Carnosaur Crimes (15 page)

He sat back in the recliner. “This agent has received instructions to go to a specific shop located in Billings and meet with somebody who will continue negotiations. Probably a poacher- dealer who assesses the situation before sending someone directly to the seller with the skull. Normally, I'd have Dr. LaPierre go in with our contact agent, but I can't this time. The front man expects to meet an Indian man. We've deliberately set it up this way so the buyer seems as unlikely to be helping the police as possible. Standback is going in as the buyer, and you're his wife.”

Ansel nodded. It made sense, but it was scary work. “What am I supposed to do?”

“I'll do all the business talking,” Standback said. “You mostly look and listen. You're the fluff to make it look legit and to make sure that what this guy tells me is true. You've got the working knowledge of fossils. We'll be shown photos and documentation for the skull. You've got to clue me before we leave that we're going to get the stolen Utah skull we want along with bogus paperwork. It's evidence that they're selling black-market merchandise.”

“Once we crack the first link in the chain, we can follow where it leads,” Outerbridge interjected. “Right up to the major players organizing this poaching ring and raking in the money. This is the first step and between us, the IRS, Customs, and the National Park Service, these thugs will go down hard for theft, fraud, customs violations, and a host of other crimes.”

“That's it? I go in one time, look pretty, and cross reference what I know about the Utah skull's morphology with the info we're given?” Ansel clarified.

Outerbridge smiled. “That's it. A couple hours of work.”

“Aren't you forgetting something? Like how you're going to record what happens while Agent Standback and I are in there?”

Outerbridge leaned forward, his eyes bright. “Agent Walthers has already checked out the shop by going undercover as your average rockhound. Turns out the building's got surveillance cameras inside and out just to watch who comes and goes. We're going to use their own video system to record everything they do with us, and they won't even know about it. Kinda like letting them hang themselves.”

“How is that possible?” Ansel asked.

Outerbridge pulled a square white plastic device from his case and passed it to Ansel. “That's an X10 nanny cam. It's a mini-wireless surveillance camera that you can buy for under one-hundred bucks. They're popular for watching babysitters, property, and anything else you want to keep an eye on. We set up close to the shop and use a hand-held directional antenna connected to a laptop with a video card and intercept the shop's wireless video signals. Then we watch and record to DVD on our laptops the same thing the shop nanny cams are sending to the their TV security monitors. We already know where their shop cameras are. Inside the shop, both of you will be well within a one-hundred foot radius of their cameras in any direction. That's all we need.”

Ansel was totally intrigued. “Isn't highjacking the signal illegal?”

Standback smiled. “The act of wiretapping sound recordings on tape without permission is a federal crime. Not so with the interception of wireless video signals as long as it's lawful. We're trying to prevent a crime so the video images are even admissible as evidence.”

“So are you in or out at this point?” Outerbridge asked, taking the nanny cam gently from her.

Ansel could tell that he'd said all he would about Operation Dragon. Now it was time for her to ante up. Well, Dorbandt wanted her to go through with it, didn't he? And she didn't see anything wrong with giving the FBI several brief hours of her time. This could be very interesting.

“I'm in,” she said firmly. She looked at Standback for an instant, and he gave her a heart-stopping, supportive smile. Dixie, too, grinned from ear.

“Welcome to our team, Miss Phoenix,” Outerbridge exclaimed as he snapped his briefcase shut like a happy man who'd completed a job well done. “We'll go in tomorrow. Dr. LaPierre will be staying with you tonight and briefing you about the Utah skull, the shop layout, and the undercover scenario,” he commanded before standing.

Ansel's mouth dropped open, her idea of working on the book drawing all night blown to smithereens. “Is that necessary? Couldn't we do it now?”

Outerbridge fixed her with a firm stare. “No. I want you well acquainted with FBI procedures. This isn't a game. I need a flawless negotiating session with these people. No mistakes. If they smell a rat, they'll disappear into the woodwork and six months of undercover work will go down the tubes.”

Standback got up. “See you soon, Ansel.”

“This will be great, honey,” Dixie added, remaining on the couch. “It'll be just us girls tonight. I'm really looking forward to it.”

