Blood Trail - C. J. Box [59]
Rulon paused again. When Pope shook his head to indicate he still didn’t get it, Rulon said, “For five and a half years, the top fugitive on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list lived and prospered in the hills of North Carolina and was finally captured wearing new clothes and with a fresh shave, despite a one-million-dollar reward. Everyone was astonished when it happened, but they shouldn’t have been. What those law-enforcement people should have been paying attention to was the fact that ‘Run Rudolph Run’ T-shirts and bumper stickers were damned hot sellers in the area, and that there were enough local sympathizers—true believers—to keep Rudolph fed, clothed, and well taken care of right under their noses. Despite a massive ground search and the best experts and high technology, this guy lived two hundred yards from a strip mall in a densely populated area.”
Rulon slammed his desk with the heel of his hand. “The reason Eric Rudolph remained free was because of sympathizers who were true believers like him. Not the whole county, to be sure, but it doesn’t take a whole county—just a few true believers. They’d rather take care of him and give him food, shelter, and clothes than collect on a million bucks. They believed in him and his cause.
“Right now,” Rulon said, “Klamath Moore is up there in Saddlestring with a bunch of followers. Most of his people have come in from other states, but some, no doubt, are local. Joe, how many people in your county would you guess are pro-hunting?”
“It’s hard to say, but I’d guess sixty percent,” Joe said. “Maybe higher.”
“What percentage just couldn’t care less?”
Joe shrugged. “Twenty-five, thirty percent, I’d say.”
“Which leaves us what—ten percent anti-hunters?”
Joe nodded.
“How many of them are true believers?”
“I have no idea,” Joe said.
“Even if it’s five or ten people,” Rulon said, “that’s enough to create a support network for the guy who is out there. And that’s all he needs. Plus, he’ll have a good percentage of the press and a lot of sympathetic elitists who despise hunting on his side. And make no mistake, there are more people in this country against hunting than for it. Right now, today, even in my own state, Klamath Moore is up there preaching to the converted and radicalizing maybe just a few more folks over to his cause. His aim is to build something that will last a long time. As hard as it is to believe, gentlemen, there are already people all across this country and the world who look to Klamath Moore and the killer as heroes. Some of the news coverage is already being spun that way—‘Neanderthal hunters in Wyoming are finally getting their comeuppance.’ The world is going mad, as we know, but all these years we’ve been isolated from that. Not anymore.
“I predict there will be T-shirts and bumper stickers printed within the week. That unless we find this killer real fast, we won’t find him for years. And that for every week that passes, this murderer will grow in stature among the loonies until he’s a legend. And so will Klamath Moore.”
Rulon turned his attention to Randy Pope. “Now do you see the connection? Do you follow?”
“Yes, sir,” Pope said, unable to swallow. “My agency will be decimated by the lack of revenue from hunting licenses.”
“Not to mention how it’ll kill sales tax revenue,” Rulon said. “But Director Brewer and Special Agent Tony Portenson have some information and a new theory,” Rulon said, leaning back in his chair, using the words Special Agent as if they were curse words. “Much of this was unknown to me until about an hour ago, and I’d very much like you to hear it.”
Portenson glared at the governor with naked hatred. Joe thought, There’s something going on here.
“KLAMATH MOORE really wasn’t on our radar screen until