Wildfire (45 page)

"But it does get worse, I'm afraid," Crane went on. "It seems that when Special Agent Lightstone and the members of his special operations team effected an arrest of Mr. Chareaux and his brothers, for illegal guiding and assorted violations of the Endangered Species Act, Ms. Abercombie and Dr. Wolfe panicked.

"Now you must understand," Crane said, "that at this point, neither Ms. Abercombie nor Dr. Wolfe nor Dr. Asai were looked upon as suspects in this particular investigation. And in all likelihood, none of them would have ever
become
suspects, because these wildlife agents had no reason to view them as being anything other than illegal hunters. And as best we can tell, the agents weren't
interested
in pursuing charges against mere illegal hunters. One, because they were aware that the hunters were almost certainly using false names, and two, because they were completely focused on putting the Chareaux brothers out of business.

"But because Lisa Abercombie and Dr. Reston Wolfe believed otherwise," Crane said, adjusting his facial expression into a sad smile, "they made an attempt to block the agent's investigation."

"What!" Sam Tisbury exclaimed.

"Oh, yes." Crane nodded. "And when their bureaucratic approach didn't succeed, they simply turned Mr. Maas and his counterterrorist team loose on the agents, which—to no great surprise, since the agents didn't know they were being hunted—resulted in two of them being killed in rather short order."

"Mother of Mary!" Sergio Paz-Rios whispered.

"Indeed." Crane nodded in agreement. "But the truly incredible part is that up until the final day—that is, the day of the raid on the Whitehorse Cabin training facility—Ms. Abercombie and Dr. Wolfe and apparently even Mr. Maas were under the impression that they had successfully eliminated the entire covert agent team. They had no idea that Henry Lightner—who was, in fact, Henry Lightstone, an ex-homicide investigator from the San Diego Police Department—was also a federal wildlife agent
and
a member of that covert team.

"The result of that error," Crane said, "was the loss of an extremely expensive training facility; the deaths of Abercombie, Wolfe, ten members of the counterterrorist team,
and
both of Alex Chareaux's brothers; and ultimately, the complete failure of Operation Counter Wrench."

"Not to mention the current prosecutions of Maas and Parker and Chareaux for the deaths of those three agents," Harold Tisbury added bitterly.

"Yes, I was about to get to that." Crane nodded. "At the request of Harold Tisbury, we assigned one of our top attorneys, a Mr. Jason Bascomb III, and two of our leading associates to their defense."

"Was that wise?" Wilbur Lee Edgarton interrupted.

"In retrospect, perhaps not," Crane said with an ironic twist to his smile, "but we
are
a large and well-known legal firm in the District, and it wouldn't be unusual for someone with Mr. Chareaux's presumed wealth to engage our services.

"However, in the meantime," Crane went on, "we decided that it might be useful to keep track of the whereabouts of Mr. Henry Lightstone and his fellow agents—who, as it turned out, were engaged in setting up another covert operation in Boston, Massachusetts. So we engaged the services of what I will describe here as a pair of streetwise surveillance experts whose names, if you don't mind, will remain anonymous for the time being."

"Why is that?" Nicholas Von Hagberg asked suspiciously.

"Among other reasons, because both of them were found dead in a Boston alley four days ago."

"The agents killed them?" Jonathan Chilmark, the president of the Northwest Timber Alliance, blurted out.

"Perhaps." Crane shrugged. "To tell you the truth, I seriously doubt that they would have done any such thing. However, given their notable success with the Operation Counter Wrench team, it's hardly a possibility that we can safely ignore."

"You said 'initially'?" Sam Tisbury noted.

"That was before an attempt was made—last Wednesday—to kill the entire wildlife agent team, Mr. Lightstone included, by blowing up the warehouse that they were using for their 'sting' operation."

Crane paused to look around at each of the ICER Committee faces individually.

"You think one of
us
did something like that?" Wilbur Lee Edgarton exclaimed.

"I would certainly
hope
that none of you made an attempt, either as individuals or as a group, to resolve your problems with these agents in such a manner," Crane said with pointed emphasis on the word or. "Because if one of you
did,
and we find out about it, I can assure you that your relationship with the firm of Little, Warren, Nobles & Kole will be terminated immediately."

