Swift Vengeance

43

I called a meeting of the Irregulars. Taucher, Salvano, Jason, and I waited at the picnic table under the palapa, overlooking the pond.

Burt sat right down and asked us what the plan was and how he could help.

“We won’t be needing any help,” said Salvano. “But you’ll all need to be out of here in the next couple of hours.”

Burt shook his head. “I’d reconsider that if I were you.”

Salvano looked ready to say something, but Grandpa Dick and Grandma Liz arrived, each holding the other’s hand and a large cordial glass filled to the salted brim with red liquid, sprouting a celery stick and a lemon wedge. Liz introduced herself and husband to my guests and offered to make them one of her “military-grade Bloody Marys.”

No takers. So she and Dick sat down with us, Dick noting that he could spot federal employees “from miles downwind.” No one had said anything about federal employees, so I had to take him at his word.

“What a gift that must be,” noted Taucher.

Dick gave her a wry smile.

Next came Clevenger, recently awakened for the day. His hair was a mess and his face looked weighted. He plopped down across from Burt. “Another long night chasing coyotes,” he explained. “Never even heard one.”

“Any sign of Oxley?” asked Liz.

“No Oxley today,” said Clevenger, rubbing his forehead. “The Oxster is a goner, Liz. We all know that.”

“I choose hope over defeat,” she said.

The agents and Jason looked at one another like this must be code for something, plainly puzzled by the Irregulars.

Lindsey came down last, Zeno plodding along big-footed beside her, ears up for all the new faces. She wore one of her cowgirl uniforms: Ariats and pressed jeans, a blue yoked satin blouse with white piping and mother-of-pearl snaps, a belt like a boxing champ would hold over his head.

Taucher stood and offered her hand. “I’m Joan Taucher. Nice to finally meet you.”

Lindsey smiled apologetically. “Thanks for everything you’ve done for me.”

“Thank you for trusting us,” said Joan.

“I’ve been trying to hold up my end,” said Lindsey. I knew she was talking about her son, and the unopened bottles of Stolichnaya still sitting in plain sight on her kitchen counter. This according to Burt.

“Nice dog,” said Taucher. “We had Cane Corsos when I was a kid.”

Lindsey sat at one end of the long table, Zeno beside her, facing the rest of us.

“Is this everybody?” Salvano asked me.

“Everybody who counts,” said Dick.

Salvano stood. He looked taller than he did on TV, his face leaner and stronger. Exhaustion and anger still showing through.

“You need to move out for a few days,” he said. “There’s no safe way we can make this arrest with all of you fine citizens at risk and in the way. I assume this isn’t a problem.”

“Reconsider,” said Burt. “Knowing that there are five total tenants here, what will our boy make of such emptiness? When you trap an animal, you scent the trap so it smells right. In this case, so it looks right.”

Salvano looked sharply my way, displeased that Burt knew what was going on. “Nonsense,” he said.

“I found Burt’s logic convincing,” said Dick. “Though I have no idea what you’re all planning.”

“We can’t plan anything with you people in our way,” said Salvano, sitting down. He seemed to sense he was in for a long fight. “But I can tell you that we’ll be arresting a very dangerous individual. Perhaps two. They will certainly be armed and dangerous.”

“The couple from the bombing last night?” asked Clevenger. “Here?”

“I did not say that,” said Salvano.

“You wouldn’t be here for anything less,” said Dick. “Not after last night.”

“The terrorists?” asked Liz. “I’ve got a sharp carving knife. I’ll stay right here and help!” She raised her glass and drank.

“You’re exactly what we’re afraid of,” said Salvano.

Lindsey looked at me questioningly. “Roland? Explain to them.”

“There’s no damned explanation necessary,” said Salvano, “because I’m in—”

“Let me do this,” I interrupted. I told them everything. From that day in April of 2015 when the Headhunters killed nine innocents to last night’s terrorist attack in San Diego. From Caliphornia’s threat against Lindsey to our plot to lure him here, literally straight into their backyard.

I’d never had such rapt attention from the Irregulars. Not a wisecrack to be heard. Dick looked grim, Liz affronted. Clevenger fixed a concerned eye on Lindsey. Burt sat still, hands on his lap and twiddling his thumbs.

“Y’all shouldn’t be here for this,” Lindsey said, looking at each in turn. “It’s me he’s after. I’m capable and I’m in good hands.”

“Absolutely not,” said Salvano, standing. “You can’t be here, either, Ms. Rakes. We need this area secure and no civilians present. End of discussion.”

She looked at me again.

My turn to stand, though I doubted it would have any impact on the outcome here. “He’s right,” I said. “All you can do here is get hurt or get killed.”

“I disagree with that,” said Dick. He took a big gulp of his cocktail. “I’ve got a perfectly good revolver under my bed. I haven’t shot up any paper lately, but I’m actually pretty good with it.”

“This is a nonstarter,” said Salvano.

Clevenger leaned forward, rapped his knuckles on the wooden table. “Look — I can put a camera drone way up to where nobody can see or hear it. If you know his vehicle, we can pick it up before he even gets to the gate.”

“We can get our own air surveillance and tactical backup,” said Salvano. “But thank you, Mr. Clevenger.”

“All of you,” I said, “Lindsey included — you’ve got to clear out. You know what Caliphornia did last night. He’s more than just dangerous. I’m asking you as friends, and telling you — as the owner of this property — that you have to leave this to us.”

