No Man's Dog (33 page)

Mulheisen told him about the rifle he’d retrieved. Wunney agreed that it would be valuable evidence if there were any useful prints.

Mulheisen was cautious about Wunney’s enthusiastic plans. “What’s my position in all this?”

Wunney laughed. “I’ll deputize you, or whatever. I can always say that Tucker told me he wanted you on board, and he did, too. No need to say that he changed his mind. He didn’t say anything about that when we met anyway. You’re in it because this guy took a shot at you, at your house. This is an emergency . . . Tucker’s unavailable . . . time is of the essence. I can get a plane. We can be up there in an hour.”

“You can do all that?” Mulheisen said. Evidently, Wunney could. “We’ll need a warrant,” Mulheisen reminded him.

“No problem. I can have one waiting for us. I know Tucker’s crew, where they’re staying. No need to let on to them that Tucker doesn’t know, or might not go along. Hell, I can get a warrant before we lift off. How quick can you get into town?”

Mulheisen explained that he didn’t want to leave before Wunney’s men showed up. Wunney agreed to that. “I’ll come out there with them. You say the chopper took off from the marina? We’ll land there, then. What’s that kid’s name? I’ll call him.”

While he waited, Mulheisen had ample opportunity to get the full story from his mother. He told her he’d have to go back out, but he wouldn’t leave until some officers arrived to make sure she wasn’t bothered further. He got her to go to bed. She was quite tired anyway, and he could tell she had already adopted the attitude that he was making too much of this snooper.

“Don’t tell me,” she said, “it’s police business. Hush-hush. Which reminds me, one of your girlfriends came by to visit this morning. And now that I think of it, I’ve forgotten her name!” She told him about Helen. Mulheisen couldn’t for the life of him figure out
who it might have been. The notion of a woman who had been connected with Grootka just left him confused. All he could recall was a young African-American woman—the name Allyson came to mind—but that didn’t seem to be connected with the visitor. At the moment he had other concerns and put the whole issue out of his mind.

J
oe returned to his vehicle and drove around to the cabin. He needed someplace to hang out while he figured out how to proceed. He was shocked to see Helen and Roman suddenly loom out of the darkness into his headlights.

He skidded to a halt and leaped out, his arms wide. “Honey, am I glad to see—” he started to say, but Helen already had her shotgun leveled at him.

“You son of a bitch!” she shouted. “What the hell was the big idea running out on me?”

“Honey, honey,” Joe said, trying to calm her. He looked over her shoulder at Roman, but he was no help. Roman drew back from this impossible situation.

“I didn’t run out on you,” Joe said. “I was just trying to protect you. I’m sorry, babe, it was a mistake,” he pleaded. “I’ve missed you.” He went on with his pleadings until the gun wavered.

There is some kind of strange connection between certain couples, perhaps triggered by familiar gestures or appearances. It may even be an odor. It was kicking in furiously now.

“Honey, I’m so glad to see you,” Joe said. “I need your help. Something weird is going on.”

“You’ve got a leaf on your sleeve,” she said. “What have you been doing, sleeping in the woods?” She reached out and brushed his shirt.

They fell into each other’s arms, both of them nearly sobbing with relief.

Once they got to the cabin, they quickly exchanged notes. Joe was appalled to learn that Helen had inadvertently revealed Mrs. Mulheisen’s recovery of her memory, especially since it confirmed what he’d suspected: Luck had been at the Wards Cove site.

It was clear now why Luck had flown so early: he was going to silence Cora Mulheisen. Obviously, they had to warn her.

Joe immediately called Mulheisen’s home, but only the nurse was available. She said that Mulheisen was expected at any time, he was on his way. Joe didn’t feel that it was useful, for now, to explain the situation to her. He stressed that Mulheisen must call the cabin the minute he got in. It was crucial.

