Gideon's Corpse

26

Fordyce was dark and silent as they left, threading their way out among the throngs of law enforcement. Finally, as they approached the Suburban, he burst out, “The guy’s good. Too good, if you ask me.”

Gideon grunted his assent. “A real Horatio Alger, it seems. But if he’s a liar, he’s a damn good one.” Gideon refrained from adding, and I should know. “It would be easy enough to check the story out.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’ll check out. A guy like that’s careful.”

“It might be worth finding out why he left the Catholic Church.”

“And I’d give you ten-to-one odds he’s hoping we’ll do just that, given the way he emphasized that part of his story.”

They neared the group of protestors corralled behind police barricades, their shrill, angry shouting like sandpaper in the quiet desert air. Out of the cacophony, individual voices rose and fell.

Suddenly Fordyce stopped, cocked his head. “You hear that?”

Gideon paused. Someone was shouting about a canyon and bomb building.

They walked over to the protestors. Seeing they were finally getting some attention, they redoubled their yelling and sign waving.

“All right, shut up a minute!” Fordyce boomed at them. He jabbed a finger. “You! What were you just saying?”

A young woman in full Western dress, boots, hat, and massive buckle, stepped forward. “They go sneaking up into Cobre Canyon just before sunset—”

“You’ve seen them yourself?”

“Sure I have.”

“Seen them from where?”

“The rim. There’s a trail I ride there, along the rim, and I’ve seen them below, walking up Cobre Canyon, carrying bomb-making materials. They’re building a bomb in there.”

“Bomb-making materials? Like what?”

“Well, backpacks full of stuff. Look, I’m not kidding, they’re building a bomb.”

“How many times have you seen them?”

“Well, just once, but once is all it takes to realize—”

“When?”

“About six months ago. And let me tell you people—”

“Thank you.” Fordyce got her name and address and they headed back to the car. He slipped behind the wheel, still pissed. “What a waste of time.”

“Maybe not, if that tip on Cobre Canyon pans out.”

“Worth checking out, I suppose. But that woman was just repeating a rumor—she didn’t see any of that herself. What really interested me were those two guys following us out of the mosque.”

“We were followed?”

“You didn’t see them?”

Gideon found himself blushing. “I wasn’t looking.”

Fordyce shook his head. “Don’t know who they were, but I got a good long video of them.”

“Video? When the hell did you shoot video?”

Fordyce grinned, lifted a pen from his pocket. “Ninety-nine bucks, Sharper Image. Beats filling out forms in triplicate and waiting weeks to get the official interrogation videotape from NEST.” He started the engine, his face becoming serious. “We’ve pissed away three days. A week until N-Day, maybe less. And look at this mess. Just look at it. Scares the shit out of me.”

He gestured scornfully back at the sea of law enforcement as he peeled out, leaving a cloud of dust lingering in the thin desert air.