Free Fire - C. J. Box [122]
Joe was still angry that he had had to send his family away, that someone had tried to harm them. Seeing his daughters look back at him from the windows of the van as Marybeth pulled away had torn his heart out. It hadn’t helped seeing the grim look on Marybeth’s face as she drove, determined to get her girls out of there while at the same time upset over leaving her husband. Joe blamed McCann because he didn’t know whom else to blame and McCann was in the truck. “You can’t do this,” McCann sputtered, tears in his eyes from the sting. “I’m technicallyinnocent. This is kidnapping and assault.”
“Nate, can you put fresh tape on his face and rip it off again, please?” Joe said.
“Happy to,” Nate said.
“No!”
Nate stripped six inches of silver tape from the roll with a sound like fabric tearing.
“I asked you who figured out the microbes,” Joe said.
Nate started to lean over the seat.
“Genetech people!” McCann said quickly, “but they didn’t realize what they had.”
Nate shot a glance to Joe, who nodded back. Nate lowered the tape but glared at McCann with menace.
“Talk,” Joe said. “It’s the only thing that might save you right now. And don’t start in on kidnapping and assault. You murderedsix people. Putting a bullet in your head will not cause any crocodile tears up here, I’d say.”
McCann breathed deeply, worked his mouth since he couldn’t rub it with his hand. “Why should I talk?”
“Because,” Joe said patiently but with an edge, “it’s the only chance you have to stay alive.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“Because you have no choice. We don’t even have to kill you. All we need to do is stop and let you out, which I’m more than happy to do. The bears and wolves will take care of you. That’s the disadvantage of living in a place where there are so many animals that can eat you. And with this snow, your bones won’t be found until spring.”
“I recognize your voice,” McCann said. “You were the one who yelled at me this morning outside the jail.”
Joe watched McCann’s face in the rearview mirror. The lawyer seemed to be calculating his odds on the fly. He saw McCannshoot a quick glance out his window at a coyote nosing into the snow after a gopher. Good timing, Joe thought.
“Genetech has a little branch office in West Yellowstone,” McCann said. “They hired two local guys who do no more than drive to Sunburst every couple of weeks, harvest the pink microbes,and send them in a special incubation container to Geneva. They’re not engineers, just local boys. One of them got into trouble a year ago, DUI. He asked me to represent him, since I’m also local counsel for Genetech.”
“Stop,” Joe said. “What does that mean? What do you do for them?”
“Very little,” McCann said. “I file the annual extensions for their permit with the Park Service and meet a couple of times a year with James Langston to assure him the company is complyingwith all of the environmental regulations. I’m on a retainerto keep an eye out for my client in case something goes wrong or there is a challenge to their permit.”
“Ah,” Joe said, now knowing how McCann and Langston had met. “Go on.”
“Anyway, this Genetech guy with the DUI was telling me about something that happened when they were at Sunburst gettingthe microbes. He’s a smoker, and he said he tossed a cigaretteaside while they were working and suddenly flame was shooting out of the ground. He said it singed his jeans. At the time, I thought it was just one of those weird Yellowstone things, and I forgot about it.
“Then I was approached by the CEO of a start-up company out of Denver. They knew about my familiarity with Genetech and the permitting process, and they were interested in getting a permit from Langston to harvest thermophiles.”
“Who is the CEO?”
McCann sighed. “His name is Layton Barron. He’s a con artist, but I didn’t know it at the time.”
“What’s he look like?”
“Mid-sixties, thin, gray hair. An arrogant prick.”
Joe turned to Nate. “Sounds like the driver