The director’s jet was a white 737, unembellished except for the official FAA registration and an odd twin-T logo on the tail. Lewis avoided looking toward the gleaming white monster as the director’s car rolled across the tarmac. He had disliked the old Gulfstream for its cramped quarters and lack of headroom but for all its shortcomings, it had been just as fast and a lot less noticeable than a goddam 737.
“You don’t like my new jet,” the director observed.
“No, but I didn’t like your old jet either.”
She raised her eyebrows. “When your name’s on my office, you can choose the jet.”
“You can keep the office and the jet.”
“I think they’d be a good fit for you. You can fool some people, Lewis but not me. You’re going to need something more challenging soon. You enjoy power. Accept it; it’ll make your life a lot easier. I know we don’t always see eye to eye on things. You don’t like some of the business we’re in. But that’s the thing about being director — you make policy; you can have things your way.”
“The topic of my future with this organization bores me. Let’s talk about jets. I might just buy one, after I retire. But it sure as hell won’t have somebody else’s initials on it.”
The director favored him with one of her rare smiles. It reminded him that, beyond being the director and his boss, she was a woman, and strategic, devious and capable of great patience and tenacity in pursuit of her goals. He was not fooled when she obligingly turned to admire her airplane. “Tareeq has two jets of his own, very like this one, right down to the crest on the tail. I can take this plane anywhere, Lewis, that’s the beauty of it. Private jets attract attention. Better to put somebody’s mark on it so all the eager reporters can knock themselves out trying to catch sight of Teddy Tareeq.”
“Yeah, I know. I did the background on him, remember? Mr. International Playboy bites off a little more Arizona real estate than he can handle.”
“A fortuitous turn of events, wouldn’t you say?”
“I’m sure you would have found another candidate if he hadn’t worked out.”
“Ah,” she said, “but he did work out.”
Lewis returned her smile. She was as unruffled as a cat now that he was almost gone. He began to suspect she’d planned it this way. He put his head back against the seat. No point in fighting it now. He’d asked for it and she was giving it to him, just like she’d given Tareeq what he wanted.
Tareeq was Lebanese and the chairman of his own bank, most of the assets of which had long since been removed to Switzerland. He was an enterprising man, temporarily without enterprise while his country waged war with itself. In his Teddy Tareeq persona, he cultivated friendships with men of wealth and influence, men like Senator Paul Ault.
In one of his first ventures in his adopted country Tareeq had made an ill-considered land investment in Arizona. A great fan of Clint Eastwood westerns, he’d found the American West surprisingly inhospitable.
He’d eventually been relieved of the property through the providential and discreet intervention of a powerful political acquaintance. Tareeq had been only too glad to sign the ninety-nine year lease. The income was negligible and his name remained on the tax rolls but the new tenant rapidly made peace with the desert conservationists. Tareeq’s name vanished from the Arizona newspapers where he’d been labeled an environmental terrorist.
Lewis sat up when the car stopped. He tossed the director’s agenda into his briefcase and snapped it shut.
“I’m impressed you’re bothering to take it,” she said dryly. “Dare I assume you intend to follow it?”
“In less than a week, if you can tear yourself away from this dinner party you’ve got planned, you can read my report,” he said. “If I leave anything out, I’m sure you’ll remind me.”
“You know me well,” she said. “And I know you.” Her hand was on his arm, holding him from exiting the car. “Call for help if you need it, Lewis.”
For a moment, he almost believed she was worried about him and not the center.
* * * *
He’d shrugged off her words then, but now, lying awake in the bedroom on her jet, he felt their bite. He was alone and tired, familiar circumstances but tonight he felt old, too.
The lights were off, but even if he’d been able to see them, the peach and eggshell walls and bolstered ends of the bed would not have offended him. He didn’t give a damn about her pink walls or the Reserved for the Director sign on the door of this cabin. The one thing he wanted was eight uninterrupted hours of sleep. No nightmare reruns of lying in molten sand with his chest on fire, no dreams of Angel, no Gerald with his jumbled letter.