Before Ansel had assimilated that Standback had called her by her first name, he and Outerbridge had exited the trailer with quiet expediency. She turned and looked at Dixie's pretty face, feeling out-foxed yet again.

Somehow she'd have to notify Dorbandt where she was going before she got spirited away to Billings.

Chapter 19

“Those who lie down with dogs get up with fleas.”

Blackfoot

Ansel noticed the odd looking ring on Dixie's left hand right after the agents left. It's dark gray tones stood out against the paleness of LaPierre's skin, and it was the only finger jewelry the paleontologist wore. A thick, non-metallic band with a flat round top. No stone, just that clear, circular plastic cover piece with pinwheel-like cutouts. It was exactly the same as Standback's which she'd seen the night he piloted her to the bluff. She'd forgotten to look and see if he'd been wearing it today.

Dixie sat across the dining room table from her, explaining the sting operation. Two folders were open on the tabletop, pulled earlier from her duffel bag. All Ansel could think about was that ring, and she glanced inconspicuously at it whenever she could. Why would two people on Outerbridge's team be wearing those?

Dixie looked straight at her. “Basically you and Parker will be going in as an Indian couple that just won three million in the Powerball lottery.”

Ansel's attention diverted from the ring. So Parker was Standback's first name. Now she could finally associate some personal information with the agent's face. She focused totally on what Dixie was saying as the woman pulled out a baggie with plastic cards inside.

“The FBI's got everything set up with the lottery commission for verifying your names as winners should anyone check out your story. You've also got fake IDs and histories in place which include social security numbers, licenses, license plates, multiple bank accounts, and plenty of high balance credit cards. Dump your own stuff and carry these. These guys may check you out by trying to trip you up with questions so memorize your new data, as well as this prepared sheet with both your biographies.”

She slid the baggie and typed papers across the table. Ansel picked them up. According to her license which sported a picture of her head taken right off her commercial Phoenix Studio website, her name was Angela Georges and she lived in Billings.

“What if they decide to go to my fake home at 5498 Midland Road or to phone there?”

“Not a problem. That's an FBI safe house. A female agent dressed as a maid will answer in either case and tell them you and your husband aren't home.”

Ansel smiled. “That's pretty slick.”

“The idea is that you're upper-income, Native American professionals and your new-found wealth has made you spend-crazy. You've decided to build a new house and you want to decorate it with all sorts of expensive art and sculptures.” Dixie grimaced. “You know the type, Yuppies who think fossils make fashionable conversation pieces during cocktail parties.”

“Sure,” Ansel agreed. “I went once to the home of a private collector who had a complete pterosaur skeleton set in a limestone slab on the wall of his home office instead of a painting. He claimed that the ninety-one-thousand dollar price was a bargain compared to a traditional object d'art of the same quality. It was an investment for him, along with one-thousand dollar a piece mudstone dragonfly fossils cut into accent tiles for his bathroom and a twenty-one thousand dollar, phallic-looking mammoth tusk over his bed.”

Dixie shook her head. Long silver-dangle earrings whipped back and forth. “It just makes my blood boil. It's the pretentious jerks with that mind set who make poaching profitable. If they're not buying fossil trophies from any source they can, they're taking fossil souvenirs right off the ground from the national parks. I see it all the time.”

“What park do you work in?”

“I work at Dinosaur National Monument. Been there five years.”

“That's in Utah. Did this Vernal skull we're buying come from near you?”

Something dark flickered across Dixie's shining face. “Fossils are stolen from all over Utah. As far as my park is concerned, a lot of park visitors just don't know any better, think taking a tiny piece of bone or rock won't hurt anything. The problem is, thousands of people come there every month. What if they all took something? Others are just plain greedy. They're private collectors who know what they're doing and don't care. On top of that, we're always battling to protect the fossils from poachers. It's a never-ending cycle.

Ansel wasn't fooled by Dixie's attempt to steer the conversation away from the precise origins of the Allosaurus skull. She made a mental note to do some research on Dinosaur National Monument and Vernal, Utah.

“Sure sounds like a wonderful job,” she said, shifting gears.

Dixie looked up again and smiled. “Yeah, I love it, despite the problems with keeping it safe from thieves, vandals, and tourists.”

