3
Parker watched Elkins introduce himself to Dave Rappleyea. He was good at that sort of thing, easygoing enough, not threatening, but also not overly hearty. Having a conversation with somebody who might know something useful in the heist you were working on was part of his job description: heavy lifting.
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."