His body craved sleep, it was his mind that wouldn’t cooperate. His brain, despite his efforts, remained locked on the ninety-six hour deadline: four days to interview thirty people, audit the systems, restore external security, and find a way to eliminate half a dozen nuisance horses while keeping their owner quiet.
He cursed MacIntyre silently and then himself for rising like a trout for this hook. He was going to kill himself doing two weeks work in four days so the director could give a bullshit dinner party. The audit was a credibility exercise. If he was fool enough to insist on supplanting Beth, if he refused to use MacIntyre as a resource, it did not in any way alter the director’s agenda. The audit had to be completed, and the Oxenburg factor neutralized. She’d left the nuts and bolts to him, as long as it was airtight and on schedule so she could entertain her board of directors in a secured facility with its reputation and staff intact.
Was he sure, she’d prodded, watching him scan her agenda, he did not want Beth to go with him?
Beth. Hell of a subject to think of in bed. He stirred restlessly, slid his right hand out from behind his head to ease the pain in his chest and rolled his shoulder irritably. Actually, Beth was okay. Maybe he should have brought her.
He banished the bedroom images of Beth by remembering her response to his question. “I don’t have the order yet, Lewis. I don’t even know if it’s been signed. But that’s why I’m here, and if I get it, this Oxenburg woman’s out of the picture. You know that’s all it takes.”
Yes, he knew. He had always known what Beth did and what she was. For a long time, he’d bypassed the issue by separating the woman from the workmanship. Gradually he’d realized it was a separation Beth herself did not desire. She was what she was, and he could take her or leave her. He’d taken her. He’d only lost his appetite for her when she began to point out the locations of vital organs and major blood vessels on his body.
Their last night together, she’d lain in his arms and with the tips of the fingers that had just touched him so intimately and pleasurably, traced the twin ridges of muscle bracing his spine at the back of his neck. “The bodyguard was a lifter,” she recounted, “like you. Did you know the muscle here can actually deflect a bullet?” Gentle fingers caressed his neck. “Good to know,” she’d said.
Remembering, he rolled the back of his neck against his own thumb. It might be good to know, but it was not what he wanted to hear about in bed. He exhaled and ground his shoulders into the sheet. There was to be a gathering of the powerful at the Arizona center in four days. If his audit did not satisfy her, the director would be forced to call the party off. It would take years to recover the center’s credibility. She was in a tight spot, and he knew her ability to cut the Group’s losses when necessary. She’d release Gerald’s letter, just like Jamieson predicted. And the other thing Lewis knew was that, within the Group, his own failure to clear the center would be one more milestone on Gerald’s fall from grace, and one more notch in his own reputation.
He flexed his back against the bed, grunted at the fresh stab of pain in his chest. He’d asked for the job, he’d handle it; otherwise, he should have kept his mouth shut and gone to Cozumel. Off the port wing, the running lights on the nacelle tilted into view through the oblong windows above the bed as the pilot made some slight course correction. Until the lights appeared he hadn’t realized his eyes were open.
He was so tired even his bones ached. He tracked the red pinpricks through the frame of the first window and into the bottom of the second, then shut them out with his eyelids. Immediately the vibration from the engines invaded his chest. He groaned and rolled onto his good shoulder.
Their flight plan projected a landing at Sky Harbor International at three-thirty AM. The pilot eased the jet onto the runway at three-forty and taxied into the private bay reserved for them by the fixed base operator. Lewis checked the clock when the engines died and then slept again until the copilot tapped on the cabin door at six.
* * * *
MacIntyre was exactly on time for their six-thirty meeting. Lewis met him at the door and shook hands while the man stood on the steps below him. The positioning was no accident. MacIntyre’s file made him two inches taller than Lewis and the two step advantage gave Lewis an immediate opportunity to talk down to him.
They talked on board, at the table in the seating area. Lewis asked for a status. MacIntyre responded with a rundown of the production statistics and personnel roster. Lewis asked for the staff assignments for the current shift.
MacIntyre supplied the names of the supervisors, their responsibilities and a count of the staff under each. Lewis had reviewed the duty rosters the night before. It all checked. MacIntyre was a hard read; expressionless, unintimidated, yet non-aggressive.
