Firebreak

5

About a quarter after one the next afternoon, Parker and Elkins and Wiss climbed out of their gray Jeep at the top of Marino's road by the shack, well above the lodge. All three wore bright orange coats, red and black wool hats with earlaps, black corduroy pants, and tall brown boots. All three wore, in their right ears, under the earlap, a small transmitter from which the tinny voice of Lloyd spoke to them from time to time, down in his room at the motel in Chinook. Hooked to the underpart of the rigid brims of their caps were small microphones, so they could talk back to Lloyd. All three had Remington .35s broken open over their forearms, and fake hunting licenses in clear plastic packs fastened like targets to the backs of their orange coats. All three had black moustaches and black-framed eyeglasses.

"We're starting down now," Elkins said.

Lloyd's little voice, like a leprechaun in the ear, said, "Is it cold?"

Wiss, embarrassed for his protégé, sounded irritated instead, saying, "Of course it's cold, Larry. We're not here to chitchat."

"Sorry."

It was cold enough to see your icy breath, cold enough to make the gloves they wore necessary, though the gloves might cause a little trouble if they had to use the Remingtons. They walked down the paved road, ice crystals crackling with a dry rustle beneath their boots. Ahead the sentry towers loomed, lights off but cameras still on, looking inward.

"Frank!"

Not Lloyd, not the voice in the ear, but someone behind them. Parker and the others spun around, and a guy was there, on the road a few yards uphill from them, holding his arms well out to the sides, palms forward, to show he was unarmed. He was in a black pea jacket and black wool cap, a bulky guy, probably in his late thirties, with a big heavy-boned face.

Sounding astonished, and not happy, Elkins said, "Bob! For Christ's sake—"

"Don't worry about us," Bob said, patting the air to calm everybody down, while the voice in Parker's ear asked, "What's happening? Bob? Who's Bob?" Nobody was going to answer Larry, because nobody was going to tell Bob there was another pair of ears here.

Elkins said, "They're gonna revoke your parole, Bob." He really didn't want this guy here.

'They did, yesterday," Bob told him. "I said to you, it was taking too long, Frank. Harry and me took off, so where else we gonna go?"

Wiss, sounding like a stern parent, said, "Not here, Bob."

"We won't horn in on you, honest to God," Bob said. "It's your play. Just so you know, Harry and me, we'll be up by your car. You need a hand, you can count on us. You want us out, we're out."

"We want you farther out than this, Bob," Wiss said.

Bob shrugged, turning mulish. "Well, this is the way the hand plays," he said. "We'll stay up there till it's over, we'll help if we're needed, we'll divvy when it's done, you go your way, we'll go ours."

Larry in the earphone had grown silent, so he'd caught up with what was happening. Wiss and Elkins looked at each other, then at Parker. Parker thought somebody around here wouldn't live through the day; too many people coming from too many angles. He said, "It's okay. They'll stay up there, on deck."

"That's right," Bob said, and tried to toss a manly smile in Parker's direction. 'Thanks, pal."

Parker shrugged. He said> "Come on," and turned away, walking downhill again. After a second, the other two followed, looking back uphill at Bob, who waved to them, then turned away, going back up the road toward his partner, Harry.

Parker and Elkins and Wiss walked on down past the ring of camera towers. Anybody watching? No. Still no. Occasionally, it seemed to Parker, he could hear

Lloyd's breath in his ear, but nothing else. The man didn't hum or whistle on the job.

"Gotcha!"

The three kept walking, didn't break stride. Wiss said, "Larry? They see us?"

"Picked you up on the perimeter cameras, now they're phoning Havre. Hold on."

The three kept walking, not on the road but paralleling it, looking around as though for game. Two minutes later, Larry's voice said, 'They're confused, because this is Thursday and the season doesn't start till Monday. They think you're jumping the season on purpose, you probably figure to be alone up there, maybe you're down from Canada."

Elkins said, "What do they plan to do about it?"

"Nothing, unless you approach the house."

"I see the house now," Wiss said.

They slowed, moving toward the lodge. The people inside were lawmen, and so would ask questions first. But the image they should be given was of dumbass hunters, maybe half-smart wiseguys looking to make a kill before it was legal. They should not be given an image of people stalking the lodge with robbery in mind.

"Angle to the right," Parker said, "as though we meant to go around the house."

They could see it clearly now, looming ahead of them through the trees, gleaming white in the world of gray and brown and dark green. The two lawmen

inside were not visible, but were certainly watching the three orange coats approach.

Wiss said, "Larry, the next message you get, divert."

"Oh, I know. Nothing happening now, though."

Parker said, "We should stop here, talk it over among ourselves, point different directions, discuss which way we want to go."

They did that, and then Parker pointed toward the house, saying, "Now I'm saying maybe we should go see if somebody's home."

Wiss and Elkins looked toward the house. Elkins said, "And we're talking it over, do they know much about hunting around here?"

Wiss said, "We're wondering, will they help us, or call the cops?"

