Last Man Standing

32

Claire was walking to her car in the underground garage of her office building when a well-built man in a suit approached her.

“Dr. Daniels?”

She looked at him cautiously. “Yes.”

He held out his identification. “I’m Agent Phillips with the FBI. We’d like to talk to you—right now, if that’s convenient.”

Claire looked bewildered. “Who wants to talk to me?”

Agent Phillips turned and pointed past the garage gate, where a black limousine with tinted windows was waiting, its engine running.

“It’ll all be explained, ma’am.” He gently put a hand on her elbow. “Just right this way, Doctor, it won’t take long at all and we’ll bring you right back here.”

Claire allowed herself to be led out of the garage. Phillips held the door for her and then climbed in the front passenger seat. Before Claire was even settled against the cushion, the limo sped off.

Claire was startled when the man sitting across from her in the rear-facing seats leaned forward.

“Thank you for agreeing to talk to us, Dr. Daniels.”

“I didn’t agree to talk with anyone. I don’t even know why I’m here.”

She noted that a glass partition that separated the back of the car from the front had been raised. “Who are you?”

“My name is John Winters. I’m head of the FBI’s Washington Field Office.”

“Well, Mr. Winters—” Claire began.

“My friends call me Buck.”

“Well, Mr. Winters, I don’t know why you’d want to talk to me.”

Winters sat back. “Oh, I think you have an idea. You’re a very smart woman.” He tapped a large file next to him. “Quite an impressive C.V.”

Claire stared at the file. “I’m not sure whether I should be flattered or deeply annoyed that you’ve been investigating me.”

Winters smiled. “For now, we’ll just assume you’re flattered. But you also have to realize that in your position you see quite a few members of the Bureau, their spouses, support people.”

“All my security clearances are up to date. And it’s not like I’m exposed to anything that’s top secret. All files are thoroughly censored before they get to me.”

“But how do you censor the human mind, Dr. Daniels?”

“What my patients tell me is absolutely confidential.”

“Oh, I’m sure it is. And I’m also certain that stressed-out people, folks with serious mental and emotional issues, probably pour out their hearts to you.”

“Some more than others. Exactly where is this going, Mr. Winters?”

“The fact is, Dr. Daniels, you are in a position to hear some pretty important information given to you by some very vulnerable people.”

“I am well aware of that. And it goes no farther than my office.” Winters leaned forward again. “One of your current patients is Web London. Is that right?”

“I can’t answer that.”

Winters smiled. “Come on, Doctor.”

“When I said that I do not reveal confidences, I meant it. That includes whether someone is a patient of mine.”

“Well, just so you’re aware, as head of WFO, I’m privy to who at the Bureau is seeing a shrink, okay?”

“We prefer ‘psychiatrist,’ or at least ‘mental health professional.’”

“So I know that Web London is seeing you,” Winters said. “And I know that he’s seen another psychiatrist there several times in the past. An Ed O’Bannon.” Again Claire said nothing. “So one thing I want to know is why the switch to you?”

“And again, I can’t answer those—”

She watched as Winters pulled a slip of paper out of the file next to him. He handed it to her. She looked down at it. It was a release form signed by Web London and notarized. It stated, among other things, that anyone providing psychiatric care to Web London could discuss the parameters of the diagnosis and treatment with one John Winters, director of WFO. Claire had never seen a form like this before, but it was an original document on official Bureau stationery.

“Now we can dispense with the reluctance.”

“Where did this document come from and why haven’t I seen it before?”

“It’s a new policy. In fact, Web’s case is the first time we’ve used it. My idea.”

“It’s an invasion of doctor-and-patient confidentiality.”

“Not if the patient has waived it.”

Claire read the document very carefully—so carefully, in fact, and she took such a long time doing it, that Winters finally started to fume. She handed it back to him.

“Okay, let me see some ID,” she said.

“Excuse me?”

“It says I can reveal certain information to John Winters, head of WFO. All I know about you is you drive around in a limo and say you’re John Winters.”

“I thought my aide identified himself.”

“He did. But you haven’t.”

Winters smiled, pulled out his creds and showed them to Claire. She spent longer than necessary going over them, just to put the man on notice that she didn’t like this one bit and that she was not going to make this easy.