Now all they could do was wait. Joe was at great pains to tell Helen how much he’d missed her, how much he needed her. He explained as fully as he could about why he had kept her out of the loop, to thwart the Colonel. He hadn’t felt that she was in any danger from Echeverria, he explained, but he admitted that he’d probably been wrong about that. And he had really missed her help, he assured her. That went a long way toward healing things.

In the meantime, Roman was keeping watch. After a while, when Helen had calmed down, Joe went out to him.

Roman looked at him cautiously. Joe apologized for not meeting him and thanked him for helping Helen. “She’s getting something ready to eat,” he explained. “Mulheisen should be calling soon. Why don’t you go on in? Let me know when Mul calls.” After that he began to patrol, without getting too far from the house, in the event that Mulheisen called. There didn’t seem to be any interlopers.

The hours ticked by. Joe debated how to proceed. Go to Traverse City and meet Echeverria there? Or wait until Luck returned with him? He felt that it would be best to wait here. Luck was supposed to meet Echeverria about 12:30. If all went well, he could be back by one
A.M.,
easily. But it could well take longer. He didn’t know their plans. Possibly, Echeverria wasn’t even planning to return with
Luck; maybe he was only meeting him for some unknown purpose, a brief conference, perhaps. As the hours went by and Mulheisen didn’t call, Joe began to think that going to Traverse was a better idea. He discussed it with Helen when she brought some food out to him.

Helen thought it was almost certain that Luck would return with Echeverria. But “almost” was not a good plan, she conceded.

Finally, at 11:30, they felt they had to move. Joe gathered his firepower and doled out what he couldn’t use. He would drive to Traverse City while Helen and Roman would remain. He was about to leave when Mulheisen called.

“Man, you left it kind of late,” Joe said. “I’m almost positive that Luck is on his way to your place. Somehow, he’s tumbled to the fact that your mother now remembers seeing him at Wards Cove.”

“He’s been here,” Mulheisen said. “I wonder how he knew?”

“Who knows? Maybe Tucker tipped him off. It looks to me like that was why he was so eager to rope you in. He wanted an inside track on whatever she remembered.” Joe rapidly sketched out what he’d learned. He made no mention of Helen or Roman.

Mulheisen listened patiently, then said, “I didn’t say anything to him. I didn’t know myself until a short while ago. But maybe he had some other source.” He went on to explain what had happened on his end. He told Joe that he and Wunney would be leaving for Traverse City as quickly as they could manage. He wasn’t sure if they’d be in time to intercept Echeverria, but it was possible, he thought. “Hell,” he said, “if we’re in time, maybe we can snap them all up on the spot.” He explained that federal agents would be on hand. If Mulheisen and Wunney couldn’t get there, maybe the agents could do it. This operation was looking better.

Joe hung up. Helen saw the look on his face. “What’s up?” she asked.

Joe lifted his hands, a gesture of carelessness. “That’s it,” he said. “We can go home.”

21

Cur Tale

J
oe’s information had removed any remaining doubt about what the purpose of the intruder’s visit had been. Particularly interesting was Joe’s speculation that Tucker might have known about Luck’s presence at Wards Cove. Mulheisen wasn’t so sure of that, but he hadn’t debated the point with Joe. The conversation wasn’t quite satisfactory for Joe, he knew, but there didn’t seem any help for it. There didn’t appear to be a role in this operation for him. The only suggestion Mulheisen had been able to offer was that it might be a good thing if he was able to monitor Luck’s home base, just in case the Traverse City situation didn’t succeed. Joe hadn’t asked for any clarification of what “monitor” might mean and Mulheisen hadn’t volunteered any.

Not so pleasant, however, was the ambiguous nature of Joe’s status in the presence of federal agents. Obviously, Mulheisen had no notion. Nor could he speak for how Wunney might react to Joe’s presence.

The problem was clear enough, but neither Joe nor Mulheisen had been willing to discuss it. What was the point? It wasn’t up to them. He’d left Joe with the implication that, if he were prudent, he might want to disappear now. Let the feds handle this.

