Prey (42 page)

"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."

"Yeah, well, I'll tell you," Woeshack said seriously, "if we ever lose an agent like this again, I want to be the one kicking the door instead of the one who has to notify the family."

"I know a lot of homicide investigators who'd agree with you wholeheartedly," Lightstone nodded as he stepped to the front counter of the nurses' station.

"Yes, may I help you?"

"Special Agent Henry Lightstone," he said in a carefully polite voice, having to work at keeping his own tumbled emotions in check as he held out his badge and credentials. "Would it be possible for me to use your phone to make a couple of long-distance credit-card calls?"

"Yes, of course." The nurse set the phone on the counter, then discreetly moved her chair to the far side of the enclosed area.

"Fish and Wildlife, Law Enforcement," the pleasant voice answered. "How may I help you?"

"Mike Takahara, please."

"I'm sorry, but he's not available right now. May I take a message?"

"Can you tell me when he
will
be available?"

"No sir, I can't, but perhaps—"

Frustrated and distracted, Lightstone was about ready to hang up when he suddenly remembered.

"I'm sorry, I forgot to identify myself," he interrupted. "This is Special Agent Thomas Woeshack from the Anchorage office. Mike and I used to work together. I need to talk with him regarding an urgent matter."

The voice on the phone hesitated.

"Just a second, I have his home number," Lightstone said, mentally decoding and then reciting the confidential phone number from the folded piece of paper he took out of his badge case. "I just need to know when he'll be home so I know when to call."

The voice hesitated and then said: "There's a young Eskimo woman who works out of the Anchorage LE office."

"Jennifer Alik," Lightstone responded, forcing himself to remain calm and controlled. "Wildlife inspector. About twenty-five years old. Five-six, black hair, brown eyes, and very pretty."

"Have you ever gone out with her?" the receptionist asked in a friendly voice.

"Uh, no, but I'd sure like to," Lightstone guessed, remembering Woeshack's description of her.

"You should ask her out. I think she'd like that," the receptionist said cheerfully. "And to answer your question, Mike left early to do some work on his patio. He should be home in half an hour or so, unless he decides to stop by a computer store on the way."

"In which case he could be there the rest of the day," Lightstone finished.

"You obviously know Mike."

"All too well. Listen, if he happens to come back to the office in the next hour or so, could you tell him to call home and check his messages? It's very important."

"I sure will."

"Okay, thanks," Lightstone said as he disconnected.

"Now you're
me?"
Woeshack asked, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Had to be," Lightstone shrugged. "She wouldn't know anybody named Henry Lightstone, because I'm not in the Fish and Wildlife Service directory yet."

"So what does that have to do with Jennifer?" Woeshack demanded suspiciously.

"You ever date her?"

"Ah, no, not exactly. I was planning to ask her out, though."

"You should," Lightstone advised as he picked up the phone and began dialing again. He let the first number in San Diego ring eight times and then got Mike Takahara's answering machine with the second.

"Mike, this is, ah . . . your wild-card buddy," Lightstone said after a moment's hesitation. "Listen, I think the Chareauxs are coming after the team, and they've got some help. We found Paul shot to death this morning out on the Kenai Peninsula, and Butch Chareaux lying dead a few feet away. The rest—presumably including Alex and Sonny, and at least a couple of unknowns in cammo gear—got away in a blue floatplane."

Lightstone hesitated again, wondering how much he dared say over the phone, and then decided that if anyone would have their answering machine protected like a bank vault, it would be Mike Takahara.

"Something else I just learned," Lightstone went on. "Carl and Larry have apparently been missing since Monday, which is why I think they're coming after us. See if you can get ahold of Stoner, let him know what's going on, and in the meantime, watch your back. I'm heading his way right now."

Then he hung up and turned back to the nurse.

"Could I borrow a phone book? Thanks."

"So what do we do now?" Woeshack asked as Lightstone quickly thumbed through the Yellow Pages and then reached for the phone.

"Exactly what they expect us to do," Lightstone muttered, listening to the ringing in the background.

"Alaska Airlines," a cheerful female voice answered.

"Hello, this is Thomas Woeshack," Lightstone said calmly. "I'd like to see if you have two seats available for a flight from Anchorage to Tucson, Arizona, government fare."

"We can get you on Alaska Flight Eighty-four, leaving Anchorage at seven
A.M.
,
transferring to Alaska Flight Six-oh-six at SEA-TAC, and arriving in Tucson at four-forty
A.M."

