Gallows Pole, page 20
“Can you do the thing with the traffic lights again?” she asked.
“Sorry, ma’am,” Lanier said. “Right now, I’ve only got that wired up for right downtown in D.C. “
“And for Ottumwa, Iowa,” Sims added.
“Iowa?” she said.
“Don’t ask,” Bishop said.
“I hear that a lot from you people.”
“You ask a lot of questions. Lanier, are there any reports of hostiles in the area?”
“Negative,” Lanier came back. “Just uniforms on the scene.”
“Okay,” Bishop said. “Give me a map.” He pulled out his BlackBerry. He drove with one hand, while glancing up and down between the screen and the road. “Looks like a nice traditional neighborhood. Streets are laid out in a grid. I’ll drop Saxon and Felix at the south corner, then take the block. I’ll park the truck near the other end of the street, and Sims and I will approach from the other direction. Lanier, you’ve got overwatch.”
“What about me?” Collette spoke up.
“You guard the truck,” Bishop said.
“Like hell,” Collette shot back. “I’m going with my partner.”
There was a stunned silence. Then Bishop spoke. “Wait one.” He reached up and touched the earpiece to mute the microphone. “You need to get your partner under control,” he said to Melissa in a low, furious voice, “before I have my people do it.”
He was probably right, but the tone got Melissa’s back up. “He’s right,” she said. “I’ve never worked with Felix. Collette’s had my back before. And I’ve had his.” He didn’t answer, and it suddenly occurred to her why he was so adamant. “I don’t need one of your people to babysit me, Colonel.”
He stared straight ahead at the road for a moment, then turned the mike back on. He didn’t look at her. “Okay,” he said. “Collette’s with Saxon.”
A chorus of “roger that’s” came back. They didn’t speak again until they reached their destination.
The street where Melissa had once lived with Roger was in an older suburb, broad and lined with oak trees, a neighborhood right out of a 50’s sitcom. It seemed impossible that anything bad could ever happen there. As she got out of the truck with Collette behind her, she could see a pair of police cars parked on the road near her house in the middle of the block. They both had their lights flashing. They walked slowly down the sidewalk, eyes and ears straining. As they got closer, they could hear voices raised.
“That’s Mr. Blanchard,” Melissa said. “Our neighbor.”
“He sounds pissed,” Collette said.
He was. Melissa could see him, in her front yard, dressed in his usual khaki shorts and bowling shirt. He’d retired from a job at the Department of Defense shortly before Melissa and Roger had moved in, and she’d never seen him in anything else. He once told Melissa with a straight face that he planned to attend his daughter’s wedding in it. She’d hoped he was kidding, but she wasn’t sure.
Blanchard was talking with two police officers. He was red-faced and shaking a finger at one of the officers, while the other one, a female, looked visibly amused. Blanchard caught sight of Melissa and waved.
“Melissa!” he bellowed. “Will you for God’s sake tell these Keystone Kops that I’m not some gun-toting criminal?”
The officer talking to Blanchard turned, with a look on his face that showed he’d had about his fill of trouble for the day. The look faded when he noticed the guns she and Collette were carrying. His hand went to his own pistol. Collette, however, already had his badge out. “We’re FBI,” he said. “I’m Special Agent Collette, and this is Special Agent Saxon. What’s the trouble, officer?”
“Trouble!” Blanchard erupted. “There wasn’t any trouble until these…these…kids in cop uniforms showed up and…”
“Mr. Blanchard,” Melissa said. “If you’ll calm down, I’ll try to get it straightened out.”
“Do you know this gentleman, Ma’am?” the officer said. The nameplate above his pocket identified him as Sgt. Hookstratten.
“He’s…he used to be my neighbor, Sergeant,” she said. “Can you tell me where the people who live in this house are?”
“They appear to be out, ah…”
“Agent Saxon,” she repeated.
“That’s right!’ Blanchard said. ‘“They’re out. So when I saw a pair of suspicious-looking characters skulking around outside the house, I did what any good neighbor would do.”
