Gallows Pole, page 24
***
“First off,” Bishop said, “I’d like to know whose hare-brained idea it was to follow me.”
Lanier and Felix were seated on the couch in Lanier’s spacious living room. Outside, the blue, cloud-streaked sky visible through the giant windows was incongruous with the storm about to explode within. The two men looked at each other.
Bishop’s temper exploded. “God damn it, LOOK at me!”
Lanier got slowly and shakily to his feet. “It was a mutual decision, sir.”
“Which means you’re covering for Sims. I can’t see either of you bucking my orders on this.”
“Well sir,” Felix said, “you didn’t exactly use the word order.”
“Don’t parse words with me, Sergeant Felix,” Bishop snarled.
Felix got to his feet quickly, his face darkening with anger. “It’s Doctor Felix now, sir,” he snapped back. “You seem to keep forgetting, none of us are under your command any more. We did what we did because we were concerned about you. And,” he looked at Lanier, “I think we’d both do it again.”
“Roger that, sir,” Lanier said.
The words seemed to pull the plug on Bishop’s anger. He walked past the two men and stood by the window.
“Campbell wants me to come after Collette and Saxon,” he said. “He knows I’m going to do it. And I don’t know why he wants that.” He turned back towards them. “But that’s not your fight, gentlemen.”
Lanier cleared his throat. “Um, sir,” he said. “Actually, it is.”
Felix nodded. “Before we left, Major Sims told them, ‘Welcome to Iron Horse.”
Bishop shook his head. “There is no more Iron Horse.”
“I respectfully disagree, sir,” Lanier said.
“And Iron Horse does not,” Felix said, “leave its people in enemy hands. Right, Colonel?”
He stared at them for a moment, then nodded grimly. “Right.” Then he stopped and his jaw tightened. “Calhoun,” he said.
Felix picked up his meaning right away. “If the goal was to take all our people…”
Lanier began walking towards the computer room. “I’ll call him.”
The phone seemed to take forever to connect, and it rang seven times before Calhoun picked up. “Hey,” he said. “I was getting ready to call y’all.”
The three men all let out their breaths. “Sergeant Calhoun,” Bishop said. “Are you okay?”
“Had a little excitement here,” Calhoun said. “But it’s over now. What’s going on with you fellas?”
Bishop quickly filled him in. Calhoun listened silently until he was done.
“Awright,” he drawled. “I’ll put some stuff in the truck and be up there directly. I just need to get Lonnie Maness and his boy to come over an’ look after the farm while I’m gone.”
“Sergeant,” Bishop said. “You don’t need to…”
“Like hell I don’t.” It was the most anger they’d heard in a while from the normally laconic Calhoun. “Beggin‘ your pardon, sir, but this Campbell motherfucker sent people onto my own goddamn land to fuck with me and mine. He needs to learn some fuckin‘ manners.”
Bishop nodded. “All right. Sergeant,” he said. “We’ll look forward to your being here. But Campbell said something about houseguests and fish starting to stink after three days. I think that means he’s put us on a time limit. We’re on a short fuse.”
“My favorite kind,” Calhoun said. “See ya.” He broke the connection.
“Okay, people,” he said. “We’ve got three days to get our people back.”
“I’ll get to work trying to find Sims, then we’ll find out where Campbell lives,” Lanier said.
“One advantage,” Felix said, “is that he apparently wants to be found.”
“That’s what worries me,” Lanier said glumly.
“Come on, cheer up,” Felix smiled. “We’re getting the band back together.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
“Any luck?” Bishop stood in the doorway of the computer room,
Lanier shook his head. “Sims was taken to the police station on M street. Then…” he shrugged. “Nothing.”
“What do you mean, nothing?”
“Just that. No booking record, no charge, no paperwork. He just drops off the screens like there was a trapdoor under the place.”
“Which means Campbell got to him. Took him out of there on some sort of bullshit terrorism story and buffaloed everyone into clamming up.”
