At about ten minutes to 1:00, Jake interrupted by calling to tell me he was going into a meeting with Ellory and then had a phone interview with Director Wellington to brief her on what we knew. His press conference must have gone well; he sounded in high spirits. “I don’t think I can make it to the sawmill by 2:00. Maybe 2:15, 2:30 at the earliest.”
“Okay. I’ll get a ride over there. See you when you get there.”
After we hung up, Sean, who’d heard my side of the conversation, said, “No ride, huh?”
“I’m trying to get to the Pine Shadow Sawmill.”
“Where Donnie worked.” Again, past tense.
“Yes.”
Amber spoke up. “I’ll be heading that way. I can swing you by.”
Okay, this was awkward.
“It’s been awhile since I’ve been on a snowmobile,” I hinted to Sean.
He thought for a moment. “Sure, I can give you a ride over there, introduce you to the guys. Sometimes people around here… Well, let’s just say you’ll make more progress if they know you’re the brother of someone local.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
“Randy’s watching the shop this afternoon. I just need to give him a call, let him know where I’m gonna be.”
“Give him my cell number,” I suggested, but before I could hand Sean my phone, Amber gave him hers. I jotted down my number on one of the napkins sitting on the table. Slid it to Sean so he could pass it along.
While he turned aside to talk to Randy, Amber turned to me. “I should give you my number too. In case you need to get ahold of me.”
“Okay.” She’d texted me earlier, but I confirmed that the number I had was correct, then Sean said good-bye to Randy and gave his wife back her cell. “We’re all set.”
We stood; I reached for my wallet, but Sean held up his hand. “I got it.”
Although I had the urge to argue, I accepted. “Thanks.”
“My sled’s right outside. I don’t have an extra helmet, but-”
“I’ve got one in my trunk,” Amber offered. “It might smell like a girl, but you’re welcome to use it.”
Sean laid some bills on the table. “All right. Let’s go. I just need to fill up on gas and we can take off.”
As we walked outside, a few isolated snowflakes drifted through the wind and found their way to the ground.
Though still in its infancy, the snowstorm had arrived.
23
12:57 p.m.
Alexei arrived at the Schoenberg Inn for his meeting with the Eco-Tech activists and went to the lower level on the south wing.
He found the door marked “Authorized Service Personnel Only,” knocked twice, and was greeted by a meaty- fisted heap of a man whose nose had apparently been broken at some time in the past and never set right. Six inches taller than Alexei, he easily outweighed him by a hundred pounds.
From the videos and facial recognition that Alexei had taken last night, he knew this man was named Clifton White. He’d been a left tackle for the Patriots before getting kicked off the team for physically assaulting a Dallas Cowboys tight end in a barroom brawl, and then, soon afterward, served forty-four months for sexually molesting a teenage girl. Alexei suspected his involvement with Eco-Tech was motivated more by dollar signs than by ideology.
“I’m Alexei,” he told him.
Clifton grunted, and Alexei calculated how many moves it would take to disable the enormous man if necessary. Four.
Three, if he was quick.
And he was quick.
He let Clifton frisk him. He had no weapons with him, save the bone gun.
“What’s this?” Clifton asked.
“A medical instrument. It’s used by paramedics,” Alexei responded, “for administering medication. In stressful situations I sometimes need it.”
After a moment’s deliberation, Clifton said, “I’ll hang on to it until we’re done.” A smile. “If you don’t mind.”
Alexei watched him slide it into the left breast pocket of his jacket. “Of course.”
Clifton led him into an adjoining room, pine-paneled and dimly lit, where two men and one woman stood waiting. Alexei scanned the shadowy corners of the room, saw no one else. By posture and build he identified the three people as the ones he’d seen the night before, although today they were all wearing dark-colored ski masks over their faces.
Unwise.
In a fight, your adversary can simply pull the fabric to the side, thereby moving the eye holes and impairing your ability to see. It puts you at a severe disadvantage in hand-to-hand combat.
Never wear anything that covers or obscures part of your face.
Alexei ran down their identities: the man with the black ponytail snaking from beneath the back of his ski mask was named Becker Hahn, the slim man beside him, Ted Rusk, and the blue-eyed woman was named Millicent Alman.
All Eco-Tech activists, none with military experience.
No one spoke.
Alexei placed the duffel bag on a poker table that had been shoved against the wall.
“The money’s in the bag?” Becker said.
Alexei reached for the zipper, but Becker held up his hand. “Hold on.” He nodded toward Ted, who opened the bag and pulled out a thick stack of one hundred dollar bills. Slowly, he flipped through them.
“Don’t worry, they’re unmarked,” Alexei said to Becker.
“Count it,” Becker told Ted.
Three dozen more stacks lay in the bag.
Counting the money at a time like this was another sign of inexperience. It showed a lack of trust, and in these types of transactions, telegraphing a lack of trust was the kind of thing that breaks down relationships.
Amateurs were unpredictable.
“My name is Alexei Chekov.” He gazed around the room. “What do you want me to call you?”
“Call me Cane,” the ponytailed man replied.
Strike three. Always assume the person with whom you are doing business is a professional. Honesty is a form of respect. And respect is essential.
So, time for a little honesty. “How about I call you Becker?”
Alexei watched as Becker froze.
He pointed to each person in turn as he addressed them: “And I’ll call you Ted, and you Millicent. I already met Mr. White in the hall.”
Becker stared at Clifton. “You told him our names?”
Clifton’s face reddened. “No.”
“How do you know our names?”
“Research,” Alexei said simply.
But the mood of the room had gone sour. Instinct told him that things were spinning off badly.
And they were.
He saw an almost imperceptible nod from Becker to Clifton, and Alexei prepared himself. Clifton made the first move, but as the huge man reached for him, Alexei stepped deftly aside, then grabbed Clifton’s right wrist and,
