Wild Fire (20 page)

Neither Kate nor I commented on that.

Madox lit another cigarette and blew more smoke rings, saying, “That’s a lost art.” He asked us, “May I offer you a cigarette?”

We refused his offer.

I glanced around the room and noticed something in a dark corner staring at me with glassy eyes. It was, actually, a huge black bear, standing on its hind legs with its front legs and paws raised in a threatening gesture. I mean, I knew it was dead and stuffed, but it gave me a little jolt. I said to Madox, “Did you shoot that?”

“I did.”

“Where?”

“Here, on my property. Sometimes they get through the fence.”

“And you shoot them?”

“Well, if it’s off-season, we just tranquilize them and relocate them. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t like bears.”

“Have you had a bad experience?”

“No, I’m trying to avoid a bad experience. Hey, do you think a 9mm Glock will stop a bear?”

“I don’t think so, and I hope you don’t have to find out.”

“Me, too. Do you have bear traps on the property?”

“Definitely not. I have guests on the property, and I don’t want them caught in a bear trap.” He added, “Also, trespassers. I could get sued.” He glanced at his watch and said, “So, if—”

“Just a few more questions while we wait for the latte.”

He didn’t reply, and I asked him, “So, you’re a hunter?”

“I hunt.”

“These are all your trophies?”

“Yes. I don’t buy them as some people do.”

“So, you’re a pretty good shot?”

“I was an expert rifleman in the Army, and I can still drop a deer at two hundred yards.”

“That’s pretty good. How close was that bear?”

“Close. I let the predators get close.” He looked at me, and I had the feeling he was being subtly unsubtle regarding yours truly. He said, “That’s what makes it exciting.” He asked me, “What does this have to do with Mr. Muller’s disappearance?”

“Not a thing.”

We stared at each other while he waited for me to explain my line of questioning. I said to him, “Just making conversation.” I then asked him, “So, this is a private club?”

“It is.”

“Could I join? I’m white. Irish and English. Catholic, like Christopher Columbus, but I could switch. I got married in a Methodist church.”

Mr. Madox informed me, “There are no such requirements or exclusions, but our membership is filled at the moment.”

Kate asked, “Do you accept women?”

He smiled. “Personally, I do. But club membership is restricted to men.”

“Why is that?”

“Because that’s the way I want it.”

Carl appeared carrying a tray, which he set down on the coffee table. He said to me, “Is a café au lait all right?”

“Terrific.”

He indicated a small silver coffeepot for Ms. Mayfield, then asked us, “Will that be all?”

We nodded, and Carl disappeared.

Mr. Madox went to the sideboard to refresh his scotch, and I said, “I’ll have a small one.”

He replied over his shoulder, “You’ll have to take it neat.” He poured two glasses, turned around, and remarked, “I seem to be having trouble with my ice maker.” He smiled.

Rudy, you old shit, I’m going to shove those rabbit ears up your ass.

More important, Madox
knew
someone was on the way to see him, yet he’d made no attempt to avoid his unknown visitors, even after the gatehouse goons told him we were Federal agents. Obviously, he’d made the decision to check us out while we checked him out.

Madox handed me a crystal glass and said, “Happy Columbus Day.” We touched glasses, then he sat, crossed his legs, sipped, and stared at the fire.

Kaiser Wilhelm woke up and snuggled next to his master’s chair to get his ears scratched. The stupid dog stared at me, and I stared back. He looked away first, so I won.

Kate sipped her coffee, then broke the silence. “You said you had sixteen guests this weekend.”

“That’s correct.” Madox again glanced at his watch. “I believe they’re all gone by now.”

Kate informed him, “We may need to speak to them, so I’ll need their names and contact information.”

Madox didn’t see that coming and was momentarily speechless, which I guessed was not usual for him. “Why . . . ?”

“In the event they saw or heard something related to Mr. Muller’s disappearance.” She added, “Standard procedure.”

He didn’t seem to like this standard procedure. “That seems totally unnecessary. No one saw or heard anything. Also, please understand this is a private club whose members wish to remain private.”