Lanier nodded. “Probably. From what you’ve told me, he’s good at making people disappear.” He realized too late what he’d said and looked down at his screen in embarrassment. “Sorry, sir.”
“No need to be,” Bishop said. “Campbell doesn’t want a corpse right now, he wants bait. So find Campbell, we find Sims.”
“That’s what I figured. But it’s not so easy.”
“I have faith in you, Rod,” Bishop said. “Always have, always will.”
Lanier cracked a tired smile. “Thanks, sir.”
“How are you feeling?” Bishop asked.
“Still nauseous. Still shaky. But it’s getting better.” Lanier shook his head. “The stuff didn’t hit me this bad the first time, sir. And I’ve never seen it in spray form. I’m thinking this is some kind of new variant on the Zombie Juice.”
Bishop nodded. “But Rutledge is dead. So maybe it was something he was working on before he died.”
“Maybe. Or maybe someone else picked the stuff up to work on it.”
“Who, do you think?”
Lanier shook his head. “If it’s aerosolized, that means someone’s looking to turn it into a weapon. But that’s not the sort of thing you can do in the open. It’s a black project if ever there was one.”
“So we look for chemwar experts,” Bishop said. “We see who’s recently dropped out of sight.” He grimaced. “An aerosol weapon that turns people into slaves.”
Lanier nodded. “So we start with the Russians.”
“Hah, yeah. Okay,” Bishop said. He sighed. “I hate to put anything more on your plate, Rod.”
“Hey,” Lanier said. “If it was easy, sir, life might get boring.”
Bishop laughed. “Can’t have that.” He walked to the door, then stopped and turned back. “You think they may have dosed Sims with the Lot Seventeen?”
“If they have, sir,” Lanier said. “I wouldn’t want to be the guy that did it when he comes out of it.”
“Roger that,” Bishop said. “But in the meantime, could they make him fight against us with it?”
Lanier looked stricken. “Theoretically, yes sir.”
“If he did,” Bishop said. “Could you kill him?”
Lanier stared for a moment. “You mean would I be good enough to do it, or could I make myself do it?”
“Both.”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Neither do I, Rod.” Bishop said. “Neither do I.” He closed the door.
‘
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
“Nice place you got here,” Sims said.
Campbell bowed his head slightly. “Thank you.”
“Got to wonder how you afford a place like this on a government salary.”
“I could ask the same thing about Captain Lanier.”
Sims felt a chill. “Not sure what you mean, sir.”
“I think you do, Major Sims,” Campbell said. “I’ll admit, your comrade has gone to some ingenious lengths to hide his little hideaway, but,” he smiled, “tracing things like that is, after all, and important part of our skill sets, isn’t it?”
Sims leaned forward as much as the cuffs holding his wrists to the chair would allow. “Your boy Rusk says you want to make a deal. Here’s my offer.”
Campbell laughed. “I have to say, Major, I’m impressed. Not many men in your position would feel they had much to bargain with.”
“I’ve got my…how did you put it? Skill set. You obviously want that. And I want back in the game.”
“Go on.”
“There’s a condition.”
“I thought there might be.”
“Leave Bishop alone. And the rest. Calhoun and Lanier and Felix.”
“What if they want to join you?”
Sims shook his head. “Lanier and Felix might. But Bishop won’t. And you don’t want him anyway.”
“And why not?”
“He’s lost his nerve. I guess you know where he’s been the past couple of years.”
Campbell nodded. “I do. But doesn’t the fact that he’s come out of his exile mean anything?”
“He’s damaged goods,” Sims said. “You can’t trust him not to fold up again. Come on, Mr. Campbell, you’ve got to admit, building a cage and locking yourself into it isn’t something people do unless they have a screw loose.”
The older man was clearly enjoying the conversation. “An interesting point. We’ll discuss it when Colonel Bishop gets here.”
“If he comes here,” Sims said, “he’s coming to kill you.”
“Of course. And that’s why I’m unable to accept your offer at this time. Even if I was inclined to, as you put it, ‘leave him alone’, I doubt that he’ll do the same for me.”