He sat back.“Now, about Web London.”

“He selected me because Dr. O’Bannon wasn’t available. We had a good session and he decided to stay with me.”

“What’s his diagnosis?”

“I’m not sure I’ve made one yet.”

“Have you suggested any treatment to him?”

“That would be a little premature,” she said dryly, “since I haven’t made a diagnosis yet. That would sort of be like operating on someone before you’ve even done a physical.”

“Sorry, but most shrinks—excuse me—psychiatrists I know just prescribe some pills.”

“Well, I guess I’m not like any psychiatrists you know, then.”

“Can you tell me what happened to him in that courtyard?”

“No, I cannot.”

“Can’t or won’t?” He held up the release form. “We can make this smooth for you or extremely difficult.”

“That form also states that I may withhold any information told to me in confidence by a patient and also any conclusions of mine based on such information, if, using my professional discretion, such disclosure would do harm to the patient.”

Winters moved across and sat next to Claire. “Dr. Daniels, are you aware of what happened in that courtyard?”

“Yes. I’ve read the papers, and I’ve talked to Web about it.”

“You see, it goes beyond the murder of six agents, horrific as that is. It strikes right at the fundamental integrity of the Bureau. And without that, you have nothing.”

“I’m not sure how someone ambushing a team of FBI agents diminishes the integrity of the FBI. If anything, it should evoke sympathy.”

“Unfortunately, that’s not the world we work in. Let me tell you what this ambush has done. First, by taking out our elite strike force, criminal elements now believe we are vulnerable at all levels. Second, the press has blown this unfortunate incident to such extraordinary heights, using such incendiary language, that the public confidence in us has been badly shaken and even the lawmakers on Capitol Hill who should know better are doubting us. And lastly, the morale of the Bureau as a whole is at an all-time low over this. It really is a triple whammy.”

“I guess I can see that,” Claire said cautiously.

“So the sooner the matter is resolved, the sooner we understand how it happened in the first place, the sooner we can make matters right again. I’m sure you don’t want the criminals in this country thinking they can run roughshod over honest citizens.”

“I’m certain that won’t happen.”

“Are you?” He stared hard at her. “Well, I’m right in the middle of it, and I’m not nearly so certain as you seem to be.”

Claire felt a chill go up her back at the man’s words.

He patted her on the shoulder. “Now, what can you tell me about Web without, in your discretion, violating any professional standards?”

Claire began slowly, the whole process loathsome to her. “He has some issues. I believe they go back to his childhood, as such issues often do. He froze in that alley. I’m sure he’s told the investigators at the FBI that.” She looked at him for affirmation of this, but Winters didn’t take the bait.

“Go on,” he said simply.

Claire went through the details of what Web had seen and heard in the alley, including the words spoken to him by Kevin Westbrook, how they affected him, his subsequent feelings of paralysis and how he had fought against them and ultimately won.

“Yes, he won,” said Winters. “He dropped right before the guns fired and he managed to walk away alive.”

“I can tell you that he feels enormous guilt for having been the sole survivor.”

“And so he should.”

“He didn’t suddenly turn coward, if that’s what you were wondering. He’s one of the bravest men I’ve ever met. In fact, he might be too brave, too much of a risk-taker.”

“I wasn’t thinking he had become a coward; not even his own worst enemy could say that Web London was a coward.”

She looked at him curiously. “What, then?”

“There are worse things than being a coward.” He paused. “Like being a traitor.”

“My professional opinion is that that is not the case. His freezing in that alley represents deep-rooted problems stemming from a very challenging childhood that Web is trying to cope with.”

“I see. So perhaps he shouldn’t be with HRT, then. Perhaps not in the Bureau at all.”

Now Claire could feel herself freeze. What had she just done? “That’s not what I said.”

“No, Doctor, that’s what I said.”

As promised, they dropped her back off at the garage. As she was getting out, Buck Winters leaned forward and gripped her arm. Claire felt herself instinctively drawing back.

“I certainly can’t stop you from telling Web about our meeting, Doctor, but I’m asking you not to. This is an ongoing FBI investigation and the results, whatever they happen to be, will rock the Bureau more than it’s ever been. So I’m asking you, as a good citizen, to keep all this on the QT for now.”

