At The Edge

24

The search warrant had turned up nothing.

Dan had taken to clicking his ballpoint pen with tedious regularity. The rumors were mind-boggling-namely, that when the police arrived there were no bodies and no blood to be found in the mine, even the footprints had been swept away. Given the number of men down there, it must have been a massive undertaking to remove all evidence of then-passage.

Sheriff McNiel walked in looking weary. "I'll be blunt, Dan. They say you must be hallucinating. There was a guard sitting right in front of that mine shaft."

"Yeah, reading a paperback novel. He never saw me go in, and he wasn't there when I came out."

"All we found was a massive cave-in that looks fresh, about two hundred feet in."

"A cave-in?"

"Yeah. Tons of rock. You'd have to dig a whole new tunnel just to get in there. And I'm telling you the county can't afford that. My deputies said it looked like somebody might have swept the place. There were no Hazmat suit hangers at the entrance and of course no Hazmat suits. We found no pool of anything, no fumes, no vertical shaft, and no winch."

"If it's plugged at two hundred feet, you won't find anything. And let me guess, to dig it out would cost millions?"

"More money than the county has."

"Well, if that isn't just mouse turds in the cornmeal."

"Stop talking like a hick," Maria said under her breath.

"They had all the time in the world to dynamite the mine,'' Dan said. ''It's twenty or thirty miles from anything. Nobody would hear it."

"We don't have evidence to prosecute," McNiel said with finality. "Who would we prosecute?"

"I understand," Dan said. "What do they say about the big reservoir out there and the plastic pipe?"

"They're growing pacific yew in hedges and they use that to mix pesticides."

"That's bullshit."

"Well, what do we do, arrest them for lying?"

"I've seen the hedges," Maria said. "I'll bet they've already run agricultural chemicals through the pond, so if we looked for residue, we'd find bug killer. But shouldn't we at least look?"

"I'll never get another search warrant. What is it we suspect they do with that reservoir that's illegal?"

''Do they have permits to spray pesticides?'' Maria asked.

"They do," the sheriff said.

"There's got to be something," said Dan. "Maybe the DA has-"

''Oh, believe me, we're talking to him. He wants evidence. Even if we took your testimony, Dan, we don't know who was shooting at you. Some guy named Meat Ball is all we have and you threatened him, not the other way around. We'll be watching them. If they sneeze, we'll be on it, but as it stands now we can't charge anyone."

Dan sat stunned, not quite believing it. Without saying a word he got up and walked to the door.

The woman's hands flowed over his back. She was an artist. Slowly she stripped the tension from his shoulders and loosened his lower back. Whatever his secretary paid her, it wasn't enough. Kenji was in the wintertime conference room that was something of a sunroom, a library, and a good place for a drink. It contained a collapsible massage table that he was beginning to use with regularity.

Nothing, not even the best massage, brought his stress level to normal, but it was an improvement over a back full of violin-string muscles. His enemies were everywhere, poking into everything. Blowing up the mine was only a temporary measure and would set back research immensely because now they had no volume of effluent on which to run their tests. And a ghost was stirring in the grave, thanks to Dan Young.

Hans Groiter entered the sunroom and dismissed the masseuse.

"He was in the mine," Kenji said. "Do you suppose he found the body?"

Groiter didn't bother telling him that if he did, it was headless.

"I hid it well."

"They're going to look into it. I guarantee you that."

"Let them investigate. There's a mountain of rock in the way. And we took everything out, including the photographer's body."

"You took the body out without my authorization?"

"Yeah. But you don't want to be involved in the details. You're better off not knowing."

"Who else knows?"

"Only those who absolutely need to know. You're safe. Relax."

"Don't tell me to relax. I told you to stop them. Since that time you've accomplished nothing. They have come onto Amada land, forced us to derail a major project, and set us months behind. They're going to cost us hundreds of millions and you tell me to relax."

''It takes time. We will get Maria Fischer. That will divert him, and we'll know everything they know."