"But why in the
world
would one of
us—"
Jonathan Chilmark started to say, but Crane cut him off.

"I'm not suggesting that any of you here actually
did
it," Crane said, "I'm simply saying that it would be an incredibly stupid thing to do. Especially now."

"Mr. Crane," Wilbur Lee Edgarton interrupted in his deepest southern accent, "I may not be the smartest man in this room, but I seem to recall that the firm of Little, Warren, Nobles & Kole has been perfectly willing to take our money to defend two individuals who were certainly
involved—
directly or otherwise —in a great deal of killing about nine months ago. Now I'm just curious, Mr. Crane, why this large and well-known Washington, D.C., law firm of yours has suddenly gotten so gawd- damned self-righteous about the deaths of a couple of street bums, or surveillance experts, or whatever the hell it was you called them?"

"You make a perfectly valid point, Mr. Edgarton," Crane said with apparently unflappable calm. "Like any law firm, we make no inferences as to the actual guilt or innocence of our clients. We simply endeavor to provide them with the best possible legal defense—"

"That money can buy?" Sam Tisbury finished.

"Yes, of course." Crane nodded. "It's no secret that our legal system has always provided certain, shall we say,
advantages
to the wealthy? That's a given. But it's also not the point."

"Then just what
is
the point, Mr. Crane?" Wilbur Lee Edgarton demanded with thinly veiled sarcasm.

"The point is that our law firm takes a dim view of having three of our attorneys murdered by one of our clients."

"What?"

A chair and a water glass went crashing to the floor as Harold Tisbury lunged to his feet, his face reddened with shock and rage. All the other ICER members stared at Crane and each other in silent disbelief.

"I suggest you sit down, Mr. Tisbury . . ." Crane said with amazing calm.

"This is an outrage!"

". . . before you have a stroke," the legal investigator finished.

"And yes, you're absolutely right," Crane went on as the elder Tisbury stumbled back into his chair with the assistance of his son, "it
is
an outrage. It's just a question of who and why."

"Would you care to explain yourself, Mr. Crane?" Sam Tisbury demanded.

"Certainly. I'll begin by advising you that last Friday, yesterday, at approximately four-fifteen in the afternoon, someone managed to remove Alex Chareaux from federal custody; and in doing so, managed to kill four deputy U.S. Marshals."

"Chareaux is loose?" Sergio Paz-Rios blinked, showing no apparent concern for the federal law enforcement officials.

"Oh, yes, he
is
loose, Mr. Paz-Rios, I can assure you of that. And so, by the way, is Mr. Maas."

Had a small pin been dropped on the huge rosewood table, every one in the room would have heard it.

"How did Maas escape?" Nicholas Von Hagberg finally rasped.

"We're not sure, Mr. Von Hagberg," Crane said evenly. "It seems that at seven-thirty yesterday evening, someone—very possibly the same individual, from what we've learned of the investigation so far—managed to track or follow Mr. Bascomb to a house in Warrenton, Virginia, where we were keeping Mr. Maas and Mr. Parker in protective custody. That someone broke into the residence, killed all four bodyguards—all of whom, by the way, were retired federal law enforcement officers—killed Mr. Parker, Mr. Bascomb and both of his associates, and then apparently left with Gerd Maas."

The overwhelming reaction of the ICER Committee to this news was for the individual members to shake their heads and blink in stunned disbelief.

"But even worse, if such a description has any possible meaning in this situation," Crane went on, "whoever was responsible for these killings apparently left evidence to suggest that the murders were committed by other federal law enforcement officers."

"I don't understand any of this." Nicholas Von Hagberg shook his head. "Are you suggesting that these federal wildlife agents did in fact kill your surveillance employees, your bodyguards, and Roy Parker,
and
your attorneys? And then kidnaped Maas and Chareaux?"

"No, Mr. Von Hagberg." Crane sighed. "I'm suggesting nothing of the sort. What I
am
suggesting is that someone tried to make it look that way. Only they didn't do a very good job of it. Which raises the interesting question of who might stand to gain by removing Maas, Parker, and Chareaux from federal custody and trying to make it
look
like these wildlife agents committed these murders."

