“Eugene,” said the trooper, “what’s got you so bothered? You look like someone just stole your Christmas presents.”
“Yeah, bothered is a good way to put it,” Eugene replied. “Have you still got that bottle of Drambuie in your desk?”
Stark hesitated. “Yeah, I do.”
“I think tonight warrants cracking it open.”
Bob pulled a bottle of the famous Scotch liqueur from the bottom drawer of his desk, then turned in his chair and grabbed a couple of white ceramic coffee cups that were sitting upside down on a black lacquered tray on the credenza behind him. As he poured, Eugene explained what he had found at the substation, the information from Officer Bannock, then finally Marcus and Linus’s encounter with the two suspicious men.
“And here’s the clincher; the two men described by Marcus and the others definitely do not work for us, or for any of our contractors. Just after I hung up with you, Franklin back at TVEC called me to verify that truck forty-eight had been at Magnuson’s Body & Engine shop last night. When they saw that the power wasn’t coming back on for a while, the manager told the employees to stay home. One of them went over to check for us, and found that our truck was missing. He already put a call in to the Fairbanks Police Department to report it. Their security cameras weren’t working, with the power out.”
Commander Stark leaned back in his chair, feet up on the edge of his desk as he listened. He took a short sip of the smooth, honey-sweetened whiskey and gently swished it around in his mouth as he stared up at the ceiling in thought for a moment before swallowing. He let out a breath, savoring the sweet scent of the liqueur as he exhaled.
“Damn,” he muttered. He put his feet down, sat up in the soft leather office chair, and leaned toward Eugene, placing his elbows on the desk. “So Johnson and Bannock both thought these guys seemed like terrorists?”
“That’s what they said, Bob. And both of them just spent the past couple decades hunting down bad guys like that, so I’d value their opinions.”
“Yeah, well. Sadly, police work isn’t as cut-and-dried as military work. We can’t do much on suspicion without getting ourselves in a hell of a lot of hot water. We need hard evidence, not opinions. I’ll tell my men to keep an eye out for those two you described, and we’ll find out what happened to your truck. I’ll also send a patrol car out to the Salt Jacket substation to have someone take a look around and interview that Doyon security officer. In the meantime, keep it quiet as much as possible. If there is something going on, we don’t want to spook the bad guys before we can get enough information to bring them in.”
Eugene nodded and asked, “Do you think we should call the FBI?”
“Not yet,” Bob said. “You know how the Feds operate. Those agents are so backlogged that they don’t act on anything until there’s a mountain of evidence glaring in their faces. And by that time, bodies could be starting to pile up. And, if we turn it over to them, that takes it out of our jurisdiction and we can’t touch it without their say-so. I’d really rather not have this end up sitting in a stack of cold case files that never get looked at until something terrible happens.”
“I see," Eugene said. "Well, I’ve told Marcus and the other two to keep in touch if they see anything else unusual. The Doyon fella said he’d set up video surveillance and patrol our station for a while on their rounds, since any criminal activity at our place may directly affect their pipeline as well.”
“Go home and get some sleep, Eugene,” Bob said. “I’ll get my officers working on it right away. Your favorite trooper is on tonight and patrolling the stretch to Salt Jacket, so we’ll get this thing rolling within the hour.”
“Excellent.”
“Yeah. By the way, she’s on her headingto some serious recognition. The governor called me today to say she personally wants to present your daughter a commendation for the way she handled the Radcliffe case. Her investigative work busted that drug ring wide open, with enough good evidence to put half a dozen of those bozos away for life. The way she’s going, one of these days she’s gonna be sitting at this desk. Or maybe even in the commandant’s chair in Juneau.”
Eugene smiled proudly as he rose from the chair. “Yep…that’s my girl. What else would you expect? Anyway, you’ve got my cell phone number. Call me as soon as you find anything.”
“Will do,” said Commander Stark. He stood from behind his desk and reached out to shake Eugene’s hand.
After Eugene left Stark picked up the handset of his phone and dialed the dispatcher’s office on the ground floor of the Public Safety Building.
Glenda Miller answered the in-house phone. “Dispatch, this is Glenda,” she said with a pleasant voice.
Her tone was at once both direct and calming, almost pastoral. Glenda, a heavy-set woman in her late forties, had been on the job for nearly twenty years. Her workspace was full of pictures of her grandchildren, two cute little toddlers. From the small console, she fielded calls from people in utter panic as their world disintegrated in front of their eyes, shattered by events that all too often ended tragically. Her ability to calm people in the most dire of situations had saved many lives and long ago had earned her the position of lead dispatcher.
“Glenda, this is Commander Stark.”
“Yes, sir. How may I help you?”
“Radio out and have Trooper Wyatt call me on her cell phone ASAP.”
“Yes, sir,” came the response. “You’re in your office?”
“Yes. Have her call
