Wild Fire (43 page)
Authors: Nelson DeMille
W
e passed Rudy’s darkened gas station and continued on into the state park preserve.
We approached Stark Road and saw a power-company truck parked on the side with its lights flashing, and I was sure this was the state police surveillance vehicle. I slowed down to be certain he saw us turning onto Stark Road.
As we continued on through the tunnel of trees, I said to Kate, “Okay, give the state police a call, and tell them that I need to speak to Major Schaeffer, and it’s urgent.”
Kate took her cell phone out of her bag, turned it on, and said, “I have no service.”
“What do you mean? Madox’s relay tower is only about four miles from here.”
“I have no service.”
I took my cell phone out and turned it on. No service. “Maybe we need to get closer.” I gave her my phone.
I turned onto the logging road, and Kate, holding both cell phones, said, “Still no service.”
“All right . . .” McCuen Pond Road was coming up, and I slowed down and hit my brights, hoping to see a stakeout vehicle, but there was no one at the T-intersection.
I made a left onto McCuen Pond Road and looked at my watch. It was 6:55 P.M. A few minutes later, we approached the lights and warning signs of the Custer Hill gate. I asked Kate, “Service?”
“No service.”
“How could that be?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Madox’s tower is having a problem. Or maybe he shut it down.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Let me think.”
“Oh . . . yeah. He really is a paranoid asshole.”
“A smart paranoid asshole.” She asked me, “Do you want to turn around?”
“No. And leave the phones on.”
“Okay, but no one will be able to pick up our signal here unless the cell tower at Custer Hill comes back on the air.”
“It could just be a temporary glitch.” But I doubted that. Now that we wanted to be located, we were electronically silent. Shit happens.
I slowed down at the speed bump, then stopped at the stop sign. The gate slid open a crack, and I could see my favorite security guard in the floodlit entrance to the property. He came toward us, and I stuck my Glock in my waistband. I said to Kate, “Be alert.”
“Right. Ask him if you can borrow his landline phone to call the state police to tell them we’re at the Custer Hill Club.”
I ignored the sarcasm and watched the security goon coming toward us at a leisurely pace. I said to Kate, “Anyway, I’m sure we were spotted by the state police stakeout.”
“I’m sure you were, Rudy.”
“Oh . . . oh, shit. That was pretty stupid.”
She could have been angry or critical, but she patted my hand and said soothingly, “We all have stupid moments, John. I just wish you hadn’t picked this particular time to have one.”
I didn’t reply but gave myself a mental slap on the face.
The neo-Nazi got to the van, and I rolled down the window. He seemed surprised to see me in what he probably knew to be Rudy’s van. He looked at Kate, then said to us, “Mr. Madox is expecting you.”
“You sure about that?”
He didn’t answer but stood there, and I wanted to smash his idiotic face. I noticed his name tag. Mom and Dad had christened their little boy Luther. They probably couldn’t spell Lucifer. I asked him, “Is anyone else coming to dinner, Lucifer?”
“Luther. No. Just you.”
“Sir.”
“Sir.”
“And ma’am. Let’s try again.”
He took a deep breath to show me he was trying to control his temper, then said, “Just you, sir, and you, ma’am.”
“Good. Practice that.”
“Yes, sir. You know the way. Sir. Please drive slowly and carefully this time.
Sir.
”
“Fuck you.” I proceeded to the gate, which was now fully open.
Kate asked, “What did he mean by ‘this time’?”
“Oh, he and his buddy there”—I slowed down at the gatehouse and blasted the air horn out the window at the other guard, which caused him to jump about five feet—“tried to throw themselves under the wheels of my car this afternoon.” I drove on.
“Why did you do that? You scared the hell out of me.”
“Kate, these two bastards, and their pals, were the guys who grabbed Harry on Saturday. And for all I know, one or two of them helped murder him on Sunday.”
She nodded.
“We’ll see every one of these guys in court.”
She reminded me, “We may see every one of them in the next half hour.”
“Good. I’ll save the taxpayers some money.”
“Calm down.”
I didn’t reply.
As we proceeded up the long winding drive, motion sensors turned on the lamppost lights.
Under one of the lampposts, I saw what looked like a big wood chipper on the lawn, which reminded me of the Mafia expression about putting their enemies through the wood chipper. I always got a laugh out of that for some reason, and I smiled.
Kate asked, “What’s funny?”
“I forgot.” Less funny was that there weren’t any trees or dead branches on the lawn.
Normally, you don’t go into situations like this without backup. But this situation was anything but normal. The irony here was that we’d been hiding from the ATTF, Liam Griffith, the FBI, and the state police—and now that I wanted everyone to know where we were, only Bain Madox knew.