Groiter's threat about the photographer's body was only implied, but it was just beneath the surface of his words. Of course Hans wanted Kenji to believe that if something should happen to him, the people who "needed to know" about the photographer's body might pay a visit to the sheriff. When the time was right, he would deal with Groiter. Probably send him off to the South Seas with a nice pension that would disappear if the photographer didn't stay buried. Right now the unnerving uncertainty was good for both of them.

"Suppose he did get a sample of the effluent. How long do we have before they've analyzed it?"

"Three or four days. But what's it going to tell them?" Groiter said.

"It's going to tell them that we're doing something with wood distillates and that it has nothing to do with yew trees."

"It'll tell them that somebody spilled a wood alcohol byproduct in the mine."

"Even that tells them too much. But you can't explain that effluent without understanding the catalyst. So that tells them a lot. Way too much,'' Kenji said.' "Those two fucking lawyers did something the police could never have done without a warrant. Up until now they had no way or reason to get one."

"Once we snatch Fischer, everyone will be distracted."

"I need time," Kenji said. "Sixty days to get this lab wrapped up and moved. We can't hang onto it any longer. We've lost all the effluent and it will be tough to continue working on bulk conversion. Until I get out of the country, I want those two lawyers dead or distracted."

Corey was not averse to all of the wishes of the German. This morning she had to take care of a major detail in what had become their plan to take down Maria Fischer.

In her kitchen after her second cup of green tea, she went to the drawer and removed a razor-sharp fillet knife from the knife rack, then picked up a day pack that she had already loaded. On the way through the garage, she picked up a torch and the TV/VCR player. She climbed into the front seat and turned the key, sending the van rumbling to life.

It took about sixty minutes to drive from her house to the grower's place deep in the mountains at the end of an isolated back road. Jack Morgan was a pot farmer who grew most of his crop on property Corey had acquired with a tiny portion of her father's money. For $10,000 every six months, paid in small-denomination bills, Jack had the use of 160 forested acres with good access to water. Located miles away from any residence, the property was almost surrounded by Forest Service land.

Jack Morgan lived in a two-story yellow farmhouse with gables and a steep-pitched roof. When Corey arrived at the front door, the bearded, balding grower greeted her but didn't invite her in. A short, rail-thin man, Jack Morgan glanced around nervously, obviously not wanting anyone to see him with Corey Schneider.

''Hang loose,'' said Corey. ''You got a tick up your dick? You think there's guys hidin' in the bushes?"

"Let's go out back." Jack led Corey around the back of the house and into a large barn. There he seemed to relax. Reeking of hay and livestock, the place felt like a real farm. Jack stopped just inside the door, near a stack of gray fifty-five-gallon drums marked diesel. They looked military. "I've got workers coming and going-I don't want them spreading rumors I talk to you. There should be no connection between you, me, and that property."

"Fine by me."

"So why did you come?"

"Well, it's like this. You owe me thirty thousand including interest and haven't paid me back. Furthermore, you have ten thousand in rent coming due."

"Two of my places got raided. It's only a couple of months till the crop comes in. I borrowed the money for planting. You know that."

"You're late, Jack."

"I don't have it. Spent it on lawyers after the raid. They got the pot and my lawyers got what money I had."

"Fortunately for you, I have a way you can work your way out of this. Somebody will pay you the forty grand you need to pay me."

Jack eyed her suspiciously. ''I can pay you the forty grand after the harvest. I thought you understood that."

"I need the money now. I have a plan I'm working on, and you're going to help me. One Maria Fischer has gone over to the other side, and you are going to help me detain her and ask her a few questions."

''I don't know, Corey. I gotta keep a kinda low profile out here, you know? I don't know that I wanna get involved."

"Way I see it, Jack, you don't have much choice. Cops could find out about this place in a hurry, for sure."

"But I'm on your land too."

"They don't have to find out about that. And even if, for whatever reason, you are dumb enough to tell them about my place over by the South Fork, I never go there. So I rent you some property. I'm not responsible for anything illegal you have going on, am I?"

"They could take your land."

"Oh sure, after they take your farm and put you and your family behind bars."

"You'd do that?"

