Porter nodded and was led off toward the sheriff's Hummer as Ireland turned to Katarain, who stood in the midst of his men. He appeared to be saying good-bye to them as he hugged each one.
When he saw the sheriff approach, Katarain handed his rifle to Esteban and stepped forward with his arms outstretched.
"I ain't gonna hug you if that's what you're thinking," Ireland said, pulling out a Mancuso and offering one to Katarain.
"No, I was offering my wrists to be handcuffed," the Basque said.
"What the hell for?"
"Our agreement," Katarain replied, a confused look on his face as he accepted the cigar. "I hope you will allow me to attend the funeral for my daughter before I am extradited. Otherwise, I am your prisoner."
Ireland lit Katarain's cigar and stepped back. "Still have no idea what you're talking about, Santacristina." He looked back at the compound, where the prisoners were being loaded onto the bus. "Not a bad day's work," he said. "Minimal bloodshed, too. In fact, only one casualty. But at least it was one of the bad guys-seems the noted Basque terrorist, Jose Luis Arregi Katarain, resisted arrest and died in a hail of gunfire."
A look of understanding passed over Katarain's face and he smiled, but then shook his head sadly. "No, my friend," he said. "The Spanish authorities would demand some proof, and then you would be in trouble."
"Like hell I would," Ireland replied. "Did everything by the book. Fingerprinted the bastard, sent them off to Interpol, who identified the dead man as a wanted terrorist. Story over, book closed."
"You would do this for me?" Santacristina/Katarain said, choking up.
"Hell no," Ireland replied, and clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm doing it for your little girl."
27
The parking lot at the Payette County District Attorney's Office in Sawtooth was empty except for one other car when Kip Huttington and Clyde Barnhill drove up. "You keep your mouth shut," the attorney said. "And let me do any talking."
As they got out of the car, Dan Zook walked out of the building and held the front door open for them.
"I demand to know what this is all about," Barnhill hissed through clenched teeth when he reached the door.
"Let's talk about this in my office, shall we, gentlemen," Zook replied. "Too many ears about."
Barnhill lifted his head and a slight smile crossed his face. No ears even close. I believe I smell someone trying to sell information, he thought. "Well, it better be good. I got better things to do on a Saturday afternoon," he said, allowing his voice to sound a little more agreeable.
All in all, it had been a good week, Barnhill thought. The way he saw it, the trial had been a toss-up and would have hinged on whether the jury thought Mason and Dalton were lying on the witness stand. Then he'd come up with the brilliant idea of having Huttington drop his bomb about O'Toole confessing.
Sheer genius, he thought, mentally patting himself on the back. It had come to him when he was going back over the events before the trial, looking for any little tidbit that Zusskin, who he didn't entirely trust despite their "agreement," might have missed. That's when he remembered the conversation that he and Huttington had had with O'Toole about his resigning to save himself, and the university, the trouble of going through the hearing.
Even with Meyers making Huttington look like he'd lied, or at least omitted important information, in his deposition, Barnhill would take the stand and essentially back up the university president's version. The plan was to recall O'Toole as a defense witness and get him to admit that he had met with the two of them, and they'd asked him to resign. Barnhill chuckled as he imagined himself on the stand claiming that the request to resign had followed O'Toole's admission of guilt and his "nigger" statement.
Heck, it wouldn't even be the end of the world if the university and the ACAA lost the lawsuit, Barnhill thought as Zook led them to the elevator. The university would blame the ACAA for being overzealous when all he and Huttington had done was bring a complaint before the panel for review.
Then the university and the ACAA would all get slapped with some-probably quite large-award for damages. But except for a reasonable deductible, their insurance companies would pay the bulk. And, of course, they'd have to welcome O'Toole back as the baseball coach.
Surely even Big John Porter would see that they'd done everything they could to get his son back on the team. They'd just blame the Jew bastard, Karp. Maybe then Porter would finish the job started in New York and shoot him dead in the courtroom. Now, that would be a happy ending, he thought. But his bosses would just have to find another Big John to act as a liaison between Barnhill and the Unified Church of the Aryan People.
The Unified Church was essentially Big John's baby. He'd set it up secretly as his headquarters for the day the race war started. He even had a bombproof bunker, just like his idol, Adolph Hitler.
The man was a buffoon, but he was a useful buffoon. Barnhill's employers had needed a secret place to train its operatives, and the Unified Church fit the bill. Those sent to the camp by his employers were largely segregated and didn't mix with the usual collection of inbreds, losers, and troglodytes found in the neo-Nazi and Aryan camps. It would have been like mixing purebred mastiffs with mongrel junkyard dogs. The latter could bite, but the former were bred to kill.
Oh, don't be so hard on the Unified Church morons, Clyde, he thought as they got off the elevator and headed to Zook's office down the hall. Their hearts are in the right place, and even Hitler needed cannon fodder and brownshirts for beating up Jews.
Speaking of Jews, Barnhill thought, smiling as he remembered the panic when Karp first showed up in Sawtooth. Boy, howdy, there had been some intense telephone calls from back East, particularly with Jamys Kellagh. Of course, considering all the trouble his employers had had with Karp and Company, including the recent failure of yet another mission headed by Kellagh, he didn't blame them.
However, all the reports about Karp and O'Toole's brother being roommates had checked out. And, he'd pointed out to Kellagh, the case against O'Toole had been in the works long before Karp entered the picture. "I know it's weird," he said. "But it's purely coincidence, and he's shown no interest in our friends out at the Unified Church."
There was more at stake than just keeping Big John Porter and Little Rufus happy and in line. Barnhill had another mission and that had more to do with his position as the university's attorney. He'd been handed the position at the university and told to find a way to force Huttington into allowing the Unified Church and also his employers to launder large amounts of money through university investment funds. All universities invested in the stock market, bonds, and mutual funds, and nobody ever checked their records, especially at some small university in Podunk, Idaho.
The University of Northwest Idaho had also been selected because of its small but renowned Department of Computer Sciences, which had one of the most powerful mainframe Cray computers in the world. His employers had been quite successful at placing their own people within the department. And while he wasn't privy to what they did there, he'd been told that the computer was a match for anything the U.S. government, or anyone else, had at their disposal.
It had not taken much of an effort to find something to hold over Huttington. The man was a sex addict who had seducing coeds down to an art form. A private investigator had supplied plenty of photographs of the university president and several of his conquests, and Barnhill was about to blackmail him with a threat to go to his wife when Huttington got the little Basque bitch pregnant.
Barnhill had hardly been able to believe his luck when Huttington broke down in his office and started crying that he just had to help him. The girl had threatened to go to the Board of Regents and file a lawsuit. His wife would leave him, and he'd lose his job and never find work at a university or college again.