I caught Salvano’s look.

Dick shook his head and looked down at the picnic table. Liz stared at me. Clevenger did likewise. Lindsey reached out and ran a hand over Zeno’s immense head. Burt’s thumbs kept on twiddling as he gazed out over the pond.

Liz took another drink, then stood and looked at Salvano. “Well, count me out,” she said. “Or in. However you say it. This is my home and I’m not leaving. You can arrest me. Either way, nice meeting all of you, and have a pleasant evening.”

She turned and limped toward her casita.

“You are endangering this operation,” said Salvano.

Liz ignored him.

“I’m sticking with my wife,” said Dick, standing. “She’ll be the death of me, but I always knew she would.”

He hustled across the patio to catch up with her, his aging frame bent forward at the waist and knees.

“I’m staying put,” said Clevenger. “Let me know if you want me to get a camera ship up.”

“Washington won’t do it this way,” said Salvano, his hard eyes trained on me. “They just absolutely flat-out won’t.”

“I’m not leaving, either,” said Lindsey. “I wouldn’t even consider it. Come on, Zeno. Let’s get us a little walk by the pond while it’s still light out.” She stood and the dog led the way toward the water.

“I’m out of here,” said Bayless. “I’ve got a wife and a little girl and I’m not going to die on this mountain. I won’t bill you for my time, Ford. This one’s on me.” He nodded, then started down the path toward the barn and his black Mercedes SUV.

Salvano watched them. Put his hands on his hips and shook his head. Looked down at Burt, still sitting, his stubby strong hands now spread flat on the table in front of him.

“You?” asked Salvano.

“Wild horses couldn’t drag me away,” said Burt.

“Well, shit, Mr. Ford,” said Salvano. “I think your renters have effectively shut down my operation.”

“Your call, not theirs,” I said.

“You really can’t talk some sense into them?”

“They’ve already spoken,” I said. “You’re asking them to leave their homes on account of terrorists.”

“I’m trying to defend the homeland,” said Salvano.

“This is the damned homeland,” said Burt. Salvano gave Burt a long stare. I thought he might say something about Burt Short’s shortness, which, I’ve discovered, makes Burt retributory. Jason Bayless’s SUV trundled from the barnyard toward the driveway and he gave us a thumbs-up through the open window.

“Let me see what I’m able to do,” said Salvano.

“I knew you’d come around,” said Burt, giving the agent his weird, bottom-toothed smile.

Salvano’s craggy face creased deeper as he sat back down in front of his two phones — one white and one black — squared them perfectly, pondered them both, chose black, and started in.

“Joan?” he asked. “Can you get us a pot of coffee?”

“I’m not the waitress, Frank.”

“I’ll do that,” I said. “You two try to get your team on the field.”

Burt and I claimed two chaise longues by the barbecue, close enough to the feds to eavesdrop.

Salvano pled his case to his FBI superiors in Washington. We have a chance to stop this terror, sir. The logistics are sound and he’s given us a window. Don’t make me waste it. At times he had two conversations going at once, in parts, pleading with someone on the white line, bullying someone else on the black.

Taucher was busy, too — making her case and answering questions, her usually short temper dialed most of the way down to a softly urgent frequency.

I listened and looked out over the pond. The clouds flushed pink as the sun began to set and from the north the pale face of a storm looked down. It was being billed as an “atmospheric river” that the National Weather Service said could drop “copious amounts of rain” in San Diego County. And it was set to arrive approximately forty-eight hours from now.

Like Caliphornia, I thought, if he was good to his word.

When Salvano went silent, Burt and I wandered over. Salvano sat still, arranging his phones in front of him, squaring them minutely, as if their symmetry were mystical.

I saw him smile for the first time. “I’ll be goddamned. They went for it. We’ve got two snipers and a bomb squad on their way. And seventy-two hours to make it happen.”

Taucher jumped and threw a punch at the air. “Yes!”

By sundown we had the basics:

Dick and Liz in Liz’s casita number six, farthest from the main house. Stay away from the windows and lock yourselves in the bathroom if you hear gunfire.

Burt and Lindsey in the barn watching the back road. Lights out after dark.

Bomb squad in casita one, closest to the patio — our hoped-for point of contact.

Sniper Reggie in my upstairs office, windows with good sightlines.

Sniper Daniel on the barn roof.

Clevenger hidden in the thicket of oleander near the gate, piloting his drone out of eyesight and earshot.

Zeno locked in Lindsey’s casita three, well positioned on the long odds that Caliphornia even got near her front door.

Salvano, Taucher, and I, the welcoming committee, inside the main house.

Salvano to take down and cuff, Taucher and I to cover.

If Caliphornia ran, resisted arrest, or showed a weapon or cell phone, the snipers would shoot him dead, head-shots best in case of armor.

After all, with bombs, hero is another word for dead.

Loose or lumpy clothing, a backpack, bag, or any type of package meant explosives, so cover, cover, cover.

All agents wear their armor; the bomb team was bringing extras for the civilians.

Plan B is hit at the plate.

Fast but loose.

For Darrel and Patrick.

It all felt unreal. For a moment I let myself float up and look down on us, gathered under the palapa, making our plans. I hovered like one of Dale’s drones. There we were, small humans at work. I liked my plan. I saw things that could go wrong. What worried me were the things I couldn’t see at all.