‘‘Glad to see you’re all right,’’ he said. He really didn’t sound like he meant it.
‘‘Me too,’’ I said, still grinning. Relief does that to me. ‘‘Hey, where were you guys anyway?’’
Mostly shrugging from Hester and George. Volont didn’t appear to have heard me. They told me later, though, that Volont held all the specialist people up there at the jail, because he was so certain that this was a diversion and that Gabriel was really going to go after her at the jail. No kidding. Just like Hitler and D-Day. I don’t want to minimize the help that Sally was, but he had left me with a dispatcher, to take on Gabriel, while he sat up at the jail with enough muscle to plug the Fulda gap. But, like I said, they told me that later.
‘‘You know when I said he was a soldier?’’ said Volont, just like I hadn’t said anything.
‘‘Yeah.’’
‘‘And when I said that we’d have to look at him a little differently than some criminal?’’
‘‘I remember that too,’’ I said.
‘‘The military calls it ‘Force Multiplication,’ ’’ he mused. ‘‘The bombs they planted. Must have done it last night. Just to create chaos.’’
‘‘It sure worked,’’ I said.
‘‘Not a single fatality in those explosions,’’ said Volont. ‘‘All either empty buildings at the time or isolated chemicals.’’ He said it with admiration.
‘‘Nice of the fucker,’’ I said. I watched the ambulance people go up the stairs. ‘‘Fatalities up there, though.’’
‘‘Yes,’’ said Volont. ‘‘I think he didn’t hit the jail because he wasn’t able to determine if it was a trap or not.’’ It was like he was making notes for a lecture.
‘‘You know, I was meaning to ask you… just what operation were they practicing for when they killed Kellerman and Turd?’’ My first opportunity to ask.
‘‘I’ve always got bad news for you, Houseman,’’ he said. ‘‘I’m really sorry, but I’m not allowed to discuss that.’’
‘‘Yeah.’’ I looked around. ‘‘You mind if I sit on that bench? I’m a little tired.’’
As I sat, Volont asked me what I thought was a rather strange question.
‘‘Do you know who any of those men were?’’
‘‘Well,’’ I said. ‘‘Gabe yelled at one to throw a grenade, and called him Ted. So I suppose one of them was Ted.’’ I thought for a second. ‘‘Gabe, of course.’’
‘‘You heard him?’’
‘‘I talked to him.’’ I grinned. ‘‘He asked if I was fuckin’ Houseman and I told him he got the first name wrong. He sure had a loud voice for a southern accent.’’ I gestured toward the hole in my shirt. ‘‘Fucker shot me too.’’
‘‘You seem to be all right.’’
‘‘Yeah,’’ I said. ‘‘Good vest. Starting to ache, though.’’
I watched the bodies going by in the zipped white bags.
‘‘Which one is he?’’ I asked.
‘‘I always have bad news for you, Houseman,’’ said Volont.
‘‘Now what? You can’t tell me?’’
‘‘No.’’ He looked me right in the eye. ‘‘No. None of the bodies, none of the prisoners, is Gabe. He’s not here, not now.’’ He looked right at me. ‘‘If he ever was.’’
I kind of resented that. ‘‘He was there,’’ I said.
‘‘You only heard a voice, Houseman. You’ve only ever heard a voice.’’ He smiled a tight little smile. ‘‘You’ve never seen him.’’
I just stared at Volont. I didn’t know what to say. And in the background, I could hear a voice saying, ‘‘… two known dead.. .’’
Twenty-seven
We had lots of meetings to put it all together, so the prosecuting attorneys could make some kind of case. We all met, except Volont. He’d just send advice through others, normally George. On the afternoon of the second meeting, George made it clear that he wanted to see me, and Hester, alone. We met out back in the storage garage at the jail, the one that used to be a barn.
It was hot and musty in the old building. Hester looked around her. ‘‘This better be good, George.’’
‘‘Good might be the wrong word,’’ he said. ‘‘I think I have some bad news.’’
Neither Hester nor I said anything.
He took a deep breath. ‘‘Remember the shooter that was killed in the courtroom?’’
‘‘Yeah,’’ I said. ‘‘I do.’’
‘‘He was an informant for Volont.’’
‘‘No shit,’’ I said. ‘‘Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.’’
‘‘He was one of the shooters in the park,’’ he said. ‘‘High probability.’’
‘‘Oh.’’ Well, that was a little help.
Silence. Then Hester asked the crucial question. ‘‘For how long? How long was Volont working him?’’
George was quiet for a second. ‘‘From before the shooting in the park,’’ he said quietly. ‘‘Way before that.’’
‘‘You mean,’’ I said, ‘‘Volont knew they were in the park before we did?’’
‘‘That’s what I mean.’’
‘‘You think he knew who they all were?’’ asked Hester very slowly.
‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘Then,’’ I said, ‘‘he probably knew that there were some of the involved people at the Stritch residence? Before Lamar and Bud went there? Is that what you’re saying?’’
‘‘I’m afraid so,’’ said George. ‘‘There’s a bit more. I might as well tell you now.’’
‘‘Like?’’ asked Hester.
‘‘Well,’’ said George, ‘‘remember that one sort of disconnected message on the computer? The one that said ‘You better get up here,’ and we couldn’t figure out who it was supposed to go to?’’
‘‘Yes,’’ I said. ‘‘Sure.’’
‘‘That was traced to a server in some little burg in Virginia.’’ George sighed. ‘‘Addressee unknown to us, just to the server. Turns out that the server is a covert one used by only one agent.’’
We both stared at him.
‘‘Volont,’’ said George.
‘‘You mean to tell me that they were talking to him from the GODDAMNED HOUSE!?’’
‘‘I’m sorry, Carl. I didn’t know until yesterday.’’
‘‘Which one of those assholes sent the message?’’ asked Hester. ‘‘Gabriel?’’
‘‘Could have been,’’ said George. ‘‘But I personally think it was Wittman.’’
Great. More to come, though. Two of the bodies from the courthouse still hadn’t been identified. We’d been trying to run prints, but neither of them had a print on file. That meant that they had never been federal employees (including armed services), had never been arrested for more than a misdemeanor… no more than that. Simply that they were average people.
‘‘I’ve been talking with some, oh, people,’’ said George. ‘‘We think that there’s a good chance that one of the bodies actually is Gabriel.’’
‘‘Really?’’ I’m always at least that quick.
‘‘We think that Volont knows that. But that it suits his purposes better, somehow, to have him not be dead.’’
‘‘But,’’ I said, ‘‘he was in the Army. His prints would be on file.’’
‘‘Who did you run the prints through?’’ asked George rhetorically. ‘‘What agency maintains the records?’’ He looked at me with sad eyes.
‘‘So that means he’s not one of the ‘known dead,’ then?’’ I asked.
‘‘Well, no, I guess not.’’ George looked at me curiously. ‘‘Not for certain. Why, is that important or
