Off the Grid (24 page)
54
A
gent Dahl sat at his desk long after the majority of Federal workers had left the office. He thought of all those people, home with their families, getting a sound sleep because they weren’t privy to the kind of information he was.
His assistant rapped lightly on the door, then entered. “Do you need me, sir? It’s November first.”
Dahl glanced at the digital clock display on his computer. Three minutes after midnight. October thirty-first was history. “No, Neal. Go home. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Dahl looked at the scribbles he’d made on the pad beside his phone. On October twenty-ninth, the Director of the FBI had held a much-publicized press conference, warning of random, unconnected terrorist attacks planned for specific cities all over the country.
Every one of those cities had been on edge for the two days since, the news coverage had been nonstop, and the level of security had been amped up everywhere. He’d watched a lot of the coverage, and had been saddened by the film of uniformed officers marching down the center of Main Street U.S.A. These were necessary defensive measures, but to him it had looked a lot like martial law.
Then again, maybe that was why nothing had happened on Halloween. It was common for terrorists to change plans when they were discovered. It didn’t mean the plans had been canceled, only postponed.
He put his elbows on the desk and rubbed his eyes. This didn’t end here.
EPILOGUE
C
laude and Chief were out on the cabin porch, feet propped up on the railing, chairs tipped back precariously on two legs. Claude wondered which one of them would fall first and break a hip. Women always thought men did stupid things because they never considered the consequences, and that was just false. Men knew they could get killed in war and fall off chairs; they just didn’t give a shit.
Claude was back in the worn, comfortable cowboy boots that had walked miles on Texas soil; Chief was equally comfortable in the soft, pliable moccasins that belonged in this land and nowhere else. The woods were quiet and peaceful once again, reclaimed by the wildlife as if nothing unusual had happened here.
It was the same with the two men—a battle was a battle, and once it was over, there was no point in discussing it because you’d already lived it.
Claude studied their four legs braced on the railing and felt a deep sadness because there should have been six. “I miss Joey. And I’m a little pissed at him, too. We were supposed to hit those Little Mogadishu houses next week, not last week, and we’ve always been a team. He cut us out of the picture.”
Chief laced his hands over his belly and sighed. “Maybe he didn’t think he’d make it to next week. And maybe he thought he’d spare us some risk.”
Claude took his feet off the railing and planted them on the porch deck, righting his chair. It was a simple gesture, but one that transitioned the mood from relaxation to business in a single motion. “Did you put the word out that the Feds are surveilling all the houses on Smith’s list?”
“I did. The news will spread fast in the Native community; the other vets are harder to reach. It might take a couple days.”
Claude folded his lips together and thought a minute. “Maybe just this once, we could reach out with e-mail. Be a damn shame if one of our boys walked into a Fed stakeout.”
Chief sucked in a deep breath and righted his own chair. “We can’t risk it. In the beginning days when we fought each other, your people wrote dispatches we intercepted, and my people sent smoke into the air that disappeared. Today the world communicates on computers. How do you fight such a thing? You refuse to use the white man’s talk, just like the old days. You talk only to people you trust, and you write nothing down. You know this, Chimook.”
“Yeah, I do. But it’s slow and worrisome.”
“We’ll get it done.”
“Well, the FBI damn well better follow through on this. It’s their turn to fight the war.”
Chief’s shrug was eloquent. “If they don’t, we’ll still be here.”
• • •
Also by P. J. Tracy
Shoot to Thrill
Snow Blind
Dead Run
Live Bait
Monkeewrench