Kate replied, “I can insure their privacy, and it’s up to us to determine if anyone saw or heard anything.”

He took a bigger sip of scotch and said to Kate, “I’m not an attorney, as you are, but it’s my understanding that unless this is a criminal matter, which it is not, or a civil case, which it is not, then I don’t need to give you the names of my houseguests any more than you need to give me the names of
your
houseguests.”

I couldn’t resist and said, “I had my aunt and uncle, Joe and Agnes O’Leary, over last weekend. Who’d you have?”

He looked at me, and I couldn’t tell if he appreciated me or not. Oddly, I liked the guy—man’s man and all that—and I think we could have been pals under other circumstances. Maybe if this whole thing was a misunderstanding, and Harry was found in a motel or something, Mr. Madox would invite me up for a weekend with the boys. Maybe not.

Kate said to him, “You’re correct that you have no legal obligation to reveal the names of your guests—at least at this point in time—but we’d like your voluntary cooperation now, while a man’s life may be in danger.”

Mr. Madox considered that. “I’ll need to contact my attorney.”

Kate reminded him, “You don’t like attorneys.”

He smiled tightly and replied, “I don’t, but neither do I like my proctologist.” He continued, “I’ll contact the men who were here and see if they’ll agree to have their names released.”

“Please do that quickly. And while you’re at it, I need the names and contact information of your staff.” She added, “Call me tonight. Mr. Corey and I are staying at The Point.”

His eyebrows rose. “Are you having trouble spending the anti-terrorist budget?”

Good one. I really liked this guy. I said, “We’re sharing a room to save taxpayer money.”

He raised his eyebrows again and said, “I won’t touch that one.” He looked at his watch a third time, and said, “Well, if I’m going to make some calls—”

“By the way,” I said, “I noticed that we had good cell-phone reception here, and I saw that tower on the hill. Is that a cell-phone tower?”

“It is.”

“You must have some pull.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, the population of this area is probably less than the population of Central Park on a Sunday, and I don’t think a lot of these people have cell phones, yet you have a big, expensive tower right on your property.”

“You’d be surprised how many rural people own cell phones,” Madox said. “Actually, I had that built.”

“For yourself?”

“For anyone who has a cell phone. My neighbors appreciate it.”

“I didn’t see any neighbors.”

“What’s your point?”

“Well, the point is, Agent Muller had a cell phone, made and received some calls from this area, and now he’s not calling or receiving. This is why we’re concerned that he may be injured or worse.”

Mr. Madox replied, “Sometimes, because of the distance to surrounding relay towers, service is lost. Sometimes people lose or damage their phones. Sometimes a particular phone company has bad service in an area, sometimes the cell phone is faulty, and sometimes the battery goes dead. I don’t make too much of a non-responsive cell phone. If I did, I’d think my children were kidnapped by Martians.”

I smiled. “Right. We’re not making too much of it.”

“Good.” He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “Anything further?”

“Yeah, what kind of scotch is this?”

“Private label, single malt. Would you like a bottle on your way out?”

“That’s very generous of you, but I can’t accept a gift. I can, however,
drink
a bottle here and not commit an ethics-code violation.”

“Would you like one for the road?”

I answered, “With these roads, I think I’d have trouble finding The Point sober.” I suggested, “Ms. Mayfield and I would like to join your security people in the search. Then, maybe we could stay here tonight. Is that possible?”

“No. It’s against club regulations. Also, the house staff are all leaving for a well-deserved rest after the three-day weekend.”

“I don’t need much staff, and Miss Mayfield and I can share a room.”

He surprised me by saying, “You’re funny. Sorry, I can’t extend you an overnight invitation. But if you’d like to stay in a local motel, I’ll have one of my staff lead you to South Colton. You may have already been there on your way here.”

“Yeah, I think so.” I guessed that the scotch had loosened him up a bit, which was why he found me amusing, so I said to him, “I don’t want to keep you from making all those calls, but if you’ve got a minute, I’m curious about this club.”

He didn’t respond.

“Nothing to do with this disappearance, but this is a really great-looking place. How did it get started? What do you do here? Hunt, fish?”

