He knew that he’d have to get a lot closer if he was going to photograph arriving cars, people, and license plates. Ed From Tech had shown him an aerial photo of the lodge and pointed out that the terrain was open, but that there were lots of large rock outcroppings for concealment.
Harry looked at the outcroppings rising up the hill, and he planned his route to sprint from one rock formation to another until he could reach a vantage point about a hundred feet from the lodge and the parking field. From there, he saw he could photograph and videotape parked cars, and people going into the lodge. He needed to stay there until late afternoon, according to Walsh, then get over to the local airport to check out arriving-passenger manifests and car rentals.
He recalled the time he was on the case of a bunch of Irish Republican Army guys who’d set up a training camp not far from here. The Adirondack Forest Preserve was as big as the state of New Hampshire, a mixture of public and private land with a very small population, making it a good place to hunt, hike, and try out illegal weapons.
This surveillance was a little different from the IRA bust, in that no crimes had apparently been committed and the people who lived in that big lodge probably had some pull someplace.
Harry was about to make his first rush toward an outcrop when suddenly three black Jeeps appeared from behind the lodge and started traveling cross-country at high speed. In fact, they were traveling straight toward him. “Shit.”
He turned and moved back into the tree line, then heard dogs barking in the forest. “Holy shit.”
The three Jeeps came right up to the trees, and two men exited from each vehicle. They carried hunting rifles.
Out of the trees around him came three men with German shepherds straining at their leashes and growling. The men, he noticed, had sidearms strapped to their hips. Harry now saw a fourth guy coming out of the trees who walked as if he were in charge.
Harry realized the only way his position could have been fixed so accurately was if there were motion or sound detectors planted in the area. These people
He felt an unaccustomed sense of anxiety, though not fear. This was going to be messy but not dangerous.
The security guards had formed a circle around him but kept a distance of about twenty feet. They were all dressed in military-type camouflage fatigues with an American flag patch on their right shoulders. Each man wore a peaked cap with an American eagle on it, and each had a wireworm sprouting from his left ear.
The man who was in charge-a tough-looking, middle-aged guy-stepped closer, and Harry saw he had a military-type name tag that said CARL.
Carl notified him, “Sir, you are on private property.”
Harry put on a dumb face. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh, geez. Well, if you’ll point the way-”
“How did you get through the fence, sir?”
“Fence? What fence?”
“The fence that surrounds the property, sir, and is posted with ‘no trespassing’ signs.”
“I didn’t see any-. Oh,
“Why are you here?”
Harry noticed that Carl’s tone had become a little less polite, and he’d forgotten the “sir” word. Harry replied, “I’m a bird-watcher.” He displayed his guidebook. “I watch birds.” He tapped his binoculars.
“Why do you have those cameras?”
“I take
Carl didn’t reply, and Harry sensed the first sign of possible trouble.
Then Carl said, “There are millions of acres of public land around here. Why did you cut a hole in the fence?”
“I didn’t
Harry, and everyone around him, realized that he was not sounding like a bird-watcher any longer.
He was about to flash his Fed creds, stand these bastards at attention, and tell them to give him a ride back to his camper. His second thought, however, was not to make a Federal case of this. Why let them know he was a Federal agent sent here to snoop? Walsh would have a total shit fit. Harry said, “I’m outta here.” He took a step toward the forest.
All of a sudden, rifles were raised and pistols came out of their holsters. The three dogs growled and pulled at their leashes.
“Stop, or I’ll let the dogs loose.”
Harry took a deep breath and stopped.
Carl said, “There are two ways to do this. Easy or hard.”
“Let’s do hard.”
Carl glanced around at the other nine security guards, then at the dogs, then at Harry. He spoke in a conciliatory tone. “Sir, we are under strict instructions to bring any trespassers to the lodge, call the sheriff, and have the individual transported by a law enforcement person off the property. We will not press charges, but you will be advised by the sheriff that if you trespass again, you are subject to arrest. You may not, under the law or under our insurance policy, exit the land by yourself on foot, and we will not drive you off the land. Only the sheriff may do that. It’s for your own safety.”
Harry thought about that. Though the assignment was belly-up, he could pull out a little win by seeing the inside of the lodge, and maybe getting a little info there, and a little 411 from the local sheriff. He said to Carl, “Okay, sport, let’s go.”
Carl motioned for Harry to turn and walk toward the Jeeps. Harry assumed they’d put him in one of the vehicles, but they didn’t, so maybe their insurance policy was real strict.
The Jeeps did stay with him, however, as he was directed to the road and up the hill toward the lodge, accompanied by the whole contingent.
As he walked, he considered these ten armed security guards with the dogs, the gatehouse, the chain-link fence, the razor wire, the floodlights and call boxes, and what were most likely motion and sound detectors. This was not your everyday hunting and fishing club. He was suddenly pissed off at Walsh, who’d barely briefed him, and more pissed at himself for not smelling trouble.
He knew he shouldn’t be frightened, but some instinct, sharpened by twenty years of police work and five years of anti-terrorist work, told him that there was an element of danger here.
To confirm this, he said to Carl, who was walking behind him, “Hey, why don’t you use your cell phone to call the sheriff now? Save some time.”
Carl didn’t respond.
Harry reached into his pocket. “You can use my cell phone.”
Carl snapped, “Keep your hands where I can see them, and shut your fucking mouth.”
A cold chill ran down Harry Muller’s spine.
CHAPTER FOUR
Harry Muller sat across a desk from a tall, thin, middle-aged man who had introduced himself as Bain Madox, president and owner of the Custer Hill Club. This, explained Mr. Madox, was not his day job, only a hobby. Bain Madox was also president and owner of Global Oil Corporation (GOCO for short), which Harry had heard of, and which also explained two of the photographs on the wall-one of an oil tanker and another of a burning oil field in some desert or another.
Madox noticed Harry’s interest in the photographs and said, “Kuwait. The Gulf War.” He added, “I hate to see good oil burning, especially if no one is paying me for it.”
