The middle drawer was labeled “Vendors,” and each hanging file was designated with the name of a company. Cork pulled the file for a company called Polaris Gaming and found invoices for the purchase of a variety of gaming equipment. He began checking the invoices against the prices on the lease agreements signed by Blackwater. After Polaris Gaming, he checked the files of two other vendors.
The last drawer, unmarked, held a single file: Partnership Agreement. The document had been prepared by the judge, and although it was long and involved, as Cork scanned it, he understood exactly what it was about.
As he stood hunched over the partnership document, the saw cut out above him, and in the abrupt stillness that followed, Cork heard a slight rustle at his back. He turned and found himself confronting the cold determination in Hell Hanover’s pale blue eyes.
Flanking Hanover on either side were Al Lamarck and Bo Peterson, two men Cork recognized from the pictures of the ranks of the Minnesota Civilian Brigade.
“I don’t suppose you’re here to invite me to go Christmas caroling,” Cork said.
Hanover carefully drew off his black stocking cap. In the light from the window, his bald head shone like an ivory doorknob. The left corner of his mouth twitched as if a smile had been stillborn.
“When you first started sticking your nose into all this, O’Connor,” Hanover said, “I told the men to discourage you. It didn’t work.”
Cork glanced at Lamarck and Peterson. They’d unzipped their leather coats. Both wore. 45s, military issue, holstered on their hips. Cork wondered if either of them had been present at Sam’s Place the night he’d been jumped.
Hanover limped forward on his artificial leg and studied the documents Cork had spread out on the desk. “When you persisted,” he went on, “I decided to let you go ahead, figuring that at worst you’d hit the same dead ends we had. On the other hand, it was possible you just might lead us to where we all wanted to be.”
“And let me guess where that is,” Cork offered. “At the source for funding the weapons stockpile for the brigade.”
Hanover moved around the desk to the computer and turned it on. He studied the screen and said, “What is it you think we’re all about, O’Connor?”
“I could guess all day, Helm. Why don’t you save us both a lot of time and just lay it out for me.”
Hanover hit the keys as he talked. “Do you remember your American history? Remember why the farmers took up rifles at Lexington and Concord? They were fed up being governed by a distant tyranny, living under laws made by men who had no idea or interest in what those farmers’ lives were all about.” He grew quiet a moment as he studied something he’d found on the computer. “Here in America, we’re right back where we started. You think those fat bastards in Washington, those lawyers, have any idea what it’s like to lose your job to an Indian because of affirmative action?”
“Or lose your business because some damn owl lives in the trees you got a lease to cut,” Bo Peterson added angrily.
“The goverment governs,” Hanover went on, “with the consent of the people. But what happens, O’Connor, when the people no longer give consent? And what happens when those in power refuse to acknowledge the people’s dissent?”
“The Minnesota Civilian Brigade,” Cork guessed.
“And the Viper Militia and the Freeman and the Posse Comitatus. All this is only a beginning. A prelude. We’re in touch with others like us all across the country. It’s coming. Lexington and Concord all over again. And we’re going to be ready.”
Hanover stepped away from the computer and looked more carefully at the documents on the desk.
“If you’d like, I’ll explain everything to you, Helm,” Cork offered.
“It would be interesting,” Hanover replied, “to find out just how much you know.”
Cork moved, and Lamarck and Peterson tensed, ready to spring. He held his hands up to show he meant no harm.
“Most of it’s pretty simple. GameTech supplies the Chippewa Grand Casino with all of its gaming equipment. GameTech purchases the equipment from a number of companies, then leases to the casino. If you compare the cost of leasing with the outright purchase price, you’ll see that within a very short time the casino has paid out far more to GameTech than the machines would ever be worth. Over several years, it could amount to millions. Quite a carrot to dangle in front of you wasn’t it, Helm?”
“What do you mean?”
“The judge was a son of a bitch. Power hungry. When he cut his own political throat, he started looking for other avenues. My guess is that Harlan Lytton was his connection with the brigade, and he offered you a partnership in GameTech, a continuing source of substantial income to finance arms for the brigade. In return, he wanted to wear a uniform and be saluted by men like Bo and Al, here.”
“Like we’d ever salute that old prick,” Lamarck scoffed.
“He wanted to share command, Helm?” Cork guessed. “That was part of the bargain?”
“Share?” Hell Hanover nearly spit. “The bastard wanted it all. He was a pain in the ass.”
“So you eliminated him.”
Hanover appeared to be truly confounded. “What are you talking about?”
“What I don’t understand,” Cork went on, “is why you killed him before you knew where he kept all the paperwork.”
“Are you crazy, O’Connor? What the hell are you talking about, killed the judge? He killed himself. The old shit was riddled with cancer. Everybody knows that.” Hanover stared at him, still looking puzzled.
From the hallway beyond the door came the thud of boots.
“Set’er up there, Roy,” a man said. “We can pull down those ceiling tiles and get to the ducts from here. Blueprints say there’s a junction up above.”
Hanover exchanged a look of concern with his men. His blue eyes shot to the broken glass on the door.
“Let me ask you a question, Helm,” Cork ventured, speaking quietly, as if for the benefit of the men of the brigade. “Were you thinking of killing me?”
“I’m still thinking of it,” Helm said.
“I wouldn’t if I were you.”
“Why? If you were me.”
“Those men out there, for one thing. Witnesses. Loose ends. Unless you intend to kill a lot of innocent people, too.”
“Sometimes innocent people have to die,” Hanover said.
“There’s no reason to kill me. Or them. Especially if it’s true you didn’t kill the judge.”
“I wouldn’t have minded killing him, but I didn’t.”
“What I’m saying is that on paper you’ve committed no crime. The partnership agreement seems valid enough. So do the equipment leases. It looks like the judge took care of taxes and anything else that might have brought GameTech under too much scrutiny. So far everything’s legal. Except for the military hardware hanging on the hips of your honor guard there.”
Lamarck and Peterson automatically glanced down at their weapons.
“Why don’t you call it a day, Helm,” Cork suggested.
Hanover’s mouth was thin and tight, as if a razor had been drawn across his face in a bloodless cut. “We’ll lose GameTech. You’ll see to that.”
“You were going to lose it anyway. The judge’s untimely death did that, not me. Too many people looking too closely at things. If it hadn’t been me, it would have been somebody else. Cut your losses, Helm. This isn’t Lexington and Concord yet.”
From the hallway came the snap of a stepladder locking into place, followed by the scrape of its aluminum legs on tile. “Get Luther on the walkietalkie, tell him we’ll be down here a while. We’ll let him know when we hit the junction.”
“What’re we gonna do?” Lamarck asked.
“Leave now, Helm. There’ll be other battles for the brigade,” Cork offered judiciously.
Peterson said, “We gotta do something, Helm.”