They looked at one another, and shrugged, and moved their arms around. "And now," Parker said, "we're deciding what the hell, let's just go over there and knock on the door."

They all nodded at one another, then moved toward the house, angling first to get back onto the paved road, then walking downhill.

"That's far enough, fellas."

The loudspeaker had a brassy loud twang to it, and seemed to be coming from the trees all around them, not from the house at all. The three stopped and looked around.

"This is private property. Move outside the perimeter of the towers."

The three turned to one another. Parker angled

himself so his face was away from the lodge as he said, 'They might have a directional mike in there."

Elkins, sounding aggrieved, said, "I don't see why we can't just ask. It Wouldn't kill them to be friendly."

"Besides," Wiss said, "my own opinion is, we're kinda lost."

Parker turned to face the lodge. "Well," he said, "if we just keep going downhill, we'll get to the road some time or other."

Wiss said, "But where on the road? This thing isn't panning out at all."

"Move along, fellas."

"Screw this," Elkins said. "What are they gonna do, shoot me? I'll be right back." He took a step toward the house, then stopped and said, "Jesus, wait a minute, I'm carrying a rifle." Turning, he extended the Remington to Wiss, saying, "Here, you hold it for me."

"Sure."

Without the rifle, Elkins started toward the lodge again, and made about half the distance before the door over there opened. This north side of the lodge featured a wide white door, heavily framed with half columns. Leading to it were four broad shallow wooden steps, gray-painted, up from where the road curved around close to the house before circling it to meet the even more elaborate entrance at the front.

This entrance was elaborate enough, with plenty of room on the top step for the guy who now came out, looking stern. He was a tall man, not heavy, and wore what seemed like a military greatcoat in dark blue over a flannel shirt and blue jeans. A dark blue hard-billed officer's cap was on his head. So this would be the state CID inspector, casual in the house, putting on his official wear to repel the interlopers. Pointing a rigid finger at Elkins, he said, 'This is a restricted area, my friend. Move along out of here."

Instead of which, Elkins kept moving forward. He was about twenty yards from the CID man now, not hurrying, closing the gap. Behind him, Parker and Wiss also moved forward, more slowly. Holding his hands out, Elkins said, "Mister, this isn't a very friendly way to treat a fella. We're just trying to—"

"Stop right there," the CID man said. "I am a peace officer, and I am ordering you off this property."

"Listen," Elkins said, still moving forward, "if you're a lawman, that's fine, here, I'll show you my ID," reaching in under the orange coat, on the right side, toward his back pants pocket, "my friends and me are just up here to"—bringing out the Colt Super Auto .38, suddenly rushing forward, Parker and Wiss coming fast—"keep your hands where I can see them or you're a fucking dead man! Back! Back! Back!" Crowding the astonished CID man back across the broad top step toward the open door.

'You mean— You can't—"

"Moxon!" Elkins shouted, using the CID man's name to give him a second shock. "Shut up and listen! You want to stay alive!"

All four crowded through the doorway, Moxon backward, the color draining from his face. He was a craggy rangy man, a little over the hill, who kept himself in shape and hadn't known anything like this could happen to him.

Parker's gloves were off now, the Remington cocked as he pushed it past Elkins into Moxon's stomach, saying, "Call Hayes. Tell him to show his face."

"I—I'm alone here," Moxon stammered.

Elkins slapped Moxon's military hat off with the barrel of the automatic. He was the one being dangerous, unpredictable. "Do we look stupid?" he demanded. "We know your names, the two of you."

Wiss shut the door, and Parker poked Moxon in the stomach again with the barrel of the Remington. "It's just as easy for us," he said, "we work in here, without you alive."

"Easier," Elkins said, and laid the automatic against Moxon's left cheek.

'There are law officers," Moxon said, and started again, "this is secure, there are law officers all over this mountain."

Parker said, "That's how we got in here." He looked past Moxon at the room, a large, broad, wood-walled place with brick floor and brass wall sconces, several coats hanging on a row of wooden dowels along the back, over a broad rough-timber bench, boots of various kinds under the bench, wide doorways open on both sides. He called, "Hayes! Come out now, or we shoot Moxon, and then come in for you."

Lloyd's little voice said, "I just told him help's on the way."

Elkins laughed. "Come out, Hayes!" he cried. "You're done with your phone call! Oley oley in free!"

Moxon, sounding worried, said, "Phone call?"

Wiss stood to one side, his Remington loose in his hands, pointed at the brick floor. He was the calm one. "It was a friend of ours," he said, "who just told Hayes that help was on the way. He lied. Every message you send out of here, phone, e-mail, whatever you want, goes to our friend and nobody else."

"So there's no reason to stall," Parker said.

Moxon looked at him. He considered Parker's face a long time, not as though to remember it for some lineup farther down the road but as though to read the truth there, whatever it might turn out to be. Then, still looking at Parker, he angled his head back a bit and called, "Bert, come on out. The criminals have returned to the scene of the crime."