“I can’t guarantee you that. And I trust Web.”

“I’m sure you do. There’s a lot about him to trust. Do you know how many men he’s killed in his career?”

“No, is that important to know?”

“I’m sure the relatives of those people would think it important.” “You’re making it sound like he’s the criminal. I’m assuming that if he’s killed people, it was part of his job, the job you expect him to do.”

“Well, I guess that’s always open to interpretation, isn’t it?” He let go of her arm and added a parting shot. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again.”

When Romano and Web left for dinner at the mansion, Romano was walking a little funny. He told Web that Billy had gotten him on a horse and Romano had immediately fallen off.

“I don’t know why the hell I can’t follow the guy in a truck. Horses just ain’t my thing.”

“Well, I rode over most of the property today and a lot of it you can’t get to even by truck.”

“Did you fall off too?”

“Yeah, twice,” Web said. Why tell the truth and get Romano’s hair up again? he figured.

“So who’d you ride with?” asked Romano.

“Gwen. Had a nice time. How about you? Have any fun?” “Yeah, I never knew how much fun mucking a stall could be. You should try it sometime.”

Billy met Web and Romano at the front door of the stone house. He was wearing an old corduroy jacket with patched elbows, a pair of khaki pants, a wrinkled white button-down shirt and loafers without socks. And he already had a drink in hand. He led them through the front hall and down a curving staircase of walnut that looked old enough to have arrived in the Colonies as a gift from a long-dead king or queen. Though he’d been through the place ear- lier, Web still caught himself occasionally ogling the large rooms, elaborate millwork, heavy draperies and enormous artwork that looked museum-quality and probably was, and then they arrived at the lower level. Romano looked around and kept muttering, “Holy shit,” under his breath.

Web again noted Billy’s limp. “You have an accident?” he asked, pointing to the man’s leg.

“Yeah, a one-ton draft horse decided to take a roll while I was on the sumbitch.”

The floor in the lower level was flagstone, the exposed walls stone and twelve-by-twelve beams had the task of holding up the ceiling. There were large leather couches and chairs placed precisely, probably to encourage several conversation groups, or perhaps even conspiratorial factions, for this definitely looked like that sort of place to Web, though the Canfields didn’t seem the type. If they didn’t like you, they probably weren’t bashful about showing it, especially Billy. The walls were festooned with the racks of yet more English stags along with numerous mounted heads of deer, a cheetah, a lion, a rhino, a moose and mounted full bodies of a large variety of birds and fish. Mounted on another wall was a very large walleyed pike. There was also a full-sized grizzly in a charging pose and an enormous swordfish in perpetual soar. On one display table was a coiled diamondback rattler and a king cobra, with eyes seemingly ablaze and fangs showing and ready to do some serious damage. Web gave both stuffed reptiles a wide berth. He had never cared much for snakes after almost being bitten by an enraged water moccasin on a mission in Alabama.

There was a well-stocked gun cabinet against one wall. Web and Romano enviously checked out the array of Churchill, Rizzini and Piotti firearms, weapons that would easily set you back five figures. You really couldn’t be a member of HRT and not be an aficionado of showpieces like these, though most FBI agents lacked the financial wherewithal to do more than press their noses to the glass. Web wondered if the weapons were for show only or whether anybody here ever actually used them. Billy looked like he would be comfortable around guns, maybe even Gwen too. If the man had killed all these animals, he would damn well have to be handy with firearms.

A full bar of dark cherry sat against another wall. It looked like it had been yanked straight from a London pub. Web’s strong impression when he had first seen this room was that it had the feel of an English club spiked with a bit of the Wild West.

Gwen was sitting on a couch that looked substantial enough to sail in across the Atlantic. She rose when they entered the room. She was wearing a beige sundress that went down to her ankles and that had a scooped neckline showing a good portion of cleavage. A bit of her white bra strap showed from under the sundress’s thin shoulder straps. Her bare arms were browned by the sun and were tight and firm. Probably from horse-reining, Web assumed, since his arms were aching a little from doing just that for three hours. Black leather flats were on her feet. Still, she was only a couple inches shorter than Romano. As she sat back down and crossed her legs, the sundress slipped back an inch or so and Web was a little surprised to see that she wore a gold ankle chain, because it seemed a bit out of sync with her refined bearing. Her face was nicely tanned too and the contrast of the blond hair was striking. Billy Canfield was indeed a fortunate man, thought Web, though he wondered how much of the life in their marriage had died with their son.

