Endangered (9 page)

“‘Subject agrees to commit no more crimes in the state of Wyoming.’”

Nate snorted at that.

“That was Governor Rulon’s provision,” Dudley said. “He said he did some research and a former governor of Wyoming made the same deal with Butch Cassidy before he released him from the territorial prison over in Laramie. Apparently, Butch was an honorable outlaw and he never committed another crime in Wyoming, even though he used to use the state as his hideout. It seems like a stupid provision to me, but the governor insisted. Are you as honorable an outlaw as Butch Cassidy?”

Nate’s face didn’t twitch.

“Oh, and this is mine,” Dudley said, looking up. “‘Subject agrees to have no more contact with one Joe Pickett of Twelve Sleep County—or his family.’”

“
What?
That wasn’t there earlier,” Nate said angrily.

Years before, Nate had made a pact with Joe to watch out for the Picketts after Joe managed to get Nate released from jail for a crime he didn’t commit. Since then, they’d been through a lot together and it was Joe who’d convinced Nate to turn himself in after the Templeton scheme blew up. It wasn’t a vow he was willing to break.

“I just added that this morning,” Dudley said. “It’s for your own protection and for ours. I talked to the DOJ and I pointed out that every time you get involved with that friend of yours, people end up dead. I know it, you know it, everybody in the state knows it. This will prevent that from happening until we’ve nailed Templeton. Maybe after that, we can revisit the language.”

“I won’t agree to it,” Nate said. “You can’t put in terms that weren’t negotiated earlier.”

“We can do whatever we want,” Dudley said, thrusting out his jaw. “We’re the government.”

Nate smoldered. He had relented on every point over months and he was minutes away from being released. Now this.

“What about my right to freedom of association?” Nate said.

“I think we went over that rights thing already,” Dudley said impatiently.

“Joe is a good man. I’m obligated to him.”

“Not anymore.”

“You can’t do this.”

“Do I have to say it again?”

—

“A
ND THE LAST THING
,”
Dudley said. “‘Subject agrees to go seek legitimate employment.’ That’s right—you need to go straight. Meaning you’ll actually get a job, go to work, pay your taxes, and exist like a normal human being until Templeton decides to find you. This, for you, might be the toughest thing of all.”

“It’s not,” Nate countered.

Dudley leaned back and arched his eyebrows. “Are you gonna tell me this falconry business you dreamed up is actually going to work?”

“Yes.”

“What is it you plan to do again?”

Nate said, “There are people out there who have a need for falconry services, mainly for the purpose of chasing off problem species. Over the years, invasive bird species have been introduced throughout North America and they’ve multiplied by the millions. We’re talking about starlings, English sparrows, house finches, Eurasian collared doves. Their populations have exploded. Crows and pigeons are always a problem, too.

“Refineries don’t want pigeons roosting in their equipment. Ranchers don’t want starlings taking over their barns and pooping on their livestock. Growers don’t want starlings and crows eating their produce. All these birds are terrified of certain predators like peregrines or gyrfalcons. They know and fear a falcon’s silhouette in the sky even if they’ve never actually seen a real raptor—it’s imprinted in their DNA. They know that if a falcon is around, they better leave the premises or they’ll get smacked. Starlings will travel a hundred miles to avoid a falcon in the sky. Hiring an experienced falconer costs a lot less than trying to poison or shoot the pest birds, or to rig up netting or spikes or whatever. That’s what I’m going to do.”

Dudley rolled his eyes. He said, “And this girlfriend of yours has it all organized and ready to go?”

Nate nodded. He’d met Liv Brannan in Medicine Wheel County and they’d connected instantly. Liv had a sharp business mind and the capital from years of working for Templeton to launch Yarak, Inc., a falconry services enterprise. He couldn’t wait to see her. She had milk-chocolate skin, big brown eyes, and a trim figure, and she was smart as a whip. She had spent hours convincing him through the Plexiglas window of the visiting room that he should negotiate his way out of jail—and that she’d be waiting for him. They’d go straight together, she’d said.

Liv had talked to proprietors of other falconry outfits around the country and learned that experienced master falconers could make $400 to $750 per day from winegrowers, refinery owners, farmers, ranchers, and other commercial operators. She’d obtained the equipment, registered the new company with the Wyoming secretary of state, filed the tax forms, set up a website, and had already begun marketing Yarak, Inc.

The classic falconry definition of
yarak
was a Turkish phrase describing the peak condition of a falcon to fly and hunt. It was described as “full of stamina, well muscled, alert, neither too fat nor too thin, perfect condition for hunting and killing prey. This state is rarely achieved but a wonder to behold when observed.”