Having spent the first two hours of his flight reviewing MacIntyre’s file, Lewis had reconsidered his opinion of the man. His record was solid if undistinguished. He was a follower, not a leader. It was rare for such a man to remain at his level within the Group into his fifties. He was apparently steady, hard-working, uninterested in a title or an office at headquarters. His performance never deviated either above or below the competent line. Lewis could not imagine Gerald selecting such a man as his second. The old Gerald recruited for sharpness and imagination and kept his staff continually challenged to maintain their edge. If MacIntyre had an edge, it was well hidden.
“If you don’t mind, Sir,” MacIntyre said, apparently taking his silence for an opening, “I’d like to explain about your accident before we get into the audit.”
“I didn’t have an accident, MacIntyre. You had one. When I want an explanation from you, I’ll ask for it. In the meantime, I have an authorization from the director to go into every aspect of your operation, which I very definitely intend to do. There’s a chain of events behind what happened to me. I’m going to put it all in my report, MacIntyre and you’re going to help me do it.”
“I got the director’s order. I know you’re in charge. I just want to talk to you about the guard before you make any decisions about her.”
“I’m only going to take about ten seconds to make my decision when I get around to her.”
“She’s just a young girl. She’s not one of ours, we’ve had her under contract. I tried to talk Gerald out of using her out there but he wouldn’t listen. Said she’d have that old coot from Wildlife Management eating out of her hand. She did, too. She did a pretty fair job up there until the other thing happened. It could have happened to anybody.”
“I’ve read your reports, MacIntyre. Unless you and I are talking about two different situations here, I know what happened. One of your employees allowed and possibly encouraged a security breach that damn near killed me. If you’re telling me that kind of thing could happen to someone again, I’ll file your termination right now.”
“The center is tight, that was a one in a million thing.”
“We’ll see about that.”
MacIntyre showed no reaction. He seemed to be taking Lewis’s measure to the same extent that Lewis was sizing him up. Lewis had the impression he had just been tested. MacIntyre had one advantage — Gerald had surely talked to him about Lewis. Lewis wished he had one of Gerald’s famous one-minute character sketches on MacIntyre.
“I posted your authorization at the center this morning,” MacIntyre said after a minute of digesting Lewis’s expression.
“Screw that,” Lewis said. “I want a copy of that order hand delivered to every employee. I start interviewing today and everybody at that site had better know who I am. I don’t have time to screw around on this. Spread the word. I’m not going to be around long but while I’m here I’m God.”
MacIntyre nodded without registering anything whatsoever. Lewis stood up. “You’ve got a chopper standing by? I want to take a look at those horses myself.”
* * * *
MacIntyre had hired the helicopter and pilot from a firm in LA. The pilot believed Lewis was a real estate developer.
MacIntyre blocked out a quadrant of terrain west and north of the city and instructed the pilot to section it until they saw something they wanted to take a closer look at.
The chopper was an old four-place Sikorsky, almost as old, Lewis guessed, as the pilot.
“Don’t worry,” the young man said noting Lewis’s appraisal of the blades, “I’ve never dropped one.”
“Let’s not make this the day you lose your cherry,” Lewis replied as he climbed in beside MacIntyre. The pilot adjusted his headset and called the tower, instantly gaining ten years of maturity. The rotors whined to life, and they lifted off, rapidly clearing the airport and the civilized vista of lawns and swimming pools.
The landscape changed abruptly to orange groves, then flat desert that sloped upward into harshly cut canyons rising into foothills. Lewis would have missed the center complex if MacIntyre hadn’t pointed out the reflection off the bronzed windows. They did not approach it. Instead MacIntyre sent the pilot into the maze of desert foothills. MacIntyre had spent considerable time in helicopters and his ability was soon apparent. He showed Lewis the fence lines, had the pilot hover until Lewis spotted Lily’s tiny trailer on the lip of canyon.
In response to Lewis’s question, MacIntyre explained that he had his assistant, Dave handling the daylight security in Lily’s section and that he was himself sleeping there.
“Might as well be the moon down there,” Lewis said, staring at the jumbled, rocky outcroppings and dusty vegetation. Everything he saw looked lifeless, including the trees that were a dull gray-green. “How much of this is ours?”
