Stuart Woods: Heat

There was silence for a moment, then Barker folded. “Yes, I understand you.”

“Good. Unless I read in the New York Times within ninety days that you’ve resigned from the Justice Department, I’ll release everything. I have only to make a phone call. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” Barker said.

“Good; you have ninety days to think about it. Now put Kip back on the line.”

“I’m here, Jesse,” Kip said. “What was that all about?”

“Barker is considering early retirement.”

“Listen, we found Ruger’s body, along with Charley Bottoms. What happened?”

“The recorder is in the package; it will explain everything.”

“What about Coldwater and Casey? Where are they?”

“Don’t worry, they’ll turn up. But believe me, they’re not going to be a problem.”

“Jesse, I can get you the pardon now; no problem.”

“You hang on to it for me, Kip, in case I ever need it.”

“If that’s what you want.”

“Tell Barker I’ll be watching the papers, and take care of yourself.”

Jesse broke the connection. He wiped the phone clean of fingerprints and dropped it in a trash receptacle, along with Coldwater and Casey’s wallets, then he boarded the airplane.

AKAROA, SOUTH ISLAND, NEW ZEALAND, FOUR MONTHS LATER

Jesse stopped into the village post office for his mail. Along with the usual utility bills and advertising circulars there was a letter from the home secretary’s office in Wellington.

“Morning, Mr. Warren,” the postmistress said. “Lovely day.”

“Getting a bit chilly, though,” he replied.

“Winter’s coming.”

Winter came in June in this country. “Suppose you’re right.”

“Think you’ll like us as well in winter?”

“Seems an awfully nice place. I thought I’d look at some property.” The postmistress was the local real estate broker, too.

“Glad to show you some; there’s a very pretty place down on the point; bit pricey, though.”

“I’ve got to run up to Christchurch today. Maybe we could look at it tomorrow.”

“Glad to show it to you.”

Jesse stepped out onto the porch of the post office. Behind him he heard the postmistress speak to another customer.

“That’s Mr. Warren,” she said. “American writer; pretty well known in the states, I hear. Been here for a couple of months, now; looks like he might stay.”

Jesse opened the letter from the home secretary and read it. He, his wife, and his two daughters had been granted permanent residence status in New Zealand. Jesse smiled, put the letter into his pocket, got into the car and headed for Christchurch. It was his habit to drive up there once a week.

In the public library at Christchurch he read through the most recent copies of the New York Times . They were always at least a month old. On the national news page he found what he was looking for:

The White House press office announced today that Kipling Fuller has been named Assistant Attorney General for Law Enforcement. Fuller, who has been given credit by insiders for masterminding the successful raid on the Aryan Universe cult in Idaho, had been Deputy Assistant Attorney General, in charge of the department’s special task force on dangerous cults, following the resignation of Daniel Barker, who retired last month.

The piece went on to recount Kip’s background in law enforcement and his leading of the raid. Then, further down the page, Jesse saw something he had not expected.

The Justice Department announced today that Jesse Warden, a former DEA agent who was serving a long sentence for the murder of another agent, died yesterday in the hospital of Atlanta Federal Prison, of injuries received in a fight with another prisoner in the exercise yard. Warden left no survivors.

Jesse closed the newspaper and returned it to the stacks. Well, he thought, it was almost as good as a presidential pardon.

He got into his car and drove back toward Akaroa. If he hurried, he would be in time for lunch.

Santa Fe, New Mexico, October 31, 1993

I am grateful to my editor, HarperCollins Vice President and Associate Publisher Gladys Justin Carr, and to her staff for their hard work in the editing and preparation of this book; to all the other people at HarperCollins who have worked for the book’s success; to my agent, Morton Janklow, his principle associate, Anne Sibbald, and their colleagues at Janklow & Nesbit, who have been so important to my career; and to my wife, Chris, for her help, understanding, and love.