"Damn right, Jack."

Jack looked torn.

"I saw Otran's mouthpiece go into Maria Fischer's room at the Palmer Inn. I know the right-thinking people in this movement might care if their all-star, troublemakin' bitch is in heat for the Otran guy."

Jack grinned despite himself. "Hard to imagine two lawyers who don't want to screw each other, though."

"And the rest of us too," Corey added. "Anyway, here's how I have it figured. Why don't we get her out here, and use a little persuasion to get her to tell her story on tape? I know she's been taking big money from the timber industry."

"No lie?"

"Believe me, I know it."

"The law will try to do something, but there won't be a lot of heat. If we're careful, they won't catch us."

"Are you nuts, man? We'll go to jail, and they'll throw away the key," Jack retorted.

"They won't know who did it."

"Leave me out of this one. This is way over my head."

"I need your help," Corey said.

"I don't know, Corey. This just isn't for me."

"You can skip two ten-thousand payments when we pull this off. That's not insignificant. On top of that, you get five extra acres of good ground, with water, for the same money you pay now."

Jack frowned and shook his head. "No, I just don't think so."

Slowly he looked into Corey's eyes. She knew that what he saw there scared the hell out of him, causing him to back away tentatively. With her right hand Corey drew her army. 45 from the back of her pants and moved with him, step for step, the gun inches from Jack's chest. With her left she pulled a Taser stun gun. "I know you pretty well, Jack. I figured that would be your reaction."

"Take it easy, Corey. You and I both know you aren't going to shoot me."

Corey made it a point to smile her crazy smile.

There was a snapping sound and Jack grabbed his chest as he fell backward.

Effortlessly Corey rolled him over and put plastic tie-wraps on his wrists, pinning his hands behind his back. From her pocket she removed a black hood, then sat on the floor holding Jack's head in her lap. In a moment he became coherent.

"What are you gonna do?"

She put the hood over his face.

"Don't hurt me."

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

"I'll do whatever you say."

"You don't sound convincing, Jack." She shoved a can of pepper spray under the hood and released a two-second squirt.

Jack convulsed and gasped with a convincing death rattle. She removed the hood.

"Now don't fight me, Jack. We're just going to have a little talk."

Corey scanned the barn. She grabbed a line hanging from the rafters, probably for hanging deer or a slaughtered cow. Quickly she fashioned a noose, then put it over Jack's head and pulled until he was lifted up on his knees. The noose was tight, but not choking him completely. Next she located two concrete blocks and had Jack stand with one foot on each. Adjusting the rope so that Jack would hang himself if he moved from the blocks, Corey stood back.

"We need to have a discussion. It's tough for a woman to convince a man that she's the big dog. I could fix that by making you not a man, Jack."

"I'll do anything you want," said Jack.

"Oh no, Jack, it's not going to be that easy. You'll tell me whatever I want to hear, then welsh later-maybe shoot me in the back. No, I want real sincerity."

"I said I would help."

"Great. But first, you have to watch my show." With that, Corey walked out of the barn. When she returned from the van, she held a small TV with a built-in VCR. Hanging about the barn were light sockets on the ends of insulated electrical cord. Cobwebs made a ghostly skein around each wire. One of them had a plug-in, in place of a light. Inserting the plug to the television, she turned it on and pressed play. It was a narrated video, complete with background music, featuring Jack's pot gardens, showing their locations and Jack at work with his wife, his son, and the hired help.

''If something happens to me, this tape goes to the cops- and, Jack, you and your wife will go down for at least five years. There's a note with the tape explaining exactly why it was made-you threatened to kill me if I didn't let you grow on my property. If I die under strange circumstances, the cops will get the tape."

"OK, so let me down."

"We haven't made a bargain yet. You can skip two payments on the land, and I'll give you an additional five acres for twenty thousand per year, two ten-thousand payments. Pretty good, huh, Jack?"

"Sounds fine to me."

"You're still not sincere, Jack. I can read your mind. You're still thinking maybe there's some way out of this."

"No, Corey, I swear; I'm willing to do it."

