“Why not? That’s where we work.”
“Yeah, but you know how everyone there gossips.”
“They don’t gossip. They exchange and provide information. Information is power. Right?”
“Only when you keep it to yourself. Let’s just go online and learn about ELF.”
“You go online. I’m calling the expert.”
“Okay… but make it like a parlor game, like, ‘Hey, John, we have this bet going about extremely low frequency radio waves. My sister says they can hard-boil an egg, my husband says they’ll fry your brain.’ Okay?”
“Do you want him to think we’re idiots?”
“Exactly.”
“I’m not as good as you are at playing stupid.”
“Then I’ll call him.”
“We’ll both call him.”
We arrived in the hamlet of Ray Brook, and Kate slowed down. About two blinks later, we pulled into the parking lot of the state police headquarters. It was 8:05 A.M.
Kate took her briefcase, and we got out of the Taurus and started walking toward the building, but a car suddenly pulled out of a parking space and stopped right in front of us.
I wasn’t sure what that was about, but I was on my guard.
The driver’s-side window went down, and Hank Schaeffer stuck his head out. “Jump in.”
We got in his car, an unmarked Crown Victoria, I in the front, Kate in the back.
I wondered why he was waiting for us in the parking lot instead of the lobby, but he clarified the situation by saying, “I have company this morning.”
I didn’t need to ask.
He pulled onto the road and said, “Six of them. Three from the New York field office, two from Washington, and one from your shop.”
I said, “They’re from the government, and they’re here to help you.”
“They’re helping themselves to my files.”
Kate, in the back, said, “Excuse me. I’m FBI.”
I turned to her. “We’re not criticizing the FBI, darling.”
No reply.
I asked Schaeffer, “Who’s here from the ATTF?”
“Guy named Liam Griffith. Know him?”
“Indeed. He’s from the Office of Professional Responsibility.”
“What the hell is that?”
“That’s Fed talk for Internal Affairs.”
“Really? Well, he’s looking for both of you.”
I glanced back at Kate, who seemed a little upset.
Some people called Liam Griffith the Enforcer, but the younger guys who’d seen The Matrix too many times called him the Agent in Black. I called him a prick.
I recalled that Griffith was supposed to be at that meeting in Windows on the World, but he’d been either late or uninvited. In any case, he’d escaped the fate of everyone who’d been there that morning.
Also, I’d had a few run-ins with Mr. Griffith during the TWA 800 case, and my last words to him in the bar at Ecco’s had been, “Get the fuck out of my sight.”
He took my suggestion, though he didn’t take it well.
Now, he was back.
Kate asked Schaeffer, “What did you tell him?”
“I told him you’d probably stop in today. He said he’d like to see you both when you arrive.” He added, “I figured you’d want to postpone that.”
I said to Schaeffer, “Thanks.”
He didn’t acknowledge that. “Your boss, Tom Walsh, called right after you left. He asked what we discussed, and I referred him to you.”
I replied, “Good. I referred him to you. Did you tell him we were staying at The Point?”
“No. Why?”
I glanced back at Kate, then said to Schaeffer, “Well, he left a message for us there.”
Schaeffer reiterated, “I didn’t mention it.”
Maybe, I thought, the FBI guys from the city, or Liam Griffith, had interviewed my friend Max at Hertz. I asked Schaeffer, “Did Walsh say we were assigned to this case?”
“No. But neither did he say that Griffith was here to pull you off the case. But I think he is.”
If Kate and I could speak freely now, we’d probably agree that basically we’d been screwed by Tom Walsh. In fact, I couldn’t keep that in, and I said to Kate, “Tom reneged on our deal.”
She responded, “We don’t know that… Maybe Liam Griffith just wants to… make us understand the terms of our assignment here.”
I replied, “I don’t think that’s why Walsh called the Office of Professional Responsibility, or why Griffith would fly here.”
She didn’t answer, but Schaeffer said, “Last I heard, you had seven days to crack the case, and until I hear otherwise, you’re the investigating team.”
“Correct,” I said.
Meanwhile, I needed to keep one step ahead of Liam Griffith.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Less than an hour after we’d left Ray Brook, we turned off Route 56 at Stark Road.
Our cell phones and beepers had been unusually quiet all morning, which would have been a real treat if it wasn’t so ominous.
In fact, our usual phone pal, Tom Walsh, was lying low now that the Enforcer, Liam Griffith, was on the prowl. At this point, Walsh and Griffith had chatted a few times, speculating as to the whereabouts of Detective Corey and Special Agent Mayfield, a.k.a. the renegade agents.
I was certain that Griffith had assured Walsh that the miscreants would be along shortly, and that before they got halfway across the lobby of state police headquarters, they’d be in his custody and headed out to the airport, where an FBI helicopter was waiting to take them back to Manhattan.
Well, that wasn’t going to happen.
I shut off my cell phone and beeper and motioned for Kate to do the same.
Schaeffer took the same route that Rudy had given us, and within fifteen minutes, we were at the T-intersection where McCuen Pond Road ran north to the Custer Hill Club gatehouse.
Close to the intersection, I saw an orange pickup truck with a state seal on the door parked on the shoulder. Two men in coveralls were clearing brush.
Schaeffer slowed down and said to us, “State police.”
He stopped, and the two guys recognized the boss and came up to the car. They looked like they wanted to salute, but they were undercover, so they just nodded and said, “Good morning, Major.”
Schaeffer asked, “Any activity?”
One of them replied, “No, sir. Nothing going in or out. Quiet.”
He joked, “Don’t work too hard. That’ll blow your civil service cover.”
Both troopers got off good laughs for the boss, and we moved on.
Schaeffer said to us, “If they see a vehicle coming from Custer Hill and turning toward Route 56, they’ll radio to an unmarked vehicle who’ll pick up the subject vehicle on the highway, as we did last night with the Custer Hill van and the Enterprise car. If the subject vehicle turns this way, into the woods, then the truck here will follow.”
Major Schaeffer continued, “Last night, we used a truck from the power company. In a day or so, we’re going to run out of excuses to be at that intersection in the middle of the woods.”
I asked, “Do you think anyone from the Custer Hill property is even aware of these vehicles?”
“Absolutely. My guys say the Custer Hill security people run a Jeep out to this road at least twice a day, look around, then go back. Sort of like a perimeter recon.”
I said, “Bain Madox was an infantry officer.”
“I know that. And he knows he has to recon outside his perimeter.”
Madox was also paranoid, which was useful when people really were after you.
We continued down the logging road, and Kate said, “John, I see what you meant about Harry’s surveillance. It could have been done off the property, back there where Major Schaeffer has his team.”
“Right. One way in, one way out.” And for those guests arriving in the Custer Hill van from the airport, there should have been a stakeout at the airport to see who arrived on the Boston and Albany flights and who went into the van.