Wildfire (21 page)

"Some Dirty Harry you turn out to be." Theresa Fletcher shook her head with a tired smile.

"Yeah, so much for the good old vigilante cop image." The special agent nodded sympathetically.

"Continuing on with Bascomb's probable defense," the prosecuting attorney said, "Bascomb will certainly claim that the only person Maas actually shot at during that entire raid was Stoner." She looked at Lightstone questioningly. "Anything new on that?"

Lightstone shrugged. "I talked to our lab guys this morning. They spent a week in that training facility, along with an FBI search team, collecting every weapon, bullet, and expended casing they could find. Our lab has two criminalists working on the case full time, and the FBI has one firearms examiner and one fingerprint technician working the case pretty much full time." Lightstone pulled a field notebook out of his jacket pocket. "Right now the suspect weapon count is two hundred and seventy-six pistols, consisting of 9mm, 10mm, .22, .357, .44, and .45 calibers. Fifty-two assault rifles chambered for 5.56mm, 9mm, ,223-caliber or 7.65mm NATO rounds. And forty-seven assorted bolt action and semi-auto long guns, ranging from one .22 long rifle to a half dozen .416 Rigby's.

"In terms of expended ordnance," Lightstone went on, flipping to the next page, "and not counting the stuff from the underground ranges packed up in cans for disposal, the crime scene teams collected a grand total of one thousand nine hundred and seventy-one expended casings, and one thousand two hundred and fourteen expended bullets, not counting all the fragments. A total of sixty-seven bullets have been removed from the bodies at the autopsies. Apparently there's still a lot of stuff buried in walls, doors, cabinets, and the pop-up targets, but they're not going to bother going after it unless we ask them to."

Theresa Fletcher waved her hand to dismiss the idea.

"So right now," Lightstone continued, "all weapons and magazines have been processed for prints, resulting in two thousand one hundred and eighty-two individual latent print cards, approximately ninety percent of which have been entered into the computers. Of the bullets, so far one hundred and seventy-two have been matched back to specific weapons, and it's been averaging somewhere around four to five hours per examination. According to the guy I talked to, most of the comparisons so far have been based on information from the reenactment tapes, which means they've done the easy ones first. Basically, they've got a long way to go. By the way, would you like to know what the firearms examiners have to say about you, us, and the case in general?"

"Not really." The prosecutor smiled.

"That's good," Lightstone said, "because it isn't polite. However, in partial answer to your question, they've managed to match Maas's prints to one assault rifle, two 9mm pistols, and one .22 caliber pistol."

"The one he used on Stoner?"

"Yep. And the other three weapons were found cleaned and stored. The prints were basically in gun oil. None of the weapons were used during the raid."

"What about the bullets?"

"You mean the .22's?"

"Yeah."

"The only .22 lead slugs they found in the whole damn place came out of Stoner's knees, and both of them are too badly torn up for a match, even if it mattered."

"Wonderful," Theresa Fletcher grumbled, shaking her head in irritation. "Which almost certainly means that Bascomb will claim that because Maas is an expert shot—which is absolutely true, according to Sergeant MacDonald—he could have easily killed Stoner if he had wanted to do so. And also that when you and Stoner approached him during the raid, he only fired in self-defense because he thought you were working with Chareaux, and neither of you identified yourselves as federal agents.

"Bascomb will have fun with that one too," the prosecuting attorney added, looking up at Lightstone with a sad smile, "because in a technical sense, you
were
working with Chareaux, at least for a limited time period during the covert part of your investigation, and Abercombie or Wolfe could have easily passed that information on to Maas."

"Hate to tell you this," Henry Lightstone said, "but come to think of it, I don't think that either of us ever
did
identify ourselves to Maas as federal agents when we initially confronted him. We were too busy trying to stay alive. Although we were wearing our badges visible on our belts at the time."

"There you go." Fletcher brought her hands up in a "What can we do?" gesture.

"What about McNulty?"

"The FBI lab's been working on the evidence from that scene for almost six months now, and they haven't found a single item that links Maas to the killing of Paul McNulty or any of the other agents."

