The Lions Of Lucerne

24

“Only if this farm had a woodshed would there be a more appropriate place for me to tan your hide,” came the voice of the FBI’s number two man, Gary Lawlor, who was standing between the open barn doors. “Just what the hell have you been doing?”

Before turning to face him, Scot slipped off the latex gloves and shoved them inside his parka.

“You can hand those goddamn gloves right over to me. That way I won’t leave any fingerprints, and when they find your body, they won’t be able to link it to me.”

“Gary, just wait a second,” began Harvath.

“First of all, this isn’t a fucking social call, Agent Harvath. You address me as Deputy Director or Agent Lawlor, you understand me? And secondly, ‘wait a second’? How dare you tell me to wait a second, boy? Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Do you want me to answer that, or are you just going to run right over what I have to say?”

“Shut up.”

“There’s my answer.”

“You know what, Scot? You’re a real wiseass. That’s always been your problem. You’re a great operative, but your mouth gets in the way too often. It’s beyond me how you ever made it through the Navy, especially the SEALs.”

“I guess that recommendation from the special agent in charge of the San Diego FBI field office went a long way.”

“It must have. I don’t know what I was thinking when I wrote that for you.”

“You did it because you knew that’s where I wanted to be. You knew I had certain talents and that they could teach me things that-”

“Yeah? Really? Did the Navy teach you that it was okay to assault a federal officer? Did they teach you that it was okay to trespass on not one, not two, but three secured FBI crime scenes and, while you’re on one of them, start an avalanche that not only would bury potentially critical evidence, but might also endanger the lives of hundreds of rescue workers and investigators down below? And while I’m at it, what are you, in the fucking tour business now? If it hadn’t been for the sheriff knowing where we were going, that fucking helicopter pilot would have gone by way of New Jersey to get here. I know you had something to do with that.”

“Jesus, Gary. I lost at least thirty men. Good men. All on my watch. I was responsible for each and every one of those guys. Most of them have families. What do you expect me to do?”

Lawlor’s incredulous voice rose to a level that could be heard well outside the barn. “What would I expect you to do? I would expect you to honor the oath you took to uphold the laws of this country. That’s what I would expect you to do!”

Scot stood and stared at Lawlor. Of all people, this was someone he’d thought would understand him, understand what he was doing. After Scot’s SEAL instructor father was killed in a training exercise, Gary Lawlor, a longtime friend of the family, had become like a second father to him. While they didn’t always see eye to eye on things, Scot felt Gary should at least cut him slack because of their history.

The problem Lawlor had right now went far beyond their relationship, though. Scot needed to be put back in line. His voice calmer, Lawlor said, “Scot, you’re in a lot of trouble. Do you understand that? You’ve completely thrown the book out the window.”

“What would you be doing in my place?”

“Damn it, Scot, are you that thick? We’re not talking about me, and we’re not talking about the realm of possibilities. We’re talking about what you have done and the trouble you’re in.”

“Let me ask you a question.”

“You do realize the president has been kidnapped and I have absolutely no time for this?”

“How did you nail the guys from the Scripps bombing? Did you do it by your precious book that you seem to place above everything else?”

Scot had just touched a very deep and painful nerve. Harvath was referring to a standoff at the Scripps Howard Institute in La Jolla, California, over ten years ago, when Gary was in charge of the FBI’s San Diego field office. A radical group had taken over the facility and were holding several of its staff hostage. When the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team assaulted the building after a weeklong standoff, they weren’t prepared for what they found inside.

The strength of the terrorist group was twice what they had expected, and the terrorists had anticipated every route the FBI would take in assaulting the building. All of those areas were rigged with charges. Men that weren’t mowed down by automatic weapons fire were blown to pieces by the explosives.

Lawlor was the type who would never ask men to do anything he wouldn’t do himself. He had been on the winning side of several high-profile kidnappings, raids, and assorted tougher-than-hell cases before and since the Scripps incident, but he could never shake the feeling that somehow he should have known what was waiting inside that building for the HRT team.

It had taken Lawlor three years, but he had managed to track down every single member of the radical group responsible for the planning and execution of the Scripps Disaster, as it became known. Some of the perpetrators came in peacefully, some needed to be coerced, and some went out with guns blazing, but Lawlor’s bullets always found their targets first.

