A local film star had donated his son’s outdated PlayStation and a dozen games for the entertainment of the inmates. Crabtree was engaged in combat with guns blazing, a pair of headphones over his ears. Walt could hear the dull zing and pop of explosions through the headphones. He caught a glimpse of the screen, a small computer monitor. It showed a landscape like Afghanistan, rugged high desert; it showed a distant mountain range, angular against a bomb-flashing sky.
The thing was: that landscape looked impossibly familiar. Not all that different than many parts of Idaho.
Walt grabbed the cell bars with either hand.
He knew how to find Coats’s cabin.
THE COMMAND CENTER ’S scarred oval conference table held four computers, including the one confiscated from Crabtree’s RV. Walt studied the intent faces of the four boys at the keyboards: Crabtree; Walt’s nephew, Kevin; a boy of sixteen named Wilder; and one other, Jason. Jason and Wilder had been recruited from the Alternative School by Crabtree; he knew them to be serious gamers.
As he passed Kevin, Walt ruffled his hair and patted him on the back. The idea had come to Walt as he’d witnessed Crabtree at the PlayStation, the Afghan mountain ridges slipping past. The boys were all currently using the satellite imaging software, Google Earth, in an attempt to reconcile the distinct ridges seen in the refrigerator-collage photographs with the true Idahoan landscape. The boys, experts with either a joystick or mouse, could place themselves into Google’s virtual landscape, tipping the horizon, zooming in or out, and even spinning a full three hundred and sixty degrees around a single point, while attempting to match the skyline in the photos to the satellite imagery.
With thousands of mountain peaks to compare, this task might have proved interminable, but Crabtree had further contributed with a simple observation: four of the peaks were snow-topped. Three of the four photos were time- and date-stamped, as was the postcard itself. A phone call to the Forest Service, followed by a second call to the National Interagency Fire Center, in Boise, which tracked snow cover, put the elevation of the snow line at nine thousand feet on the day the snapshots had been taken nearly a year earlier.
Walt’s staff had narrowed the candidates by marking all mountain peaks over nine thousand feet on a topographic map; they narrowed it further by color-coding any ranges that contained three such adjacent peaks within a twenty-mile radius.
Now, with twenty-one circles drawn on the map in overlapping rings, the boys were working the computers, using Google Earth, trying to match horizon for horizon-the photographs to the computer screens.
It would have taken Walt’s deputies hours to understand and control the Google software; the boys were at it in minutes. He walked around the table, watching over the boys’ shoulders. To the untrained eye, the images moved quickly. It felt as if he were flying down to ground level and spinning around, eyes wide open. More than once Walt wanted to tell the kids to slow down, but their eyes worked differently than his, their motor control tied to the mouse or joystick: where he saw a blur, they saw distinct images.
Forty minutes into the experiment, Crabtree used a look to call Walt to his side. The boy raised his finger to the screen, pointing out several peaks. Then he pointed to the same peaks on the enlargements of the photographs from the collage.
“Uh-huh,” Walt said, noting the similarities. Excitement rose in his chest, but he said nothing more. There had been five false alarms prior to this.
“These shacks,” Crabtree said, indicating objects in two of the photographs, “are here… and here.” He pointed to the screen, helping Walt to spot the small geometrical shapes created by roofs, mostly hidden beneath the abundance of conifers. Two triangles. A piece of a rectangle. They looked like little more than shadows. Walt would never have seen them.
“And these shots,” Crabtree continued, “look to me like they were taken back here. There’s a field about a quarter mile behind the cabin. This creek is on one side.”
Walt’s nephew, Kevin, was out of his chair, also looking over Crabtree’s shoulder. He picked up a coordinate and then quickly found the same location on his screen. Walt stood between the boys, watching the two screens fill with images. Kevin’s locked onto a view that perfectly matched one of the snapshots, while Crabtree obtained a perspective where the computer-realized mountain peaks on the computer matched point for point with those in the photograph.
“Write down the coordinates,” Walt said.
He leaned into Crabtree and whispered, “Don’t look now but you just bought yourself a free pass.”
56
BY TWO P.M., WALT HAD NOTIFIED THE FBI THAT HE WAS leading an exploratory team into a remote area of the Challis National Forest. He did this out of necessity: he needed the Bureau’s assistance in arranging air support and he hoped to gain political backing for his decision to hold back the information about the raid from the Challis sheriff, as he feared there was a mole in that office.
The timing of this announcement was critical. He made it far enough in advance of the operation to allow the Bureau to feel included but not enough time for the Bureau’s direct participation. Having recruited a team of eighteen by cherry-picking the various police and sheriff departments in the valley, he had assembled a formidable group. But the final decision of who was to accompany him on the lead attack had yet to be made.
The eighteen did not fit well around the command center’s table. Half of the men were standing. Walt directed the group’s attention to a PowerPoint presentation put together by Nancy.
“Our challenge,” he said, now halfway into his briefing, “is accessibility and, therefore, timing. There are no roads within six miles of the cabin. In the summer, there must be trails, but that doesn’t help us. You either know your way in or you don’t. Given the probability of a hostage and the physical layout of the terrain-note the surrounding hills-there’s no easy way to advance assets on the ground without risking being seen or heard and therefore putting the hostage at risk. For this reason, we will divide into three groups-Alpha, Bravo, Delta-and take a different approach.
“Snowmobiles can be heard nearly two miles off in the backcountry, as many of you know. Helicopters, well beyond that. For this reason, and because we anticipate sentries, teams will abandon the snowmobiles in these three locations,” he said, pointing to the screen, “and snowshoe in from there along these routes. The leaders will have GPS coordinates to follow. These routes are through difficult terrain but take the teams away from the most likely routes used to access the compound. We expect those routes may be under guard or even trip-wired.
“I, and one other, will be flying in, in a glider, just ahead of you, in an effort to secure the hostage in advance of a possible firefight.”
“So the feds gave it back?”
Walt didn’t catch who’d said that. A half-dozen heads hung, to mask snickers.
“My glider happens to have been confiscated, yes,” he allowed. “But Luke Walen’s stepped up and offered his. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll continue the briefing?”
The heads came up and a sense of mirth filled the room. He didn’t mind it coming at his expense. He thought they might pay more attention now.
“We will land here, in this open field, and proceed on foot, north-northwest, toward the cabin. If possible, using infrared, I will have identified the number and position of warm bodies down there, providing intel that should aid your advance. Radio traffic will be limited. Just remember: at least two, hopefully three, of us are friendlies. We’ll bring a vest for the hostage, but do me a favor and verify your targets.”
A nervous chuckle passed around the room.
“The individual team leaders will brief you on your group’s route and your role in the operation. Some of you are perimeter control, some a strike force, and some are holding back for extrication. There’s a shock and awe component to this that I want you to all be aware of: once our attack has begun, at least one helicopter, possibly two, will secure the airspace above the compound. They’re there to help get us out, but my hope here is also to confuse and intimidate the enemy. Our teams need to be braced for that. We don’t want anyone made jumpy or trigger-happy by the noise and chaos that follows. Questions?”