"That would be fine. The name is Woeshack, W-O-E-S-H-A-C-K, first name, Thomas."

"And the second passenger?"

Covering the mouthpiece, Lightstone looked up at Woeshack. "What's your brother's name?"

"Which one?"

"Any one."

"Timothy."

"My brother Timothy," Lightstone said into the phone. "Yes, government Diner's Card. Thank you very much."

Thomas Woeshack looked bewildered as Lightstone hung up. "I thought the FBI guy told us we couldn't leave Anchorage."

"That's right, he did."

"So what if he decides to put one of his agents on us, to see what we're doing?"

"He already has," Lightstone shrugged. "One of them's waiting in the lobby and the other one's outside, circling the hospital in a blue Ford Explorer." He reached for the phone again.

"Oh."

"Alaska Airlines," an equally cheerful male voice answered, causing Lightstone to wonder momentarily what they fed people who answered phones for a living.

"Hello, this is Robert LaGrange. I'd like to make reservations for a flight from Anchorage to San Diego as late as possible tonight or as early as possible tomorrow morning. One-twenty tomorrow morning? And what time would I arrive in Seattle? That would be perfect. LaGrange. L-A-G-R-A-N-G-E. First name Robert. Thank you." Lightstone smiled as pleasantly as he could as he returned the phone to the duty nurse.

"I take it I'm going to be the decoy?" Woeshack asked as he and Lightstone walked down the wide hallway toward the main lobby.

"Woeshack, you're starting to think like a cop."

"I watch a lot of TV when I'm not busy crashing airplanes," the Native Alaskan special agent shrugged. And then, after a pause: "You're going after these guys, right?"

"Something like that."

Woeshack hesitated. "So how come I don't get to help?"

Henry Lightstone stopped at the double doors, turned to the young agent and stared straight into his dark, concerned eyes. "You're going to get involved in this, buddy. You can count on it. But the first thing you've got to do is to help break us loose."

For a moment, it seemed that Woeshack might argue, but Lightstone's gaze never wavered. Finally Woeshack sighed and nodded his head.

"Okay, so how are we going to do it?"

"Ideally, with you and a couple of your brothers. Are any of them close to my height and weight?"

"Joe's about your size," Woeshack judged, cocking his head as he looked up and down at the tall agent. "Maybe a little shorter. But the hair—"

"I'll start wearing a hat and shades this afternoon," Lightstone said. "Think you guys can make it look good if I give you some of my clothes?"

"Sure, if they don't get in too close."

"They won't."

"So how do we do it?"

"Your truck has tinted windows all around, right?"

"Yeah, sure."

"You and I are going to eat dinner about eight o'clock tonight at the Hilton. Afterward we go over to the bar, have a couple of beers, and reminisce about Paul until about ten. Then you're going to leave me at the hotel, go home, go to bed, and come back with your truck at precisely five in the morning. You'll pick me up in the back parking lot."

"Except that it'll be Joe I pick up, because by then you're already halfway down to San Diego on the one-twenty flight, right?"

"That's right."

"So how do we make the switch?"

"Joe's going to be in the bar, too, but he'll stay completely away from us. Around ten, when we get ready to pay the tab, Joe gets up and leaves ahead of us, takes the elevator to the sixth floor and waits for me in the hallway outside Room Six-seventy-two. I give him the key, the hat, and the sunglasses. He goes in, turns on the lights and calls down to the front desk for a four-thirty wake-up call. He turns on a pay-TV movie because he can't sleep. You can figure the Feds will be monitoring all that with hotel security. Around midnight, he turns everything off, goes to sleep, and then gets up at four-thirty, takes the stairs down to the back entrance, and meets you in the parking lot at five."

"Remembering to put the hat and shades on before he leaves the room."

"Right."

"How long do you want us to keep it going?"

"My plane lands in Seattle at five-thirty in the morning, and I've got an hour layover until the next flight," Lightstone said. "If you guys keep them from getting suspicious until at least five-thirty, ideally six-thirty, then I'm home free."

"No problem," Woeshack smiled. "I'll have Joe drop me off at the main terminal and drive around while I go in and pay for the tickets. No luggage, just carry-ons. Then I'll go back out to the truck and we'll drive around for a while, make it look like we're going to hold back, and then make a dash for the gate at the last minute."