Wildfire (10 page)

"Extract
Maas?"

"Those were his exact words."

"Incredible. Absolutely incredible."

"Don't forget," Sam Tisbury reminded, "Nicholas was the one who helped Wolfe recruit Maas in the first place. He probably feels a certain sense of responsibility."

"Or concern."

"Yes, that too."

"Take a man accused of murder, a man with a reputation like Maas, out of federal custody? How in the world does he propose to do that?" Harold Tisbury asked, a faint smile appearing on his aged face.

"I don't know. I didn't ask."

"Do you think he's serious?"

"I think Nicholas is very possibly the most serious man I've ever met in my entire life," Sam Tisbury replied evenly.

"But he's also unfailingly practical," Harold Tisbury reminded. "He can't help himself. It's his Teutonic upbringing."

"I know, and that's what concerns me the most." The younger Tisbury nodded. "If Nicholas is ready to discuss the idea at our meeting, then he probably has the whole thing worked out on a flow chart."

"God help us," the elder Tisbury rasped, shaking his head slowly.

"Wilbur continues to believe that we have gone too far," Sam Tisbury went on. "I would expect him to vote to disband the committee and then regroup at a much later date."

"Do you think he's afraid?"

"Wilbur afraid? About as much as a crusty old rattlesnake that's been backed into a comer," Sam Tisbury chuckled. "Wilbur's a poker player, Pop. He believes in cutting his losses, so he can come back and play another day."

"What about Jonathan?"

"Ultimately, I think Jonathan will support Nicholas, but only so far. He's just as cautious as Wilbur, but he has no illusions about the future of his enterprises, especially now that the tree huggers have a sympathetic ear in the White House. If anything, I would expect him to vote for some kind of distraction."

"Such as extracting Maas from federal custody?"

"Or arranging for an appropriate accident." Sam Tisbury shrugged.

"Against
Maas?"

Sam Tisbury couldn't tell if his father was simply startled, intrigued, or—more likely—absolutely shaken by the idea.

"Of the three in custody, Maas is the only one who can link any of the committee members to Operation Counter Wrench," the younger Tisbury reminded.

"But he won't talk, will he?"

"As far as we're aware, Maas didn't speak two words to the authorities while he was in custody."

"But Nicholas wants to get him out anyway, just to make sure?"

"Nicholas would be the first one impacted if Maas
did
choose to talk. You can see his point."

"What about Sergio?"

"Difficult to say." Sam Tisbury shrugged.

"Your best guess?"

"If the vote is open, I would expect Sergio to pound his fist on the table and declare his support for Nicholas to the death. If we choose to vote in secret" —Sam Tisbury paused—"I think he will go with Wilbur."

Harold Tisbury nodded in a thoughtful manner and then hesitated for a moment before turning to face his youthful business partner and adviser. He had been trusting his son with the secrets and strategies of his rapidly expanding industrial empire for more than forty-two years. But Harold Tisbury had also learned long ago that survival was ultimately a very personal and very solitary affair.

Even a beloved son had to be watched occasionally.

"And what about you?" Harold Tisbury asked in a deliberately casual voice.

"You mean how will I vote?"

Harold Tisbury nodded, blinking his watery eyes. He was tired. It had been a long day and an even longer evening, and he wanted to go home. But he had to resolve this issue first. One way or the other.

"I've faced up to my demons a long time ago, Pop," Sam Tisbury said calmly. "God knows I don't necessarily agree with everything we've done. But as I've told you before, when it comes right down to it, I'll vote with you ... to stay alive, to stay out of jail, and to win."

"By whatever means it takes?"

The expression in Sam Tisbury's eyes had turned cold and hard. "Of course. What other way is there?"

Harold Tisbury smiled.
That's my boy,
he thought.
Trained you well, didn't I?

"Then we have nothing to worry about."

"Except for failure and fate and the courage of our friends."

"Yes, of course." Harold Tisbury sighed heavily, feeling his aged body giving way to the fatigue in spite of his determination. "Those must always be our primary concerns."