When I get really paranoid, like now, I start to imagine that the CIA is involved. And considering what this was all about, why would they
not
be involved?
Kate asked me, “What are you thinking about?”
“The CIA.”
“Right. This, as it turns out, would also involve them.”
“It would.” Yet, you rarely
see
them or hear from them. That’s why they’re called spooks, or ghosts, and if you see them at all, it’s usually at the end. Like about now.
I said to Kate, “In fact, I see Ted Nash’s hand in this.”
She looked at me. “Ted Nash? John, Ted Nash is dead.”
“I know. I just like to hear you say it.”
She didn’t think that was so funny, but I did.
Up ahead in the turnaround circle was a flagpole, and flying from the pole was the American flag and the Seventh Cavalry pennant, illuminated by two spotlights.
I informed Kate, “A pennant or banner means the commander is on the premises.”
“I know that. Didn’t you ever notice my pennant on the bedpost?”
I smiled, and we held hands. She said to me, “I’m a little . . . apprehensive.”
I reminded her, “We are not alone. We have the full power and authority of the United States government behind us.”
She looked over her shoulder and said, “I don’t see anyone else here, John.”
I was glad to see she was maintaining her sense of humor. I gave her hand a squeeze and stopped the van under the portico. “Hungry?”
“Famished.”
We got out and climbed the steps to the porch. I rang the bell.
C
arl answered the door and said to us, “Mr. Madox has been expecting you.”
I replied, “And good evening to you, Carl.”
I’m sure he wanted to say, “Fuck you,” but he didn’t, and showed us into the atrium foyer. He said, “I’ll take your coats.”
Kate responded, “We’ll keep them.”
Carl seemed unhappy about that, but said, “Cocktails will be in the bar room. Please follow me.”
We went through the door near the staircase and walked toward the rear of the lodge.
The house was quiet, and I didn’t see, hear, or sense anyone around.
I still had my Glock in my waistband, but it was covered by my shirt and jacket. My off-duty .38 was in my ankle holster. Kate had slipped her Glock in her jacket pocket, and, like most, if not all, FBI agents, she had no second weapon—except the BearBanger somewhere in her jeans. My BearBanger was clipped like a penlight in my shirt pocket. My two extra magazines were in my jacket, and Kate’s four were in her handbag and her jacket. We were loaded for bear, or Bain.
I wasn’t expecting any funny business while we were in motion—also, I figured that Madox wanted to at least say hello and size up the situation before he made a move.
On that subject, I wondered if he would opt for a macho move, like an armed confrontation. Or, would he take the less confrontational approach, like a Mickey Finn in our drinks, followed by a short trip through the wood chipper?
If Madox was going to go military on us, then I was playing the odds that not all of his security guards were trusted killers, so maybe we’d have to deal with only Madox, Carl, and two or three other guys.
A more positive but probably unrealistic thought was that there wasn’t going to be a poisoning or shoot-out at the Custer Hill Club, and that Bain Madox, when confronted with our evidence and placed under arrest, would realize that the game was up and admit to murdering Federal Agent Harry Muller, then lead us to the ELF transmitter. Case closed.
I glanced at Kate, who looked calm and composed. We made eye contact, and I smiled and winked at her.
I also got a look at Carl’s face. Usually, you can tell by the face and body language if a guy knows that something unpleasant is about to happen. Carl didn’t seem tense, but neither was he relaxed.
Carl stopped in front of a set of double doors, one of which had a brass plate that said BAR ROOM. He knocked, opened one door, and said to us, “After you.”
“No,” I said, “after
you
.”
He hesitated, then entered and motioned to the left, where Mr. Bain Madox stood behind a mahogany bar, smoking and listening on the phone, which I noticed was a landline, not a cell.
Across the dimly lit room was a burning fireplace, to the right of which was a set of drawn drapes that may have covered a window, or a set of double doors leading outside.
I heard Madox say, “All right. I have company. Call me later.” He hung up, smiled, and said, “Welcome. Come in.”
Kate and I gave the place a quick look, then took different paths around the furniture to the bar. I heard the door close behind us.
Madox put out his cigarette. “I wasn’t sure you’d gotten Carl’s message at The Point, and I hoped you hadn’t forgotten.”
Kate and I reached the bar, and I said, “We’ve been looking forward to the evening.”
Kate added, “Thank you for inviting us.”
We all shook hands, and Madox asked, “What can I get you?”
I was glad he didn’t say, “Name your poison,” and I inquired, “What are you drinking?”