Web was surprised to see Nemo Strait sitting in one of the chairs. The farm manager had cleaned up and was wearing a Polo shirt that showed off his muscular physique, with chino pants and loafers. He was a striking man, Web had to admit.

Strait raised his glass to Web and Romano.

“Welcome to Casa Canfield,” he said with a big grin.

Web looked at the numerous animal trophies. “They come with the house?” he asked Billy.

“Hell, no,” said the man. “About four years ago I had me a calling, I guess you’d say, to go off and shoot things. Became a big-game hunter and a deep-sea fisherman. Was even on TV a few times on some sporting shows. Went round the world bagging stuff like that.” He pointed to the tusked head of a wild boar on one wall and then over at the grizzly, which stood at least nine feet tall on a specially built display unit, its fangs bared and its long claws looking ready to shred somebody.

He went over and rubbed the thick neck of the enormous bear. “Now, this thing did its best to kill me, twice. Second time it almost did, but I got it.” He pointed over at the rhino. “Those damn things look slow and heavy-footed. That is, they do until they’re coming at you about thirty miles an hour with nothing between you and your Maker but your nerves, good aim and a steady trigger finger. You aim for the brain. Now, if you miss and hit the rhino’s horn, you’re a dead man.”

“Poor animals,” said Gwen.

“Hell, the damn things cost me a fortune,” replied her husband dryly. He looked at one of the stags and then nodded at Web. “You know, the stag is the old symbol of virility, wisdom and life. And there it is hanging on my wall, dead as a doornail. I kind of like the irony in that. Now, I do all my own stuffing. Got to be a pretty damn good taxidermist, if I do say so myself.”

Web was wondering about the timing of Billy’s desire to kill. It must have occurred soon after the trial had ended in Ernest Free’s plea bargain that had most certainly let him live.

Billy continued, “Here, let me show you. You want to come, Nemo?”

“No way. I’ve already seen your little operation and I ain’t had my dinner yet.”

Billy led them down a hallway and unlocked a door there. Gwen did not accompany them either. They went inside and Web looked around. The place was large and crammed with worktables and shelves and on these surfaces were cans of liquids and pastes and sharp knives and scalpels, dozens of other tools, large vises, ropes and complicated pulley systems hanging from the ceiling. In one corner was the skin of an elk partially stretched over a form, and in another corner stood a wild turkey in all its dead glory. In other corners were stuffed birds and fish and some large and small animals Web couldn’t even recognize. Web had smelled rotted corpses and it wasn’t that bad in here, but, all the same, Web wouldn’t want to breathe it every day.

“You killed all these?” asked Romano.

“Every one,” said Billy with delight. “I only stuff what I kill. I don’t do nobody any favors on that score.” He picked up a rag and squirted some liquid on it and started rubbing on one of the tools. “Other folks golf for relaxation, I kill and stuff.”

“I guess it’s all relative,” opined Web.

“It’s therapeutic, I’ve found. But Gwen don’t see it that way. She’s never come in here and I suspect she never will. Now, taxidermy has come a long way. You don’t have to build your forms anymore, you can buy real good ones made out of compressed cork, laminated paper and such, and then fit it to what you’re mounting. It’s still quite a process, a lot of planning and measuring and you got to have a bit of both the butcher and the artist in you. The basic steps are you gut the body and then prep the skin. A lot of folks use borax, but the purists like myself still poison the skin with arsenic. You get your best longevity there. And I even do some of my own tanning.”

“You keep arsenic around here?” asked Romano.

“Tons of it.” Billy eyed the man. “Don’t worry, I always wash my hands after working down here, and I don’t do none of the cooking.” He laughed and Romano joined him, albeit a little nervously.

“Then you prep the skull, assemble your wires and such and then do your filling and final assembling.”

Web eyed the room’s equipment. It seemed one bare step removed from a slaughterhouse. “Lots of stuff in here.”

