Ken Goddard - Double blind

Henry Lightstone collapsed on the floor, holding his ribs and nearly choking in laughter while Larry Paxton stared at his agent/pilot incredulously.

"This is all your fault, Paxton," Stoner muttered ominously. "I told you we went too far on that septic-tank idea."

"My fault? What do you mean, my fault?" Larry Paxton demanded, looking properly aggrieved. "Who was the one who said 'to hell with protocol, these guys are going down'?"

"Actually, I believe you did." Mike Takahara looked up from his computer screen long enough to correct Bravo Team's leader. "You want to know what it says here about Australian Tiger Snakes?"

"No, I don't want to know what that damned computer says about Australian Tiger Snakes," Larry Paxton replied testily as he tossed Woeshack's copy of the briefing document aside. "Why should I? If I'm gonna be running this sting operation, and you can bet your badge I am," he added emphatically, "we are not going to be buying or selling any damned Tiger Snakes, whatever the hell they are, based on the simple fact that anything with the word 'tiger' in its name is probably dangerous as hell. And the fact of the matter is, I don't care what Halahan says, we're not gonna buy or sell anything more threatening to my hide than a simple little garter snake. We have to, we'll paint whatever we've got to make it look dangerous. But I'm telling you, that's as far as I'm gonna go on this deal.

"And never mind what I said back when," the covert team leader warned before anyone could respond. "What I want to know is, where did Halahan and Moore ship Charlie Team off to so quick and sneaky-like?"

"Three to one, somewhere warm," Stoner grumbled.

"And I'll bet you ten bucks it doesn't have anything to do with snakes and spiders either," Woeshack added.

"Of course it doesn't," Paxton dismissed the remark irritably. "Halahan wouldn't give the job of running a storefront operation full of goddamned snakes and spiders and God knows what else, in the middle of winter in some God-forsaken part of Oregon, to some rookie covert team who'd probably whimper and whine like a bunch of crybabies the first time something got loose."

"Oh-oh, watch it, guys," Henry Lightstone warned cheerfully, trying very hard to maintain a straight face as he sat up on the floor and leaned his back against the couch, "I think ol' Paxton's about to go motivational on us."

"You're damned right I am," Paxton set his jaw firmly. "That's what us motivational leaders are here for, to inspire the troops. 'Specially when all they do is piss and moan when they draw a piddly-ass rough assignment every now and then."

"I hate to break this to you, buddy," Lightstone pointed out casually, "but I really don't think there was any 'draw' involved in this deal at all. Far as I'm concerned, this whole setup is just a little too bizarre, even for the federal government. I mean, who in their right mind sets up a storefront operation for reptile dealing in the middle of Oregon when they're supposed to be working bad guys down in Nogales? Christ, the airfares alone are going to — "

"Actually, Henry," Mike Takahara interrupted, "I don't think you should worry too much about airfares right away."

"If you think I'm going to let Woeshack fly me a thousand miles from Oregon to Nogales, in the middle of winter, through the, what?" — Lightstone looked down at his map — "Cascade Mountain Range, when you probably can't even see out the window in a damned car, you're out of your — "

"Didn't you read the briefing document?"

"What, fifty-some pages of single-spaced type? Are you nuts?"

"You don't need to read the whole thing. They always put the really sneaky stuff in the middle, because they're pretty sure you'll skip that part." Takahara smiled cheerfully when he located the page he sought. "For example, page twenty-nine informs us that while the rest of us are busy reading snakebite-kit instructions and nailing cage doors shut, Special Agent Henry Lightstone will, and I quote, 'attempt to initiate contact with subject Alistaire Sager, AKA "Sage," for the specific purpose of purchasing wildlife parts and products made from a Sasquatch, AKA "Bigfoot," as well as suspected Apache Indian battle charms."

"What?"

Henry Lightstone bolted off the floor and snatched Woeshack's copy of the briefing document.

"Also right here on page twenty-nine," Takahara went on, "it says that 'Agent Lightstone will endeavor to determine subject Sage's source of materials, as well as any links he may have with other illicit wildlife parts and products dealers in the area.'"

"What's a Sasquatch?" Woeshack stared at the others bewilderedly.

"A mythical beast," Larry Paxton replied absentmindedly as he quickly flipped to page twenty-nine of the briefing and began reading.

"More precisely," Takahara expanded on Paxton's meager description, "it's a mythical beast that stands somewhere between seven and ten feet tall, weighs about five hundred pounds, and believe it or not, has feet bigger than Stoner's… or at least that's what they say."

"Wow, no kidding?" Thomas Woeshack's eyes grew wide in amazement as he glanced down at his huge partner's oversize boots. "So what does that have to do with Apache Indian battle charms?"

"Better ask Henry," the tech agent advised. "He's the one who's going to be buying them."

"I don't believe this shit," Henry Lightstone muttered as he flipped over to page thirty and continued reading.

"Tell you what, Paxton," Dwight Stoner suggested irritably, "you either start exerting some serious supervisory authority around here and get these assignments changed so that Woeshack and I get to buy parts and products made out of eight-foot-tall mythical beasts from the local fruitcake, and Mr. Quick-Reflexes over there gets the spider-knee-painting detail, or you and I are going to go outside and discuss a change in leadership right now."

"What the hell is this?" Paxton demanded to the room at large, ignoring Stoner's threat and tossing the thick document to the floor. "Halahan and Moore must have lost their goddamned — "

"Just out of curiosity, did you get to page thirty-six?" Mike Takahara inquired. "The part about the preauthorized shipping inventories coming out of Miami and Newark?"

Larry Paxton blinked, looked down at the discarded document, and then glared at his tech agent.

"No, I didn't get to page thirty-six yet," he whispered menacingly. "So why don't you just tell me what it says about preauthorized shipping inventories, whatever the hell they are?"

"To tell you the truth," Mike Takahara replied seriously, "I really don't think you want to know."

David Halahan, chief of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service's covert investigations branch, looked up when his obviously frustrated deputy walked into his office.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"They can't find Boggs."

Halahan frowned.

"What are you talking about? Who can't find Boggs?"

"Charlie Team… and Boggs's secretary," Moore explained. "Riley just called in. They've been out to his office and his house a couple of times, left a half dozen messages on his answering machine. Checked in at a couple of his favorite watering holes. No Boggs."

"What does his secretary say?"

"Well, apparently it's not unusual for him to be out in the field two or three days without calling in."

"Yeah, but he knew we were sending Charlie Team out there — " Halahan started to protest, but then hesitated.

"Assuming he got the message in the first place," Moore verbalized the thought in both of their minds. "He never did call us back to confirm."

"Yeah, that's right."

"And to make things just a little more confusing, Riley says his house is locked up tight, the government rig's in his garage — they could see it through the side window-and his personal truck and boat are parked in the carport."