"Not to mention those four surviving wildlife agents, who could still cause us trouble if they continue to probe into the deaths of their friends," the younger Tisbury added. "Especially now that we're right on the brink of putting the Crucible project into the first phases."

"Yes, that's right, we never did come to an appropriate decision on those wildlife agents, did we?" the elder Tisbury mused.

"No, we didn't."

"Especially that one bastard." Harold Tisbury nodded, his eyes suddenly lighting up in spite of his fatigue. "What was his name?"

"You mean Lightstone?"

"Yes, that's the one." Harold Tisbury nodded, his deeply lined face darkening with barely suppressed rage. "Lightstone. Henry Lightstone. We can't forget him, can we?"

"No, we can't." Sam Tisbury shook his head slowly, his words taking on a hard edge as his eyes turned deadly cold. "There's a balance due on Special Agent Lightstone. And one way or another, it will be paid."

At that moment the phone on Sam Tisbury's desk rang. He listened briefly, hung up the phone, and then looked up at his father.

"That was Jonathan," he said. "He's in."

Chapter Five

They had been coming together more frequently now, although neither of them would have admitted that it had anything to do with a growing sense of their own mortality.

"Simply a pleasant way to pass the time," Ember growled deep in her throat, and her "Eagle" had been all too willing to agree.

Drifting pleasantly in the aftermath of his own orgasmic bliss, Leonard Harris found it easy to maintain a firm presence inside her as he continued to gently caress her muscular shoulders and her small firm breasts. Satiated and content, he waited for her shuddering to stop, gently running his fingers around the visible bruises on her right shoulder caused by the heavy recoil of the high-powered 30-06 rifle, as her breathing returned to normal.

She started to roll off of him, but he shook his head and held her tight, so she simply relaxed all the way, and then snuggled her mouth and chin in close against his hairy neck.

"Uhmm," she murmured. "That was nice."

Even though they'd made love like this hundreds of times, Harris was still amazed to discover that he could feel every one of her firmly toned leg, hip, abdominal, and chest muscles against his much softer body. He told himself that he truly loved the fiery activist for her devious mind, but he also knew that he was absolutely addicted to her sensuously lean and heated body. It was as if she had a fire burning within her that could not be extinguished, he thought, knowing that—in a way—it was absolutely true.

He waited a little while longer, until he too was completely relaxed, and then said:

"Crowley's dead."

He felt her stiffen.

"How?" she whispered.

"Riser killed him."

He could feel her swallow hard before she spoke again. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Do you know why?" she asked quietly, keeping her head tucked firmly against his neck. Not wanting to know, but as the leader of Wildfire, unable to say so. Even to someone as trusted as Leonard Harris.

Harris sighed. "Riser killed Crowley because Eric sent him in to renegotiate the contract."

"Are you sure it was the contract?"

Harris nodded slowly. "Eric told Crowley to try to renegotiate the price down to four hundred thousand for each phase. Riser refused, and instead raised his price to six hundred."

"A hundred thousand
more?"

"That's right."

"But that's over a—" she started to say, but he interrupted.

"Riser also said that there would be no more negotiations. Killing Crowley was his way of making that point."

She was silent for a long moment, and Harris simply remained still, feeling her heartbeat and her breathing grow steady again as she lay there on his chest.

"So what are we going to do about it?" she finally asked.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" She brought her head up and stared into his eyes. "Why not?"

"Because there's nothing we
can
do," Harris said as he gently rolled her over to the bed. "If you hire a man like Riser to do a job, and he does it, then you pay him. You don't question his methods or his ethics. You just pay."

"And if we don't?" Her voice was cold and hard now. She couldn't stand to be told no. He knew that. But he also knew that he had to be firm. There was no other way.

"Then he'll hunt us down and destroy us. And in doing so, he will also destroy Wildfire."

It was that last part that jarred her.

"But how could he possibly know—" she started to demand, but Harris silenced her by placing two of his fingers gently against her swollen lips.

