“You… shot one of my men?!” ‘Agent Smith’ rasped in disbelief.
“Three rounds, center of mass, three-inch group, in self-defense,” Bulatt replied matter-of-factly. “Good thing you guys bought the expensive vests instead of the cheap shit. He was flopping on the floor for a while, and turning an interesting shade of purple, trying to catch his breath; but he looks pretty stable now. Probably cracked his sternum in a couple of places; but I stayed away from his heart, so the bruises ought to heal in a few weeks. Pity he and the other fellows didn’t have the foresight to insert ear-plugs before I arrived, but I’m sure their ears will stop ringing after a while.”
“All right, Agent Bulatt, here’s the deal. You have precisely two minutes to walk out of there with your hands up or I’m sending in — ” Smith started to say when Bulatt interrupted.
“Two minutes ought to be just about the time my Redmond Police buddies start showing up and taking everyone into custody who isn’t willing to identify himself as a federal law enforcement officer,” Bulatt pointed out. “And, so far, I’m the only one who has.”
There was another pause.
“Your time is rapidly approaching one minute and counting,” Bulatt reminded, “and, yes, I will take a polygraph if things ever get to the formal review board stage; which I’m sure they won’t.”
“I — we need to talk, face to face,” Smith finally said.
“Fine with me,” Bulatt said agreeably. “Come on in; and don’t forget to bring along someone to haul this character out of here. He’s starting to smell; I think he shit his pants.”
“I’ll bring two — ” the voice started to say, but Bulatt interrupted again
“No, I said you’ll bring one, and no weapons. We’ve got plenty here already, and I really don’t want to have to write any more ‘shots fired’ memos; they tend to upset our Washington Office.”
Approximately five minutes later, the all-too-familiar ‘Agent Smith’ — now dressed in jeans, boots and a flannel shirt, but with no concealing jacket or visible weapons — cautiously opened the swinging doors of the electronic lab.
“Just us federales,” Bulatt said from his sitting position on the lab table. “Come on in and take a seat.”
Smith stepped inside, immediately followed by a pair of uniformed Redmond police officers who entered with drawn pistols held down and away in both hands.
The uniformed sergeant instantly took in the sight of a glowering Rightmore sitting on the floor in the far corner of the room; the still-purple-faced and intermittently moaning gunman lying glassy-eyed — but breathing steadily — on the floor; the two semi-auto pistols on the table; the Sig and a federal agent’s badge case lying next to Bulatt’s right hand; and then stepped over to the side wall where he could watch the entire room.
The uniformed lieutenant smiled and holstered his pistol.
“Everything okay here, Ged?” the lieutenant asked, thereby providing Smith and Rightmore with just about everything they needed to know about their current situation.
“Everything’s fine here, Al,” Bulatt said, as he stood up from the table and extended a welcoming hand, “just a little misunderstanding about jurisdiction; typical Federal fu-bar. I think we’re about to get it all straightened up.”
“Glad to hear it.” The lieutenant nodded, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he glanced down at the now-only-slightly trembling figure on the floor. “Accidental discharge?”
“Something like that,” Bulatt agreed.
“You do realize we have rules about discharging firearms within the city limit?”
“Absolutely,” Bulatt nodded, “and well you should; but I think if you dig deep enough, you’ll discover this place is actually federal property, in a vague sort of way.”
“Really?” The lieutenant looked over at the grey-haired man, who answered with a non-committal shrug. “Interesting.” The lieutenant continued to look around the shop for a few seconds before returning his attention to the groaning man on the floor. “What about this fellow; is he okay?”
“More or less,” Bulatt said, “but I don’t think he’d object to some medical attention right about now.”
The lieutenant nodded at the sergeant, who reached up to his shoulder with his free hand, activated and then spoke softly into his shoulder-mounted radio mike.
Moments later, a pair of EMTs entered the electronics lab with a stretcher and quickly transported the groaning man out of the room.
“And about that blue van you called in about,” the lieutenant said after the EMTs had departed, “it seems the driver was in a hurry to get a couple other guys some medical attention, so we’re giving them a full escort to the hospital. Want us to take any statements while we’re there?”
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” Bulatt looked quizzically over at Smith who shook his head.
“In that case, I guess we’ll just leave you fellows to your federal ‘un-fu-baring’ business,” the lieutenant said, motioning to his sergeant who backed out of the door with his gun at his side with one hand, still keeping an eye on the room.
“Glad you could stop by, Al,” Bulatt said, smiling. “Dinner’s on me, next time I’m in town.”
“Definitely going to take you up on that,” the lieutenant replied as he took one last look around the room, visibly taking the time to memorize the grey-haired man’s face, and then departed.
“Mind if I sit down?” Smith asked after the swinging doors grew still.
“Be my guest,” Bulatt said, motioning him to a nearby chair.
“Was it really necessary to work those guys over like that?” he asked as he settled into the chair and stared at Bulatt curiously.
Bulatt reached into his jacket pocket and tossed the sap out onto the table. “You tell me.”
Smith looked at the lethal sap, winced visibly, and then nodded his head. “Okay, I understand; some of these snake-eater types do tend to get a little carried away, every now and then,” he acknowledged.
“Probably the steroids; always an unfortunate side-effect,” Bulatt commented as he glanced over at the remaining man on the floor. “So how’s our Mr. Rightmore doing down there? You figure he’s still thinking about that gun in the drawer?”
Smith looked over at the glowering supposed-electronics-expert.
“Yeah, probably,” he said. “Come on up, Bill; I think he’s got us stalemated for the moment.” Smith extended a hand and helped Rightmore into an adjoining chair where he sat and continued to glare sullenly at Bulatt.
“Just for the record,” Bulatt said to Rightmore, “There never has been a biologist named Rainier who worked for Washington State Fish I know that because I called and checked this morning. There is, however, a Phil Rainier who happens to be the resident agent in charge of our Bellingham office; but he doesn’t have any kids, much less grandkids, and I seriously doubt that he would recognize a modern tracking device if he tripped over one. Never was much of a technical type. You, of course, would have known most — or all — of that if you’d been working as closely with wildlife law enforcement around here, as you said you were; or if you’d bothered to flesh out your cover with some local cross-references.”
Smith glared at Rightmore, who now looked more chagrined than furious.
“Okay, gentlemen,” Bulatt said, “short and sweet: why do you care about a couple of your tracking devices that may or may not be linked to a violation of federal and international wildlife laws?”
“Short and sweet, we don’t care… about the wildlife violations,” Smith said calmly. “I tried to explain that to Major Preithat.”
“Good, glad to hear it.” Bulatt nodded. “But if I were to tell you those devices are definitely linked to the death of Major Preithat’s five Thai Rangers; the near-fatal assault on the Thai Interpol Colonel in charge of those Rangers — one of whom was his son; the downing of a Thai Army helicopter; and an assault on a Federal wildlife agent, not counting the deaths of a few assorted crooks and civilians who got caught in the cross-fire, what would you say to all of that?”
“Fuck,” Smith said with an exasperated sigh.
“Yeah, I’m sure all of that complicates your situation a bit,” Bulatt agreed. “So, let’s get to the basic questions: one, who are you guys?; two, who are you?; three, who are these people — the ones who did all the shooting in Thailand?; and four, why are you looking for them?”
“Like I told you in Phuket, I can’t answer any of those questions,” Smith said matter-of-factly.
“I do recall you saying that,” Bulatt acknowledged. “But, at the same time, I have to assume that you don’t want my investigation or my interactions with the local police to reveal the fact that Hood Electronics is, in fact, an