“I can call him off.”
“Doubtful. I have something else he wants.”
Sims thought of his last attempt at communicating with Saxon and Collette. “You’ve got the FBI agents.”
Campbell didn’t answer.
“So let them go. What use are they to you?”
“Right now,” Campbell said, “They’re of considerable use. Especially the woman. Later, of course…” he shrugged, then smiled. “You’ve had a long trip,” he said. He gestured behind Sims. “Sergeant Dawes will see you to your quarters. Rest a bit, and we’ll talk again. Perhaps after I’ve had my talk with Colonel Bishop. The results of that might change things. For everyone.”
Dawes walked from the doorway, into Sims’ field of vision. “Hello, mate,” he said. “We have a bit of unfinished business, don’t we?”
Sims smiled. “I’m willing to let bygones be bygones,” he said.
“Glad to hear it. But just in case…” he raised a sprayer and gave Sims a face full of the Lot Seventeen.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
“Anything?” Bishop asked.
Lanier shook his head. “Not on Campbell,” he said. He sighed. “The man brings new meaning to the words ‘low profile.’ But I think I have a line on our chemist.”
“Russian?”
Lanier nodded. “Picked up on some FSB chatter. One of their ‘persons of interest’ dropped out of sight a couple of weeks ago. Piotr Udovin. Used to be a star in the area of chemicals in CT work. Drugs, gases, that sort of thing.”
“Used to be?”
“Yeah. He fucked up in a hostage situation. Tried to use some sort of half-tested sleeping gas and got a bunch of hostages killed. He’s been in disgrace ever since.”
“And now he’s vanished.”
“Right. And take a look at this.” He pulled a sheet of paper out of a pile on his desk and handed it to Bishop.
It was a copy of a photograph, apparently printed out from a website. A lean, sunken-cheeked man was shaking hands with another, plumper one.
“That’s Rutledge,” Bishop said.
“Right. And the skinny guy? That’s the one who gassed me.”
“Udovin.”
“Yes, sir. That picture was taken at a conference in Basel two years ago. Udovin and Rutledge knew each other professionally.”
“So we’ve got a name for two of the people who are working with Campbell,” Bishop said. “Udovin and Bache.”
“Maybe three,” Lanier said. “I looked around for other people in our business that’ve recently gone missing. Found a couple.” He pulled another sheet of paper out of the pile. “Recognize this guy?”
Bishop looked at the broad, square face in the picture. “This is the guy that was with Campbell.”
“Woodward,” Lanier said. “He was doing a sentence at Leavenworth for killing a bunch of Iraqi civilians.”
“Was?”
“He’s out. And I can’t seem to get any good reason why he was given early release.”
“I think we can figure it out.”
“Campbell,” Lanier said.
“He pulls some very long strings,” Bishop said.
“Yes sir. And there’s one more.” He handed Bishop another piece of paper.
“I don’t know this one,” Bishop said.
“Griffen Dawes,” Lanier said. “Ex-SAS. He won their sniper tournament three years running, AND the British Army’s unarmed combat competition.”
“You said Ex-SAS.”
“He left the Regiment in 2005. He was working for Calibre for a while.”
“So where did he disappear from?”
“He was convicted of sexual assault while he was back in England. He was out on parole, but he didn’t report to his probation officer. I’m running a search through the Homeland Security database to see if he’s come through any US airports. Maybe one of the security cameras…” he stopped.
“What?” Bishop said.
“I just had an idea,” Lanier said. “A way to find Campbell. Maybe.”
“Get on it,” Bishop said.
***
Bishop entered the room to find a tired but smiling Lanier.
“Got him,” he said.
“Campbell?”
Lanier nodded.
Bishop walked to the door. “Dr. Felix,” he called out. “Come here, please.”
When Felix arrived, both he and Bishop stood behind Lanier, looking over his shoulder.
“I did an image search,” Lanier explained. “To see if there was some photo of Campbell on line.”
“He’s pretty camera shy,” Bishop observed.