“Eighty-five thousand acres, give or take,” MacIntyre replied. He defined the perimeter with a blunt finger, “Fence line follows this rim then crosses the canyon and runs right up that white ridge over there, through that line of trees then cuts over that brushy saddle. The fence isn’t quite true but it’s roughly rectangular—seven miles by ten with the long side running right along here.”
“Christ,” Lewis said, “there’s nothing down there. Is there even a road?”
Instead of answering, MacIntyre tapped the pilot on the shoulder and soon they were following a sketchy track that descended in a series of switchbacks. Lewis caught a thin line of blue flashing to silver in the riverbed and then abruptly an area of brilliant green where the canyon flattened out.
“Old hay fields,” MacIntyre explained. “This used to be a ranch and that down there is what’s left. About a few hundred acres on the level with ditch irrigation out of the Little Sandy. Some alfalfa left, though it’s being taken over by short grass and creosote bush. Belonged to a family named Flannagan. They sold out in the fifties when the dam went in and they lost the water.”
“Looks like there’s plenty of water now,” Lewis observed.
“Yes, now and for about another month or so, depending on the rain situation. River runs for a few months every spring. Dry as dust after that, though.”
“Is that where those horses are?” Lewis asked.
MacIntyre nodded and addressed the pilot again. On the second pass they spotted the horses, loafing in the trees along the river. They did not seem concerned about the chopper until the pilot buzzed them.
“Something wrong with them,” Lewis said watching the hobbling gait of the two closest animals.
“I brought a horse expert in from Kentucky and we hiked in here and took a look at them. They’re lame from old injuries, the mares, anyway. Stallion looked all right. This horse guy got right up to a couple of the mares. They’re neck branded. We checked them out. They’re registered Arabians. You want to land and take a closer look? I can tell the pilot I have to take a leak or something.”
“No,” Lewis said, “I’ve seen enough. Tell him to go back to the airport. Then let’s get out to the center. I’ll want to see the report from this horse expert when we get there. How long since he was here?”
“I’ve got his report right here,” MacIntyre said. He pulled several folded and stapled pages out of the inside pocket of his jacket. His opened lapel revealed a Galco harness over his crisp light blue shirt. The massive butt of a Desert Eagle forty-four protruded from the holster. Lewis frowned and glanced quickly at the pilot but the man was giving all of his attention to the terrain. Who the hell would carry a six pound magnum in a shoulder holster in this climate? Somebody who believed there was no such thing as overkill. On anybody but MacIntyre he would have labeled it macho bullshit. On MacIntyre’s frame the gun wasn’t even oversized, just blunt and effective. Lewis held out his hand for the report.
“Jamieson told me you were on a tight schedule,” MacIntyre said, I figured you’d want it right away.”
Lewis grunted and opened the report. “I only saw six horses down there — this man says seven. What’s the deal? Are they dying off? Any chance this problem could take care of itself?”
“No such luck. One mare’s wild, won’t come out of the brush. Man says they’re healthy. Long as there’s water, they’ll likely stay that way.”
Lewis stared at the lush green below until it was lost behind a bend in the river. “If the water’s due to dry up, I imagine our horse breeder plans on at least one more foray. What have you got on him? I saw the preliminary reports at headquarters. I hope you’ve done some work on him since then.”
“I’ll give you what I’ve got on Bliss when we get to the center, Sir. I didn’t bring his file with me. I’ll tell you right now, it’s not much. Checking personnel backgrounds is not my thing. I’m an okay security man and I can handle a crew but I’m not smooth with civilians.” He looked at Lewis directly and without apology. “Gerald knew what he was getting with me. He was satisfied.”
“You call Gerald Sir every five minutes?”
“No, I called him Gerald.”
“Lewis will do.”
“I prefer the other.”
“All right, MacIntyre, suit yourself. About this cowboy, why didn’t you toast the guard?”
“I didn’t have to, she made a complete report. I tell you, she’s doing the best she can. She’s resigned, she’s willing to forfeit. She just wants out. Everything I’ve got on Bliss, I got from her. She didn’t know anything about the horses being inside the fence or Bliss either, for that matter.”