“Well, you need a lot of stuff to do the job right.” He pointed out various pieces. “Like I said, you got your anatomically correct urethane forms for the animals, but I still make some of my own using plaster of paris, modeling clay, cord-wrapped excelsior and the like. Ain’t got to have everything handed to you, right?”

“Right,” said Romano.

“Then you got your chemicals, poisons and salt, lots of salt to preserve the skin. Then you need your measurite and calipers for linear measurements and achieving symmetry. Scalpels for the obvious reason; I use what’s called a perfect knife, German-made, those damn Germans know how to make the knives. It’s for skinning and caping—you know, severing the neck from the body hide, for example—the detail work around the eyes and mouth and the like. You got your skinning knives, paring knives, bone saw, shavers, skifes for leather, even a fleshing machine. Now, that is a damn fine invention.”

Under his breath Web said, “Lucky, lucky world.”

“Got me Kevlar fleshing gloves so I don’t chop off one of my fingers. Scissors, hide pullers, lip tuckers, nippers, forceps, probes and surgical needles. Sounds like a cross between a mortician and a plastic surgeon, don’t it?” He pointed to mixing bowls, paintbrushes, an air compressor and a number of tins.

“That’s the artistic part of the business. The finishing touches to do justice to the animal.”

“Funny thing,” said Web, “thinking about doing justice to something you’ve killed.”

“I guess that separates folks like me from sons of bitches that kill and keep on walking,” Billy shot back.

“I guess so,” said Web.

Billy walked over to a deerskin that was drying on a large table. “You know what’s the first thing you cut off when you’re gutting a deer?” he asked looking directly at Web.

“What’s that?”

“Its penis.”

“Good to know,” said Web dryly.

“Deer die like people,” continued Billy. “With their eyes open. Glazing takes place almost immediately. If the eyes are closed or blinking, you better shoot ’em again.” He looked at Web again. “I suppose you run across that a lot in your line of work.”

“Sometimes that’s not an option with human beings.”

“I guess not, though I’d take any one of the animals I got on display here over the human scum you got to deal with.” He took a sip of his drink. “I think that’s one of the reasons I like this place so much,” said Billy. “Damn contradictions, since I seem to be a living breathing one myself. Born dirt poor, barely finished ninth grade, made a lot of money in the unglamorous business of hauling cigarettes and other junk up and down the highways of this fine country and married me a beautiful, intelligent young woman with a college degree. And now here I am, the master of an estate smack in the middle of fancy-ass Virginia hunt country stuffing animals. One lucky man. Makes me want to get drunk, so let’s go do something about that.”

He led them back and they rejoined Gwen. She gave Web a weak smile as if to say, I know and I’m sorry.

Bill went behind the bar and pointed at his wife. “Scotch, honey?” She nodded. “I’ll join you in another,” he said. “Boys? And don’t hand me that bullshit that you’re on duty. If you don’t drink with me, I’m throwing your butts out of here.”

“Beer, if you have it.”

“We have everything here, Web.”

Web made a mental note that the man said it like he damn well meant it.

“Same for me,” said Romano.

“I’ll have one too, Billy,” said Strait. He walked over and took a bottle of beer from his boss and then joined Web and Romano.

“I’m a lot more used to beer than I am fancy mixed drinks.”

“Country boy?” asked Romano.

“Yes, sir, I grew up at the foothills of the Blue Ridge on a horse farm,” said Strait. “But I wanted to see the world.” He rolled up his sleeve and showed them his Marine Corps insignia. “Well, I did, on Uncle Sam’s dime. Actually, I only saw a little slice of it called Southeast Asia, and it’s hard to enjoy something like that when people are shooting at you.”

“You don’t look old enough to have been in Vietnam,” commented Web.

Strait smiled broadly. “All my clean living, I guess.” He added, “Truth is, I got drafted right near the end, only eighteen years old and change. First year in the jungle, I just kept my head down and tried my best to keep it on my shoulders. Then I got my ass caught and spent three months as a POW. Damn Viet Cong were into some sick stuff, messing with your mind, trying to turn you traitor.”

“I didn’t know that about you, Strait,” said Billy.