When he hung up there was nothing for Mulheisen to do but wait for Wunney. In the event, Wunney and his men didn’t arrive for almost an hour. It was close to 12:30 before he heard the chopper come in. Shortly, Wunney appeared at the back door, accompanied by a couple of youthful officers. He looked uncharacteristically animated, almost enthused. The young agents made themselves at home and Mulheisen accompanied Wunney back to the marina. On the way, he related Joe Service’s news.

Wunney glanced at his watch and swore. “Hell, we’ve missed them, probably. But we can call ahead. Maybe they’re still there.”

They called from the chopper as soon as it lifted off. “They’re on their way to the airport,” Wunney told Mulheisen once he’d gotten through. He turned back to the cell phone and Mulheisen listened while Wunney yelled over the noise of the engine, exhorting the agents to “bust their asses” to intercept the meeting of Echeverria and Luck. “Approach with extreme caution,” he bellowed. “Luck is armed to the teeth and he’s got a killer in the jump seat.”

“All right!” he said when he hung up. “If those mopes get their butts in gear, this could be simpler than we hoped.”

Wunney explained to Mulheisen what he’d laid on. “We’ll go to Selfridge,” he said. This was a nearby air national guard base. Wunney had arranged for a jet to stand by. It would fly them to the Traverse City airport. The Homeland Security agents would be waiting there—with Luck and Echeverria, if all went well. If not, if the intercept failed, they could drive to Queensleap, which would take them about a half hour.

“It might be just as well if Tucker’s crew misses them,” Wunney said. “There could be some fireworks. Luck’s place is probably a safer place for that.”

Mulheisen had to agree. He was impressed with Wunney’s sense of authority and organization. For the operation Wunney had
acquired a couple of blue jackets that had
HOMELAND SECURITY/SPECIAL AGENT
boldly emblazoned on them, as well as a couple of baseball caps similarly marked. He also had official government forms, identifying Mulheisen as an employee, a special agent. They were signed by some figure that Mulheisen had never heard of, but Wunney assured him that they’d hold up. They authorized Mulheisen as a federal officer, empowered to make arrests, to carry out official functions, and so on. He was even authorized to carry arms—Wunney handed him a Colt .45 automatic. Others were enjoined not to interfere with the performance of his official duty.

“And here’s the signed warrant for the arrest of one Martin Parvis Luck, aka M. P. Luckenbach,” Wunney said. “It’s all properly authorized.”

The aircraft waiting for them at Selfridge was a C-20, a rather fancy administrative jet, built by Gulfstream, and peacefully quiet after the racket of the chopper.

Mulheisen said, “Wunney, you’re a wonder boy.”

“This Homeland outfit has anything they want,” Wunney explained. “This plane was flown in for us from some base in Ohio.”

“I can’t help thinking the crap is going to hit the fan when Tucker finds out,” Mulheisen said, settling into a plush seat and strapping in. The aircraft started to roll almost immediately.

“You can’t think like that,” Wunney said. “That’s tomorrow. This is tonight. By tomorrow, if what your pal Service says proves out, Tucker’s gonna have to figure out some way to say it was all his idea. Otherwise, his ass is in a sling. This will be a real test of his bureaucratic survival skills.”

“I get the feeling that Tucker’s right at home in the bureaucratic jungle,” Mulheisen said. “I won’t be surprised if he comes out smelling like a rose.”

Wunney nodded. “Maybe. But it could be more than a career at stake this time. It could be his personal freedom.”

As soon as they had climbed to cruising altitude, Wunney got on the phone to the agents in Traverse City. This time, when he hung up, he shrugged philosophically. “They missed him,” he said. “They’ve seized Echeverria’s plane, but apparently Luck was waiting and as soon as the plane parked, Echeverria got in the chopper and split. Just as well, I think.”

