phone. “Skipper, is that you?”
“It’s me, Loving.”
“How’re ya doin’? How’s the book tour? I kept tellin’ Jones you’d call soon. It’s not that he’s forgotten about us, I told him. It’s just that he doesn’t have time, what with fending off autograph hounds and appearing on talk shows. Right?”
“You hit the nail on the head.”
“Where are you?”
“In Washington State. Tiny place called Magic Valley.”
“So you’re making time for the little people, too. I think that’s great.”
“Look, both of you-there’s been a surprising development. I’ve taken a case up here.”
“You have?” Jones said. “What a hustler you are, Boss. What kind of case?”
“Murder. First degree. Anyway, Jones, I need some research, and I need it quick. We’ve already missed the preliminary hearing.”
“Say no more, Boss. I’m on it.” He hesitated a moment. “Can I, uh, do it from here?”
“With the Internet and fax machines, I don’t suppose it much matters where you are. Got some pressing engagements?”
Loving made a deep chortling noise. “He doesn’t have any engagements. He just doesn’t wanna leave his sweet patootie.”
“She is
Ben smiled. “So, Jones, you and Paula are still going hot and heavy?”
“Well, they’re still going,” Loving said. “I doubt if it’s very hot.”
“Butt out, buster!” Jones fired back. “I’ll have you know we are very hot.”
“Uh-huh.”
“We’re like spontaneous combustion. Steam practically rises every time we-oh, why am I telling you this, anyway?”
“My sentiments exactly,” Ben said. “Could we steer this conversation back to the matter at hand? I’m also going to need an investigator.”
“Say no more, Skipper,” Loving said. “I’m on the first plane out.”
“You’re sure you don’t mind?”
“Of course not. I haven’t let some librarian wrap a ball and chain around me.
“Loving,” Jones barked, “you’re a sexist cretin.”
“Jones,” Ben interjected, “could you drop by my apartment after work this evening and pass the word along to Joni? She’s keeping an eye on my cat and Mrs. Marmelstein. Tell her I’m sorry, but I’m going to be gone a little longer than I anticipated.”
“Will do, Boss.”
Loving guffawed. “If Paula will let him out of her sight long enough.”
“
“Well, boys,” Ben said, “it’s been a real, um, pleasure talking to you. Christina will fax you the details on the case. Stay in touch.” He hung up.
“Everything status quo back home?” Christina asked.
“Totally,” Ben said. “A little too much so, actually.”
Christina pushed out from behind the desk. “Well, I have tons of work to do, and so do you. But we’re not going to get it done tonight. Maureen wants us to come to the Green Rage camp.”
“Why? I told her I’m not going to do anything-”
Christina held up her hands. “She’s not expecting you to torch any heavy equipment. She just wants the rest of the group to meet you. She wants their approval of your involvement.”
“Approval? Why?”
“I gather they’re a little guarded about who they let in the organization.”
“What, they’re afraid I might learn the secret handshake?”
“No, they’re afraid of FBI agents and logging company spies.”
“Look, I’m not joining Green Rage. I’m just acting as defense counsel.”
“Just the same, the location of their camp is secret. They’re going to pick us up, blindfold us, and take us out there.”
“
She laid her hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, Ben. I’m used to it.”
Chapter 12
Rick showed up at the appointed time-with the blindfolds. After a token effort at talking him out of the cloak-and-dagger routine, Ben and Christina submitted. As far as Ben was concerned, this was taking security measures way over the top, but Rick insisted.
The blindfolds were thick and black, perfect for keeping out all traces of light and clinging close to the face, eliminating that peephole down the line of the nose available with most blindfolds. Once they were securely vision impaired, Rick loaded them into the backseat of his Jeep. At least Ben assumed it was his Jeep. It could’ve been a San Francisco trolley car for all he could tell.
At first Ben attempted to keep track of the directions-first a right turn, then a left, drive for about a mile … but it was pointless. After ten minutes, he was hopelessly confused, and he’d been told it would be a good half hour before they arrived at the Green Rage camp. He couldn’t retrace their trail even if he wanted to. And honestly, why would he want to? If they didn’t want him there, he didn’t want to be there.
After fifteen minutes or so (he couldn’t see his watch), Ben sensed they were entering a different environment. He couldn’t explain exactly how he knew, but he knew. A difference in the climate, perhaps, but it was more than just temperature. There was something about the air itself-the thickness, the crispness. The smell. And the sounds-
“We’ve entered the forest,” Rick said. His voice came from the front of the Jeep, whipped back like the wind rushing in Ben’s face. “Another fifteen minutes or so and we’ll be at the camp.”
“I thought so,” Ben said. “Everything seemed different somehow.”
“You’ve entered a different world,” Rick answered. “You’ve left behind the artificial world of the city-concrete, smog, Burger King. You’ve entered the forest primeval-pure, natural, untouched. At least for the time being.”
Ben and Christina sat in silence as they rode the rest of the way. Time seemed to pass more slowly. Ben paid more attention; he soaked in the sweet scent of pine, the musty smell of the earth.
Eventually Rick brought the Jeep to a stop. As the engine died, Ben could hear the soft play of voices, not far away. And a million other sounds as well: birds singing, the wind whistling through the trees, the chirp of the crickets, the mournful cry of the hoot owl.
“We’ve arrived.”
Ben felt the rise of his seat as Rick jumped out of the front. He felt fingers brushing against his face, and an instant later, he could see again.
Ben stepped off the Jeep and did a full circle, absorbing his new surroundings. The sun was setting, but he could still see clearly. It was green everywhere he looked, green and more green. They were surrounded by an enclosure of trees, tall pines that stretched up to infinity-or at any rate a good deal higher than Ben could see.
A row of small blue nylon tents nestled just inside the clearing. A stone circle told Ben where the campfire had been and would likely be again. There were a few boxes, shirts, plates, and other signs of humanity strewn about, but not many. It appeared to Ben that they had made a genuine effort to leave the area undisturbed.
“So this is the big secret terrorist camp?” Christina said. “How disappointing. I was expecting something out of a James Bond movie.”
Rick laughed. “We like to keep things simple. All we need is a base of operation, a place to stow our gear. Creature comforts we leave for someone else. Besides, it’s important that we be able to pack up and move at the