“Well, it’s not something I put on my résumé.” He laughed. “But I finally escaped and an Army shrink helped me to straighten out myself. That and a lot of booze and other stuff I can’t mention,” he added, grinning. “Got discharged, came back to the States and pulled a little duty as a guard at a juvenile detention center. Now, let me tell you, some of the kids I was guarding, they’d make the damn Viet Cong look like a bunch of wimps. Then I got married, but my ex didn’t like my pay scale of six bucks an hour, so I got me a desk job for a while, but that just wasn’t me. Like I said, I grew up in the outdoors, around horses all my life. It’s in your blood.” He looked over at Billy. “It better be, because it ain’t in your bank account.”

They all laughed at that one, except Gwen. She looked annoyed that the cowpoke was even in her home, thought Web, who was watching her closely.

“So anyway,” Strait continued, “I went back to horses and my wife walked out on me and took my boy and girl.”

“You see them much?” asked Web.

“Used to, not anymore.” He grinned. “Thought my son would follow in his old man’s footsteps and be either a military grunt or maybe even get into the horses.” He slapped his thigh. “Hell, you know what?”

“What’s that?” asked Romano.

“Found out he was allergic to the damn things. Life sure is funny sometimes.”

As Web studied the man, it didn’t seem to him that Strait thought life was humorous at all. He had initially pegged Strait as a slow-witted fellow who did what he was told. He was going to have to re-think that.

“Then Billy come along, and now I’m helping him”—he glanced at Gwen—“and Ms. Canfield build their little empire right here.”

Billy raised his beer to the man. “And doing a fine job of it, Strait.”

On that, Web noted, Gwen looked away, and despite Billy’s words of praise it seemed that he was not all that enamored of his foreman. Web decided to change the flow of conversation.

“Lower levels are usually cold,” Web said to Billy. “Especially with all this stone. And yet it feels warmer down here than it did upstairs.”

“We have the best heat in the world here,” replied Billy, who worked the bar like he had been born to it. “Radiant steam. Gwen said she showed you around. Well, those three Weil McLain boilers you saw heat the water to two-twelve and turn it into steam, of course. The steam flows through the pipes and into the cast-iron Gurney radiators that are in each room in the house. Then the steam cools back to water, runs through the system again, is turned into steam once more and on it goes. And you have not only warmth, but a built-in humidifier.” He handed Web his beer. “A lot of the steam pipes run under this floor, that’s why it’s so nice down here. I love it. And this time of year, it can get to be eighty-five in the day and forty at night. But McLain boilers is why Gwen can go bare-armed down here and still feel nice and toasty, ain’t that right, honey?”

“Actually, I’ve felt hot all day.”

Web rubbed his hand against the bar. “Nice setup with this thing.”

“Dates from 1910,” said Billy. “The owner back then put a lot of work into the place. It needed it, though. Unfortunately, it needed a lot more by the time we got to it. Story of my life.” He carried the drinks over on a serving platter and handed them out. They all sat down.

“Gwen tells me you’ve got some promising yearlings.”

“Yeah, maybe a Triple Crown winner in there,” said Billy. “Now, that would be nice. Pay at least a month’s worth of bills on this damn place.”

Gwen and Web exchanged smiles at this comment.

“We can always hope,” said Gwen. “But being one step from the poorhouse all the time at least is exciting.”

“Well, we do okay here,” said Strait, looking at her.

Web thought the choice of pronouns interesting. He was starting to wonder who actually owned the place.

Billy took a pull on his scotch. “Yeah, this ain’t such a bad place. Even got fox hunting around here.”

Gwen looked repulsed. “That’s disgusting.”

“Well, this is fox-hunting country, and in Virginia you got to do like the snooty Virginians do.” Billy smiled at Web. “Actually, our damn neighbors can be kind of a pain in the ass. They got ticked at me because I wouldn’t let them ride across my land while they were chasing that damn fox. I told them they didn’t fox-hunt down Richmond way and it seemed like the deck was stacked against the little feller anyway and I’ve always tended to root for the underdog. Well, those pricks took me to court. And won. There were some old covenant in my chain of title that said fox hunting apparently runs with the land.”

Romano looked disgusted. “Now, that’s a bitch. Talk about your unfree country.”

