“Yes. But… did you hear? He sounded surprised when Lindstrom indicated he had the ransom money. What do you make of that?”
“I don’t know.” Kay rubbed her temple. “He’s put off the drop until after dark. That makes sense. Hoping to be invisible.”
Schanno said, “Somebody needs to give a statement to the press out there.”
“I’ll talk to them,” Lindstrom said, his voice at the edge of a threat.
“I’d rather you didn’t,” Agent Kay said. “I’ll do it.” She turned to Agent Earl. “You’re welcome to accompany me out there. Represent the interest of the state.”
“All right,” Earl said.
Kay looked at Schanno. “We have some plans to make. I’ll need your help.”
“Whatever it is, you’ve got it.”
When Kay moved toward the front door, Cork said quietly to George LeDuc, “Meet me at the Bronco in a few minutes. I’ll give you a lift back to the rez.”
“Where are you going?”
“To shake hands with the Devil.”
Cork let himself out the back door as the reporters flowed to the front lawn in response to the appearance of the agents from the FBI and BCA. He slipped among the throng, which was focused on Kay and Earl. Kay stood on the front porch, the sun in her eyes, blinking at the upturned faces.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I appreciate your patience…” she began.
Cork found Hell Hanover without any trouble. From behind, he leaned to the man’s ear and spoke softly. “Got an exclusive for you, Hell.”
Hanover turned and his face showed genuine surprise. “O’Connor. What do you want?”
“I’ve got a story for you. An exclusive.”
“About your wife and boy being snatched?”
“No. About your ass and keeping it out of jail. Meet me at Sam’s Place in an hour.” He slipped away before Hanover could object.
Hell Hanover’s maroon Taurus wagon rumbled over the tracks near Sam’s Place and pulled to a stop in the empty parking area. Hell sat a moment looking things over. He opened the car door, swung his stiff artificial leg out, and stood up. His right hand shaded his face against the low morning sun, and once again, he carefully took in the lay of the land. He appeared wary of what he might be walking into, and with good reason. A year and a half earlier, he’d been careless in a confrontation with Cork, and that carelessness had nearly sent him to prison. He dropped his hand, limped to the door of the Quonset hut, and knocked. He saw the door was already slightly ajar, and he pushed it open fully with his artificial foot.
“O’Connor?” he called inside.
When he received no answer, he glanced behind him and to both sides. His left hand slipped under his wrinkled sports coat to the small of his back and came out with the butt of a small handgun nestled in his palm.
“O’Connor?” he tried again. Then he made the mistake of stepping inside.
Cork left the window of the serving area up front in Sam’s Place. He’d been watching Hanover through a small hole cut in the middle of a poster featuring Sam’s Big Deluxe Burger. He stepped silently to a position just inside the doorway that separated the living area of the Quonset hut from the serving area of Sam’s Place. He was holding a baseball bat, the Louisville Slugger he’d given Annie for her last birthday.
The floor of the old Quonset creaked under the weight of Hell Hanover, and it was easy for Cork to track the man’s position. Hanover went straight to the place Cork wanted him and he stopped. Without needing to look, Cork knew Hell was staring at the photograph-mended with tape and hung over the kitchen sink-of Jo naked and making love to another man. Paper-clipped to the photo was a note on which Cork had written in big red letters, I DON’T GIVE A DAMN, HELL.
The moment the floorboards ceased to call out Hanover’s progress, Cork made his move and rushed through the doorway. Before Hanover could react to the sound of footsteps, Cork swung Annie’s Louisville Slugger and connected with Hell’s left forearm. Hanover cried out in pain; his handgun clattered to the floor. Cork used the tip of the bat as a baton and lunged, catching Hanover square in the stomach. Hell went down to his knees, gasping for air. Cork kicked the handgun clear of the bald man’s reach.
“You know,” Cork said, standing over him, breathing pretty hard himself, “for a guy who wants to lead an armed revolution, you’re a piss-poor strategist.”
“I’ll have you… arrested,” Hell threatened between gasps.
“And rely on the system you want to destroy? I don’t think so, Hell. Besides, you’d lose. You trespassed and pulled a gun. I’d take that to a jury any day.”
Hanover had wrapped his good arm around his stomach and was struggling to look up at Cork. “What’s this all about?”
With the toe of his shoe, Cork tapped the handgun that lay fallen on the floor. “A little thirty-two, Hell? A whole military arsenal to choose from and you pick a prissy weapon to carry.”
“It’s licensed.”
“Playing it safe, I see. Worried you might go to jail?”
“What do you want, O’Connor?”
“An exchange.”
Hell slowly got to his feet. He stopped nursing his stomach and gingerly felt the forearm that had taken the full force of the Louisville Slugger. “Jesus, I think you broke it.”
“It’s only the beginning of what I’ll break unless we strike a deal.”
“You said exchange. What are you talking about?”
“Jo, Stevie, Grace Fitzgerald, and her boy. In exchange for your stockpile of illegal arms.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Wrong answer.” Cork swung the bat again and connected with Hanover’s good leg just below the knee. Hell went down again, screaming.
“You’re crazy, O’Connor.”
“Absolutely. Crazy enough to kill you right now, Hell. I want my family back.”
“I don’t know anything about your family, God damn it. I didn’t have anything to do with this abduction thing.”
“You tried to use that photograph to force me to back off investigating Eco-Warrior. Why?”
Hanover tried to stand again, but his leg gave out and he ended up back on his knees. “Because it was a situation that could explode in the face of government at every level. Jesus, it was a dream and I wanted it to happen.” He felt his leg and grimaced. “Oh, shit.”
“Two million dollars, Hell. That’s how much the ransom demand is. Two million could buy you a hell of an armory for that little militia of yours.”
“I don’t have a little militia. You saw to that, remember?” He gave Cork a look more sour than painful. “Are you going to kill me, O’Connor? Then why don’t you just do it? Bash my brains out or whatever it is you have in mind.”
Cork put the bat against Hanover’s head. “I haven’t slept in two days, Hell. My wife and my boy are in the hands of some madman. If you think for a minute that I wouldn’t kill you, think again.”
“Look, what do you want from me? I didn’t take your family. Your wife and boy were abducted Saturday night, right? Saturday night I was covering the volunteer firefighters’ picnic over in Tower. A hundred people saw me there.”
“Some of your militia, then.”
“If I had a militia, O’Connor, consider the ranks. You think there’s anybody brilliant enough to carry off this kind of thing? Jesus, you beat the fuck out of me for nothing.”
Cork stepped back, but he didn’t put the slugger down. “Not for nothing. We still have to deal with that photograph.”
Hanover looked at the photo hanging above his head. “You’d kill me over that? I don’t think so.” He grinned, as if he had Cork beaten.
“Blackmail for blackmail,” Cork said. “Little Sun Lake.”