“Which makes for fewer hits,” Lanier said. “And fewer false positives. But no one who gets around as much as he does can avoid having his picture taken entirely.” Lanier moved the mouse and a grainy picture appeared on the screen.
“Where is he?” Felix said “All I can see is a crowd, standing behind the President.”
Lanier moved again and clicked. The picture zoomed in on a face in the crowd. “That’s him,” Bishop said. “But that’s not much of an image to work with.”
Lanier grinned. “It is with my software.” He clicked. Another image appeared. This one was of a young blonde girl on a horse. The horse and rider were a blur of speed and motion. There was a fence behind them with people lined up along it, watching.
“I’m not following you here, Rod,” Bishop said.
Lanier clicked again. The picture zoomed in to a face in the crowd.
“So Campbell likes horse shows,” Felix said.
“No,” Bishop said. “Campbell loves his granddaughter. And that’s her on the horse. Right?”
Lanier nodded. “Ariane Pettit. Her mother is Campbell‘s oldest daughter. Now look.” He clicked again. This time the picture was embedded in a website for the “25th Annual Shenandoah Valley International Horse Show.” He clicked again. A page came up entitled “List of Competitors.” Bishop and Felix leaned forward to read the list. Each competitor was listed with the name of a farm beside them.
“Ariane Pettit,” Bishop read.
“Wild Ridge Farm,” Felix added.
“Which is owned by…” Lanier clicked, “a company called Accius Holdings, Inc.”
“Of course,” Bishop said.
“What’s Accius?” Felix asked
“Roman poet,” Bishop said. “Most famous for one particular saying.”
“Let them hate,” Lanier quoted, “So long as they fear.”
“It’s one of Campbell‘s favorite sayings.”
“And the registered agent for Accius Holdings is one M.J. Rusk.”
“So that’s Campbell,” Lanier said. “And when I input the address of Accius Holdings into Google Maps, I get…” he clicked. The screen showed an aerial view of what looked like a farm. Lanier zoomed in. A huge house stood in the middle of the fields and woods.
“God, I love the Internet,” Felix said.
“It gets better,” Lanier said. He clicked again.
“Is that what I think it is?” Bishop said.
“Yep. It’s a floor plan of the entire house.”
“Where the hell did you get that?” Felix said.
“Before Campbell bought it,” Lanier said. “The place had been on the market for four or five years. The Realtor put the floor plan up on his website to try and sell it. Along with all these pictures, of course.” Lanier handed each of them a thin portfolio.
“Nice,” Felix said.
The phone chimed softly. Lanier picked it up. “Yes?” he said. “Okay. Yes, he’s one of my guests. Send him up.” There was a pause. “Yes, he’ll need to park it.” He hung up. “Calhoun just got here. I don’t think the doorman is very impressed with the pickup truck.”
“If I know Calhoun,” Bishop said, “he’d be even less happy if he knew what was in the back.” He opened the portfolio. “You’ve got one of these for him, I trust?”
“Yes sir,”
“Okay. Let’s get our heads together and work up a plan.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
“Sir.” Diego said, jogging to catch up with Campbell as he walked along the gravel path. “A word, please.”
“Yes, Diego,” Campbell said, a little irritably, “what is it?” He took his walk around the grounds every day at this time, to clear his head and think. He resented the intrusion.
The groom fell into step beside him. “I’ve done as you asked. I’ve moved all of the horses to other farms and made arrangements for their feed.”
“Good,” Campbell said absently, looking off towards the mountains. “Is that all you wanted to tell me?”
“No, sir,” Diego said. He hesitated.
“Well?” Campbell said.
“What is going on here, Mr. Campbell?”
Campbell stopped and stared at him, as dumfounded as if one of the trees had stopped to question him.
Diego went on. “I know you often have guests, sir. But these new men, the ones who came in the truck today. They are soldiers, no?”
Campbell nodded gravely. “Yes, Diego. That’s what they are. I assume it was the rifles and body armor that tipped you off.”