The flight to Traverse City wasn’t long, but Wunney got the flight attendant to serve them coffee and sandwiches. He discussed how they’d deal with the agents up there. “It shouldn’t be a big problem,” he said. “Just let me do the talking. The important thing is not to let them assert themselves. They’ll try to take over. Technically, I suppose one of them would outrank me, but since I’m coming in with you and all the info, the impetus will be with us. Just back me up, and don’t defer to these clowns. They’re used to taking orders. The idea is we sweep into the place, snatch Luck and Echeverria and whoever else we can find, and bring them all back. An important thing will be to grab that chopper and impound it.”

“Don’t forget Hook,” Mulheisen said. “He’d be the grand prize.”

Wunney nodded. “Probably worth the op all by himself,” he said. “Well, might as well sit back and enjoy the ride.” He called to the attendant for more coffee. “Bring me up to date on the layout up there, will you, Mul?”

“S
o that’s it,” Joe said to Helen and Roman. “We’re in the way. Worse, we could get swept up with the rest of these clowns.” He tried to toss it off as a joke: “Imagine, getting busted for trying to do your duty. That’s what comes of messing around with the Home Guard.”

Helen wasn’t amused, but she shrugged. “We’re here. I feel like an idiot for tipping off that creep. I think we ought to recon-noiter. Who knows how these guys will react if Luck gets nabbed?
It might be a good idea to stop them from destroying evidence, files and that kind of stuff. Besides, anything could go wrong at the airport, you know.”

Joe was looking at his Remington, the H&K. He felt the anticlimax deeply. Not given to depression, however, he bucked up and said, “Sure. Why not? Let’s take a look.”

Roman didn’t quite roll his eyes but he did sigh. He heaved himself up out of his chair and said, “Gimme the Stoner rifle, eh? How many rounds you got?” He filled the cavernous pockets of his overcoat with extra clips and walked out with them.

It took them all of fifteen minutes of careful walking in the dry leaves to get to the area near the hill. They had seen no one. The wind was kicking up a bit, tossing the tops of the trees, filling the air with tumbling leaves. It was quite dark, an overcast night. They gathered on a small rise, well back from the clearing where the chopper would have to land.

Helen pointed out the large lights that would flood the area when the hill opened and the chopper came in. “If it comes in,” she said. “If the federates don’t sweep them up in town.”

“That’s the thing,” Joe agreed. “If the bird comes home, if they weren’t intercepted, they might still be feeling the heat of pursuit.” He peered through the darkness at the hill. It was as quiet as any other part of the forest; the only sound, apart from the occasional hoot of an owl, was the rushing of the wind in the treetops.

“We could get closer,” he suggested. “It might be possible, in fact, to get inside.” There was a single pickup truck parked on the road near the hill. The entry to the hill was blind, they knew, but they hadn’t seen anyone go in or out. Joe thought that there must be some guys patrolling. It made sense. “But maybe,” he said, “these Huleys don’t have any sense.” He explained briefly who the Huleys were, leaving out any mention of barmaids.

Helen didn’t see any point to getting inside. “If Luck comes, the whole face of that hill will open.”

“But there’ll be too much light, too much activity,” Joe said. “I’d like to know what they’ve got in there, besides a retractable launchpad for a chopper. These guys could have tons of explosives, rockets maybe. Hell, they could have a tank in there. If the feds are in hot pursuit, it could be a slaughter.”

“Are you sure you aren’t just spoiling for some action?” Helen said. “The feeling I get is that all three of us might more wisely be heading down the road toward Cadillac.”

She was not wrong, Joe knew. “If both of you agree,” he said, “we can leave right now. Sometime down the road I’ll have to deal with Echeverria. This may be the chance.”

Helen didn’t bother to look at him. It was dark, anyway. What could be learned from a face in shadow? She listened to his voice. She knew that, Echeverria or no Echeverria, Joe was excited by the prospect of some action.

“There’s no reason not to stay and at least see if Luck returns,” she said. She felt excited as well.