“Are you telling me the only information you have on Bliss is what she told you? A contractor who’s willing to forfeit? Where’s your brain, Man? I haven’t seen more than two or three people forfeit in the last ten years. Nobody walks away from that kind of money unless they’re in it up to their necks. Level with me. What’s the real reason you’re so cozy with this guard? I’ve seen her pictures, MacIntyre. Do you want to take it from here?”
MacIntyre looked at him with something that could have been disgust and just shook his head briefly before leaning forward to talk to the pilot, who lifted one side of his headset when the instructions became long and detailed.
“Starting right here,” MacIntyre pointed, “and running along this side to the corner, then all the way across the canyon, the full seven miles and just around the corner at the far end, this is the line where we intersect the Wildlife Management project. Lily’s trailer is right in the middle of the coordination area. We have a nine-mile common boundary with them and eight water tanks. You need to see this from up here to get the perspective right. A map just doesn’t do it justice. Every inch of that fence is sight inspected every twenty-four hours by my people, not just the Wildlife Management boundary but the entire perimeter.”
“Why? The fence is hooked into monitors, right? If the electronics aren’t cutting it, why don’t you get a system that works?”
“Look at that country. Looks dead but it’s alive like you’d never believe. We get rockslides and flash floods, even vultures landing on the wire. Anything grounds that wire, we get an alert. We were running about three a week and that was before we had to cut a deal with the feds and put in the water tanks. Now all kinds of wildlife are coming for water, those tanks are nothing but trouble.”
“How much trouble can a water tank give you?”
“For one thing, there’s a waterline running along the fence line. Every tank is hooked in with a float device and every inch of the water system is vulnerable. Leaks make the brush grow and let the tanks go dry. The goddamn brush shorts out the monitors and we get an alert. I’ve spent more time chopping brush than a sharecropper. The feds hired a local man named Wheeler to make sure we were maintaining proper sheep habitat and he brought in Bliss to shape up the water system.”
“While you were chopping brush, maybe you should have spent some time looking for a gate. Have you figured out how he’s getting inside?”
“No.”
“Why the hell not, he can’t be flying those horses in.”
“I’ve been over the entire perimeter three or four times. There just aren’t any breaks. We don’t know when he’s been inside except the one day, when you were . . . here. We didn’t even have an alert that day.”
“How do you know? You weren’t here.”
“The fence system is tied into the security mainframe in the center. Every alert is recorded. They’re all logged in and held open by the monitor until they’re cleared by a supervisor. Only Gerald, Deece, myself and Dave, who’s my assistant, have the right level of username to clear a perimeter alert. The monitor logs it in and logs the clear. You can check it out.”
“I will. Meanwhile, just looking at the country down there I’m guessing you couldn’t jump a horse over that fence. So what does that leave? There’s got to be a break in the wire.”
“No breaks. And the Kentucky horseman says no chance those cripples could jump it. So what do you think that leaves?”
“Lily. You read her file? She’s sharp. You better break down that monitor in her trailer, find out if she put a jumper on the center connection.”
“Already been done, the monitor’s stock.”
“MacIntyre, do you have a complete report somewhere of everything you’ve eliminated?”
“At the center. Stayed up most of last night getting it finished for you.”
“You should have stayed up a few nights working before I got shot at your site, MacIntyre. You can’t even keep a farmer who probably can’t spell security out of your compound.”
“I don’t know anything about farming,” MacIntyre said deliberately, “and I’d guess he knows nothing about security but the man knows something about fences and stock tanks and if we ever get the answer, I’m betting it’ll be more farming than security.”
“I’m going to get the answer.”
MacIntyre gave Lewis a look of probing intensity but made no comment. Lewis returned his stare without giving him any encouragement. In a few seconds, the older man’s eyes shifted to the window. Lewis sensed a hesitation in MacIntyre, as though once again, he judged the time or Lewis unready for whatever he held back.
Lewis turned away; he had time, days, people to see. Whatever it was, it would come out. The man was a fool if he thought he could hide something indefinitely.