Blue Wolf In Green Fire (37 page)

It was still snowing, but the temperature was not dipping below the low twenties at night and they had the gear and clothing needed to stay warm and to sit tight for an extended period. They packed food and water in their packs for three days, but would have to go without hot food. Last night he had talked around the specifics of the mission, but now he laid out the details.

He told them about Wealthy Johns and Carmody, the fifty-cal, the three wolves, and the bear. Carmody was his undercover and would step in to seize the weapon before she could get off the shot; they were there in the role of observers and as backup for the federal agent, but if something went wrong, they would intervene. He did not reveal Allerdyce's betrayal or Carmody's background. He would deal with these on his own terms, in his own time.

“Once we get into our hides, we stay put,” he said. “Let's get it done,” was his final instruction.

They were settled in by 10 a.m. Each team had a handheld radio, but was to maintain radio silence except for hourly check-ins, which were to consist solely of clicks. One click from him at nine minutes after every hour was to be followed one minute later by a two-click response from the other team. If and when it became apparent that the surveillance was a waste, he would use voice to pull the teams out.

The temperature was just above freezing, the snow wet again and still falling hard, though he saw that it was beginning to come in waves, which suggested a break in the offing. He wished it would make up its mind.

Service sat three or four yards from Gus; Grinda was a bit above them, watching a likely trail up the back of the ridge. She had picked a spot that allowed her a good sight line. By leaning slightly back she could see Service and give a hand signal. If she saw or heard something coming up the trail after dark she would flash a tiny red light attached to the zipper of her jacket. The beam would not carry, but could be seen by him.

For the first hour he thought about Carmody and his background and shuddered to think he was depending on a former IRA thug to uphold the law. McKower had told him when he had been promoted that he had been put in the job because his cases always seemed to become inescapably complex. Well, she couldn't blame the developments in this one on him. He was simply riding this wave.

Gus Turnage had a white Hudson's Bay blanket draped over his legs. Now and then he waggled a finger at Service to let him know he was alert. He and Gus had sat many a time and he had no doubts about his friend's ability to stay focused and alert, but Grinda worried him because he hadn't worked with her.

It was dark before 4:30 p.m., the snow finally relenting. Service saw patches opening in the cloud cover to reveal an indigo sky and a few early stars. His eyes went to Orion the hunter, the three stars of the constellation's belt standing out like a beacon.

Around 9 p.m. Nantz checked in by cell phone.

“The weather's cleared up over here and Yogi wants us to fly. He wants a fix on the male.”

“Roger,” he whispered. “One fix and outta here, okay?”

Click-click,
she answered.

They briefly heard the Cessna pass overhead in the snow clouds an hour later.

Nantz called back at 11 p.m.

“Our bird's back in the barn,” she said. “The male is stationary, about three hundred yards southwest of where you collared him,” she said, adding, “I do,” and hung up.

Three hundred yards southwest: Shouldn't the animals be moving? Or was the effect of the ketamine lingering?

By 2 a.m. the cold was creeping up his legs through his boots, and he kept flexing his toes to maintain circulation. Twenty years ago he would have ignored the weather. Hell, five years ago.

There was a clear sky with stars by 4:30 a.m., suggesting the sun would be bright in the morning. As the air warmed, there would be the sound of melting snow and falling ice.

Another aircraft passed overhead moments after sunrise. Service tried to see it, but couldn't. Probably Jesse Fulsik down from Houghton. Nantz would have called if it had been her.

At 7:30 a.m. the top of the sun was a bright orange disk against a lavender-and-blue sky. The temperature seemed to drop several degrees after the sun came up.

Thirty minutes after sunrise, Gus Turnage gave him a hand signal, pointing to the clearing below them. Service turned and saw the two wolves loping through the snow, plowing a trail with their chests, following the same path they had previously used.

By midmorning the sun was warming everything, and the tallest, widest trees were beginning to noisily shed their snow.