Bain Madox lit another cigarette, sat back, and crossed his legs again. “Well,” he said, “first the name. In 1968 I was commissioned a second lieutenant in the United States Army, and stationed at Fort Benning, Georgia, prior to shipping out to Vietnam. There were a number of officer club annexes at Benning—smaller satellite clubs where junior officers could get together, away from the brass at the Main Club.”

“Great idea. I was a cop before joining the ATTF, and I can tell you, I never went to the same bars where the brass hung out.”

“Precisely. Well, there was this one club, located in the woods at a place called Custer Hill, and called the Custer Hill Officers Club. The building was a bit basic, and resembled a lodge.”

“Ah. I see where this is going.”

“Yes. So, several nights a week, a few dozen young officers would get together to drink beer and eat bad pizza, and discuss life, the war, women, and, now and then, politics.”

Mr. Madox seemed to leave the room and go back to that place and time. It was quiet except for the crackling fire, which was dying.

He came back and continued, “It was a very bad time for the country and the Army. Discipline had gone to hell, the nation was badly divided, there were riots in the cities, assassinations, bad news from the front, and . . . classmates, people we knew, were dying in Vietnam, or coming home terribly wounded . . . physically, mentally, and spiritually . . . and this is what we talked about.”

He finished his scotch and lit yet another cigarette, saying, “We felt . . . betrayed. We felt that our sacrifices, our patriotism, our service, and our beliefs had become irrelevant and detested by much of the country.” He looked at us and said, “This is nothing new in the history of the world, but it was something new for America.”

Neither Kate nor I commented.

Bain Maddox continued, “Well, we became bitter, then radical, I suppose you’d say, and we took a vow that . . . that if we lived, we’d dedicate our lives to righting many wrongs.”

I didn’t think that was the exact nature of the vow. The word “revenge” came to mind.

Madox went on, “So, most of us shipped out, some of us returned, and we stayed in touch. Some of us, like myself, stayed in the Army, but most got out when their obligation was completed. Many of us became successful, and we often helped those who didn’t, or who needed a career boost, or a job referral. A classic old-boys network, but this one was born in the cauldron of turbulent times, hardened by blood and war, and tested by years of wandering through the wilderness that America had become. And then, as we grew older and more successful, and as our . . . influence grew, and as America began to regain her strength and find her way again, we saw that we counted.”

Again he fell silent and glanced around, as though he were thinking about how he’d gotten here in this big lodge, so far from the small officers club in the woods of Georgia. He said, “I built this lodge as a gathering place about twenty years ago.”

I said, “So, you guys didn’t come up here just for the hunting and fishing. I mean, there’s a business angle here, and maybe a little political stuff, too.”

He considered his response. “We were . . . engaged in the war against Communism, and I can say truthfully and with some pride that many members of this club were instrumental in the final victory over that sick ideology, and the ending of the Cold War.” He regarded us and said, “And now . . . well, we have a new enemy. There will always be a new enemy.”

“And?” I asked, “Are you involved?”

He shrugged. “Not to the extent we were involved in the Cold War. We’re all older now, we fought the good fight, and we deserve a peaceful retirement.” He looked at Kate and me and said, “It’s up to people your age to fight this one.”

I asked him, “So, the members of this club are all Army veterans from the original Custer Hill Club?”

“No, not really. Some of us have passed on, and some have dropped out. We’ve added new members over the years, men who share our beliefs and who lived through those times. We’ve made them honorary members of the original Custer Hill Officers Club, Fort Benning, Georgia, 1968.”

I thought about that, and about rich men, and powerful men meeting on a long weekend in a remote lodge, and I thought that maybe there was nothing to this, and maybe the Justice Department was going through one of its many moments of paranoia.

On the other hand . . .

I said to him, “Well, thank you for sharing that with us. It’s really interesting, and maybe you should all write your memoirs.”

He smiled and said, “We’d all go to jail.”

“Excuse me?”

“For some of our Cold War activities. We pushed it a bit.”

“Yeah?”

“But all’s well that ends well. Don’t you agree that to fight monsters, you must sometimes become a monster?”

I replied, “No, I don’t.”