Heat

Chapter 37

They were married on the Sunday after Christmas, in a brief, entirely conventional ceremony performed by Jack Gene Coldwater. Jesse had trouble with the occasion. Up until Christmas Day, he had not hated Jack Gene or Casey or Ruger; now he did, for what they had done to Jenny. His best chance of bringing revenge to all of them lay in calling in the feds, and he could not wait to talk to Kip Fuller again.

Eight days passed before the first business day of the new year, and they were difficult for Jesse. He was glad to be married to Jenny, but nervous about the possibility of the house being bugged. Coldwater’s people stayed away from him, and for that he was grateful.

On Monday, the fourth, he took his telephone into the woods behind the plant and called Kip Fuller.

“Jesse, I’ve been waiting to hear from you.”

“What kind of reaction did you get from Barker?”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“They don’t believe me?”

“Something like that.”

“Kip, my deal is that I get Coldwater on a felony indictment, and I’m out of here. Well, I’ve got him; it’s a felony to buy or possess the kind of armament he’s got stashed up on that mountain.”

“That’s Barker’s point,” Kip said. “He thinks you’re making this up to get out.”

“Well, I’m prepared to prove it; all he has to do is to bust Coldwater, Casey and Ruger, then search the place. What’s the big deal?”

“It’s too fantastic, that’s all. You’re going to have to get proof of your allegations.”

“Jesus Christ! What are you, a judge of the federal court? Act on my information and you’ll have your proof.”

“The proof has to come first.”

“What do you expect me to do? Walk in there with a camcorder and tape Coldwater posing with a lot of munitions?”

“Not exactly; you’ll have to use something a little more subtle than a camcorder. I can take care of that.”

“Kip, I don’t know if I’ll ever be allowed into that place again. It was a fluke that I saw it at all. How am I supposed to get back in?”

“That’s up to you,” Kip replied, and he didn’t sound happy about it. “We’ve got to find a way to get a small camera to you.”

“This is insane; I’ll never be able to do it.”

“What about some other way, some other felony?”

“I think they may be bombing abortion clinics, but I don’t have a shred of evidence to back that up.”

“Get them to take you along, then.”

“They haven’t asked me to do anything illegal, so far. Oh, I did shoot a guy, and Coldwater finished him off.”

“Tell me about it.”

“We were target shooting with M-sixteens and handguns, and a guy named Partain appeared out of nowhere and tried to waste Coldwater. I hit him in a shoulder, and Coldwater, cool as ice, took my pistol and put one into the back of his head. Casey was there; does murder count in our deal?”

“You got any other witnesses?”

“Just Coldwater, Casey and me.”

“Then it’s your word against theirs, and I’ll be willing to bet it would be hard to prove this guy Partain ever even existed. Also, Ruger wasn’t there, and we’ve got to have him, too. Come to think of it, he wasn’t at the fort with Coldwater and Casey, was he?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, then, you’ve got to tie all three of them in a neat bundle, or your deal’s no good.”

“Ruger runs the local bank; I’d be willing to bet that a stiff audit would turn up all sorts of stuff. There’s the money I took to the Swiss bank in New York, for instance.”

“You want me to call in the bank examiners while you’re there in the middle? That might make them suspicious, since you’re the new boy.”

“You have a point.”

“Listen, the fort is your best chance. Can you find an excuse to go to Coeur d’Alene this week?”

“There’s no office supply store in St. Clair, and we’re low on some things at the plant. I might be able to manage it.”

“What day?”

“Let’s try for tomorrow.”

“Okay, on the outskirts of town — you’ll pass it on your right driving from St. Clair — is an old fashioned hamburger joint called Mack’s. What time will you go?”

“I should be there by ten, if all goes well.”

“Okay, from ten to eleven, there’ll be a guy at the counter drinking coffee and reading a Seattle newspaper. He’s six-four, two-fifty, and he’ll be wearing a checkered shirt and a down vest and a New York Yankees baseball cap. You sit next to him, have a cup of coffee, and when he has a chance he’ll pass you a package. There’ll be a camera inside a Zippo cigarette lighter; it’ll be loaded with thirty-six exposures of a special, low-light color film, and it will shoot in anything but total darkness, if you brace it against something to hold it still. There’ll be typed directions inside; memorize them and burn them — the lighter works. The guy will leave first; you finish your coffee, then go on your way. When you get your shots, FedEx them to me, care of the Justice Department, and don’t get caught doing it.”

“Okay, but I can’t guarantee that I can get back inside the fort.”

“Then nail them on something else; make them take you on an abortion clinic raid.”

“But if I participate, will my testimony be any good?”

“As long as you can make a case for duress, it will. Are you going to stick it out, Jess?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not that I see.”

“Then I’ll stick it out.” He hung up.

Jess walked back to his office deep in thought. By the time he was at his desk he had made up his mind. He knocked on Herman Muller’s door. “Herman, I’ve got some news; Jenny Weatherby and I got married a week ago Sunday.”

“That’s wonderful, Jesse; congratulations,” Muller replied, bestowing a rare smile.

“I wondered if I could get a few days off for a honeymoon sometime soon.”

Muller turned to his calendar. “Let’s see; we’re starting the New York plywood order this week. If things go smoothly, I should think you could take off the week after next.”

“I haven’t been here long, Herman; I’d be happy to take it without pay.”

“Call it a wedding present,” Muller said, and smiled again.

“Thank you, Herman; that’s very generous. Oh, we’re running low on a bunch of things in the office; I thought I’d run up to Coeur d’Alene in the morning.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

Jesse went back to his desk. He had the passports; he had, what, something over fifty thousand dollars in his safe under the truck. It wouldn’t last long on the run, but it was better than nothing. San Francisco, that sounded good for a honeymoon, and it offered flights to half a dozen Far Eastern countries.

The more he thought about it, the more he knew his fifty thousand wasn’t enough. He’d have to put his mind to finding more over the next couple of weeks.