“Well, they don’t come across East Winds anymore,” said Strait.

“Why’s that?” asked Web.

“Billy shot one of their dogs—excuse me, hounds.” He slapped his leg and laughed.

Billy was nodding as though remembering a pleasant memory. “He took after one of my horses. That particular horse was worth about three hundred thousand dollars. Damn hound dog’s a dime a dozen. So damn right I shot him.”

“Did they take you to court again?” asked Web.

“They did, and this time I kicked their ass.” He smiled, took another drink and looked at Web. “So did you enjoy the fifty-cent tour Gwen gave you?”

“She’d make a great tour guide, actually. I was interested in the farm being a stop on the Underground Railroad during the Civil War.”

Billy pointed to the gun cabinet. “And that stop’s right over there.”

Web looked at the gun cabinet and said, “I’m not getting it.” “Go ahead and show him, Billy,” said Strait.

Billy motioned for Web and Romano to follow him. He went over and pushed down on what Web figured must be a lever concealed in the cabinet’s frame. Web heard a click and the cabinet swung toward him, revealing a small opening.

“There’s no electricity or windows in there, just a couple of rough bunks, but when you’re running for your freedom, you can’t be too picky,” said Billy. He picked up a flashlight that was hanging on a wall peg and handed it to Web. “Have a look.”

Web took the flashlight, poked his head inside and swung the light around. He almost dropped the flashlight when the light caught on a man sitting there in a bentwood rocker. As his eyes adjusted to the poor light, he saw it was actually a mannequin dressed as a male slave, with a hat and muttonchop whiskers, the whites of its eyes in unsettling contrast to the painted black skin.

Billy laughed and said, “You’ve got some damn strong nerves. Most people scream.”

“Billy put that in there, not me, Web,” said Gwen quickly, with a trace of disgust in her voice.

“It’s one of my sick little jokes,” added Billy. “But hell, if you can’t laugh at life, what are you gonna laugh at?”

On that they finished their drinks and went in to dinner.

They didn’t eat in the formal dining room. As Billy explained it, the room was so big that when you wanted to talk to one another you had to scream to be heard and he was a little hard of hearing as it was. They ate in a small room off the kitchen. Gwen gave the blessing and made the sign of the cross, as did Romano. Strait, Web, and Billy just looked on.

Gwen had made a Caesar salad, sirloin tips, fresh asparagus in a cream sauce and what smelled and tasted like homemade rolls. Cherry pie and coffee finished off the meal, and Romano sat back, rubbing his flat, hard stomach.

“A lot better than MREs,” he said, referring to the U.S. military’s meals-ready-to-eat.

“Thanks, Gwen, it was great,” said Web.

“We used to entertain quite a bit in Richmond,” she said. “We don’t do a lot of that anymore.” She shot a quick glance at her husband as she said this.

“Lots of things we don’t do anymore,” said Billy Canfield. “But it was a fine meal and my toast to the chef.” He went over to the sideboard and brought back a decanter of brandy and four cut-crystal glasses. “Now, I’m partial to my Jim Beam, like any good southern gentleman, but a proper toast requires a proper libation.” He poured out the brandy and filled his glass with Beam, and they toasted Gwen.

She smiled and raised her glass to them. “Well, it’s nice to be so popular with so many men.”

As they took their leave, Web drew Billy aside.

“I just want to get the ground rules clear. Be sure to set the alarm when we leave, and set it every night before you go to bed. There are so many ways in and out of this place, I want you and Gwen to come and go the same way. That way you won’t inadvertently leave a door unlocked. If you’re thinking of going out, even if it’s just a stroll, you call us first and we go with you. If anything spooks you or Gwen, you call us. Nothing is too small, okay? Here’s my cell phone number. It’ll be on twenty-four hours a day. And I want you to strongly consider letting Romano and me stay in the house. If something goes down, seconds do count.”

Billy looked at the slip of paper with Web’s number on it. “Prisoners in our own home, I guess it’s come to that. Those bastards.” He shook his head wearily.

“Those guns in your cabinet, they just for show or you use them in your hunting?”

