“Yep, this is still my jurisdiction. But if, as you say, the deceased is a federal military officer, then Agents Samuels and Bentley may have priority in the investigation.”
“Agent Bentley, if you don’t mind, before answering your question, I’d like to call our commander, General Del Valle.”
“That will be fine, uh, Mr. . ”
“Dan Rawlings. I’m the county administrator here in Yolo County and a captain in the Guard’s JAG Corps.”
“Well, Mr. . Captain Rawlings, we intended to call for an appointment with General Del Valle immediately after we leave here. Perhaps we could all meet together.”
“Fine. I’ll call the general and apprise him of the situation. If you’ll excuse me,” he said, stepping away and walking back up the slope toward his car, followed by Tony.
“What’s the story, Tony? How’d the Feds get involved so quickly?”
“I don’t have a clue. They were here within forty minutes after the body was reported.”
Dan halted and looked at his friend. “I’m sorry. It hasn’t been a good morning for either of us, has it?”
“I’ve had better,” Tony said, shaking his head. “Look, you call your general, and I’ll finish here with the crime scene. I’ll stop by your office later and let you know what we find-if anything.”
“Okay,” Dan said, already dialing his cell phone.
Dan stood at the driver’s side of his car, waiting for the call to be transferred to the general and watched as the ambulance lumbered up the slope, slowly traversed the multiple vehicles, and made its way onto the highway. Down the slope, Agents Samuels and Bentley were talking with Sheriff Sanchez.
“General Del Valle,” the phone echoed.
“Sir, this is Captain Rawlings. We’ve had an unfortunate incident with one of our officers. . Lieutenant Richard McFarland.”
“I know the young man, Captain. What happened?”
“He’s dead, sir.”
“Dead? How?”
“He was found hanged.”
“A suicide?”
“The sheriff doesn’t think so. I’m on scene at the I-5 bridge leading into Yolo County. Two FBI agents are here with the sheriff and have advised me that they would like to meet with you this morning. Is it possible that we come in immediately, sir?”
“Captain, does this have anything to do with ‘Deadbolt’?”
“It could, sir, but there’s no way of knowing at this point.”
“I’m booked for my annual helicopter check ride at 10:00. You say you’re at the I-5 bridge into Yolo?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. I’ll cancel the instructor pilot and reschedule. Meet me at the private plane area at Sacramento International. I’ll be there at, uh, 10:30. Be on the runway side of the hanger. And tell the FBI agents I’ll see them in my office at 4:00.”
“Yes, sir. Sacramento airport at 10:30,” Dan repeated, checking his watch.
Dan punched “end” on the phone’s keyboard and walked back down to where Sheriff Sanchez and the two FBI agents were still in conversation. He waited several moments until their discussion ended and Agent Samuels looked at him.
“General Del Valle said 4:00 this afternoon. If there’s nothing else, I’ll meet you at the Sacramento Armory at 4:00.”
“That’ll be fine, Captain. Thank you for your cooperation,” Samuels said.
Dan glanced quickly at Bentley and gave a loose wave to Tony. “I’ll talk to you later, Tony. Call my cell phone if anything breaks.”
“Right, Dan. Sorry about your friend.”
“Neither of them deserved to die, Tony,” Dan said, retracing his steps to his vehicle. “Certainly not this way.”
Pulling onto I-5, Dan thought momentarily about driving home and changing out of his suit into his uniform. It was nearly 9:00, and General Del Valle had said to be there at 10:30. Barely time.
Just over an hour later, on the return trip, some of the emergency vehicles were still gathered at the crime scene as Dan drove over the bridge again. The sight of McFarland, his face purplish and distorted, had etched itself into Dan’s mind, an image he now wished he could have avoided. He already had one of those-of his wife, Susan- and it had plagued his nightly dreams.
McFarland had only been on his infiltration assignment three months and in the guard less than a year. Clearly the Shasta Brigade was dangerous, if indeed, they were responsible. But who else? The extremist paramilitary group had already claimed responsibility for killing two federal judges, hadn’t they? At least, someone in the patriot movement had, and according to Army intelligence, the Shasta Brigade was integrally involved in the movement. If it proved true, there was no turning back for the brigade, and killing a National Guard lieutenant wasn’t going to make matters any worse, although Deputy Collins was a different story. Killing a cop always brought out the wrath of the blue brotherhood from other law enforcement agencies.
Dan turned his Blazer onto the approach road to the airport and pulled into the first parking area, in front of the private plane ramp. As he walked toward the hanger, he saw the guard helicopter approaching the far side of the building and could see General Del Valle at the controls. If the general was his usual self, he’d want answers and he’d want them now.
How
Chapter 3
Over the Sierra Nevada Mountains
East of Redding, California
Nearly three hours later the helicopter’s fuel state demanded a return to base. Dan leaned into the turn and peered out the left seat window. Major General Robert Del Valle, Commanding General, California National Guard was at the controls. Currently serving as the acting Adjutant General for the State of California, he banked the five- passenger, Bell Jet Ranger helicopter sharply to the left and headed south. Surprisingly, Del Valle’s questions had been few, and they had ridden in silence for much of the flight.
“Shall we take another sweep over the area, General?” Rawlings said into the voice-activated mike as the helicopter straightened out.
“I think we’ve seen all we’re going to see today, Captain. We’ll head straight for Mather. After we meet with the FBI, Sergeant Pitama can take you back out to your car.”
The compass heading settled on 190 degrees, and the Bell flew straight and level at six hundred feet, visibility unlimited in the bright blue California skies.
“I don’t know that we learned much today, Captain. No sign of life at the brigade’s last known training site, except for that parked truck.”
“They’re gone, all right,” Rawlings said to the older man, who, the moment he got in the cockpit of an aircraft, appeared to be twenty years younger. “General, we made three passes over their most frequent training site and their rifle range. If the Shasta Brigade is still operating out of that mountainside base camp, there’s no sign
