But the Weasel had been there—I’d seen him. And I had photographs to prove it.
Chapter 15
GEOFFREY SHAFER DROVE a dark blue Oldsmobile Cutlass full-bore through the desert. He wasn’t on board the jet that had flown out of Wells, Nevada. That would have been too easy. Weasels always have several escape routes planned.
As he drove, Shafer was thinking that the oddly brilliant plan in the desert had worked well, and there had certainly been backup contingencies just in case something didn’t work right. He had also learned that Dr. Cross, now with the FBI, had shown up in Nevada.
Is that part of the big picture, too? Somehow, he expected that it was. But why Cross? What does the Wolf have in mind for him?
The Weasel eventually made a stop in Fallon, Nevada, where he was scheduled to make his next contact. He didn’t know exactly who he was contacting, or why, or where this whole operation was leading. He just knew his piece—and his explicit orders were to call in from Fallon and get the next set of instructions.
So he followed his orders, registered at the Best Inn Fallon, and went straight to his room. He used a cell phone, which he’d been told to destroy after he made the call. There were no pleasantries exchanged, no unnecessary words. Just the business at hand.
“This is the Wolf,” he heard as contact was made, and Shafer wondered if that was so. According to rumor, the real Wolf had impersonators, maybe even body doubles. All of them with their piece, right?
Next he heard disturbing news. “You were seen, Colonel Shafer. You were spotted and photographed near Sunrise Valley. Did you know that?”
At first, Shafer tried to deny it, but he was cut off.
“We’re looking at copies of the pictures right now. That’s how the Bronco was followed to Wells. Which is why we told you to exchange vehicles outside town and drive to Fallon. Just in case something went wrong.”
Shafer didn’t know what to say. How could he have been spotted out in the middle of nowhere? Why was Cross there?
The Wolf finally laughed. “Oh, don’t worry your pretty head, Colonel. You were supposed to be spotted. The photographer works for us.
“Now proceed to your next contact point in the morning. And have some fun tonight in Fallon. Paint the town, Colonel. I want you to go and kill somebody out in the desert. You choose a victim. Do your stuff. That’s an order.”
Chapter 16
THE LEVEL OF frustration and tension I was feeling was increasing by the hour, and so was the general confusion about the case. I’d never seen so much chaos, so fast, in my entire life.
Almost a full day after the bombing, there was nothing but a hole in the ground in the Nevada desert, and a couple of questionable leads. We had talked to the three hundred or so residents of Sunrise Valley, but none of the survivors had a clue, either. Nothing unusual had happened in the days before the bombing; no stranger had visited. We hadn’t found the army vehicles or discovered where they had come from. What had happened in Sunrise Valley still didn’t make sense. Neither did Colonel Geoffrey Shafer’s being there. But it sure shook us up.
No one had even taken credit for the bombing yet.
After two days, there wasn’t too much more I could do out in the desert, so I caught a ride home to Washington. I found Nana, the kids, even Rosie the cat out on the front porch, waiting for me.
Home, sweet home again. Why didn’t I just learn a lesson and stay there?
“This is real nice,” I said, beaming as I bounded up the steps. “A welcoming committee. I guess everybody missed me, right? How long you been out here waiting for your pops?”
Nana and the kids shook their heads pretty much in unison, and I smelled conspiracy.
Nana said, “Of course we’re glad to see you, Alex,” and finally cracked a smile. They all did. Conspiracy, for sure.
“Gotcha!” said Jannie, who was ten. She had on a crocheted sun hat with her braids hanging out. “Of course we’re your welcoming committee. Of course we missed you, Daddy. Who wouldn’t?”
“Got you bad!” Damon taunted from his perch on the rail. He was twelve and looked the part. Sean John T-shirt, straight-leg jeans, Hiptowns.
I pointed a finger at him. “I’ll get you, you break my porch rail.” Then I smiled. “Gotcha!” I said to Damon.
After that, I had to answer all sorts of questions about little Alex and show around my digital camera with dozens of pictures of our beloved little man.
Everybody was pretty much laughing now, which was better, and it was definitely good to be home again, even if I was still waiting for more news about the bombing in Nevada and about Shafer’s involvement.
Nana had held dinner for me, and after a delicious meal of roast chicken with garlic and lemon, squash, mushrooms, and onions, the family congregated in the kitchen over cleanup and bowls of ice cream. Jannie showed off a pen-and-ink of her heroes Venus and Serena Williams, which was sensational; eventually, we watched the Washington Wizards on TV. Finally, everybody started to wander off to bed, but there were hugs and kisses first. Nice, very nice. Much, much better than yesterday and, I was willing to bet, not as good as
tomorrow.