At 12:30 p.m. Service heard a gunshot behind the hill. It was difficult to judge a precise direction or distance from their position, but he had heard one distinct
pop,
a handgun, not a rifle.

Grinda peered down at him and cupped a hand to her ear. He nodded.

Gus gave a similar signal.

At 1 p.m. Grinda gave another hand signal, pointing to the back slope of their hill. She then touched forked fingers to her eyes. She had seen someone or something. Service got Gus's attention and relayed the message to him.

A small figure in white camo slithered onto the outcrop below them and unfolded the tripod attached to the barrel of the black fifty-caliber weapon that looked taller than the figure. Service kept watching for ­Carmody, but there was no sign of him. The figure spread out an insulated ground cloth. Johns, Service told himself as she slid a single round into the breach, sighted the long-barrel weapon down into the clearing toward the wolf tracks, wriggled around to get comfortable, and spread her legs apart for balance. Where the hell was Carmody?

The weapon was adequate reason to take her, but he waited for the undercover to show. It was not safe to move until he knew where everybody was.

At 2:30 p.m. the woman pulled back the hood to her parka, rolled onto her left side, peeled off her balaclava, shook her head, and lay back. She had short black hair. Using binoculars, Service got a good look at her face and stared, dumbfounded, his heart pounding. Wealthy Johns was Kitty Haloran! Where was Carmody?

Just before dark Service's cell phone vibrated quietly in his pocket. He fumbled to get it out and snap it open.

“Don't say a word, boyo. I've had a bit of a setback here. The woman's all yours.”

A setback? Carmody's voice was strained and weak. “Carmody?”

“Ach, I told ya not to talk, ya daft Yank.”

“There was a shot.”

“I won't be dancin' again.”

Service heard the pain in the man's voice. “I never saw it comin'. So who's the amateur?” Carmody said with a grim laugh.

“Where are you?”

“Never you mind, keep your head in the job, lad,” Carmody said, hanging up.

Service knew he had to get someone to the man. Carmody would be bleeding, and if the wounds were even moderate, shock and exposure could kill him. Grinda was in the best position to move over the back of the hill and backtrack, but he knew Gus could move silently and leave no sign. He crawled over to his friend.

“Carmody's been shot,” he whispered. “Backtrack her trail and find him. If she starts to come down, we'll stop her. Try to get him back to camp and call for help.”

Gus nodded. Service watched his friend work his way up to Grinda, who immediately slid down to Gus's abandoned position. “That woman killed two people at Vermillion,” Service whispered to her. “She's shot our undercover. Gus will find him and get help. We'll stay with her.”

“Take her now?” she asked softly.

Service looked at the sky. “Not yet. I want Gus to get to Carmody and I want her to make a move on the wolves. If we get into darkness, we'll have to wait for first light.”

“If she stays in place.”

“She'll stay,” Service said. She wanted the blue wolf. “Got on your long johns?”

Grinda smiled. “Long janes,” she whispered.

Night fell, the wolves did not come, and there was no word from Gus. The woman lay motionless on her perch, her weapon pointed into the clearing below. Service was impressed with her discipline. Only a trained sniper or a psycho could endure this.

A partial moon threw slivers of light across the hills and valley below.

Sometime during the night Service saw a glint from where the woman lay, and then the brief red flash of a dot of light on the snow below. He bit his lower lip. She had a laser sight attached to the scope on the rifle. If that dot touched a target, it was going to be dead when she pulled the trigger.

He had his night-vision device along but couldn't risk scoping the field below. The slightest glint would give them away, and a shootout in the dark was too dangerous.

Maybe the wolves would not come back until morning.

His gut was tight.

At 6 a.m. he heard the Cessna again.

It came in low over the hill, passing close to McCants and her team, and fluttered along the length of the valley before banking to the north, climbing and disappearing, its running lights blinking red and green as it disappeared out of sight. Were the wolves moving back? Was it Nantz or Fulsik? It would be useful to know if they had picked up a signal, but he didn't dare use the radio right now.

He started to lean toward Grinda when he heard voices shouting below them.

