Crooked River

27

Coldmoon got behind the wheel of the Range Rover, with Pendergast sitting coolly in the passenger seat. He was again wearing that white linen suit with the Panama hat, an outfit no FBI agent in the entire history of the United States of America had ever put on before.

They made their way through the Blind Pass Bridge checkpoint and to the mainland, retracing the route Coldmoon had taken the day before. Fifteen minutes later, Coldmoon turned into the parking lot of the Fort Myers Police Department. The lot was packed with task force vehicles.

“Tell me more about this Commander Baugh,” said Coldmoon. Pendergast had brought him up to speed on the task force the previous evening, but he’d been careful to refrain from opining or editorializing.

“You will meet him in a moment and can judge for yourself.”

Coldmoon caught a note of disdain in his voice. “He’s an asshole, then?”

“Such a disagreeable expression,” said Pendergast. “I should think that you, with your wide-ranging intellect, might find another word.”

“How about suckwad? Dripdick? Shitbag?”

“You’re a veritable cornucopia of colorful expressions.”

“That’s just English. You should hear my Lakota.”

“Perhaps another time. Have you ever considered pursuing such a rare talent on the doctoral level?”

They entered the building into a wash of air conditioning and soon found themselves at the closed door of the commander’s office. Pendergast rapped.

The door was opened by a lackey in full dress uniform. “Please come in.”

He stepped aside to reveal the commander, sitting behind a large desk, also in dress uniform, looking crisp and fit, with a face of granite. “Oh, Pendergast, it’s you. So good of you to make an appearance.”

“My partner, Special Agent Armstrong Coldmoon,” said Pendergast.

Coldmoon stepped forward but the commander didn’t rise to shake his hand. Instead, he said, “Partner? Glad you finally brought in help.”

Coldmoon immediately felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. He glanced at Pendergast and was surprised to see the mild expression on his face.

“And this,” said Baugh, “is my chief of staff, Lieutenant Darby.”

He was a chinless wonder, thin, nervous, and slope-shouldered, with a prominent Adam’s apple that bobbed as he nodded a greeting.

With this, Baugh indicated for them to sit. Darby took a seat to one side of the commander’s desk. He removed a steno notebook and, pen in hand, prepared to take notes.

“I expected a report from you already. Two of the six ships in question are currently in territorial waters, right here in the gulf, and I would advise you to get warrants and swoop down on them before they sail back out.”

“The warrants have been pulled,” said Pendergast, “and Agent Coldmoon and I will be executing them shortly.”

“Good. Now, there’s another issue I want to talk to you about. What’s this I hear about you hiring some oceanographer without my knowledge?”

At this, Pendergast went very still. “Where did you hear this?” he asked.

“Never mind where I heard it. Is it true?”

“Commander Baugh, are you aware of the concept of compartmentalization?”

“For Christ’s sake, this isn’t some CIA operation! I’m in charge of this task force. I can’t have the FBI going rogue on me here.”

Pendergast’s silvery eyes remained for a long time on the commander. “If you’re displeased with the idea of my withholding information, you’ll have to take that up with Assistant Director in Charge Pickett.”

“Are you telling me to my face you’re withholding information? This is unacceptable. I order you to share your work with the task force.”

Coldmoon felt his own anger, which had been growing, finally overflow. He half rose. “You don’t get to order the FBI to do a damn thing!”

He felt Pendergast’s hand on his forearm. “Agent Coldmoon?” he said placidly.

Coldmoon sat down, fuming.

“Thank you for controlling your partner,” said the commander, giving Coldmoon a nasty stare.

This was messed up. Coldmoon wasn’t going to tolerate one more disrespectful comment from this jumped-up jackass in uniform. He was about to say more when he caught Pendergast’s warning glance.

“Commander Baugh,” Pendergast said, “I will gladly share my conclusions with you when we have drawn them. For the time being, I will continue working in confidence.”

“I promise you, Pendergast, this lack of cooperation will have consequences.”

Pendergast rose, his voice still mild. “Thank you, Commander. Now, as you just pointed out, we have warrants to serve — and so we’ll take our leave.”

As they departed the air-conditioned haven into the sweltering parking lot, Coldmoon turned to Pendergast and exploded in anger. “That bastard! Where does he get off talking to us that way! And you let him!”

“Agent Coldmoon, there’s a word to describe our response, and that word is strategic. It isn’t strategic at the present time for us to do battle with the commander. Recall that you’re still new to this task force — and its shortcomings.”

Coldmoon felt some of his anger at the commander shifting over toward Pendergast and his lack of fight. “You can’t let him talk to us like that. We’re FBI, for Chrissakes.”

“His day of reckoning will come. But first, it’s crucial we get the drift results from Dr. Gladstone — and we must do all we can to keep her name out of the investigation. I can’t imagine how Baugh learned of her involvement.”

“Why? Is she in any kind of danger?”

“We are all in danger.”

“What from?”

“I don’t know — and that’s what makes it so very dangerous.”