"Mr. Bloom," Wolfe said after a few moments, using every bit of willpower he possessed to maintain what remained of his dignity, "I was assured by people high up in the Interior Department that there were no such investigations being conducted anywhere near Yellowstone National Park."
Wolfe paused, sighed deeply, then went on.
"I have no justifiable excuse for my behavior in this matter; however, I do believe that we may be able to take advantage of a procedural loophole to derail this investigation completely."
The word "derail" seemed to get Albert Bloom's attention. He blinked and then stared at Wolfe.
"Yes, go on," he growled.
"All major covert investigations conducted by our Fish and Wildlife Service officers must be approved at a higher level," Wolfe explained. "We insist on that to make certain that overzealous agents don't cause Interior undue embarrassment by conducting investigations that are, shall we say, politically inconvenient."
"You think that you can block this investigation on the basis that it might embarrass you?" Bloom whispered incredulously, finding it difficult to comprehend the arrogance and the stupidity of the man sitting before him.
"Oh no, of course not," Wolfe smiled. "What I'm talking about is a procedural issue. Or more to the point, a failure of procedure."
"Yes, go on," Bloom said, motioning with one hand impatiently.
"As best we can tell," Wolfe said with growing confidence, "this investigation was not approved at a higher level. At least there are no approval forms on record, which would suggest that the agents conducted the investigation on their own. Basically, a failure to follow proper administrative procedures. It happens occasionally. Not necessarily the fault of the agents, of course." Wolfe smiled. "As we all know, they are a very dedicated group of men and women. But occasionally their dedication and their enthusiasm will carry them a little too far. And when that happens, the courts have no option but to drop the case."
Albert Bloom still wasn't smiling, but his face was more composed now, and he was starting to nod slowly in understanding.
"It's a shame," Wolfe went on, "especially when career criminals like the Chareaux brothers occasionally get off. But I believe the public understands that our system of justice is far too precious to be undermined by failures of procedure, well intentioned as they may be."
"Do you seriously believe that you can, as you put it, derail this investigation without attracting any suspicion to yourself or anyone else associated with ICER?" Bloom asked skeptically.
"Yes, I do," Wolfe said calmly. "In fact, I'm absolutely certain of it."
"Well, I'm not," Bloom responded, but the anger in his voice had clearly receded.
"Albert," Lisa Abercombie finally said in an uncharacteristically subdued voice, sensing her opportunity, "Reston and I realize that we have made a horrible and unforgivable mistake, but we are absolutely certain that we can recover."
"How, by invoking 'failure of procedures'?" Bloom demanded.
"That, and by making absolutely sure that no one can connect us to that hunt," Abercombie nodded.
"And how do you intend to do that?"
"Only three people can testify that they actually saw us hunting illegally," she said. "Alex Chareaux, his brother Butch, and this man Lightner. You have already made arrangements for their defense. We will simply add whatever incentives are necessary to insure their silence in the future."
"Will that work?"
"I'm convinced it will," Abercombie nodded. "We understand that the Chareaux brothers have had some previous difficulties with the law in Louisiana. Something about two game wardens being tortured and killed. Under the circumstances, they might even be agreeable to a complete relocation out of the country. As a matter of fact, South Africa strikes me as the perfect solution. A place where they could hunt and guide to their heart's content.
"And in the meantime," she went on, encouraged by Albert Bloom's grudging nod, "we will see to it that every one of the items that could possibly link Reston and me to that scene-vehicles, guns, everything- are immediately destroyed."
"Now wait a minute!" Wolfe started to protest. "I spent a hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars on that rifle, and I'll be damned-"
"You will destroy it, immediately," Bloom snarled. "The rifle, and the paperwork or photographs or anything else that would indicate that you ever possessed such a weapon."
Then he shifted his gaze back to Lisa Abercombie.
"And what about this man Lightner?"
"Don't worry about that either," Lisa Abercombie said, her voice as cold and determined as always. "I will see to it personally that Mr. Lightner is taken care of."
"Are you still mad at me?" Lisa Abercombie whispered as she used her trembling arms to push herself away from Albert Bloom's amazingly hairy and muscular chest.
It was late, and they had argued some more over dinner, but Lisa Abercombie was patient because she knew that once they were back in Bloom's penthouse suite, she would have the advantage.
They had deliberately left the window open, and the hot, humid Washington, D.C., air had immediately filled the darkened and luxurious master bedroom, providing a continuous source of sweat that allowed their well-toned bodies to slide smoothly against each other.
Albert Bloom slowly slid his fingers up along Abercombie's sweaty torso until her slick and swollen breasts were resting in the palms of his hands.
"No, I'm not mad, I'm worried about you," he finally said in a soft whisper. "I know that you like to take risks, and I love you because of that, but you must never let it get out of control." Then he slid his thumbs across her hard nipples.
Lisa Abercombie moaned softly and brought her lips down against his ear.
"You know," she whispered in a silky-smooth voice, "that I never allow things to get out of control."
Chapter Twenty-Five
Thursday June 6th
Supervisory Special Agent Paul McNulty looked at the five members of his Special Operations Bravo Team-two were lying in rented hospital beds, and one looked like a monstrous reject from a low-budged horror film-and raised his nearly empty beer bottle in salute.
"To the Chareauxs," he said, smiling contentedly. "May they rot in the can for a hundred years."
"Right on!"
"Hear, hear."
"Fuckin'-A."
"You betcha!"
"Banzai!"
McNulty's five covert agents responded from their chairs and beds by raising and then rapidly emptying their own beer bottles. Six more bottles were then lobbed into the general direction of the large plastic trash can that had been set in the far corner of the room, the corner walls showing the effects of several failed bank shots.
In the meantime, Dwight Stoner, their resident mummy, obligingly began to pull the caps off of another six-pack.
"Okay, boys," Marie Pascalaura said as she cautiously opened the door and then came into the room, looking thoroughly professional and absolutely beautiful with her darkly tanned facial features, her patient smile, and her long, dark hair flowing over her crisply white-albeit snug- nurse's uniform. "How's everyone doing in here? Is my house going to survive your visit?"
"Oh-oh, Henry. Watch yourself, it's the nurse," Mike Takahara observed, his face red from the two beers he had slowly but determinedly consumed. "She's probably tougher here than at the hospital."
"Yeah, man, better watch out for your ass," Larry Paxton advised. "That lady packs a mean needle."
"Oh, I don't know, I think she's pretty nice," Stoner said as he started handing out the open bottles, holding three in each thickly bandaged hand.
"I can see it coming, Henry," Carl Scoby warned as he accepted another beer from Stoner. "The monster falls in love with the hero's girl, the girl falls in love with the monster, and they run off into the sunset with each other."