new database, cataloging unsolved cases by possible supernatural explanation, which would have made him the laughingstock of the FBI if not for the fact that Rossiter had actually put
to rest a host of unsolved murders dating back decades, proving fairly conclusively that they had all been performed by the same murderer and that that murderer was a vampire who had been hiding out in the Arizona desert. He had been part of the party that had dispatched the monster, and while there'd been no body, there'd been enough circumstantial evidence and eyewitness testimony to substantiate his claims. Not everyone believed Rossiter's vampire story, but enough of the higher-ups did that he had been promoted out of Phoenix and was now working here in Washington. McCormack knew him from countless seminars and workshops, and though Rossiter was not one of the people to whom he'd put out feelers regarding Wolf Canyon, McCormack thought that it might be time to bring the agent in on this.
Rossiter arrived after lunch, and after a quick informal greeting, McCormack handed over the folder and asked for his take on the information presented. Rossiter sat down and sorted through the documents. He looked up. 'I know that area,' he said. 'Arizona. My old stomping grounds.'
'Keep reading.'
McCormack stared out the window at the traffic on the street below. The only sound in the office was the muted rush of the ventilation system pumping in heated air and the occasional sound of pages turning as the agent read through the folder.
When Rossiter finally finished, he stood up, and McCormack could tell from the way he began pacing around the room that he was excited.
'What's the background on this? And what's your interest? There are Bureau papers here, so you obviously have some contact feeding you information, but why? And why call me in?' :
McCormack gave him an abbreviated rundown of the 'Wolf Canyon Disaster,' as they'd been prepared to call it if any information leaked to the press. He explained how the town had been set aside as a community where witches
could avoid persecution, and how, when the town was flooded after completion of the Wolf Canyon Dam, it had not been completely evacuated and sixty-three people had been killed. He'd been with the Justice Department and had been assigned to head the investigation by the Attorney General himself. No news of what occurred had ever leaked out, and he'd closed the investigation after two weeks, ruling what had happened an accident, but there'd been more to that situation than met the eye, and he had retained an interest in it ever since, keeping tabs on Wolf Canyon news for all these years.
'Let me guess,' Rossiter said. 'You're still curious because you were never allowed to reach any real conclusions. Your job wasn't to investigate, it was to deny complicity, to prepare a report that would exonerate all branches of government from any wrongdoing in connection with those deaths.'
McCormack looked at him, said nothing.
'I understand that you can't talk. 'that's okay by me. It's probably what's gotten you where you are today. But let me tell you that from what you've told me and from what I read in that folder, that wasn't just some town populated by wackos who thought they could ride broomsticks and consort with the devil. There was something powerful at that place, and it's still viable and it's reaching out.' He shook his head. 'I know what a lot of the brass thinks of me, I know I'm not exactly everyone's idea of a model agent. But I also know what I' we seen, what I've experienced firsthand. I know what kind of things are out there. It's not a black and-white world we live in, and if the Bureau doesn't get with the program, we're going to find ourselves falling even more behind than we are already. We need to actively investigate incidents like this, not just sweep them under the rug and invent some bullshit explanation that will appease
the powers-that-be. We need to start coming up with strategies to deal with these situations.'
'What are you saying?'
'I want to go out there. I know the local law enforcement, and I know the area. As you may or may not know, I made my bones in that part of Arizona, and let me tell you, there are some strange things going on out there. I think I could find out what you want to know.'
'That's an excellent idea. In fact, to be honest, it's what
I hoped you'd say. It's why I called you in. I wanted you to look into it.'
Rossiter looked at him skeptically. 'I need your help, you
'My help? Why?'
'Because you can authorize this. Make a call to the Bureau chief and specifically request that I head a task force or an investigative team.
With someone from Justice asking for it, it'll happen.'
McCormack balked. 'Why can't you just go on your own? The Bureau's already studying the leg from that accountant. It's an open case. Get yourself assigned to it.'
'First of all, I can't just assign myself to cases. They have to be assigned to me. Second of all, I'm not exactly the most respected member of the FBI team at this point. In case you hadn't noticed, despite my documented success, despite what I was told and what I was promised, I am on a very short leash here. I can't exactly write my own ticket.' He leaned forward, and McCormack saw excitement mixed with ambition on the younger man's features. 'l'hat's where you come in. I need legitimacy. I need someone who'll go to bat for me.
Someone above reproach. Someone respected and powerful and influential who'll back me on this.'
'I don't...'
'You don't what? You don't want to get involved? You are involved.
And if you ever want to find out what really
happened--what's really happening--you'll sponsor me. This is a rare opportunity. In your position, this isn't going to make or break you.
Win, lose, or draw, you'll come out of it the same. You're so close to this that your perceptions arc skewed, but believe me, this isn't the Oklahoma City bombing. This is not a major case. It's a forty-year-old closed investigation in which some of the peripheral participants have recently died. No one'll give a damn if you quietly authorize a new investigation into events after the fact.'
' McCormack licked his lips, which were suddenly dry. 'I don't know.'
'What's not to know? You called me in to ask me about this, and I'm giving you my opinion. You should use your authority to open a new investigation, concurrent with the
Bureau's case, and request that I be in charge.'
'I--I can't accept that responsibility.'
Rossiter nodded. 'I had a feeling you might say that.' He tossed the file back on McCormack's desk. 'But don't come crying to me if you never learn the truth.'
McCormack met his eyes, said nothing.
The agent waited a moment for a response, then started out the door.
'You know where to find me if you change your mind.'
McCormack wanted to say something, wanted to stop
Rossiter from leaving, but in his mind he saw the stacked waterlogged bodies of the men and women they'd been able to dredge from the lake.
And he was afraid.
He stared at the door for several minutes after it closed.
Maybe, he decided, he didn't really want to know the
He mined on the paper shredder next to his desk and, picking the folder up off his desk, fed the pages of the file through, one by one.
The world had changed.
Territories were turning into states, and the wild untamed West was being crisscrossed by tracks and trails and roads. In the cities, telephones now allowed friends and relatives to speak across great distances by means of a mechanical device.
