Chapter Twenty-Six

Link launched the boat at the Turtle Back Cove public launch ramp and hurried toward his goal. Everything looked different down on the Brazos River. He was even with the mobile home compound before he knew it. Ferocious barking dogs charged toward the river to alert him he’d arrived.

The tranquilizers he cajoled from the vet were now pulverized and mixed thoroughly into the ground meat. Link pretended to lay a trotline near the compound. Once he thought the big Doberman might actually enter the water to swim after him. As he passed near the yapping animals, Link tossed chunks of doctored meat onto the shore, timing his throw to a jerk on the trotline he laid.

The dogs stopped barking long enough to eat the meat, but still patrolled at the water's edge. It was almost dark by this time, and a fine mist fell. The sky overhead promised a dark night with more rain soon, but there were occasional glimpses of the full moon behind the clouds.

He motored a little way upstream and fished as the boat drifted back by the compound. The meat was gone from the places he'd tossed. Good. No way to gauge how much of the tranquilizer each dog had eaten, though.

Doc Cretsinger said the pills should take fifteen to twenty minutes to put a dog to sleep--if the animal ingested enough for them to work.

As Link drifted by, he glanced at the opposite shore. Man, Vince was telling the truth when he said he had a great property. Link wondered where the boundaries of Vince’s land extended. What he saw from the river looked every bit as good as Vince’s description.

He rounded the S curve of the Brazos. When he was just out of sight of the compound, Link looked for a place to moor the small boat. Around the next bend he found a small beach with sloping bank on the compound side of the river. He tied the rope around a large cottonwood tree well up the slope. If rain caused the river to rise while he was away, the boat would be secure.

Even on a rainy, dark night, Link did not want to risk the bright yellow slicker he usually wore. Instead he pulled on an old windbreaker in the dark green of Cartersville High colors and, instead of his boots, he wore black running shoes. He pulled the hood of the windbreaker more securely over his head to prevent the drizzle from running down his neck.

In the windbreaker pocket he carried a small high-beam flashlight. With no light except the occasional show of the moon through the clouds, it was a slow walk to the compound.

Link tripped once, and went sprawling. Tree branches slapped at him as he pushed his way toward the compound. He refused to use the flashlight and hoped he wouldn’t need it. He considered it for emergency back up.

He paused at the edge of the clearing surrounding the mobile homes. No sound came from the compound. A glance at the luminous dial of his watch told him the tranquilizer-laced meat should now have the dogs snoozing. He pulled his jacket sleeve over the watch to hide the dial.

A light shone through the window of the center building. He inched his way until he was in line with that window. Damn, there at the back of the building sat the white van. That must mean Large was here and there were two men inside the mobile home.

With a giant clap of thunder followed by low rumbling, rain fell in earnest. No more moonlight shone, just the occasional glow as lightning streaked across the sky. Link needed no torch to see the white mobile homes. If the dogs were not asleep, they would certainly be alerted now, he thought, as he made a dash across the twenty feet of cleared land to crouch below the window.

Still there were no sounds except the patter of the rain. Link raised himself next to the window and peered inside. The man he had named Small sat at a table playing solitaire, laying down cards between swigs from a can of beer. A television set blared in the background. Small appeared to be alone. Where was Large?

Looked like an unmodified mobile home, one used only as living quarters. Which of the other two should he check first? He decided to try the one facing north, and crouched back down. In a low run, he closed the distance between the two buildings.

Behind the second mobile home had no porch or steps were at that entry. It appeared only the front door was ever used. Link tried the door handle. Locked.

Cautiously, he worked around the river end of the trailer to the storage building. That door was unlocked, and he slipped inside. As soon as he closed the door behind him, he used the beam of his flashlight to inspect his surroundings.

He raised the lid of the box nearest him. Rifles, new rifles carefully wrapped and stored, lay in the box. Shit, the ATF boys would want to know about this. His cursory inventory showed case after case of guns. Travis had no idea gun running was involved.

Link checked the second type of boxes. Ammunition for the rifles was stacked efficiently inside. He counted twenty-four boxes of rifles and thirty-six of ammunition. There was enough firepower in this one storage building to outfit a company of soldiers.

Why hadn't ATF tumbled onto this group? What was the reason for this stockpile? Did the other storage shed contain an equal amount of munitions? He needed to know the answer to these questions before he left here tonight.

Link turned off the flashlight and cracked open the shed door. When he was certain no one had come within view, he retreated to the nearby trees, intent on working his way around to the storage shed at the other end of the compound. How much longer would the dogs sleep if the animals were where the cold rain might revive them?

No sooner had he reached the safety of the trees than he saw headlights approach through the rain. A dark sedan pulled into the compound and stopped near the steps of the center mobile home. What a break!

Link raced to the nearest building and ran in a crouch the length of the structure.

He peered around the edge. In the dark it was impossible to identify the tall man who emerged from the car, but something about him looked familiar to Link. As soon as the newcomer was inside the door of the center building, Link rushed to his previous viewing position.

When he reached the window, Small stood to greet the newcomer, a man now in the light. The television had been turned off and the cards were no longer in sight. At first glance, the newcomer appeared to have distinguished features, with the look of money about his clothes and the confidence with which he carried himself.

Hot Damn. Link recognized the man as Howard Forsythe, an attorney disbarred in Dallas for his underhanded methods.

Link ignored the pouring rain and strained to hear the two men speaking. It was no use--he could see Forsythe's lips move, but could hear nothing said in the room. As he considered his options, he heard a noise behind him and wheeled around.

He stood face to face with the man he had called Large. Leveled at Link's stomach was a pistol. Large used it to motion Link to turn around. Up close, he recognized Large as Wayne Crestman, a bully known as "Boo" to those who had grown up with him. Named for his habit of scaring younger kids, Link knew the man from a drug bust in Dallas.

"Well, well. I been waiting for you, Dixon. Thought I'd let you look around a bit and get cocky, then I'd get you."

"I thought you were in jail, Boo. Looks like you'll be back there soon."

"Don't think you can bluff me, you smart-assed bastard. You think you're so clever with that fishing routine. Saw you through the binoculars. I been watching you since before you went into that storage shed. Turn around."

Wayne removed Link's gun. Link cursed himself for not recognizing Large during his surveillance. Where had this guy been when he approached this evening? Man, in the years since he’d worked surveillance he must have gone rusty.

Trying to sound more confident than he felt, Link said, "That was a very enlightening experience. You plan to declare war on some country, Boo?"

"You can call me Mr. Crestman, you sorry sonofabitch. What we're going to do with those guns is none of your damned business. Get moving around to the front door and up the steps or I'll blow a hole in you right here."

Link had no choice. It was difficult to argue with a .44 Magnum prodding your back.