There was the usual weekend chatter coming out of Kingsford County-a couple of drunk-and-disorderlies, a bar fight with minor injuries, and poor old Ron Rohner, who saw aliens landing in his back forty almost every Saturday night-but when Bonar switched over to Missaqua's frequency, there was nothing but dead air.
'Ah,' Bonar sighed. 'The soothing sounds of the FBI.'
'Why don't you put out a prank radio call to that jackass Well-spring up at the lime quarry? They'll never catch us in this car.'
'Not with you driving.'
'I'm not even going forty-five, which is just about impossible in this thing.'
'Seems like you're going faster.'
Halloran reined back the Camaro's 450 horses even further as they hit the Missaqua County line, which was a cruel irony, since this was the one place in the state they knew for sure didn't have a single patrol on the road. They both kept a close watch for Gretchen Vanderwhite's car, Grace's Range Rover, and anything else out of sorts, but the roads across the county were as quiet as the radio.
Exactly two minutes on the other side of Missaqua County and still twenty miles from Hamilton, Bonar fell sound asleep, and judging by the depth and volume of his snoring, he would probably stay that way for a while. He didn't even stir when Halloran pulled into the gas station where they were meeting Magozzi, got out and slammed the door. By the time Halloran finished his calls in the station and came back out, there was a shiny silver thing big enough to be its own tourist attraction pulled up in the truck lot. Bonar was walking around it with his hands in his pockets, his head tipped back and his mouth open. Harley Davidson, bearded, tattooed, and leathered, looking like a biker version of the gigantic Paul Bunyan statue in Bemidji, walked next to him. Magozzi and his partner, Gino, were stretching their legs in the lot, heads close together as they talked, and Roadrunner was bent in half under one of the big station lights, a collection of sticks hanging on to his ankles for some reason Halloran didn't even want to think about.
They gathered in a circle in the far corner of the lot. Greetings and quick handshakes were exchanged before Halloran got into it. 'We've got a new wrinkle. I just talked to Ed Pitala-the Sheriff over in Missaqua County that the FBI shut down-and sometime in the last ninety minutes, one of his deputies went missing. Guy was off shift on his way home in his patrol and just disappeared.'
Bonar's face tightened. 'Which one?'
'Doug Lee. Know him?'
'Hell, yes, I know him. That guy drank me under the table with the most god-awful sloe gin you ever tasted at the association dinner last year. What the hell was he doing on the road, anyway? I thought the Feds pulled all the patrols.'
Halloran scuffed at a stray stone on the asphalt. 'He was already on his way home and in one of the radio dead zones when the order came down. As far as Ed knows, Lee never even heard about it. Thirty minutes ago, Lee's wife called in a panic and the agent that set up shop in Ed's office tried to keep him from sending out his officers to look, so Ed slammed the guy against the wall and gave him a black eye.'
Bonar grinned happily. 'Good old Ed. Pushing sixty-five, and he's slamming Feds against the jailhouse wall and looking at twenty years. They just don't make them like that anymore.'
'Amen,' Magozzi added.
'So the agent finally agreed to let him put all his people on the road, as long as they used their personal cars,' Halloran continued. 'No patrols. No radios. They're all checking in on landlines, and they all have the descriptions of the Rover and the cake lady's car, too, but you know they're looking hardest for their own man.'
Gino threw up his hands. 'Jesus Christ, they've got four women and now a cop gone missing in that cluster fuck they've got going on over there, and they won't tell us whatthe fuck is going on?'
Halloran started to shake his head, then stopped abruptly. 'That agent who took over our scene at the lime quarry said it was a national security operation. I didn't put a whole lot of stock in that, because that's what they told me five years ago when they were trying to bust some morons who were running a multistate dog-fighting ring out of Wisconsin. Back in those days, the Feds hollered national security whenever they wanted the local law to butt out. Thinking anything they ever said was a load of crap was a way of life. Hell, maybe this time they really meant it. Maybe something bigger than missing people is going on here, and we're about to storm right into the middle of it.' He looked around at each of them. 'Anybody here have a problem with that?'
'Hell, no.' Harley spoke for them all. 'As far as I'm concerned, Grace, Annie, and Sharon missing is about as big as it gets. I don't give a shit what kind of operation the Feds are running, national security or not. But if those women are somewhere in the middle of that operation, and figuring out what the hell is going on will help us find them, then I say let's just get down to it.'
Magozzi said, 'Any way you and Roadrunner can tap into the land-lines coming out of the Missaqua County Sheriff's Office?'
Roadrunner bobbed his head enthusiastically. 'No problem.'
'I want to catch every report from the officers Ed has out on the road when they call in.'
'We'll trap all the calls, in or out.'
Harley spoke up, looking at Halloran. 'And the Feds are crawling all over that county, right?'
'So Ed says.'
'Well, they've gotta be talking to each other somehow, operation that big. We need to figure out what kind of a network or frequency they're using, tie in, and find out what the hell is going on and where.'
'You can do that from this rig?'
'You bet we can.'
'Let's move, then,' Magozzi said. 'We'll head for the middle of Missaqua County, park this thing in a wayside somewhere, and be ready to move in any direction the information points us.'
'We'll follow in our car,' Halloran said. 'In case we have to head out somewhere fast.'
Harley smiled at him and jerked a thumb toward the rig. 'She may look like an elephant, but she runs like a cheetah. You aren't going to need your car.'
Bonar gave a short nod and started to walk away. I'll grab our stuff and load up.'
Harley trailed along to help while the others climbed into the RV. 'We've got about everything you need in there already.'
Bonar kept walking. 'I got a riot gun, a shotgun, goodies like that.'
'Cool. Where's your car?'
Bonar pointed. 'That one. Couldn't take the county vehicle through Missaqua.'
Harley's mouth hung open. 'Jesus Christ. That's your ride?'
'That's it. The old clunker.'
Harlcy laid reverent hands on the Chevy while Bonar leaned into the backseat. 'Old clunker my ass, I'm touching the Hope Diamond here. The Holy Grail. Hose me down and hang me out to dry, this is a Yenko Camaro.'
Bonar passed Harley the shotgun and reached in deeper for the riot gun. 'I don't know what Yenko is, but this is Charlie Metzger's old car. No real beauty, but it runs nice. Here, take this.'
Harley grabbed the not gun without looking at it. He was still staring at the car. '427-cid L72 engine, front disc brakes, ducted hood, heavy-duty radiator, special suspension, and a 4.10:1 rear axle. Quarter mile in the high elevens. I'll give you a hundred right now.'
'In your dreams.' Bonar chuckled and slammed the door hard.
Harley winced. 'One twenty-five.'
'You're a penurious son of a bitch, aren't your'
Harley tightened his mouth and stomped after Bonar toward the rig. 'All right, all right, you hard-ass, a hundred and fifty.'
'Give me a break, Harley. I paid three thousand for this car and you want to give me a hundred and fifty dollars for it?'
Harley stopped and looked at the man. 'A hundred and fiftythousand, you moron.'
THE DEAD, empty weight of perfect silence lay over the little lake behind the barn. Beyond the broad clumps of cattails, the water's black surface reflected the full moon's stark light like a bottomless mirror. No water bug