He indicated a bottle on the bar and replied, “My private-label single malt, which you enjoyed yesterday.”
“Good. I’ll take it straight up.”
In case you drugged the soda water or ice cubes.
Kate said, “Make it two.”
Madox poured two scotches into crystal glasses, then refreshed his own drink from the same bottle, which may have been his polite way of showing us that the scotch wasn’t going to kill us.
True to his word, Madox was dressed casually in the same outfit he’d worn this afternoon—blue blazer, white golf shirt, and jeans. So Kate and I would feel comfortable when we arrested him.
He raised his glass and said, “Not a happy occasion, but to happier times.”
We clinked glasses and drank. He swallowed. I swallowed. Kate swallowed.
I could see the darkened room in the bar mirror, and there was another set of open doors at the far end of the room that led into what appeared to be a card room or game room.
Also, behind the bar, to the left of the liquor shelves, was a small door that probably led to a storage area or wine cellar. In fact, there were too many doors in this place, plus drapes drawn across what could be doors leading outside. And I don’t like standing at the bar with my back to a room, with a guy behind the bar who could suddenly drop out of sight. So I suggested, “Why don’t we sit by the fire?”
Madox said, “Good idea.” He came around the bar as Kate and I walked to a grouping of four leather club chairs near the fireplace.
Before he could seat us, Kate and I took the chairs facing each other, leaving Madox to take one of the chairs facing the fireplace, with his back to the closed double doors. From where I sat, I could see the open doors to the card room, and Kate could see the bar where the small side door was.
Having claimed my seat, I stood and went to the drapes to the right of the fireplace and said, “Do you mind?” as I pulled them open. There was indeed a set of French doors there, which led to a dark terrace.
I came back to my chair, sat, and noted, “That’s a nice view.”
Madox did not comment.
Basically, all bases were covered, and I was sure that Bain Madox—ex–infantry officer—appreciated our concern about fields of fire.
Madox asked us, “Would you like to take your jackets off?”
Kate replied, “No, thanks. I’m still a little cold.”
I didn’t answer, and I noticed he wasn’t taking off his blazer, probably for the same reason we weren’t taking off our jackets. I didn’t see a bulge, but I knew he was packing something, somewhere.
I surveyed the room. It was more in the style of a gentlemen’s club rather than an Adirondack lodge. There was an expensive-looking Persian carpet on the floor, and lots of mahogany, green leather, and polished brass. There was not a dead animal in sight, and I hoped it stayed that way.
Madox said, “This room is an exact replica of the one in my New York apartment, which in turn I copied from a London club.”
I inquired, “Isn’t that a little confusing after you’ve had a few?”
He smiled politely, then said, “So, let’s get rid of some business.” He turned to me. “I have the duty roster of my security staff who were here over the weekend, and I’ll see that you have it before you leave.”
“Good. And your house staff?”
“I have a complete list of the staff who were working on the weekend.”
“And the security log and the security tapes?”
He nodded. “All copied for you.”
“Terrific.” And this left the sticky question of his rich-and-famous weekend guests. “How about the list of your houseguests?”
“I need to think about that.”
“What’s to think about?”
“Well, obviously, the names of these people are not everyone’s business.” He added, “Which I guess was why the government sent Mr. Muller here to get these names by . . . devious means. And now you want me to give you these names, voluntarily.”
I reminded him, “Harry Muller is dead, and this is now an investigation into his death.” I added, “You said this afternoon that you’d have those names for us.”
“I’m very aware of that, and I’ve called my attorney, who will get back to me tonight. If he tells me to turn over those names, I will give them to you tonight.”
Kate said, “If he doesn’t, we could subpoena that information.”
Madox replied, “That may be the best way for me to give you those names.” He explained, “That would take me off the hook with my guests.”
Basically, this was all bullshit to make us think he had some serious issues to consider. Meanwhile, all he was really thinking about was his ELF signal to Sandland, and how best to get Corey and Mayfield into the wood chipper.
He informed us, “My attorney tells me that the Federal government has no jurisdiction in a state homicide case.”
I let Kate handle that one, and she said, “Any murder charges that come out of this investigation will be brought by New York State. In the meantime, we’re investigating the disappearance of a Federal agent, and his possible kidnapping, which is a Federal crime, as well as a possible criminal assault on the deceased agent.” She asked Madox, “Would you like me to speak to your attorney?”
“No. I’m sure the United States government can find a Federal law to fit any crime these days, including jaywalking.”
Special Agent Mayfield replied, “I think this is a bit more serious than that.”
Madox let that slide, so I changed the subject to put everyone at ease. “Good scotch.”
