Nathan knew that wasn’t going to work, but didn’t say anything. To open an ammo can like that, especially one that had been buried, you had to hold the carrying handle below its latch with one hand and yank the latch cover with the other hand. Unless it was filled with ammunition weighing it down, it would take two hands. He also saw dried sealant, probably silicon, under the rims of the lids. As predicted, Billy struggled with the can. Every attempt he made to lift the hinged cover didn’t work. The entire can lifted into the air. He wasn’t getting the necessary leverage.
“May I?” Nathan asked.
She nodded.
“Step away, Billy,” Nathan said as he holstered his gun. He walked forward and showed Billy the exact technique needed to open the can. “It takes two hands, like this.” He grabbed the carrying handle with his left hand and grabbed the latch cover mechanism with his other. “You have to give it a quick tug in opposite directions.” He stepped back and crouched down.
Holly and Henning followed suit. Billy grabbed the ammo can like he’d been shown and gave the latch a yank. The lip popped open. Billy stared straight down into its contents. “Oh, man.”
“Open the others,” Holly said.
Five seconds later all three ammo can were open. Billy couldn’t take his eyes off the contents.
“Move away, Billy. On the ground again.”
Billy didn’t comply. He just stood there, licking his lips.
“Back away, Billy, on the ground. Do it right now,” she said more forcefully.
The three of them walked forward and looked down. Staring up at them were bundles of used bills. Lots of them. Stacked upright in two rows along each can’s long axis, the bundles were a near-perfect fit. The distinctive smell of greenbacks scented the air.
Henning let out a low whistle.
Nathan crouched down and pulled a bundle from each can. The middle can held stacks of one-hundred dollar bills and the other two cans held stacks of twenties. Each stack was about half-an-inch thick and secured with a rubber band. Probably one-hundred bills. Nathan counted the bundles. There were twenty-two stacks of one-hundred dollar bills and forty-four stacks of twenties. Nathan ran the calculation. “Two hundred-twenty plus eighty-eight. That’s… three hundred and eight grand, assuming that each of those bundles contain one-hundred notes of the same denomination.”
“Incredible,” Holly whispered. “You think they have stashes like this in other locations?”
“Count on it,” Nathan said. “I’m going to check on my partner.” Ten feet from the front door, Nathan stopped and issued a whistle. He received the same whistle from inside. He found Harv sitting on the chair, facing Knife. “Billy wasn’t lying about the money.”
“How much?”
“Just over three hundred grand.”
“Nice little stash.”
“Yep.”
“What now?”
Nathan looked at Knife. “After you and your brother change into dry clothes, you’re taking us up to that cabin.”
Fifteen minutes after the discovery of the buried cash, a caravan of three FBI sedans was ready to leave Sacramento and motor toward the Sierra Nevada Mountains. The ammo cans were locked in Holly’s trunk. Larry Gifford and two SWAT team members had arrived with two additional vehicles, one of them designed for transporting perps in custody. There was no way to know what to expect up there, so the extra firepower was a prudent call on Holly’s part. The SWAT agents were dressed in black overalls, but they hadn’t donned their SWAT gear yet. There wasn’t a need until they arrived at the cabin. Gifford, who he’d met at the Bridgestones’ compound, wore blue jeans and a navy-blue golf shirt. Like Holly and Henning, his gun belt held a standard-issue Glock 22, two spare magazines, and a set of handcuffs. He looked a lot different out of SWAT gear, but he had the same intense expression Nathan remembered when they’d first met.
Nathan and Harv shook hands with Larry Gifford and the two SWAT team members. Nathan was pretty sure these were the same SWAT agents who’d made the leapfrog approach to them yesterday. It made sense. They had already seen Nathan and Harv and already knew of their involvement.
“Special Agents Collins and Dowdy, if I recall,” Nathan said, pumping their hands, “but I don’t know who’s who.”
Holly smiled.
Henning glared.
“We’ve got a long drive ahead of us, let’s get moving,” Holly said.
An awkward moment followed.
Nathan looked at Harv for several seconds, but said nothing.
“I’ll… ride with Gifford,” Harv said. “If that’s okay.”
“Come on, then,” Gifford said to Harvey. The two SWAT guys exchanged a glance before sliding into the rear seats of Gifford’s sedan. Harvey climbed in next to Gifford.
Henning secured the Bridgestone cousins into the rear of the transport sedan and got behind the wheel. Nathan slid into Holly’s sedan. Ten seconds later, all three vehicles were headed down the road with Henning’s sedan in the lead.
Nathan settled in for the long drive into the mountains by sliding his seat back as far as it would go and reclining it slightly. He wasn’t sure what to expect conversation-wise. She was, after all, a complete stranger. Might as well start with an observation.
“Henning’s got a thing for you,” he said.
“Is it that obvious?”
“It’s the way he looks at you.”
“I’ve done my best not to encourage it. I don’t want to transfer him, but it may come to that. His wife works under my command. You probably saved her life up at the compound. She’s the SWAT agent who tried to light you up behind that tree.”
“She’s Henning’s wife?”
“Yes. They aren’t doing too well.”
“Well, he’s just bubbling over with gratitude.”
“This situation with you and Harvey is difficult for him. To be honest, for me too.”
“Did you and Henning…”
“Absolutely not. He’s married, and I don’t have those kinds of feelings toward him. Bruce Henning’s a fine agent. He’s honest and hardworking, and loyal as hell to the bureau, but he’s a Boy Scout.”
“And you don’t date Boy Scouts.”
She looked at him. “I don’t date married men.” They rode in silence for several minutes.
“I saw that glance you gave Harvey just before everyone piled into the vehicles.”
Nathan didn’t respond.
She smiled. “You have the deepest blue eyes I’ve ever seen.”
“Thanks, I guess.”
Following the other two sedans, Holly made the turn onto Highway 50, heading west toward Sacramento. “You handled Henning pretty well back at the airport,” she said at last. “You didn’t back down or go on the defensive. You were calm but assertive.”
“You ever watch a television show called Dog Whisperer?”
“Hmm.” She thought for a moment. “I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never watched it.”
“Well, it’s about this guy called Cesar Millan and he has this uncanny ability with dogs. He’s a dog psychologist of sorts, but he really counsels people who have dog problems. He likes to say he rehabilitates dogs.”
“Okay…”
Nathan knew she was wondering where this was going. “It’s what you said about being calmly assertive. That’s Cesar’s philosophy. Be calm, but assertive.”
“And you think the same approach works with people?”
“To a limited extent. The basic difference is that dogs live in the moment, people don’t. Dogs don’t hold grudges. People do. Everything is right here and right now with dogs. I really like them a lot. I own two giant schnauzers.”
“I’ve heard of that breed.”
“They’re around a hundred pounds. Super-smart. Bullheaded, though.”
“Sounds familiar.”
Nathan looked out the window and smiled. “Point granted.”
“Not many people own giant schnauzers or a helicopter,” she said.
“The helicopter isn’t a symbol of ego or financial status for me. It’s about freedom. Too many people take it for granted.”