Free Fire - C. J. Box [127]
“How do we get in?” Portenson asked, nodding toward the massive front door of the inn.
“I have a key,” Ashby said, handing it to Joe.
“Will you leave your Kevlar vests?” Joe asked Ashby.
Inside, it was dark except for the tiny red glow of dots from the emergency backup system mounted high on the walls. Normally, Joe found the lobby of the inn impressive, but with the lights out and the snow covering up any light leaks, it was oddly intimidating. As the men entered, with every footstep echoing, Joe felt as if he were desecrating a cathedral. All the windows had been boarded up for the winter, and the temperaturewas colder inside than outside. There was no power or water.The building was completely winterized.
Nate went about starting a fire, rolling logs the length of small cars into the massive stone fireplace. Within twenty minutes, the fire threw sheets of orange light on the walls and started to warm the place. The FBI assault team unpacked their weapons and equipment using the light from the fire and from headlamps they’d brought. Several of them scrambled when a deep-throated whooshing sound seemed to shake the walls, and Joe said, “It’s just Old Faithful erupting outside.”
Joe noticed how the assault team spoke to one another in whispered voices or via radio mikes strapped to their shoulders, even when they were all in the same room. He got the distinct feeling that despite Portenson’s overall command of the operation,these men were in their own tight universe. The squad commander, a beefy and intense man with a breast patch that read “McIlvaine,” kept up a low monologue with his men while flashing quick, suspicious looks at Nate, Joe, and Portenson.
After pulling a dust sheet off a table, Joe sat down at it with Portenson, Ashby, and McIlvaine. McCann, still bound and gagged, was seated across from Portenson. Nate hovered nearby, pretending to tend the fire. He fed it with wood the length and girth of rolled-up Sunday newspapers.
As the fire crackled and the snow fell outside, Joe outlined his plan to Portenson and played back sections of the recording of McCann that implicated Langston, Ward, and Layborn. While he listened, Portenson rubbed his hands together. At first, Joe thought the agent was warming them. Then he realized Portenson was growing more excited the more he heard, apparentlyconfirming that the case was solid after all and soon he would be making headlines, receiving commendations, and requestinga transfer to Hawaii. McIlvaine, meanwhile, shook his head. The assault commander smiled wolfishly, obviously not surprised by the corruption of his brethren. McCann looked bored as he heard his own words played back.
“So we can arrest them in one fell swoop,” Portenson said, nodding. “That’s the part I like. We’ve got video and audio equipment with us, so we’ll get it all down.”
“I assume they’ll all arrive together,” Joe said, ignoring the camera crew comment.
“If they can get here at all,” McIlvaine said. “The weather’s gotten worse, not better.”
“What kind of lead do you think we’ve got on them?” Portenson asked Joe.
“I’m guessing a few hours,” he said. “It would take a while for them to get together and talk this all through. They’re big talkers, according to McCann. They like to have meetings to decide what to do. So they’ll know McCann is gone, and they’ll have his call about Olig and going to the FBI. There have been rumors up here all summer that Olig is alive and hiding out around here; no doubt they’ve heard them too. That’s why we mentioned Olig, so they’d draw their own conclusions. We wanted to get them to come here, but we didn’t want it to be too obvious.”
McCann rolled his eyes, said, “Mmff.”
“He wants to say something,” Portenson said.
Joe reached up and pulled the tape away, much more gently than Nate had done it.
“What if I don’t cooperate?” McCann asked. “There’s a big assumption being made here.”
“Why wouldn’t you?” Portenson said. “This is the best chance you’re going