“It sounds like a stupid idea to me,” Dudley said.

“That’s why I hate explaining a business plan to a bureaucrat who’s never worked in the private sector in his life.”

Dudley narrowed his eyes and set his jaw.

He said, “I know what’s going to happen to you. You’ll either be back here or you’ll be dead. I’m okay with either one.”

Nate reached out and pulled the sets of documents closer and spun them around. He said, “One of the greatest and most mystical things about falconry is that when you release a bird to the sky—even a bird you’ve worked with for years and years—you never know if it’s going to come back. Eventually, that falcon may take off and it’s the last you ever see of it. Years of work and dedication are released to the wind. There’s satisfaction in the partnership, but no certainty. If you’re a person who needs certainty, falconry isn’t an art you should try to master.”

Nate signed the papers and shoved them back to Dudley, who sat back, screwed up his face, and said, “I’m not sure I understand a word of what you’re saying.”

“I’m not surprised,” Nate said, holding out his hands. “Get the key.”

—

A
S
N
ATE PASSED BY
the armed security guards manning the metal detector in the entry lobby, they nodded at him in a way that suggested they knew much more about him than he knew about them. He nodded back. He was aware from several disparaging remarks from Dudley that a kind of unwelcome (by Dudley) legend had grown about Nate among certain types. Nate had never fostered any admiration or following, and he didn’t plan to start now. But those security guards seemed to admire him in a way he found uncomfortable.

He was wearing the same clothes he’d worn when he was taken into custody months before: jeans, heavy lace-up boots, a T-shirt under a gray hoodie, a canvas tactical vest. A leather falcon jess bound his hair into a ponytail.

When he pushed through the double doors of the vestibule’s entrance and stepped outside, his senses were overwhelmed. The sky was cloudless and the spring’s high-altitude sun was intense. The air smelled of leaves budding out, pollen, and car exhaust. He could hear birds chirping, motors racing, and a light din of traffic from downtown.

Idling on the street in front of the Federal Building was a white panel van. A graphic of a peregrine falcon in full-attack stoop had been painted on the side over the words
YARAK
,
INC.
, lettered in a rough stencil format. In script beneath the graphic it read:
Falconry Services
and contained a website address.

Liv was at the wheel, and when she saw him come out of the building, her grin exploded. It seemed bright enough, he thought, to cast shadows.

He waved hello, then walked around the back of the van and jumped into the passenger seat and shut the door.

“You are a sight for sore eyes,” she said, still beaming. “I’ve been dreaming of this day.”

Liv wore jeans, knee-high boots, a T-shirt, and a blazer with a sheer violet scarf. She looked good.

Nate overlooked that and said, “We need to talk.”

She shook her head defiantly and pulled away from the curb.

The golden dome of the state capitol building reflected the harsh afternoon sun. Nate thought:
Thank you, Governor Rulon. You did me a solid
. But he knew to expect a call someday from the governor’s people. Rulon was wily and he’d expect something in return.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she said.

“Liv . . .”

“Forget about it. I know you. You’re going to try to convince me that I’m in danger being close to you. That we should go our separate ways for my own safety.”

Nate nodded. He said, “It’s a matter of time before Templeton finds me. When he finds me, he’ll find you. I can’t risk losing you. You deserve a better life.”

“That’s nice,” she said, guiding the van north through the blocks of old Victorian homes that once belonged to absentee cattle ranchers who had ranches in the north. The buildings were now law offices or the headquarters of associations.

She said, “I’m not going anywhere. This is a partnership, remember? We’re going straight and we’re doing it together. We’re putting Mr. Templeton behind us and we’re getting right with God and country. It’s a new chapter in our lives. This is where the outlaw falconer and the formerly wayward sister from Louisiana join forces. We’re going to be normal together like we talked about. So save your breath.”

He moaned.

“Forget all that and think about this moment,” she said. “You’re out of jail and back among the living. This is what we’ve been waiting for.”

“I wish it felt better,” Nate said.

She reacted as if he’d slapped her, and he quickly tried to explain. “It’s not you,” he said. “I’d rather be here with you right now than with anyone on earth. But I thought I’d feel free on this day—emancipated. Instead, I feel like a eunuch.”

He lifted his arm to show her the monitor. “There’s one on my ankle, too. They’re tracking every move I make, so they can swoop down on me if I stray or if Templeton finds me. And they didn’t return my weapon.”

“That was part of the agreement,” she said, patting the center console. “But nowhere on that paper did it say
I
couldn’t carry.”

Nate opened the console to find a deadly looking snub-nosed revolver.