Lightstone shook his head in disgust.

"We can put them all away on lesser counts," Theresa Fletcher said, "but in my opinion, without the murder charges as a twist, you're not going to get any of those three to roll over and give up your money man. Especially not Maas."

"Yeah, but he's the one we need." Lightstone shook his head in frustration. "As far as we can tell, Chareaux wasn't involved with Operation Counter Wrench at all, other than as a side amusement for Wolfe. And Parker wasn't involved in any of the operational planning."

"No, but we do know he was out at Skilak Lake. Bascomb all but admitted it, probably assuming that we'd be able to match that bullet fragment they took out of his leg last week to your pistol."

"Can we?"

"Not so far. Your crime lab people in Ashland are looking at it with a scanning electron microscope right now, but don't get your hopes up. As I understand it, there's not much there."

"Wonderful," Lightstone muttered.

"However, going on the assumption that he
was
out there, that puts him in an interesting position to know something about Maas and McNulty. And also, don't forget, Parker was a member of the 'cut-out' team that got the signal from somebody to eliminate the rest of the Counter Wrench group when everything started coming apart."

"You sure the order came from the outside, that they didn't have prearranged orders from somebody like Wolfe?"

"From what I've read about Wolfe so far, he doesn't strike me as being the brains behind that operation," Theresa Fletcher said. "When you put that together with the money angle, and the fact that they took Lisa Abercombie out right away as soon as you guys hit the door, that adds up to somebody much higher up being in control, as far as I'm concerned. Somebody with a great deal of money and possibly a great deal to lose."

"So you really think it was some kind of big business conspiracy?"

"Well, I know a lot of perfectly legitimate and absolutely high-powered environmental lobbyist types who certainly think so," Theresa Fletcher said. "In fact, during the last few weeks I've been getting calls from several of them just about every day, wanting to know how things are going, if I need any more support, funding, toilet paper, things like that. And that's not even counting that little shit-head this afternoon who
really
wants to get involved."

"Environmental lobbyists are calling you directly?"

"They're calling me, my boss, the U.S. attorney herself, and probably a couple of people in the White House, for all I know."

"Jesus!"

"Henry," the prosecuting attorney said with a tired smile, "something you need to keep in mind is that this case is a very serious deal as far as some of these environmental people are concerned. After all, don't forget that several of these groups were targets of Operation Counter Wrench in the first place. I almost hate to say it, but there are some very interesting parallels with the Watergate situation here. Paranoia can be a very powerful emotion, especially when you find out that they really
are
out to get you, just as you were telling everybody all along."

"And with a professional counterterrorist team, no less."

"Exactly. Their worst fears magnified by a factor of ten. And just wait until they see Bascomb's presentation of Maas in the starring role of head bogeyman. They're going to go nuts."

Lightstone sat there in silent contemplation for a few moments, and then said, "I'm surprised there hasn't been a lot of pressure on you to make a deal. You know, keep this whole thing out of the public eye, let everybody work it all out behind the scenes."

"Spoken like a man with a true grasp of the bureaucratic mind." The prosecuting attorney nodded approvingly. "I take it you've spent some time in D.C.?"

"I've passed through for a couple of days." Lightstone shrugged. "That was more than enough."

"I'll bet. But what makes you think there hasn't been political pressure applied?"

"You mean there has?"

"Actually, our office has been subjected to quite a bit of it during the last couple of weeks." Theresa Fletcher nodded. "One side wants full disclosure of every document and transcript in the case, public whipping of the government in general, media confirmation of the conspiracy angle, mass resignations in Congress, and hard jail time for anyone who's ever made a profit off a tree. The other side wants to hold back, play the 'I told you so' role, and then make some significant legislative gains behind closed doors."

"And that's probably just the environmental side," Lightstone said sarcastically.

"Actually, you're absolutely right." The prosecuting attorney nodded. "What we're talking about is a bi-party, multi-issue, multi-dimensional puzzle-solving situation on a major scale here. No such things as good guys and bad guys anymore. And you and your fellow agents are right in the middle of it."