“Ya fookin' cunt!” Carmody roared in pain and fury.

“Yer a bloody obstinate man, Mr. Carmody,” the woman said in a thick brogue. “Ye've wasted the walk,” she added icily.

Grinda was suddenly beside him. “It's going south,” she whispered, her voice calm.

A handgun suddenly barked below, belching a muzzle flash.

Grinda said, “SIG.”

Her own weapon was already in her hand and she was standing up.

“I'm tough to hit, eh Minnis!” the woman shouted.

Grinda was immediately on her feet and shouted, “DNR!” as Service tried to unholster his weapon, stand up, and move a couple of paces to her left to give them separation.

There were three more shots all at nearly the same instant, and a grunt as Grinda collapsed beside him and slid down into the snow, coming to rest at his feet.

One muzzle flash from below, two from beside him. He moved his eyes left and right trying to sharpen rod-and-cone night vision.

“I'm okay, I'm okay,” Grinda grunted from his feet, her breath coming fast. He felt her writhing around against his leg and groaning.

Snow suddenly crashed behind Service and he swiveled to face the sound. “It's Gus, it's
me
,” his friend said. “That fucking cocksucker, that fucking cocksucker, he took my weapon, the cocksucker.”

Service kept his eyes on the area below. “Shut up, Gus,” he whispered. “Check Sheena.”

“I
hate
that name,” Grinda complained.

“Grady?” a voice crackled over the handheld. It was McCants.

“We've got two down,” Service said. “Hold your position until we can see. Stay off the radio.”

Click-click.

Two shots from Grinda, why? At night you were trained to use a muzzle flash as your aiming point, the theory being that the shooter would be directly in line with the flash, which was the source of the most pressing threat.

C'mon sun, he told himself, trying to will it above the trees to the east.

“No blood,” Gus whispered.

Service peeked down at where Haloran had been, but she seemed to be gone. He heard Gus tell Grinda to relax and stop squirming.

As the sky began to lighten, Service could see the snowy shelf below. A body was stretched out on its back under some small spruces away from the lip of the area. Carmody? Where was the woman?

No sign of the fifty-cal or Haloran. He took out his radio. “Candi, we have two down and the subject and weapon are gone.”

“You want us to come to you?”

“No, hold your position and keep your heads down.”

Click-click.
She didn't ask if anybody was dead. In the midst of shitstorm you had enough distractions without worrying about the fate of others.

Service knelt beside Grinda and began to examine her. “Copping a feel?” she said through clenched teeth and a pained grin. “The vest stopped it,” she said breathlessly. “Middle of my solar plexus. God, it
hurts.
”

He felt. “There?”

She winced. “I wonder what it feels like without a vest.”

“You don't wanna know,” he said.

He looked over at Gus, whose head was covered in blood.

“Gus?”

“I found the cocksucker and put a tourniquet above his knee. He belted me when I was trying to help him! Took my piece. There's no gratitude in this line of work.”

Grinda tried to sit up but Service pressed down on her shoulder. “Stay down. She's gone and so is her weapon.”

Service got on the radio.

“Candi?”

“Here.”

“Any sign?”

“I think there's a set of fresh tracks cutting across to the slash on the other side of the opening,” she said. “I can sort of make out a path. The snow was disturbed where someone came down the hill. It looks like a rough landing.”

“Fell?”

“Sorry, I'm too far to read it.”

Service got out his binoculars and eased into a place between two small boulders where he could see and have some protection. He scanned the clearing and saw the tracks. Had she fallen or had she slid down intentionally? He tried to find a blood trail, but couldn't. Assume no blood, he told himself. He debated calling for backup, but by the time help could arrive, Haloran could be long gone. Six against one should be enough. Except for the damn fifty. If she could get up high, she might be able to pick them off one at a time. But there was no high ground where she had gone; his people held the best ground.

He keyed in his mike. “Candi, stay where you are.”

“What if she runs?”

“We'll deal with that as it comes. She's got a fifty and she can use it.”