Known Dead_ A Novel - Donald Harstad [123]
Bit by bit, he filled us in on the details. A portion of the arms had come into the United States about a year and a half ago. ATF caught a chunk of the shipment, but stuff had got away from them before they could do the raid. They had been waiting until it turned up. Tonight had been their night.
‘‘This isn’t all of it, by any means,’’ said Volont. ‘‘Less than a third, if my memory serves me.’’
‘‘Wonderful,’’ said Hester.
‘‘Not to worry,’’ said Volont. ‘‘The rest of it is with your man Gabriel, far, far away.’’
‘‘You know Gabriel, then?’’ I asked.
‘‘Know him personally,’’ said Volont.
Twenty-two
GABRIEL,’’ said Volont, ‘‘lives in Idaho at the moment. When he’s not in London or Winnipeg or Burlington, Vermont.’’
‘‘Who is he?’’ I asked.
‘‘Well,’’ he said, ‘‘his real name is Jacob Henry Nieuhauser, and he was born in Winnipeg about fifty years ago. He and his parents moved to Idaho when he was about fourteen or so.’’
As Volont explained it, Gabriel had gone to college in the United States, then joined the U.S. Army, ending up as a major with Ranger training, but not a Ranger. He’d been stationed in Europe, and made friends with some liaison officer from the British Army on the Rhine. He also made friends with some ex-Nazis in Germany. That put him in touch with the aforementioned neo-Nazi group in Britain, which got him connected with the later arms theft. He’d retired from the U.S. Army about ten years back, and had been associating with some pretty extreme people ever since. He’d been involved with Wittman in the fraud scheme that had put Wittman in prison, but he’d never been touched. He’d been connected, mostly by inference, to several subsequent schemes, and could have raised as much as twenty-five million dollars. He was currently living in a fortified camp in Idaho with about fifty dedicated followers.
‘‘That’s where we thought all these arms would be,’’ said Volont. ‘‘Certainly not here.’’
‘‘I wonder if there are any more stashes like this one,’’ said Hester. ‘‘Around here.’’
‘‘Me too,’’ I said. I looked at Volont. ‘‘What are my chances of talking to Gabriel?’’
‘‘Zilch.’’ He didn’t even hesitate. ‘‘Because you don’t know who he is, remember?’’
Shit. ‘‘Some days,’’ I said, ‘‘it seems there just aren’t enough petards to go around.’’
Volont was the only one who got it.
The team leader suddenly stiffened.
‘‘What?’’ asked Volont.
‘‘Sky One’s just been ordered back to Cedar Rapids.’’
‘‘So?’’
‘‘There seems to be a fire at the jail.’’
‘‘Bad?’’
‘‘No, doesn’t sound like it, according to the chopper. They just want ’em for security.’’
We decided to take Wittman to the Homer County jail and to talk to him there.
I thought Wittman was a piece of cake after being properly softened up. First thing we did, well before we got to the jail, was to call in on the radio and get an attorney coming. The Homer County sheriff had decided to bring everybody to the jail and sort things out there. As we left, George was on his cell phone, assisting his partner in Cedar Rapids in obtaining a search warrant for the Wittman farm. George was in charge of the scene until the lab and ATF people arrived to take charge of the weapons and then to begin the search for more.
There had been a computer in the house, and I was sure George would let the lab folks do all the work on that. I figured he’d had about enough of computers. Besides, Wittman seemed a lot brighter about computer security than those at the Stritch farm. We might actually have some pretty sophisticated protection on that computer.
Wittman was really scared by the time we got him to the jail. He was introduced to his attorney, who was absolutely overwhelmed by us, the accusations, and the facts of the case. He just kept staring at the TAC people as they moved through the area, securing their equipment.
Wittman agreed to talk to us. His attorney was present.