“He took a shot at them,” Hookstratten said sourly.
“I fired a warning shot!” Blanchard said.
“Inside the city limits, sir,” Hookstratten said. “Which is, as I’ve tried to explain, against the city ordinance.”
Bishop’s voice spoke up in Melissa’s ear. “Saxon,” he said. “We’re in position. What’s your situation?”
She touched the earpiece. “Wait one. Stand by. Do not approach,” she added hurriedly. She couldn’t think of any way having two more armed people on the scene wouldn’t make things worse.
“What?” Hookstratten said.
“Standing by,” Bishop answered.
Blanchard didn’t notice. He was on a roll. “I’m an American citizen, defending his neighborhood, with a firearm I have a right to bear under the Constitution, you…you…”
“I’d choose my words carefully if I were you, sir,” Hookstratten said.
“Oh, so now my freedom of speech means nothing, either?” Blanchard said. “I fought the Communists in Korea, young man. Before you were even born!”
“Yes, sir,” Hookstratten said. “Thanks for your service. Now about the gun…”
“You’ve got incoming, Saxon,” Bishop’s voice spoke in her ear. “Looks like a minivan.”
“Is it…” she began, but Blanchard’s raised voice cut her off. “I want a lawyer,” he said triumphantly. “Now you have to go away and leave me alone.”
Hookstratten looked as if he’d like nothing better. “You’re not in custody, sir,” he said. “Yet.”
Blanchard looked about ready to explode again, but at that moment, Roger’s van pulled up to the curb. Roger was behind the wheel, and Melissa’s heart leaped to see Nils in the passenger seat beside him. He rolled down the window.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
She ran to the van window, nearly giddy with relief. “Thank God,” she said. “Where were you? I tried to call but your cell phone was off.”
“Nils had a dentist appointment,” he said. “They made me turn off the cell phone in the office. What are these police officers doing here?” He turned to Nils, who was sitting there wide-eyed. “Go ahead and get my chair out, son,” he said. As the boy complied, he turned back to Melissa. “What’s going on?”
Hookstratten stepped over. “Are you Mr. Petterson?” he asked.
“Yes,” Roger said. Nils came around with the wheelchair and set it up on the sidewalk next to the van. “This is my house. What’s the problem?”
“Rog! Rog!” Blanchard was waving. “Someone tried to break into your house!” He tried to walk over to them, but the other officer stopped him with a hand on his chest.
Roger had opened the door and was adroitly maneuvering his body into the wheelchair. “Is this true?” he asked Hookstratten.
“We haven’t seen any evidence of it, sir,” Hookstratten said.
“I scared ‘em off,” Blanchard called.
Roger looked at Melissa, lifted a hand in greeting to Collette. “And why are you two here?”
“We…” she stopped. “It’s a long story,” she finished lamely. “We need to talk.”
He gave her an appraising look. “Okay,” he said finally.
“Sir,” Hookstratten said. “If you’d like to check out the house, make sure there’s been nothing taken or any signs of attempted entry…”
“Right,” Roger said. Hookstratten stepped back as he wheeled himself towards the long ramp that had replaced the front steps of the single-story ranch house.
“I’ll check the outside,” Melissa said.
Roger nodded. “Nils,” he said, “help your mother and Mr. Collette.”
As they walked around the narrow side yard to the fenced in back, Bishop’s voice spoke in her ear again. He sounded impatient. “Saxon,” he said, “What’s your situation?”
She touched the earpiece to activate the mike. “Everything’s fine. Stand by.”
“I need more than that, Saxon,” Bishop said. “We’re coming in.”
“No!’ she said. There was no response. She cursed inwardly.
“Mom?” Nils asked. “Who are you talking to? And why are you and Mr. Collette wearing guns and vests? What’s going on?”
She turned to him, saw the look of concern on his face. My god, she thought, when did he get so grown up? A sudden impulse overwhelmed her and she threw her arms around him.
“Mom!” he said.
“I was so worried, honey,” she whispered.