“It’s a Smith and Wesson Governor,” she said. “The man at the gun store said it’s very versatile and a real stopper. You can load it with .410 shotgun shells, .45 ACP rounds, or .45 Colts. Or you can mix and match—three shotgun shells, three bullets. I thought you might like it, and I think even
I
could hit something with a shotgun shell at close range.”

“Interesting choice,” Nate said. He was proud of her.

“Look over your shoulder,” she said.

He turned. There were no seats in the back of the van. His two peregrines and the red-tailed hawk stood erect and hooded in wire cages on the floor. They looked healthy and still. The ability raptors had for remaining still for hours and then exploding into furious action was a trait Nate had always admired.

A large plastic cooler—no doubt containing dead rabbits and pigeons for feed—was behind the cages. Falconry gloves, lures, and whistles were packed in translucent boxes that had been fixed to the interior side wall of the van. On the other wall was heavy winter clothing and a small desk that would pop down for communications and bookkeeping.

“Just like you described it,” Nate said. “You did a great job.”

“We’re open for business,” she said with a grin. “In fact, there’s some news on that front.”

He waited.

“Our first job,” she said. “It came this morning. A rancher in northern Wyoming named Wells needs to chase starlings out of his horse barn.”

“So that’s where we’re headed?” Nate asked as they cleared the city limits and merged onto I-25 North.

“Only as far as Casper tonight,” she said, looking over and crinkling her nose. “We have a reservation at a hotel—the honeymoon suite. You and I have some catching up to do.”

Nate sat back and smiled.

She said, “Those bracelet monitors can’t hear us, can they?”

“No.”

“Good. I don’t want to scorch some bureaucrat’s ears tonight.”

T
he next day, as they drove north on I-25, near the gnomish dryland formation known as the Teapot Dome, Nate pressed the send button on the BlackBerry that Dudley had given him. His call went straight through.

A woman answered.

“This is Nate Romanowski,” he said.

“I know who you are.”

“Okay, well who is this?”

“That’s not important.”

“How about I call you Olga, then? That’s a good Soviet name.”

“Hmph.”

Her voice was calm and businesslike, and she clipped off her words. There were no background conversations going on or ambient noises. She sounded to be in her mid-fifties, he thought, but it was only a guess. He imagined a hatchet-faced woman with short hair wearing a headset with a computer monitor in front of her. She was divorced but had two adult children who never called her. She’d worked for the federal government all of her life and she knew how many days she had left until retirement. She vacationed in Florida for three weeks every year, but never got tan.

Of course
the conversation was being recorded, he thought. Probably by multiple agencies.

“I’m going north for a job,” Nate said.

“I see that. What kind of vehicle are you in?”

“We’ve got the Yarak, Inc. van. I’m not driving.”

“Who is with you?”

Nate hesitated. He was sure Olga knew the answer to her question, and he didn’t want to bring Liv into the conversation.

“My partner,” he said.

“Olivia Brannan?” the woman said.

Nate sighed. He noticed that Liv was looking over at him, curious about the conversation.

“What is the location of the job?” Olga asked.

Nate covered the mouthpiece on the BlackBerry and asked Liv. She told him what she knew.

“It’s a ranch outside of Saddlestring,” Nate said. “The HF Bar Ranch. It’s been there for generations and I know where it is, but I’ve never been on it before. It’s a working ranch, but also a dude ranch. From what we know, the wranglers want starlings chased out of the barn before the guests start to arrive this summer so the backs of the horses and the saddles aren’t covered with bird poop. I’m telling you this so you don’t think we’re being lured up there by the bad guys.”

He could hear her tapping keys on a keyboard.

She said, “Saddlestring. Isn’t that where Mr. Pickett lives?”

“It is.”

“Do we have a problem?”

“No, Olga. We don’t have a problem. The county itself is nine thousand, three hundred and fifty square miles. That’s as big as New Hampshire. It’s not likely I’ll just run into Joe.” Nate felt his face flush hot.

“I see,” Olga said. “Special Agent Dudley will be interested in this information.”

“Tell Mr. Dudley to piss up a rope, Olga,” Nate said. “I signed the agreement. I’ll abide by it.”

“Noted.”

“Until tomorrow, Olga,” he said, and punched off.

Nate dropped the phone on the seat between them and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“I’m not going to be able to do this,” he said.

“It’ll be a process,” Liv said, but she looked worried.

—

D
ESPITE BEING WITH
L
IV AGAIN
, despite the champagne she’d arranged for and the honeymoon suite she’d reserved, Nate had not been able to perform the night before. She’d been patient, alluring, and enthusiastic, but he couldn’t get aroused. He loved her, but something was wrong. He drank too much Wyoming Whiskey and fell asleep, and when he woke up in the middle of the night, he didn’t know where he was. He thought he was back in his cell.

