"The one with the sniper rifle?" Grynard interrupted.
"Right."
"And you were more concerned about a small-caliber automatic weapon than what you've described as a larger- caliber scoped rifle with… what did you say…?" Grynard looked down at his notebook. "A tripod?"
"Bipod. Two legs. Military type. And to answer your question, I would have been concerned about guys with slingshots if they were aiming the damn things at me," Lightstone said evenly.
"Yes, of course," Grynard nodded sympathetically. "Please go on."
"And then we were fired on when we went back up in the Cessna, so we fire back-"
"With the Colt Commando?"
"Because I'd lost my. 357 back at the outcropping when I ran out of ammunition. I don't suppose any of you guys have managed to find it yet?"
"No, we haven't found your duty weapon, or Refuge Officer Jackson's, or any larger-caliber casings, or any evidence of a bipod-mounted weapon being fired in the general area you described to our agents." A1 Grynard shook his head regretfully. "Nor have we been able to confirm your statement that your plane was hit, as you and Special Agent Woeshack put it…" Grynard referred to his notebook again "… several dozen times. Unfortunately, as you undoubtedly realize by now, thin aluminum panels seem to burn very quickly when-"
"Hey, wait a minute. I know we got hit because-" Woeshack started to interrupt, but Lightstone waved him off.
"I'm sure that if we search long enough," the clearly unperturbed FBI agent went on, "we will undoubtedly find both duty weapons, and some evidence of the other rifle, and possibly even some brains of the individual that you claim to have killed. And perhaps, if you… excuse me, I meant if we are real lucky, our laboratory just might be able to verify your contention that there were a large number of bullet strikes on what little remains of your plane. But there's a great deal of very rugged country out here-"
"And right now, you don't believe much of anything we've told you?" Lightstone finished.
"I do understand that we are all fellow law-enforcement officers," A1 Grynard smiled easily as he put away his notebook, "but I have to tell you that I find this case-and you, in particular, Mr. Lightstone-to be quite vexing."
"Oh, really?" Lightstone smiled. "And why is that?"
"Because I find it difficult to understand why the Chareaux brothers, assuming that at least one or two of them are still alive, would remove the body of one of their associates but leave their own brother's body here.
"Nor can I understand," A1 Grynard went on, "why it is that when we query your background, we can easily retrieve your police records from San Diego. However, when we try to follow up on your transfer to the federal government, we discover that aside from your fairly impressive training records at FLETC, no one at the U.S. Customs Service seems to remember you."
"I told your agents-"
"That you were placed on a covert assignment because of your previous police experience," A1 Grynard nodded, no longer making any pretense of needing to refer to his notebook. "Which does make a certain amount of sense. Unfortunately, you declined to describe the nature of this assignment-"
"As I told your agent, it's my understanding that the investigation is still ongoing."
"— or the name of your immediate supervisor, which I suppose is reasonable for someone working a deep-cover assignment." A1 Grynard smiled. "But what we found to be far more difficult to understand was why you failed to mention the fact that approximately one year ago, Special Agent Paul McNulty booked you into the Anchorage Police Department jail on suspicion of dealing in illegal ivory."
"Uh…"
"Oh, no, that's quite all right," ASAC A1 Grynard said, holding up his hand. "I'm sure that you could provide me with an explanation that would keep my staff busy for the next three or four weeks. And under normal circumstances, I really wouldn't really mind, because that's what they get paid for."
Lightstone tried to interrupt again, but A1 Grynard would not have it.
"You see, we're shorthanded, too, and we're awfully busy right now trying to figure out who did kill Special Agent McNulty. So I'll tell you what. Why don't you take that helicopter ride back to Anchorage and get that wound of yours looked at, then start becoming acquainted with your new job as-what was it? — senior resident agent of the Anchorage office? I'm sure you'll find that sufficiently distracting that you won't see any need to leave the Anchorage area for, oh, let's say for about three or four weeks. How does that sound to you?"
"Like you and I aren't going to be getting along very well for the next few days," Henry Lightstone said evenly, nodding his head in appreciation of the senior FBI agent's interrogative skills.
"I think that's probably a fair statement," A1 Grynard agreed, his light gray eyes taking on that glint of amusement again. He started to turn away, then stopped and turned to face the two agents once more.
"Oh yes, I almost forgot to mention one other fascinating bit of information," he said calmly, his penetrating gray eyes staring straight into the eyes of Henry Lightstone. "It seems that two other Fish and Wildlife Service Special agents who happened to be working with Paul McNulty at the time of your, uh, booking incident last year have recently turned up missing."
"What?" Lightstone blinked in shock.
"Special Agent-Pilot Larry Paxton and Assistant Special Agent in Charge Carl Scoby," Grynard recited for memory. "Those names mean anything to you?"
"What happened?" Lightstone demanded in a cold, hard, and unforgiving voice.
"Paxton's plane has been overdue from a routine patrol flight over the Florida Everglades since Monday afternoon. And Scoby hasn't checked back in from a routine contact with a female informant somewhere in southern Arizona. That also took place last Monday. I don't suppose you know anything about either of these two incidents?"
"No, I don't," Henry Lightstone whispered, his eyes glazed with barely suppressed rage.
"Then why don't you and your associate get on that helicopter, while I'm still in the mood to be friendly to a fellow law-enforcement officer?"
Then A1 Grynard turned and walked back over to the camouflaged tarp that covered the lifeless body of Paul McNulty.
Chapter Thirty-Six
"Is she okay?" Thomas Woeshack asked quietly when Lightstone finally came out of the room.
"Yeah, pretty much. They gave her something to help her relax," Lightstone said with a discernible edge to his voice as he gently pulled the door to the hospital room closed.
"What about tonight?" the Native Alaskan special agent asked as they started walking down the linoleum hallway to the central nurses' station.
"Marie's going to take her back to the house," Lightstone replied, his manner suggesting that his mind was far away. "Said she'll stay there with her until her sister gets here tomorrow afternoon."
"Do you think she would mind if my family brought food tomorrow?" Woeshack asked after a moment. "It's a tradition among our people, but
…"
Lightstone blinked and then seemed to refocus himself as he looked over at the still-shaken young agent.
"I think Martha would really appreciate that," he nodded.
"Good. I'll tell them."
Woeshack was silent for a long moment as he continued to match Henry Lightstone's steady strides. Then, when they finally stopped in front of the nurses' station, Woeshack turned to Lightstone again.
"You know, I think being in that room when you told her about Paul was one of the toughest moments in my life," he whispered, his voice tight with emotion. "We Eskimos are a very fatalistic people, and we are… taught, I guess that's the right word, to accept death as a natural part of life. But she-"
"It's a rough deal any way you look at it," Lightstone nodded sympathetically. "They were married a long time. You put in that many years together, and get that close to retirement, you've got a right to hope that nothing like this is ever going to happen."