He gently disengaged from her grasp. “About what?” He turned to Collette. “Mr. Collette? Is everything okay?”
“It’s fine, kid,” he said. “Everything’s fine.”
A check of the fenced-in back yard revealed no signs of an attempted break-in. They walked around the other side to the front of the house again. Bishop and Sims were standing in the front yard when she got there. They had shed the guns and long coats and were dressed in black jeans and T-shirts. Bishop was talking to Blanchard, while Sims stood a few feet away, arms folded, watching the area, his eyes constantly moving, scanning. The police officers were getting into their cars.
Bishop was speaking as Melissa strode up to them. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Blanchard. We’ll have to ask you not to discuss this with anyone else. It’s a national security matter.”
“What if those officers come back?” Blanchard asked.
Bishop smiled. “They won’t. And Mr. Blanchard,” he put a hand on Blanchard’s shoulder, “thank you for your service to our country.” She thought that might have been laying it on a little thick, but Blanchard fairly beamed. Bishop turned to them as Blanchard walked back towards his house.
“I told you…” Melissa began, but Bishop stuck out his hand to Nils.
“Jim Townsend,” he said. “I work with your Mom.” He nodded to Sims. “This is my associate, Mr. Zimmerman.” Sims smiled and nodded. Nils took the offered hand politely. “Nils Petterson.”
“Can we come in?” Bishop asked. “We need to talk.”
“Yes,” Roger said. He was sitting in the front doorway. “We do.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
“Mama,” Calhoun said, “We need to talk.”
The old woman was seated in her easy chair in the farmhouse’s small living room. She had a braille copy of Guideposts magazine in her lap and her fingers skimmed lightly over the page. At his words, she stopped and put the magazine aside. She folded her hands in her lap and stared straight ahead, her face serene. “Something wrong, son?” her voice was soft but strong.
He sat down on the couch nearby. “I think maybe you ought to go stay with Aunt Frieda in Florida for a little while.”
“Uh-huh,” she said. “Is this about that phone call you got right after lunchtime? The one that’s got you all nervous?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
“Some kind of trouble?” she said.
“There might be, yes ma’am.”
“I was born in this house, son,” she said. “I expect I’ll die in it. I don’t much like the idea of bein‘ run out of it.” He started to speak, but she silenced him with a raised hand. “Even for a little while.” She settled her hands back in her lap. “This have anything to do with what you done for the Army?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well if it’s the damn Ayrabs, let them come. I definitely ain’t runnin‘ from none of them. I can still shoot my shotgun, even though you might have to tell me where to point it.’”
He had to smile at that. “I don’t think it’s the Arabs, Mama.”
Something in his voice made her frown. “Come over here, boy,” she said.
He stood up and walked over to her. “Lean down,” she said. When he did, she ran her fingers over his face. Her frown deepened. “You really are worried, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Her voice hardened. “You were supposed to be done with all that. You lost both your legs for your country. Ain’t that enough? How can they ask more of you?” He didn’t answer. “It ain’t right,” she said.
“No, ma’am,” he said. “It’s not.”
She sighed. “But I guess I’m old enough to know, right or wrong don’t always signify.” She held out a hand. “Help me up, boy,” she said. “I’ll get packed.”
***
“Jesus, Melissa,” Roger said. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into?”
They were seated around the dining room table, Roger at one end, Melissa at the other. Nils had been banished, protesting, to his room down the hall to do homework. Felix had come in and swept the house for listening devices with a small handheld scanner no larger than a deck of cards. He whistled as he ran the scanner over the walls and around the windows. No one else spoke, and Melissa could tell that the sound of Felix’s whistling set Roger’s teeth on edge, but he didn’t say anything. Finally, when Felix was done, he’d nodded at her. “Looks like your neighbor interrupted them before they could put anything in place.”
“Anything you can find,” Sims said.
“If this baby can’t find it,” Felix said, “it’s not here.”
“So,” Roger had said, his voice tight, “Tell me what the hell is going on. And who these people are, starting with their real names.”
She’d told him. And now he felt free to let his anger go.
