“There’s a small boiler room off the storage room.”
“Show me, please,” Flagg said.
They went into the storage room, with Flagg clicking off the overhead lights as they left the bar. The boiler room door was hidden behind some of the crates; he had missed it in the darkness earlier. It was locked, but he worked on the latch with his penknife and got it open. Inside, he broke open one of two dozen stacked cases marked FUEL OIL–INFLAMMABLE.
The case was filled with bottles of Old Pilgrim.
Flagg looked at Terry. “Where do I find this Tru-Test Petroleum?”
She was a little breathless. “In Emmetville,” she said. “That’s a small logging town about five miles to the west. Tru-Test is on the outskirts, on Hathaway Road.”
“Are the grounds fenced in?”
“Yes. They have guards at the main gate, and I don’t think you can get in without some kind of pass.”
Flagg nodded. “The Big Tree River runs parallel to Hathaway Road, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it does.”
Flagg considered. “Who owns Tru-Test?”
“Riley Morgan.”
“What does this Morgan look like?”
“He’s a big redhaired man with a lot of freckles across the bridge of his nose,” she answered. “About forty or forty-five. He comes in here once in a while.”
“To have a drink or to see Barney?”
“Both. They usually go into Barney’s office.”
Flagg said, “Okay,” and smiled at her. “I’m going to trust you to keep quiet about all this. Don’t make a liar out of my intuition.”
“You don’t have to worry,” Terry said. “When it comes to the federal government, I’m everybody’s little angel.”
“Good,” Flagg said. “What’s your cabin number? In case I need you again?”
“Fifteen.”
Flagg broke open the rifle and emptied it and put the cartridges in his pocket. Then he handed the weapon back to Terry. “I’ll be in touch,” he said.
When she had gone, he relocked the boiler room door. There was no way he could cover up the broken hasp on the storage room entrance, but when Barney didn’t find anything missing in the morning, he would probably put it down to vandals.
Flagg moved off through the darkness toward where he had left his camper.
The sun was a brilliant red disc on the eastern horizon when Flagg appeared at the edge of the Big Tree River early next morning. He wore an old army jacket and rubber wading boots, and carried a tackle box and a glass trout rod. He puffed contentedly on a briar pipe.
He set the tackle box down on the spongy bank, opened it, removed a fly reel, and attached it to the rod. From the half dozen or so steelhead trout flies hooked to his jacket, he selected a Klamath Nymph and busied himself tying it on the nylon line. When he had finished, he adjusted the old and battered hat he wore, tested his boots in the rushing water for leakage, and then stepped into the narrow stream.
He glanced at the opposite bank from time to time, in a seemingly uninterested way. A dirt trail led up to Hathaway Road there, and less than fifty yards beyond the road was the fenced compound of Tru-Test Petroleum.
It was a large concern. The main entrance was some seventy-five yards to the south on Hathaway Road, and there was a sentry box with a uniformed guard. The gates opened electronically, from controls inside the box. Flagg could not see much of what went on inside the compound.
He spent three hours fishing in the Big Tree River, working his way upstream slowly until he had drawn opposite the main entrance. He caught four trout, and threw them all back. During that time, several dark green delivery trucks with the company name emblazoned on the doors and sides arrived and departed at regular intervals. One large diesel tanker came just before nine, and left forty minutes later. A new limousine driven by a redhaired man entered the Tru-Test grounds at nine twenty. There was no other traffic.
At eleven o’clock, Flagg packed up his fishing gear and left the stream.
Shortly before three that afternoon — twenty minutes after another of the large diesel tankers had arrived at Tru-Test, and half an hour after the redhaired man had driven out in his new limousine — a white panel truck with the words RIGHT WAY PLUMBING, INC. plastic-stenciled on the sides stopped before the locked entrance gates.
The uniformed guard came out of the sentry box and looked inside. “Yes?”
“Here to fix the john in the warehouse,” Flagg said. He wore a pair of faded blue overalls and a baseball cap. He was still puffing on his briar pipe.
The guard frowned. “Mr. Morgan didn’t mention anything about a plumber coming in.”
“Well, he called the shop less than an hour ago.”
“What’s the matter with the john?”
“He didn’t give me any details,” Flagg said. “Check with him, if you want.”
“He’s not here right now.”
“When’ll he be back?”
“Not until tomorrow.”
“Look,” Flagg said, “it don’t matter to me one way or the other if I do the job. There’s an automatic service charge just for me to come out here.”
The guard chewed at his lower lip indecisively. “I don’t know,” he said. “How long will it take?”
“Now, how would I know that if I ain’t seen the problem yet? That Mr. Morgan seemed to think I ought to get out here right away, but if you don’t think so, I’ll go off back home. Like I said, there’s a service charge whether I do the job or not—”
“All right,” the guard said. “Do you know where the main water house is?”
Flagg shrugged. “I’ve never been here before.”
“Follow the white lines until you come to a big corrugated iron building with a loading dock along one side. Go on around to Door 5 and ask for Lou. He’s in charge there.”
“Okay,” Flagg said.
The guard opened the gates from inside the sentry box, and Flagg drove the panel onto the Tru-Test grounds. He followed the white lines as directed, and a couple of minutes later he stopped in front of Door 5 in the long, narrow warehouse. He had seen the corrugated iron roof from the river, and accurately guessed the building’s purpose. There were three of the dark green delivery trucks pulled up to the loading platform in front of other numbered doors, and a good deal of activity on the dock itself. Pallets of boxes with markings identical to those he had seen in the rear storage room of Barney’s Oasis were being stacked at intervals by two forklifts, and freight handlers were hurrying back and forth with dollies between the pallets and the trucks.
Flagg got out of the panel, opened the rear doors, and took out a large tool kit. Then he went up several wooden steps and through Door 5. A short, fat man with thinning hair was writing on a clipboard. Flagg stepped up to him and asked, “Where do I find Lou?”
“I’m Lou,” the man answered, appraising him with cold eyes.
“Here to fix the john,” Flagg said.
“The john? What’s the matter with it?”
“Who knows? I got this call from Mr. Morgan to come out find fix it, that’s all.”
Lou continued to study him. Flagg puffed uninterestedly on the briar pipe. Finally Lou said, “Okay, then. Come on, I’ll show you where it is.”
Flagg followed him along the cement floor of the warehouse, past more full pallets stacked three high. At the rear wall, between the stacks, there was a door marked NO ADMITTANCE. Loud, vibrant sounds of machinery in operation filtered through the door. On one side was another door marked restroom, and Lou opened that one. They went in.
“Here it is,” Lou said. “It looks all right to me.”
“You can’t tell by looking.”
“How long will you be?”
“What am I?” Flagg asked. “Psychic?”