“Most of them are shotguns. Couldn’t use them on game you want to mount because shotgun ammo ruins the skin and takes off heads. I keep my big-game weapons in a locked cabinet upstairs. I’ve also got me a twelve-gauge and a .357 Magnum too. Both loaded. They’re for two-legged sumbitches trespassing on my land. Gwen’s a damn fine shot too. Probably better’n me.”

“Good, just remember to shoot only the bad guys. Now, you got any travel plans coming up?”

“Just a shipment of horses we’re taking up to Kentucky in a few days. I’m going with Strait and some of the boys.”

“Talk to Bates, he may see it differently.”

“Listen to Web,” said Nemo, who walked over after overhearing their conversation. “Somebody’s looking to get to you, Billy. Stay put so the Feds can protect you.”

“Going soft on me, Nemo?” asked Billy.

“Hell no. Something happens to you, I’m out of a job.”

“Any visitors you expecting out of the ordinary?” Web asked. Billy shook his head. “Most of our friends in Richmond aren’t our friends anymore. Maybe it’s mostly our fault. We keep to ourselves here.”

“These neighbors of yours, at the Southern Belle, what do you know about them?”

“Only that they’re ruder than me.” He laughed. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know much about them. They don’t join in much local stuff, not that I do either. I’ve only seen what I guess was the foreman.”

“How about that chopper and their plane?”

Billy made a face. “That is damn aggravating. Scares the horses.”

“How often do you see the plane and the chopper go out?”

Billy considered this. “A lot.”

“What’s a lot? Nightly, weekly?”

“Not nightly, but more often than weekly.”

“Same direction each time or different?”

“Different.” He looked at Web warily. “What’re you thinking?” Web gave a tight smile. “I’m thinking we’ll just keep an eye on that airline next door.”

When Romano and Web got back to the carriage house, Web filled him in on the talk he had had with Billy.

“You think something’s going down on the property next door?” said Romano.

“No, I think something going’s up.”

“Well, that was an interesting evening. I gotta tell you, that hobby of Canfield’s is kind of spooky.”

“Yeah, it’s not exactly like building model planes. And what’s your take on Nemo Strait?”

“Seems like a regular enough fellow.”

“I was sort of surprised he was invited to the big house for dinner with the boss.”

“Well, look at where Billy came from. He’s probably more comfortable around people like Strait than a bunch of rich fat cats fox hunting.”

“You’re probably right. Gwen didn’t seem to care for him, though.” “She’s more of a lady. And he’s kind of crude.” He added with a smile, “Like me. I didn’t know she was Catholic.”

“Yeah, she’s got a little chapel in the woods where she goes to pray every day for her son, the one I let die.”

“You didn’t let the kid die, Web. Hell, if the negotiators had let you guys do your thing from the get-go, the boy probably would be alive.”

“Look, Paulie, I got an appointment tonight, so you’re going to have to go it alone. I don’t have to leave for a while, so you can get some shut-eye. Bates is keeping agents at the rear and front gates for the next couple of days, though, so you’re not really all by your lonesome.”

“Appointment, what kind of appointment?”

“I’ll tell you all about it when I get back.”

“This have something to do with what happened to Charlie Team?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, damn, Web, I’d like to be in on that.”

And I’d like you to be covering my back. “Can’t desert the old post. I should be back before morning. Now, if I were you, I’d patrol around a little bit. I wouldn’t be surprised if Canfield started off by testing us and so he might slip out. Although I think almost dying this morning put the fear of God in him, but we can’t take that chance.”

“Not to worry, I’ll do some snooping.”

“If you see that plane or chopper go over, log it in. And I brought a bunch of night optics, help yourself.”

“Those damn things always give me a headache and they screw with your depth perception too much.”

“Yeah, well, you remember those ‘damn things’ saved our necks in Kosovo.”

“Okay, okay. I’m gonna hit the sack.”

“And Paulie?”

“Yeah?”

“Just because there aren’t a bunch of guys with big guns surrounding us doesn’t mean it’s not dangerous. Be extra careful. I don’t want to lose anybody else, okay?”

“Hey, Web, remember who you’re talking to.”

“You and me have had our differences over the years, but we’ve also been to hell and back together. I kind of like having you around. You hear me?”

“Gee, Web, you really do care.”

“You’re a real prick, Romano, you know that?”