Dixie blinked and got back on track. “Anyway, Ansel, you'll need to dress the part of a rich, frivolous wife: high-end, casual clothing and accessories, jewelry and makeup. Parker will carry the conversation. You stick near him and look over any potential sale materials. Like Outerbridge said, make sure we're getting the Allosaurus skull from the Vernal heist and let Parker know you're satisfied with the deal. Simple.”

“Not a problem. What type of pathologies am I looking for on the skull?”

Dixie picked up another folder with quick, thick fingers. The gray ring caught Ansel's eye again. God, the mystery of the bauble was going to drive her nuts all night long. She really wanted a closer look. She could ask LaPierre about it, but her instincts told her not to. The rings served some important purpose to the team if both an FBI agent and a NPS employee wore them. They weren't telling her something.

“Here's some glossies of the skull shot by park personnel before it was stolen from its dig site. They show the lateral side which was facing up out of the ground. Looks like a male.” She slid the color photos across the table.

“The skull is thirty-six inches long, very high, and laterally compressed,” Dixie continued. “There are the usual brow horns behind the eyes, plus the snout ridges. The teeth are almost fully intact, normally laterally compressed, and recurved. Two posterior teeth on the lower lateral mandible are missing. Visible pathologies seen upon initial excavation included two scar marks across the cheek and a half-inch diameter hole in the brain case, directly behind the ear hole.”

Ansel looked at the jumble of bones partially imbedded in fine sandstone as represented by the first photo. The large, brown-gold skull was nestled inside its own pelvis and surrounded by a cross-hatch of huge rib bones. This was its natural skeletal disposition. Geological drift over many centuries had moved the Allosaurus skull completely away from its original death position at the top of the neck. Now that skull was gone. Stolen by crooks and being sold on the black market to her tomorrow afternoon.

She looked at the next picture. It was a close-up lateral view of the entire skull with its huge eye socket and long jaw rows of upper and lower teeth. The bone scarring behind and to the side of the triangular, orbital opening was easily visible as deeply-gouged grooves. The very noticeable puncture behind and toward the top of the ear hole was also apparent.

Ansel gazed at Dixie. “Looks like this guy was in a fight. Tooth puncture in the rear and smaller teeth marks along the face. She gave Dixie the photos. “Wonder if this is what killed him.”

“Could be. Infection or brain damage might have made him unable to function even if he survived the initial attack. Anyway, thanks to those wounds and the missing teeth, you should be able to verify the skull as the one we want.” She gathered up the folders and then rubbed her shoulders. “I'm starved. Should we order out tonight? I'll foot the bill.”

Ansel looked at her watch. It was late. Nearly seven o'clock. “I'm sorry. I should have offered you something. We can either order out or I can throw something together. Whatever you'd like. And I need to show you your bedroom.”

“I don't want to put you to any trouble, honey. Let's get take-out. What are our choices?”

“Well, there's either pizza from Ancient Pasta in Big Toe or hamburgers and sandwiches from the Maverick Corral in Mission City. The Maverick food takes a while to get.”

“Pizza it is then,” Dixie replied. “Got any wine to go with it?”

“Sure. Red and white.” Just what she needed, Ansel thought, to be holed up with a social drinker the night before the onset of Operation Dragon. She didn't need the temptation to imbibe when she was really under stress.

“Red's fine. Let's order and break out the bottle. I need to cut loose. Been with those straight-laced, government boys for almost two weeks.” Dixie got up and left the table. From her duffel bag setting on the floor, she pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Mind if I smoke?”

Ansel kept her mouth shut and blinked away the first thing that wanted to come from her mouth. She'd never smoked and didn't care for the habit anywhere in her personal space. The seconds dragged by as Dixie waited.

Keep her happy and off guard, Ansel reasoned. As soon as the woman turned her back and gave her a chance, she was going to check out that duffel bag. And that ring if she could.

She flashed a magnanimous grin. “Make yourself at home.”

***

Ansel rolled over in bed and looked at the blood red numbers on the digital clock radio. One in the morning. Her long wait was over. Time to move. She threw back the covers and rose, treading barefoot across the bedroom carpet to the closed door. Then she grabbed a small penlight she'd left on the bureau before going to bed. The catch opened without a sound as she turned the knob and stepped into the hall.