“Thank you. Remind me to give you a bottle before you leave.” He said to Kate, “Not many women are single malt drinkers.”
“Around 26 Fed, I’m just one of the boys.”
He smiled at her, and responded, “I think they need eyeglasses at 26 Fed.”
Good old Bain. A man’s man, and a ladies’ man. A real sociopathic charmer.
Anyway, Madox figured we were finished with business and continued to charm Ms. Mayfield. “So, how was your yodeling class?”
Kate seemed a little confused by the question, so I said helpfully, “
Yoga
class.”
“Oh . . .” said Mr. Madox. “I thought you said
yodeling
class.” He chuckled and admitted to Kate, “My hearing is not what it used to be.”
Kate glanced at me. “It was a good class.”
Madox asked her, “How are you enjoying The Point?”
“It’s very nice.”
“I hope you’re staying for dinner. I promised Mr. Corey I could do better than Henri.”
Kate replied, “We’d planned to stay for dinner.”
“Good. In fact, since there’s no one here, and no one would know, you’re welcome to stay overnight.”
I didn’t know if that included me, but I replied, “We may take you up on that.”
“Good. It’s a long trip back to The Point—especially if you’ve been drinking, which you’re not doing enough of.” He smiled at me and expanded on the subject by saying, “Also, you’re not driving a vehicle that you’re familiar with.”
I didn’t reply.
He continued, “Let’s see—yesterday, you had a Taurus; this morning, you had a Hyundai; and tonight, you have Rudy’s van. Have you found something you like?”
I hate wiseasses, unless they’re me. I said to him, “I was just about to ask you to loan me a Jeep.”
He didn’t respond to that but inquired, “Why are you changing vehicles so often?”
To confuse him with the truth, I replied, “We’re on the run from the law.”
He grinned.
Kate said, “We’ve had problems with our two rental vehicles.”
“Ah. Well, I’m sure they would have given you another one—but that was good of Rudy to loan you his van.” He returned to the investigation. “I’ve made some inquiries, and this suspected homicide hasn’t even come to the attention of the sheriff’s office.” He informed us, “They’re still ruling it an accident.”
I noted, “This investigation is Federal and state, not local. What’s your point?”
“No point. Just an observation.”
“I think you should leave the jurisdictional aspects of this case to the law.”
He didn’t answer, and neither did he seem annoyed at the rebuke. Obviously, he wanted us to know that he knew more than he should know—including, possibly, that Detective Corey and FBI Agent Mayfield were not in close contact with their colleagues, and wanted to stay that way by switching vehicles every twelve hours.
I didn’t know if Bain Madox knew that for sure, but he definitely knew that we hadn’t made a cell-phone call within ten or fifteen miles of here.
So we sat in neutral for a minute—logs blazing, scotch and crystal glistening in the fire—then Madox said to Kate, “I expressed my condolences to Mr. Corey, and I’d like to do the same to you. Was Mr. Muller a friend of yours, also?”
Kate replied, “He was a close colleague.”
“Well, I’m truly sorry. And I’m very upset that Mr. Corey believes that one of my security staff may have been involved in Mr. Muller’s death.”
“I also believe that. And on the subject of upset, you can imagine how upset Detective Muller’s children are to learn that their father is not only dead but was probably murdered.” She stared at our host.
Madox returned the stare but did not respond.
Kate continued, “And the rest of his family, and his friends and colleagues. When it’s murder, the grief turns to anger very quickly.” She informed our host, “I’m damned angry.”
Madox nodded slowly. “I can understand that. And I sincerely hope that none of my security people were involved, but if they were, I also want to see this person brought to justice.”
Kate said, “He will be.”
I opened a new possibility and said, “It could even have been one of your house staff . . . or your houseguests.”
He reminded me, “You thought it was one of my security guards. Now, it sounds as though you’re on a fishing expedition.”
“A hunting expedition.”
“Whatever.” He asked me, “Can you be more specific about why you think one of my staff—or houseguests—was involved in what you believe is a homicide?”
I think we all knew that we really meant Bain Madox—and somehow, I didn’t think he really gave a shit.
Nevertheless, I thought that some inside information about the case might shake him up, so I said to him, “Okay, one, I have solid evidence that Detective Muller was actually on your property.”
I looked at Madox, but he had no reaction.
I continued, “Two, we believe through forensic evidence that Detective Muller was actually
in
this house.”
Again, no reaction.
Okay, asshole. “Three, we have to assume that Detective Muller was detained by your security people. We also have evidence that his camper was originally close to your property, then moved.” I explained all of that in detail.