Liv had held him tight the rest of the night, skin to skin.

She’d awakened him gently that morning.

He’d said, “What’s wrong with me?”

“You’re not yourself,” she assured him. “You’ve been through a lot and your feet aren’t on the ground yet.”

He told her how he’d thought of her constantly, how he’d fantasized about being with her again. In none of his dreams had it gone like it had in real life the night before.

He’d said, “I feel like I’ve been emasculated.”

“Is it because they took away your gun?” she asked.

“No. It’s because they took away my honor,” he responded. “That’s all I’ve ever had.”

—

T
HE SPRING SKY ROIL
ED
with thunderheads, and Nate could see downspouts miles away that looked like Greek columns connecting the high plains to the sky. Small herds of pronghorn antelope grazed on the fresh carpet of green grass, their burnished-copper and white color scheme making them stand out like highway cones. The smell of moist sage was thick in the air, as was ozone.

“I almost forgot what it smelled like when it’s about to rain,” he said to Liv.

“Maybe it’ll help bring you back,” she said. “And once you get your birds in the air and you have a job to do, I think it’ll get better. Work is good for the soul. Every man needs work.”

He nodded, and said, “I knew you were beautiful and smart, but I didn’t realize until recently that you are also very wise.”

She laughed. She had a great laugh, he thought, an all-out Louisiana low country belly laugh.

“No one’s ever called me wise before,” she said.

—

A
S THEY PASSED
the town of Kaycee, Nate lifted an imaginary glass and said, “Here’s to Chris LeDoux.”

“Who?” Liv asked.

“He used to live here,” Nate said. “Chris LeDoux was a championship professional rodeo cowboy and a country singer. He’s a Wyoming icon. Garth Brooks sang a song that mentions him called ‘Much Too Young to Feel This Damn Old.’ Joe and I always salute his memory whenever we pass by.”

Liv took a deep breath. She said, “Speaking of Joe, there’s some bad news.”

Nate looked over, concerned.

“His daughter April was found beaten and left for dead outside of Saddlestring,” Liv said.

Nate sat up immediately. His first thought was to remove the Governor out of the console and strap it on, agreement or no agreement.

“They caught the guy who did it,” Liv said.

“Who was he?”

“Some local weirdo,” she said. “From what I read about it, the case is pretty much open-and-shut.”

Nate said, “I can only imagine what Joe and Marybeth are going through. They dote on their daughters. I never knew April that well, but Sheridan is my falconry apprentice.”

Liv told him the few facts of the case she’d read in that morning’s
Casper
Star-Tribune
.

Nate said, “I’d like five minutes in a room with that guy. I’d guess Joe would say the same thing.”

“Except Joe’s on the right side of the law,” Liv said.

“He is. Man, I’d like to be able to see him and Marybeth,” Nate said. “I’d like to tell them I’m thinking about them.”

“We’ll be in the general area,” Liv said, nodding toward the Bighorn Mountains that had risen on the horizon to the west. “I know you’re not supposed to make contact with him. But what if he makes it with you? Like if some little bird let him know you’re working on the HF Bar Ranch for a few days?”

Nate smiled. “And who would that little bird be?”

“Gee, I have no idea,” she said with a wink.

—

I
T WAS AN HOUR
before dusk when Nate and Liv drove the van under the ancient pole archway decorated with whitened antlers and a hanging wrought iron sign that indicated they’d arrived at the historic HF Bar Ranch in the Bighorn Mountains. Gates made of weathered pine poles had been swung open, and the chain that had locked them together hung from the top rail of the left-side gate.

The van left the pavement and climbed through dark pine forests and open alpine meadows bursting with wildflowers on a gravel corduroy road. Rain had swept through the foothills in the previous hour, freshening the air and darkening the roadbed. Moisture glistened on the tips of pine needles like tears.

From the looks of the sky to the north, another thunderhead was on its way.

For the first time since he’d walked out of the Federal Building the day before, Nate began to feel good. Whether it was the smell of the pine-rich mountain air or simply being in Liv’s company, he felt his equilibrium start to level out.

The ranch road wound through groves of pine and aspen. Deep in the shadows of the trees, there were still crusty log-shaped snowdrifts from the winter. Mule deer grazed on spring grass that had grown from the benefit of sunlight shafts through the canopy. At least one set of tire tracks glistened in the muddy road on the way to the ranch. No doubt the tracks had been made by whoever had unlocked the gate for them, Nate thought.

The trees opened onto a sprawling ranch headquarters: a main lodge, wings of guest cabins, a network of roads and trails that spun off from the center like spokes on a wagon wheel. Liv parked in front of the lodge near a sign that said
LOBBY
.

