did a quick mental calculation. With the proceeds of the sale, she could pay her grandfather’s debt, and with the remainder of the money, after taxes, she would have enough money in her account to pay off her house, her car and her student loans.

  She flipped the page and immediately saw why the offer increased so exponentially. There was a lengthy non-disclosure agreement, an NDA. The statements in bold told the story. The long and the short of it was that the Mission Mining Company wanted her complete silence and to be held harmless for any of their actions up to the execution of the agreement.

  While law enforcement could certainly pursue criminal action on their own, she could not initiate, cooperate or be involved in any manner with any criminal investigation, nor could she bring any civil action against the company or any of its representatives.

  She was not licensed to practice law in Montana, but she was pretty certain some, if not most, of the agreement was illegal or unenforceable, but certainly a good team of corporate lawyers could defend it and at the very least, use delay tactics to string out any investigation for many years. And from her knowledge of precedent, she knew that the longer matters like this went on, the more expensive it would get and the less interested all parties became.

  There was only one reason why Mission Mining would make an offer this high and design an NDA this restrictive, she thought.

  They are hiding something.

  “This is a very interesting offer, Mr. Lenkov,” Rose said.

  “I trust it will be satisfactory and will settle the matter once and for all,” he replied.

  “How did you find out so fast?” she asked, looking at her watch.

  The smile began to fade from his face, “Find out about what?”

  “The autopsy,” she said. “The request for it just happened this morning. How’d you find out about it this fast.”

  Lenkov’s expression darkened, “I’m sure I don’t know what you are talking about. Your grandfather died of a heart attack. He was old and in ill-health. He was taking several heart medications. Under Montana law there would be no need for an autopsy.”