"Good. We'll celebrate over dinner."

Again, Corey turned and walked out of the barn. This time she returned carrying a frying pan, a small torch, and a day pack. Suddenly Jack began to sweat.

Corey lit the burner and poured oil in the frying pan. "You haven't asked me what's for dinner."

Jack's jaw began to quiver. He swallowed hard. Corey began unlacing his boots. She pulled them off one at a time, then his white socks.

"I'm gonna fry your feet." With that, she spooned up a drop of hot oil and dropped it on his foot. He spasmed, kicked the blocks out, and began choking. Wildly he struggled, then tried to find his footing. She let him hang until he started passing out; then she lifted him and got his feet back on the blocks.

"Oh God, Corey, don't-I promise I'll help," he choked out.

Corey took out her alcohol and put it on the burn.

"And again," she said, this time scooping up a whole teaspoon of oil, "don't jump around so much or you'll hang yourself."

"No!" Jack shrieked, causing Corey to kick the blocks from under his feet to quiet him. She never had a chance to use the oil. Jack began to choke, turning blue as the rope cut at his neck. Corey waited twenty seconds, then replaced the blocks.

When Jack had more or less recovered, Corey spoke. "The problem is, Jack, you won't really believe I'd do it unless I actually fry one of these feet." She paused. "You notice I'm being real sanitary about this. I've got the right antibiotics. Your old lady can nurse you. She'll keep it from getting infected."

''Corey, I swear to God I'll help you with Maria Fischer- please."

She waited a suitable time. "I think you believe me."

She untied Jack and packed up her things. "Jack, you and I have a perfect understanding-right?"

Jack lay on the floor, rubbing his badly bruised neck with one hand and gripping his burned foot with the other.

"Absolutely."

"Just remember. I'm a crazy bitch. Don't let your ego get in the way or you may go off to prison with burned feet and no balls. Lot of ramifications there, Jack. Lot of ramifications. And, Jack?"

"Yes?"

"You know absolutely that I would do it. You know I'm like that, don't you?"

"Not a doubt in my mind."

"Good then. We've made progress. Tomorrow you'll meet the German. I know you'll love him. We're going to build an interrogation room right here in your barn. We'll dismantle it when we're through with it. And I need you to take the van and have a few specialty items installed."

Groiter had a feeling and he couldn't shake it. Satoru was always pressing, always wanting to know. It felt like the walls of his world were moving ever closer and that each wall had its own set of prying eyes.

Groiter bought an airline ticket for the east coast under his own name. Took aside his most trusted guy, Barnes, and had him fake an ID. It was a California driver's license with Hans Groiter's license number and address but Barnes's face. It took some work but the man actually looked a lot like Groiter. Groiter boarded the airline while Barnes boarded the Amada corporate jet and was quite illegally not listed on the jet's log. When Groiter arrived in New York he immediately returned on the private jet. Barnes remained in New York regularly using the Groiter ID. Upon his return to San Francisco, Groiter immediately went to a small rural airport just outside of Santa Rosa. There he entered Mama's Cafe, a bustling little place where people waited in line to eat. It was a nondescript concrete-block building painted yellow and brown. It had a bad case of the uglies. Inside was better, with green plants everywhere, even in the rafters.

Something about walking through all the plants felt good. He liked his plan.

He entered the men's room in the very back of the place and opened the window. There was no screen. Not a hundred feet away, parked on the grass, was the helicopter he had ordered. Quickly, hoping he wouldn't be seen, he crawled out the window and jumped down in a small enclosure that stored the garbage cans and housed the air conditioner. It was an easy vault over the low wall and a quick walk to the helicopter. Hans could fly passably, and it was a sunny calm day.

Without filing a flight plan and with the transponder off, he flew below 1,000 feet for 200 miles to a strip in Fortuna, California, where he picked up the Spaniard, pulled fuel in cans from a hangar, and then flew to Jack Morgan's. Nobody but the Spaniard could put him anywhere near Palmer. Legitimate receipts would show that he checked into the Waldorf-Astoria in New York.