Free Fire - C. J. Box [35]
Joe parked the Yukon on the side of the Pagoda. It wasn’t well marked. The Park Service didn’t like signs because, he supposed, they looked like signs and the park was about nature,not people trying to go about their business in the world outside the park. He circled the building twice on foot before deciding that the unmarked wooden door on the west side was, in fact, the entrance.
The lobby was small and dark and he surprised the receptionist,who quickly darkened the screen of whatever Internet site she had up. She raised her eyebrows expectantly.
“Don’t get many visitors, eh?” he said.
“Not this time of year,” she said, chastened, guilty about whatever it was she had been looking at and obviously blaming Joe for making her feel that way. “May I help you? Do you know where you’re at?”
“I’m here to see Del Ashby. My name is Joe Pickett.”
“Del is off today,” she said.
“Excuse me?”
She nodded toward a whiteboard on the wall. It listed the names of ranking rangers, with a magnetic button placed either “in” or “out.” Del Ashby was marked “out.” So was the chief ranger, James Langston, who Chuck Ward had said would also be in the meeting.
The receptionist started going through papers from her in-box.It took a moment for Joe to realize he had been dismissed.
“Hold it,” he said. “I’ve got a meeting with them at four. Can you check to see if they’ll be there?”
She gave him a withering look, but put the papers down and huffed away, pointedly closing the door behind her desk so he couldn’t follow.
While he waited, trying not to become frustrated with the situationthat seemed to be developing, he studied another whiteboardon the wall above her desk. Painstakingly, in intricate detail, someone had drawn a multicolored flowchart of all the park rangers in Yellowstone, starting with James Langston at the top, Del Ashby under him, and a spiderweb of divisions and units including SWAT, interpretation, and other units. He counted about a hundred park rangers assigned to law enforcement,more than he would have guessed.
The door opened and a short, wiry, intense man came through, head down as if determined to cross the room as efficientlyas possible. He was wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants.
“Del Ashby,” he said, firing out his hand.
“I thought for a minute my information was wrong,” Joe said, flicking a glance at the receptionist, who smoldered behindAshby.
“It’s my day off,” he said. “I had to come in just for this, so I hope we can get to it and get out.”
Joe nodded.
“We’ve got a conference room upstairs,” Ashby said. “The others are already there.”
“The chief ranger? James Langston?” Joe asked.
“Nah, it’s his day off.”
“Doesn’t he live just a block away?” Joe asked, recalling the stately line of old brick homes.
Ashby turned and his expression hardened. “Not everyone will come in on their day off, like me. But don’t blame Chief Ranger Langston; he’s a busy man. He’s got a lot on his plate, you know.”
Joe nodded noncommittally. The chief’s absence told Joe how seriously his presence and the meeting itself was being taken by the park administration. Nevertheless, he was grateful Ashby was there.
Ashby turned and hustled through the door. Joe followed. While they climbed the stairs, Joe looked at his watch. Three-fifty-five. Right on time.
Ashby stepped aside in the hall so Joe could enter a windowlessroom with a large round table crammed into it. Two men and a woman stood as Joe entered. Ashby shut the door behind them.
“This is Joe Pickett,” Ashby said, “from Wyoming governor Rulon’s staff.”
Joe didn’t take the time to consider the introduction—his staff, huh? Is that what Chuck Ward had told them?—but leaned across the table to greet the others. The atmosphere was instantly tense and uncomfortable and Joe surmised quickly