"For starters, he could have easily tortured Crowley before he killed him."

"But even if he did, what could Crowley tell him about us, or about Wildfire?" she protested. "He didn't
know
anything. That was the whole idea of using him for that purpose."

"Crowley could have given him Eric," Harris said. "And once he has Eric, he can get to us. It would just be a matter of time."

"So we're going to pay him? Six hundred thousand each?" Her voice was filled with disbelief.

"Yes, we have to."

But then she seemed to consider something.

"What if we delayed payment?"

"The contract stipulates, very clearly, that the money transfer is to occur within twenty-four hours of verification. There are no provisions for any delays."

"But that's something we
could
renegotiate if we—" she started to say, but Harris shook his head.

"Don't even
think
about it," he whispered.

"But six hundred thousand apiece. How can we
possibly
pay him within that time frame?"

"We have the funds," he said quietly.

She blinked and then realized what he was saying.

"All of it?"

Harris nodded.

"But that means . . ."

"Wildfire would have to be delayed." Harris nodded.

Ember looked stricken.

"For how long?" she whispered.

"Long enough for our fund-raising to replenish the accounts. At the rate we've been going, a few weeks at the most," he said softly. "We can live with that." He immediately regretted the words as soon as he spoke them, but she didn't seem to notice.

"But once we have control, the money issue would be completely irrelevant. We could even pay him a bonus."

"Eric is well positioned for what we need him to do, but fiscal control is something else entirely," Harris said. "You have to remember that federal investigators and auditors will be sifting through every file cabinet, every spreadsheet, every computer file, searching for clues and motives. And the media jackals will be doing their own sniffing and scratching— you can count on that too."

He paused and then said: "In the very best of circumstances, it will take months before all the legal questions are resolved . . . and we don't have
that
much time."

Ember was silent for another long moment. And then:

"There may be another way to avoid paying Riser," she whispered.

"You mean sacrifice Eric?"

She nodded, stone-faced, but he saw the flicker in her eyes.

"Riser would find us eventually," he said. "It might take him a little longer, but he would find us."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, without question. He'd have to. That's how he maintains his reputation and his price. Besides," he reminded, "we still need Eric, both now and in the future if Wildlife is to continue. It would be nice if
it . . .
hadn't turned out that way, but it did, and we have to go forward from that point."

She nodded, her eyes filled with a fermenting mixture of anger and frustration and sadness.

"Have you talked with him recently?" he inquired, knowing that this too was a sensitive issue.

She nodded.

"How was he?"

"Not very happy," she said quietly.

"Do you think he's aware of our . . . relationship?"

"I think so," she whispered, staring down at the rumpled sheets.

Harris sighed. Jealousy was one more complication that they didn't need right now.

"He's immature," the baldish executive said. "He needs to understand that the two of you have—what?—grown apart."

"I think he's just feeling lost, and probably lonely too," she said quietly.

"I thought he had started seeing someone."

"He certainly tries to give that impression, but I don't think there's anything to it," she said. "Sometimes I think I should try to find someone for him."

"How do you think he'd respond to something like that?"

"Not very well," she admitted.

"If nothing else, we know one thing for sure," Harris said with a slight smile. "He won't be lonely much longer."

"No, I don't suppose he will. Not with all that money."

"And speaking of money," Harris said, "I just spent some more on another present for you."

"Oh, really? What did you get me?"

"Nothing much. Just a couple hundred rounds of 30-06 armor-piercing."

"You found it?" Her eyes lit up with anticipatory pleasure. "Where?"

"A friend." He shrugged.

"Is it here? Can I see it?"

"It's out in the car."

"I promised Eric that I'd take him out to the range today, let him fire the rifle," she whispered. "Do you think I could try some of it out, see how it kicks?"

"I think that would be a wonderful idea." Harris smiled. "Just make sure you have a decent backstop." And then: "I'm glad you're doing things with Eric. I think it helps to keep him busy."