McCann went white and his mouth sagged open.
"Shut him up," Joe said, and Nate eagerly dove over the seat with the tape and stretched it across the lawyer's mouth.
"You'll get death," Nate said, smoothing the tape.
"Assuming he lives long enough to get to trial," Joe said, turning and looking into Clay McCann's wide, panicked eyes.
And seeing that less than a hundred yards behind them was a park ranger Ford Explorer with wigwag lights flashing, gaining on them by the second, snow flying from the tires in twin plumes of white.
"UH-OH," JOE SAID.
McCann turned, saw the vehicle, and whimpered. He sagged in the seat to hide. The Explorer closed the gap, fishtailing a littlein the snow as the driver accelerated.
"Who is it?" Nate asked, squinting. "Can you tell?"
"My guess is Langston and Layborn," Joe said, reaching behindhis back and gripping the Glock, putting it on the seat next to him. "Here we go."
"I can put a bullet into the grille," Nate said, "knock them out." He ran the window down so he could lean outside. The cab of the truck filled with swirling snow.
"Hold it," Nate said, "there's only one guy inside."
Joe concentrated on driving because it was getting harder to see where the road was in a sea of white. He shot a glance in his mirrors. Yes, there was only the driver, and Joe recognized him.
"Don't shoot," Joe said. "It's Ashby."
"Are you sure?"
"Ashby's not involved, is he?" Joe called to McCann, who grunted something back.
"What did he say?" Joe asked Nate.
"I think he said no."
"Let's pull over and take our chances," Joe said. "We can reallyuse Ashby's help if he'll cooperate. Be ready." Joe didn't dare pull off the road and chance getting stuck in the snow, so he gradually slowed down. The Explorer stayed with him, a few feet behind, until both vehicles were stopped. Because of the way the wind-driven snow moved steadily across the meadow on either side of the road, it seemed to Joe as if they were still moving.
"Cover me," Joe said, opening his door and jumping down. Snow lashed him in the face.
Ashby was out of the Explorer, his hand perched on his holsteredgun.
Joe held up his hands to show he had no weapon.
"Up against the truck and spread 'em!" Ashby yelled. "And tell your buddy to get out and do the same."
Ashby was wearing sweats beneath his parka, and had apparentlyjumped out of bed to pursue them.
"Hold it," Joe said. "I'm on your side."
Ashby withdrew his gun, held it with both hands in a shooter's stance, aimed at Joe.
"Del," Joe said, feeling his belly clutch up, "calm down. We have McCann. We're using him as bait. Before you try and arrest me or pull that trigger, there's something you need to listen to. We've got new information and you're not going to like it."
Ashby wavered, Joe could see it in his eyes.
"Five minutes," Joe said. "Just listen to McCann's confession.Then you'll want to help us out."
"Confession? Everybody knows what he did."
"But not why he did it," Joe said.
"He'll tell me?"
"He doesn't need to. I've got it on tape."
Ashby seemed to weigh what Joe said, and while he did he glanced toward the pickup. His face dropped with shock and fear. Joe quickly followed Ashby's sight line. The muzzle of Nate's.454 aimed straight at the ranger.
"He'll blow your head clean off with that," Joe said.
"Tell him to lower the gun," Ashby said. "I'll listen."
"You can tell him," Joe said, able to breathe again. "He speaks English, you know." When he put Lars's truck in gear and plowed forward in the untracked snow, Joe had trouble getting the image of Ashby's face out of his mind from a few minutes before, when the ranger sat in the truck and listened to the tape. It was the stricken face of betrayal, and what he heard caused Ashby to slump against the door as if all the fight had been punched out of him.
"I know how you feel," Joe said.
"Langston doesn't surprise me as much as I would have thought," Ashby said. "But Layborn…"
"Really?" Joe asked, surprised.
"I thought Layborn, despite his faults, was a true believer in the Park Service, in our mission here," Ashby said. "I thought he was loyal to me."
"Sorry," Joe said, meaning it. "Why is it some bureaucrats always think they deserve more?"
Ashby shook his head. "I don't," he said.
Nate said, "That's why you'll always be poor like Joe. And I say that with compassion."
Ashby still had the look on his face when he got out and trudged back to his Explorer to follow Joe, Nate, and McCann to the Old Faithful Inn. "Do you think this plan is going to work?" Nate asked Joe as they picked up speed again and steered straight into the maw of the storm.
"Maybe not," Joe said truthfully. "A lot of things could go wrong. And I didn't count on this weather."
Nate jerked a thumb at McCann. "Do you think they want him bad enough to follow us?"
Joe said, "I do. He's their loose cannon, and they can't afford to let him follow up on his threat to talk. Especially if they think he's somehow hooked up with Bob Olig, who can corroborate much of his story."
"That's a hell of a wild card to play, isn't it?" Nate said, referringto Olig. "We don't even know for sure if he exists."
"I'm trusting your instincts," Joe said.
"Remind me not to play poker with you, Joe," Nate said, grinning.
Joe shook his head. "You might want to rethink that. Both Sheridan and Marybeth always clean me out."
30
Joe was thankful for the high clearance of Lars's pickup by the time they took the turnoff to Old Faithful. It was early afternoon, completely socked in, ten to twelve inches of snow already on the ground, the lodgepole pine hillsideslooking smoky and vague in the falling snow. When they cleared the rise they could see the Old Faithful Inn below-a boxy, hulking, isolated smudge on the basin floor.
His growing fear that Portenson didn't or couldn't make it due to either bureaucracy or the weather was relieved instantly when Nate pointed out the single Suburban in the parking lot with U.S. Government plates. The agents-Joe counted six- huddled under the portico of the inn near the massive front door. Joe pulled up under the overhang as if he were a bus disgorging tourists. Portenson was there, nervously inhaling a cigarette as if trying to suck it dry. Butts littered the concrete near his feet. His team of five wore camouflage clothing with black Kevlar helmetsand vests, and looked competent and alert. Cases and duffelbags of weapons and equipment were stacked against the building. Two of the assault squad were smoking cigarettes and squinting through the smoke at Nate Romanowski, as if sizing up an adversary. Nate nodded at them without blinking as Joe shut off the motor of the truck.
"Glad you made it," Joe said to Portenson, getting out. "I'm not sure that camo stuff will work all that well in the snow, though. You guys look like a bunch of bushes."
Portenson was instantly around the truck in front of him, his face red. "Do you realize what will happen to me if this doesn't work out? I put my career on the line for you and brought these men up here without authorization. This kind of operation requiressign-offs all the way to the director of Homeland Securityhimself."
Joe nodded. "We couldn't risk that. If it went federal up the chain of command, somebody might tip off Langston, since you're all in the same happy family."
"We are not," Portenson said hotly.
"Sure you are," Joe said.
Ashby had pulled up behind Joe and was watching the exchangeclosely.
Joe asked Portenson to send one of his men to drive the Suburbanup and hide it behind the inn, out of sight. He asked Ashby to do the same with his Explorer.
"They won't come in if they get any kind of indication that anyone is here besides us and Clay McCann," Joe said.
"How do we get in?" Portenson asked, nodding toward the massive front door of the inn.