Neither of them concerned themselves with Roman. Apparently, they were confident that he would do as they did. Roman didn’t comment.

“If I’m going in,” Joe said, “now’s the time. I think it might be a good idea.” When the other two didn’t respond, he said, “Just don’t shoot me when the balloon goes up.”

Helen said, “When, and if, the balloon goes up, what are we supposed to do? Watch?”

Joe said it was impossible to say. They would have to simply be patient and calculate their actions according to events. The important thing, obviously, would be to prevent Luck and/or Echeverria from leaving before the feds arrived. At some point, assuming that the feds arrived and he hadn’t reappeared, they would have to withdraw
to some safe location and wait. In other words, leave it all to the feds.

With that, he departed. Five minutes later he was inside the hill. It proved to be simple. One of the Huleys came out for a smoke break. Joe dropped him with a chop. A few seconds later he entered.

The interior was essentially a large Quonset hut with earth mounded over it. The entry was a narrow passage that descended by concrete stairs, six steps down, to a spacious dayroom with a low ceiling. It was furnished with cots, shelves, worktables, desks, display boards, a couple of computers, a television set, refrigerators, cooking facilities, plumbing, and so on. The larger area, which had been revealed by the opened hangar doors, was not apparent from this location. Presumably, if a visitor were brought in here, he would likely be permitted to see only this aspect of the interior. There would be no reason to suspect that beyond the dayroom and an adjoining storage room, no doubt an armory and ammo magazine, there was a much larger area.

There was no one in the dayroom. Joe retreated and hauled in the unconscious form of the man he’d dropped. He tumbled him into one of the cots, with some effort, and trussed him with his own belts and gear, then covered him with a blanket. Then he went to the steel door that led into the hangar. The other men—there were a half dozen—were lounging about the plywood-sheathed platform, mounted on a track. They were talking among themselves, not so much arguing or disputing as spiritedly discussing some familiar sports topic—evidently, a high school basketball team, from the sound of it. One of them, a rangy fellow leaning against a tool bench along the far wall, was loudly expounding and demonstrating certain moves. The others occasionally asserted their opinions. They seemed in good spirits.

Mounted above the long workbench, a bank of radio receivers uttered occasional remarks, obviously from normal aircraft traffic.
The Huleys mainly ignored it, although Joe noticed that whenever a voice initiated a comment with a call sign, a couple of the men would momentarily turn toward it. When it proved not to be addressed to them, or to concern them, they immediately ignored the message. Clearly, the men were waiting for a call from Luck.

Joe returned to the dayroom, checked his still comatose victim, and then went into the armory/magazine. This room, he saw, was basically a poured-concrete vault, complete with a reinforced concrete roof. The wiring for lights was all metal conduit stuff, secured to wooden members embedded in the concrete itself, obviously cast in. There were also ventilation tubes cast into the ceiling, white six-inch PVC tubes, which presumably extended up through the soil above. Probably, the whole room had been cast in a single unit and moved into place with a crane, then covered over with several feet of soil.

Much more interesting was what was stored inside. There was stuff here he was unable to identify. Besides rifles and ammo there were some rocket-propelled grenade launchers. He’d used these before, specifically to attack the aircraft of Echeverria. There were also metal containers of hand grenades. And in one corner there was an array of tall, slender rockets. It was likely that the launchers for these were mounted on vehicles, but he hadn’t seen them on his earlier reconnoiter. They looked like they had a considerable range. Joe was unfamiliar with most of the armament here. Possibly some of it could be mounted on the chopper.

Suddenly, Joe heard someone enter the dayroom. He hid.

“What the hell?” the man said. Then he went back out. Joe raced to the door in time to hear the man call to the others, “That fuckin’ Harley is sacked out!”

The others hooted. Someone shouted, “Don’t wake him! Let Imp find him!” There was laughter. The man went on across the hangar to join his comrades.