There were no cars, trucks, or ranch vehicles to be seen, and the lower-floor windows of the lodge building were covered by weathered plywood.

“It doesn’t look like there’s anyone here,” Liv said, leaning forward so she could see the top-floor windows of the lodge. “Why would they board it up like that?”

“Snow,” Nate said. “It gets deep up here. It doesn’t look like anyone has been here to open it up yet. So who are we meeting?”

“I guess he’s the caretaker,” Liv said. “John Wells. I didn’t get a lot of detail from him.”

“Where’s this horse barn?” Nate asked, looking around. It made sense that the barn wouldn’t be too far away from the lodge and cabins, since guests needed easy access to it for daily trail rides.

“Is that it?” Liv asked, pointing out her driver’s-side window.

A weathered roof peeked over the tops of the trees to the west. Nate noted that the tire tracks they’d followed went in that direction.

“I think so,” he said.

Liv backed up and took the road.

The massive old log horse barn was actually closer than it had seemed—less than a hundred yards from the lodge, but the timber was too thick in between for them to have seen the structure in full from the ranch yard. The barn was dark and weathered and the rain had temporarily stained the logs a deep brown. Hitching posts that looked a hundred years old stretched across the front of the building. A huge sliding barn door was partially open.

On the left side of the structure was a rusting GMC Suburban with Twelve Sleep County plates.

“There’s his car,” Nate said.

“There’s someone in it,” Liv said as they got closer to the Suburban. “It looks like a woman. Probably his wife.”

Liv parked on the right side of the barn and waved toward the woman in the SUV. The woman, who looked stout and immobile, waved back.

“So do we get the birds out?” Liv asked Nate.

“Not yet,” he said. “First I need to scout out the place. I need to see how many problem birds there are inside and where they’re nesting. I probably won’t put the falcons up tonight as it is. I don’t want them flying around in the dark in unfamiliar terrain. I’d rather release them in the morning when we know what we’ve got here.”

“You’re the falconer,” she said cheerfully. “I’m the businessperson. While you’re looking things over inside, I’ll go talk to our client over there and ask her to sign a contract. We agreed to seven hundred and fifty dollars per day with a maximum of three days, unless there are still starlings around. If that’s the case, they’ll only pay us two hundred and fifty dollars for two more days until all the problem birds are gone. If it goes beyond five days, it’s gratis.”

“Oh, they’ll be gone,” Nate said with a cruel smile.

He turned in his seat and found a long Maglite flashlight to take into the barn with him.

“Meet you back here in a minute,” he said to Liv.

—

L
IV SHOULDERED
on a light rain jacket, looped her violet scarf around her neck, and, grabbing her clipboard, approached the old Suburban. The bulky woman in the passenger seat watched her with hooded eyes. She looked like a tough old ranch wife, Liv thought.

The woman rolled down her rain-beaded window and arched her eyebrows as if to say,
What?

“Hello. I’m Liv from Yarak, Inc. Are you Mrs. Wells? The one who sent me the email that you needed some falconry services done?”

The woman nodded. She seemed placid and stoic. There was no smile. Her eyes seemed intelligent, though.

“I didn’t realize there would be two of you,” the woman said.

“We cover our own expenses and accommodations and such,” Liv told her. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

The woman tipped her head back slightly in a way that indicated Liv’s answer hadn’t addressed her statement. She said, “My husband is in the barn. That’s where the birds are.”

Liv looked over her shoulder to see Nate pause at the open barn door, test the flashlight, and walk inside.

“Well,” Liv said. “Do you want to look over the agreement before you sign it?”

“We always do that,” the woman said. “But this is my husband’s deal. He’s the one with the key to the gate. He watches over the place in the winter when the owners are away. I’m just along for the ride.”

Liv said, “So should I go inside and find him?”

“In a minute,” the woman said. “Let’s let your guy talk with him first. Let them get their business out of the way.”

Liv was slightly puzzled. The woman wore a plastic rain bonnet to cover her hair and an old dark green coat. Liv knew style, and guessed the coat may have been fashionable in the mid-sixties.

Liv said uncomfortably, “Well, we’ll have to get these contracts signed before any work can be done.”

“You’ll have to take that up with John,” the woman said. “Like I told you, I’m just along for the ride.”

The woman had penetrating eyes, Liv thought. They were the same eyes she saw when she took the hoods off Nate’s falcons to feed them.

“We don’t see a lot of Negroes around here,” the woman said.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re very pretty. I can see why he took up with you.”

“Do you know Nate?” Liv asked, confused.

“I just know of him,” the woman said.