"Wonderful. Just wonderful."

"In fact, from my relatively low-leveled perspective, the only thing that's kept all of this going along at a fairly steady clip, so far, is the fact that Abercombie and Wolfe keep coming across as a couple of loose cannons who went out of control on their own. Which isn't necessarily what a lot of these people want to hear."

"So you think Bascomb is positioning himself to make a deal?"

"Why not? They've got the fall guys all in place, both of whom happen to be conveniently dead. We've got a new administration in place, so it happened on somebody else's watch. Everybody gets to posture for the media. And the surviving bad guys get a topnotch legal firm to make sure their medical expenses are covered while they recuperate at government expense for a couple of years at Lompoc. End of problem. It's our legal system at work, Henry, if you'll pardon my cynicism."

"Except that Paul McNulty, Carl Scoby, and Len Ruebottom were murdered for being federal agents and doing their job," Lightstone reminded. "And the people behind the scenes who set the whole thing into motion get to walk away."

"If such people exist"—Theresa Fletcher nodded solemnly—"that's correct."

"That's a lousy ending as far as I'm concerned. It needs a rewrite. So what about the money angle? The construction costs for that facility?"

"There's a lot of money floating around out there in government construction accounts." Fletcher shrugged. "All you've got to do is know how to work the system. And from every indication so far, that was something that Lisa Abercombie
and
Wolfe were really good at."

"I don't buy it." Lightstone shook his head.

"I don't either, but if that's the case, then you need a fall guy for the money angle too. And as far as I know, nobody's come up with a good candidate for that yet."

"We're trying,"

"I realize that, and I can assure you that this office is going to help in any way we can. But don't forget, this is the first chance the new administration has had to crack down on government employees who haven't exactly been out there supporting the environmental movement. You put all that together with congressional budget fights, international pressures to get tough on environmental issues, world trade deficits, and a couple of upcoming elections, and you've got a lot of people paying very close attention to how the Justice Department handles this case."

"So what are you saying, that Parker's the key?"

"Maybe." The prosecuting attorney nodded. "If he was pressured enough, he just might give up Maas on the McNulty shooting, which in turn would put pressure on Maas to cut a deal. And then too, there's always a chance that Parker knows who sent that cut-out signal to his buddy with the .44 Magnum."

"You think Parker might crack?"

"That's the impression I'm getting." Fletcher nodded. "Maas and Chareaux haven't said three words since they were taken into custody, but I understand that Parker has started to open up a little to the jail staff. The problem is, he acts like he's scared to death of Maas and Chareaux."

"That may be what convinces him to open up, if he thinks about it long enough," Lightstone said. "Do you think I could get a chance to talk with him away from Bascomb?"

"It's possible, but why don't we hold off until we get this hearing finished? By that time, we may have enough of the pieces on the table to make Parker a decent offer. One that he might not be able to refuse, in spite of his concerns."

In a small studio apartment across the street from the federal courthouse building, the man who now called himself Riser put down the headset that was electronically connected to a professionally installed "bug" in the office of Deputy U.S. Attorney Theresa Fletcher, and smiled.

Chapter Thirteen

At seven-forty-five that Friday morning, the senior member of the federal marshal team responsible for transporting prisoners back and forth between the federal holding facility located on the eastern border of Washington Dulles National Airport, in northern Virginia, and the federal courthouse located approximately twenty-two miles to the east in Arlington, Virginia, handed his 9mm semiautomatic pistol over to his identically armed and uniformed driver.

Then he got out of the front passenger side of the armored transport van, walked across the completely caged parking area, and identified himself to the facility control officer.

Even though the two deputy U.S. marshals had been playing racquetball together every Saturday morning for the last six months, the control officer still went through the ritual of comparing the team leader's face and ID card against information on his computer screen—mostly because none of them ever knew when the brass might be running a check on the system. He also verified that the facility's video recorders were functioning properly and then pressed the first release button.