Her master bedroom was on the west side of the double wide and at the end of a hall coming from the living room. Two more bedrooms and a full bath were on her left. Dixie was sleeping in the guest bedroom next to hers. The hallway looked clear. Dixie's door was closed. The bathroom door next to that was open.

According to Ansel's calculations, Dixie should be fast asleep by now. The paleontologist had consumed liberal portions of wine during their pizza meal and later banter in front of the TV. She'd kept refilling Dixie's drinking glass while merely sipping her own throughout the evening. Finally Dixie had wobbled down the hall to take a shower, then retired.

Ansel closed her door and went to the bathroom. As she suspected, Dixie had left her traveling paraphernalia there. Moonlight spearing through the small frosted window revealed a bundle of stripped clothing and shoes on the floor. The open duffel bag was perched precariously on the counter top beside the sink. A hodge-podge of beauty aids and dental hygiene products lay strewn across any other available counter space. Dixie's earrings, a gold necklace and the grey ring caught her gaze. She'd been hoping that Dixie had removed the jewelry before stepping into the shower.

She closed the bathroom door and picked up the ring. Using the penlight, she examined it more closely. The clear plastic pinwheel capped off a hollow interior and looked as if it could be easily popped out of its recess. A flash of silver in the hollow depths caught Ansel's eye and she worked the tiny light beam back and forth through the lattice design. In the bottom there was a square green chip stuck to a circular foil backing just like the one she'd found on the bluff.

She set the ring on the counter and mulled over this revelation. She'd have to check and see if the ERT wore these rings the next time she saw them. The most she could hope for was that Reid got back to her soon with some info about his foil tab What were these things? Even as she asked the question, a nagging suspicion tickled her psyche. It was connected to college and her classes on geology, but the final connection between its design and purpose still eluded her.

Frustrated, she went for the duffel bag, probing with her right hand deep inside for unusual items. She found some folders and yanked them out. Two header tabs were labeled “Biography” and “Allosaurus”. Dixie had used these to explain the sting operation and the skull pathologies. She flipped through them and found nothing new. The third file read “Medicine Line.”

Ansel recognized the name and it completely surprised her. The Medicine Line was the American Indian name given to the 49
^th
Parallel, or simply the United States-Canadian border above Montana. Montana was fortunate enough to share more than five-hundred and forty-five miles of adjoining land touching British Columbia, Alberta, and Saskatchewan.

The Medicine Line cut through rivers, glacial mountains, thick timber, and endless fields of wheat, marked by nothing but an imaginary line or short white pillars stating that the spot was an international boundary. The U.S. Border Patrol was responsible for law enforcement on the stateside and the RCMP monitored the Canadian side. Elk and moose wandered unchecked from one country to the next so crossing back and forth illegally could be easily accomplished in these remote areas as well. The Border Patrol was constantly monitoring for such activities.

As she reached to flip open the cover, she heard and felt the trailer's tremble from heavy footsteps coming down the hall. Her head snapped up. Dixie. Adrenalin shot through her body in a single burst of primal panic. She jammed the files into the duffel bag and threw clothes over them just as the footsteps stopped outside the bathroom door. The door knob grated loudly as it was twisted and Ansel's fear-laden paralysis evaporated. She had to hide, as impossible as that seemed inside the tiny bathroom.

Ansel bolted toward the tub with shower curtain, bare feet soundlessly stepping onto cold porcelain as she smoothly tugged the opaque, blue plastic curtain with yellow rubber duckies on it closed. She crouched near the water faucet, knees to nose so that her standing form wouldn't be back lighted by the ochre light coming in through the window. The door creaked open.

The sound of Dixie's heavy breathing and quick, cumbersome steps reverberated through the bathroom. Ansel held her breath, praying nothing caused the woman to open the curtain. The noise of clothing being slid away, loud yawns, and sniffles was soon followed by the physical weight of a human body settling upon the toilet. Ansel placed her hands over her mouth in an effort to contain her dismay and total discomfort with this turn of events. Only a couple feet and a thin polyvinyl sheet separated her from viewing Dixie's ablutions in all their glory.