"You mean one of us? Do you think we are that
stupid?"
Von Hagberg demanded, incredulous.

Crane remained silent for a good ten seconds.

"I certainly hope not," the legal investigator finally said, his voice deadly serious now. "Because, at the risk of being repetitive, if one or more of you gentlemen
did
set any of these incredible events into motion, then I'm here on behalf of Little, Warren, Nobles & Kole to advise you that you are a committee of fools. And we have no intention of representing fools, no matter how wealthy and influential they may be."

"Then on behalf of my associates here," Nicholas Von Hagberg said, his Teutonic features reddened with rage, "let me be the one to tell you that your services—"

"Before
you vent your anger, Mr. Von Hagberg," Crane said in a firm voice, raising his hand as his eyes flashed with anger for the first time that evening, "and
before
you expose your fellow committee members to further risk, you might be interested to learn one final thing. Those wildlife agents that we've been talking about? Well, it's very likely that they're somewhere in the Bahamas right now. And so, I might add, is Grynard, the FBI agent who was initially responsible for the Alaska investigation into the death of wildlife agent McNulty."

The ICER Committee members were too far gone to be shocked anymore.

Finally Nicholas Von Hagberg managed to speak.

"Do you know where?" he rasped in a shaken voice.

"Yesterday, at two o'clock in the morning, Henry Lightstone and four of his associates arrived at the Windbreaker Marina in Fort Lauderdale. They boarded a large sports fishing yacht apparently owned by a man who makes a living running charter fishing trips in the Bahamas. The boat was observed leaving the marina at five o'clock yesterday morning, heading in an easterly direction. That's the last we've seen of them."

"Do you know the name of the boat?" Von Hagberg asked.

"No. The one boat owner our investigator was able to talk with before the body was found and the police arrived had only met the yacht owner once, and they'd only had a casual conversation about good fishing areas out in the islands."

"What body?" the Teutonic industrialist whispered.

"A young man who worked at the dock. He was found in a van with his neck broken."

"The agents?" Von Hagberg asked in disbelief.

"We don't know yet, but we are continuing the investigation." Crane shrugged. "As far as Special Agent Grynard is concerned, he was observed approximately"—the private investigator looked down at his watch— "ninety minutes ago, meeting with a pair of FBI agents at the San Salvador airport, which I believe is approximately sixty miles from our current location."

Sergio Paz-Rios muttered a fervent curse.

"But . . . but do you know why they would be coming
here,
to the Bahamas? And why now? I mean, they . . . they can't possibly know about our meeting," Von Hagberg stammered, seemingly unaware that he was still standing.

"Yes, I
do
know," Crane said, pausing dramatically to look around the room one last time.

"They're looking for Alfred Bloom."

The only sound in the dining room was that of an absolutely stunned Nicholas Von Hagberg collapsing back down into his chair.

Crane was starting for the door when Harold Tisbury finally found his voice.

"Walter," he rasped hoarsely, "please . . . don't leave just yet."

"Why not?"

"Because . . . because we—or at least I—wish to continue making use of your services."

Crane looked around the room and observed that all six heads were nodding solemnly now.

"All right," he said finally, with what Harold Tisbury and all the others could only think of, in the circumstances, as incredible calm, "what would you like me to do?"

Chapter Twenty-eight

"So what's the deal?" Henry Lightstone asked as he watched the beautiful Arthur's Town nurse carefully wrap the soaked plaster bandage around Larry Paxton's still swollen right forearm.

"Negotiations seem to be getting a little complicated," Mike Takahara replied.

"What's that mean?"

"He wants a demonstration flight first."

"Oh, yeah? What kind of demonstration?" Paxton asked suspiciously.

"You know, the normal stuff." The tech agent shrugged. "Turn the engine on, takeoff, landing, that sort of thing. Say, are casts supposed to be that thick?"

"Oh, yes." The exceptionally attractive but suspiciously youthful nurse nodded. "My father always says: big arm, big cast." She gave Paxton another one of her heart-melting smiles and then walked slowly over to the counter, her firm hips and legs stretching the thin fabric of her tight skirt, to begin soaking another plaster bandage.