“What the hell have you gotten into?” he repeated. “And dragged Nils into?”
He was clearly spoiling for a fight. She recognized the signs. But she didn’t have time. And she was starting to realize how tired she was. Drugged, pursued, almost kidnapped, and now the emotional strain of thinking her son might have been injured…or worse…she fought the impulse to just lay her head on the table and close her eyes.
“They already came here,” he went on. “Why?”
“They may have meant to ask you if you knew where I was,” she said.
“And we’d be obliged,” Sims said, “if you didn’t tell them.”
“The best way for me not to do that,” Roger said. “is if I don’t know. And the best way to keep my son safe is if you’re not here.” He looked at Melissa. “Any of you.”
“I know,” she said miserably. “I just thought…”
“You need to leave,” Roger said. “Now.”
“Sir…” Bishop began.
“No,” Melissa said wearily. “He’s right.” She stood up. “Let’s go.”
The rest of them stood as well. “You need anything?” Sims said.
Roger looked at him with a gaze that could etch stone. “Like what?”
Sims’ face was carefully expressionless. “Like a weapon. Sir.”
“I don’t need anything from you to defend my son.”
“Our son,” Melissa said, with a lump in her throat. Roger didn’t answer. “I’m going to say goodbye to him.”
Nils was slumped at his desk, eyes fixed on the screen of his computer. Melissa closed the door behind him and stood watching him for a moment. He didn’t look at her.
“Hey, kiddo,” she said softly.
“Hey,” he said.
“I’m going to be gone for a while,” she said. “I wanted to give you a hug before I left.”
He looked at her. She could see the tears brimming in his eyes. “Are you in some kind of trouble?” he said.
She’d never been able to lie to him. He’d always seen right through it. “Yeah. Some.”
He turned back to the computer. “I know you didn’t do anything wrong,” he whispered.
She walked over and hugged him from behind. He stiffened for a moment, then relaxed and put his hand on her forearm. “I didn’t,” she said. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
He clicked an on-screen button. The people on the screen, standing and talking in some kind of virtual living room, froze. “Those guys you’re with,” he said. “Who are they?”
“They’re soldiers, honey,” she said. “They’re helping me with an investigation.”
“They look pretty tough.”
That made her chuckle. “They are. They’re going to take care of me. And your Dad’s going to take care of you.”
He slid out of the chair and stood up. He put his arms around her. “Be careful, okay?”
She was finding it hard to speak. “Okay. And you be good. Do what your Dad says.”
“I will.” She gave him a last hug and a kiss on the cheek. It took an act of will to keep her face composed as she walked out and down the hall. Roger was still seated at the table, with the rest of the team gathered in the foyer next to the front door. There was a cell phone lying on the table in front of him. She recognized one of Felix’s secure phones. “I’ll call you,” she said.
He nodded, but didn’t speak until she walked towards the door. “Melissa,” he said. She stopped and turned. He was looking at the top of the table. “I’m sorry,” he said. There were volumes of words to be spoken behind that, but no time to say them.
“It’s okay,” she said.
He looked up at her. “Be careful.”
“I will.”
In the yard, walking towards the truck, Sims was walking behind her, and he was the first to speak. “Jesus, that guy’s a piece of work.”
She whirled around, her finger pointed in his face. “Don’t say another word,” she snarled. “Not another goddamn word.”
Sims halted to avoid running into the finger pointed at his face like a blade. “Whoa, whoa,” he said. “I’m just…”
“Sims,” Bishop said quietly. “She’s right. Let it go.”
Sims looked at him strangely, but he didn’t speak again.
***
Roger Petterson sat at the kitchen table for a long time. His face was set in its usual dour expression, but behind it, his emotions roiled like waves. He was furious at Melissa; he was terrified for her; he was sick with jealousy that she was on the job and he wasn’t; he ached with how much he missed her. The revelation of the rot in the Bureau he had once devoted his life to made him feel almost physically ill. Most of all, he was afraid. Afraid for his son, afraid for his own safety, and that made him even angrier.