Several of the group’s members fled the country, foolishly thinking they would be beyond FBI’s grasp, but Lawlor still found them. Money and time were no object. Lawlor had made an impassioned plea to the government that it must be a priority to bring these people to justice and that he must be in charge of doing it. Scot knew Lawlor broke more than a few laws and trampled upon more than a few civil rights along the way, but he got the job done. It was precisely that feeling of responsibility that Scot was trying to evoke in Lawlor.

Gary snapped to, realizing he had been drawn into a place in his mind he didn’t want to be.

“That was a long time ago, and it has no bearing whatsoever on what is happening now,” he said.

“So, do as I say, not as I do? Jesus, Gary, it’s a shame you never had kids. You’ve got all the good parental lines down pat.”

“You don’t know when to quit, do you? The SAC of our Salt Lake office wants your ass bronzed and hanging above his desk for coldcocking one of his men.”

“The guy deserved it.”

“That doesn’t matter. You still assaulted a federal officer and it happened on my playing field in my investigation. Plus, there’s all the other crap you’ve pulled. Not only is your behavior way out of line, but according to the medical report I read on you, you shouldn’t have even gotten out of bed this morning.”

“Gary, come on. You know how important this is.”

“You bet I do. I’m the one who has to feed the hourly reports back to Washington so the director can brief the vice president. If nothing else, you should know the importance of being a team player.”

“Yeah, but I belong on the field, not on the bench. I was responsible for those men, and I am ultimately responsible for the president. You’ve lost guys before, Gary. You’ve gotta know how that feels…how I feel.”

Lawlor had had enough. “You know what? Trying to pull my chain is going to get you fucking nowhere, pal. Understand me? What happened at Scripps was a long time ago. How I cleaned it up was also a long time ago. I was operating under a federal directive that you don’t have the clearance or the need to know anything about. I have made a lot of mistakes in my life, and one of them was thinking I could talk some sense into you and help get your ass out of the fire, but you keep on pushing me.”

Scot was growing equally angry and fired right back at Lawlor, “Pushing you? So this is about you now? For as long as I’ve known you it’s all been about you.”

“That’s not true, and you know it.”

“Where do you think my life and career are going to be when the dust finally settles on this? Have you given any thought to that?”

“At this point, that’s not my problem, but I can tell you that you’re not making things any easier on yourself with all of this fucking around.”

“That’s what you think I’m doing? ‘Fucking around?’ What’s ‘fucking around’ is sitting on our asses for hours, burning precious time waiting for you to get here so the investigation can be carried forward. That was a colossal fuck around.”

“You know what? You’ve just stepped on my very last nerve. You don’t know when someone is trying to give you a hand, do you? I’m going to spell it out for you, and you damn well better listen. We are effective because we are organized. I don’t care how many movies you watch. The rogue cowboy never helps get anything done. He screws up the entire works. It is through cooperation, specialization, and division of the investigative labors that any investigation succeeds. It is not the efforts of one man that count, but of hundreds, sometimes thousands. When you go off half-cocked because you don’t like how things are going, you not only screw things up, as in any evidence we might have been able to uncover on Squaw Peak, but you are turning your back on your team.

“When you turn your back on your team, you forgo the rights and associations thereto. Now, I can understand how you’re feeling, but that does not, for one single moment, excuse your behavior. You have broken the law, and, on top of your other problems, you might have to face the music on some serious charges. You think you were fucked before? Well, any compassion that might have been available to you because of your heroic efforts in saving the president’s daughter have been thrown right out the window, by none other than you yourself.

“I can see your mind working, and I’m going to tell you right now, Scot, to keep your big mouth shut. I’m telling you for your own good. You might still have a career that’s salvageable, but if you step out of line one more time, I guarantee you I will personally see that you get every single thing that’s coming to you. Do you get me? And don’t open your mouth to say yes. You just nod your head.”

Anger burned within every pore in his body like acid, but slowly, reluctantly, Harvath nodded his head.

“Good,” said Lawlor, who turned and walked out of the barn. Waving to get the attention of Deputy MacIntyre, he yelled, “I need one of your men to drive Agent Harvath back to the Secret Service command center at Snow Haven. I have had about all the investigative help from him that I can stand. And, while I’m thinking of it, absolutely no stopping for anything.”

Back in Deer Valley, FBI Agent Zuschnitt, feeling the vibration of his pager, looked at the display and then fished in his pocket for quarters. He could have used his cell phone, but this was yet another call he didn’t want traced back to him.