for.”
Bulatt blinked. “You’re joking.”
“No, actually, I’m not,” Reston said seriously. “I hate to admit it, but the kids pulled it off. You are looking at four extremely wealthy CEOs of relatively small corporations that profit handsomely from operating as subsidiaries to the much bigger war industry conglomerates. Interestingly enough, they all own Gulfstream G-fives that have a habit of landing at the same airports on the same days with amazing regularity. They also purchase national and international hunting licenses and file for trophy-import permits on a regular basis.”
“I assume there’s more?” Bulatt asked.
“A great deal more,” Reston said as she reached into a cardboard box beside her chair and pulled out four stacks of paper that someone had marked HATELEY, CALDREAUX, KINGMAN and FOGARTY on the top pages with a thick black marker, and placed them down on the table. Each stack was held together with a steel spring clip at the upper left edge, and appeared to be at least a half-inch thick
“This is what we know about them so far, in undigested form. I have a link analysis running now, but I thought you’d like to see the raw data.”
“I’ll be damned.” Bulatt said, shaking his head in amazement as he picked up the set labeled HATELEY and began to flip through the pages. Achara, Renwick and Hager picked up the other three. “Did the kids happen to trip across any hunting violations while they were at it?”
“I’m still running branched searches for additional information, and I haven’t had time to read most of what’s in those reports; but I do know that all four of these characters have had run-ins with state wardens, as well as with our federal agents. Mostly misdemeanor stuff, and mostly when they were a lot younger,” Reston said, glancing down at her hand-written notes. “Caldreaux was charged with a couple of Lacey Act violations nine years ago that his lawyers managed to get dismissed; but, as far as we know right now, that was the only time any of them have been charged with a felony.”
“Learned their lessons early in life,” Bulatt commented. “What about club memberships or private hunting areas?”
“All four have been members of several local, national and international hunt clubs; but, interestingly enough, they all cancelled their club memberships a little over eight years ago.”
“Why would they do that? It doesn’t make sense,” Bulatt said. “The main reason guys like these hunt is to brag about their trophies. If they dropped their memberships, who would they brag to?”
“Each other,” Achara whispered.
“What?” Bulatt turned to stare curiously at his beautiful associate.
“They must have set up their own club, so they could brag and compete with each other,” she said, staring at the four photographs with an expression on her face that was part loathing and part amazement. “After all, who else can they trust not to give them up at the first sign of law enforcement pressure?”
“Their own club, to hunt things like Clouded Leopards in Thailand; which presumably means smuggling their trophies back home, so they can show off their illegal kills to each other,” Bulatt said, nodding his head thoughtfully. Then he turned to Reston.
“You said these guys get together regularly?”
“Yes, they do. In fact, the last time was just a few days ago: in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, where Hateley has his primary residence. The timing corresponds with what appears to be a once-a-year meeting at one of their three home towns. And since none of them purchased a meal with their credit cards that night, we can reasonably assume they got together for dinner; probably at Hateley’s home.”
“Find the rest of that Clouded Leopard at Hateley’s place, and Juliana will be able to match it to the tissue from the bullet,” Renwick reminded. “She’s working up the statistical data now.”
“Getting hold of that two-four-three Magnum rifle would be nice too, while you’re at it,” Hager added.
“Unfortunately, a seizure like that is going to require a search warrant, and getting together for dinner once a year is not a violation of federal law,” Bulatt reminded. “In point of fact — or at least as far as we know for sure — none of these men have ever committed a serious crime against wildlife, much less murder.”
“But, at the moment, they are the only link we have to the men who killed our Rangers and shot my father,” Achara said.
“Yes, that seems to be the case,” Bulatt agreed. He tossed the report set down on the table and turned to Reston. “Do you have anything else on these guys?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. It appears that all four of them are making arrangements to fly to the state of Washington the day after tomorrow.”
“How do we know that?” Bulatt asked, now staring intently at the four faces displayed on the white wall.
“It takes a lot of coordinated effort and behind-the-scenes work to keep four Gulfstream G-Fives in the air,” Reston explained. “The pilots of these planes like to schedule maintenance checks when they know they’re going to be laying over for a couple of days at a major airport; especially if they’ve been flying in bad weather conditions. Turns out the pilots of all four of these planes scheduled routine maintenance checks at SEA-TAC two days from now.”
“Does that mean SEA-TAC is the probable get-together point?” Bulatt asked.
“Not necessarily, but I’m guessing the get-together point is probably within an hour’s flight radius of SEA- TAC. The pilots could drop their passengers off at a local airport, lay over at SEA-TAC, and be available for a pick-up a couple of days later. That would fit within their previous maintenance check patterns.”
“And now they are planning to fly to the same location again, in Washington State, only a few days later? Have they ever gotten together like that before, apart from their annual meetings?” Achara asked Reston
“Not according to the records we have now, but they could have used different planes.”
“So they must be going to Washington to hunt,” Achara said. “What else would bring these three together?”
“And if they’re all getting together to hunt for the first time,” Bulatt said thoughtfully, “my guess is they’re going to want to have their guides and helpers along. These characters don’t strike me as the types who like to do all the heavy lifting themselves.”
“So we have to be there, when the hunt takes place,” Achara said firmly. “Somehow, we have to be there.”
“Yes, we do,” Bulatt agreed. “The question is how we manage to pull that off. We’d need a federal warrant to satellite-track those planes; and, so far, just about everything we’ve got on these characters is either inadmissible in court or based on supposition. And I doubt that we’re going to be able to talk one of them into taking us along on their hunt.”
At that moment, Bulatt’s Blackberry began to vibrate on his hip.
“Excuse me for a moment,” he said after checking the Blackberry’s screen, “I’ll be right back.”
When Bulatt returned to the conference room, he found Achara looking over Hager’s shoulder while the latent print expert marked up one of the last pages of the report marked FOGARTY with a yellow highlighter; Reston typing away on a computer with Ferreira hovering over her shoulder in one side of the room; and Renwick talking on his cell phone over at the opposite side.
“You folks come up with something interesting?” Bulatt asked as he closed the door and sat down at the table.
“Could be,” Hager mumbled, still highlighting sections of the page with short sweeps of the pen. “Might have stumbled across one of those ‘good-news bad-news’ deals that could actually work in our favor.”
“Oh, how’s that?”
“You remember saying, just before you left, that we probably weren’t going to be able to talk one of these characters into taking us along on their hunt?”
“Yeah, so?”
“Well, it turns out that Sam Fogarty lives in Oregon with a twenty-four-year-old adopted daughter who apparently likes to bow-hunt deer in Idaho.”
“Okay, I’ll bite, why is she relevant to our problems?”
“It seems dear daughter likes to hunt with a bow; but doesn’t necessarily like to waste a lot of time trying to get close enough to her targets to make a fatal shot, or to pack her kills a couple of miles back to her truck. I’m
