C. Box - Force of Nature

Joe looked even more uncomfortable than before, the way he was shifting his seat on the log. He said, “I guess what it comes down to is values. And I’m in no position to argue that.”

Nate said, “You could argue, but this isn’t the time.”

Minutes went by.

Joe asked, “Tell me what I can do to help. Since you don’t have a phone, how can I reach you if I find anything?”

“Give me your notebook,” Nate asked.

Joe handed it over, and Nate flipped it open to a fresh page and jotted down the address for a website: www.themasterfalconer.com.

“It’s an old website,” Nate said, handing the notebook back. “It hasn’t been updated since it was put up over ten years ago. It’s one of those sites where there are dozens of comment threads on it about different aspects of falconry. No one monitors the comments, and there are probably less than a few dozen people who even look at it anymore. But if you need to reach me, call it up. You’ll find a recent thread with words or references in it you know are mine. Register on the site and keep your comments brief and vague. I’ll understand.”

Joe looked at the address. “How often will you check it out?”

“I can’t say for sure. But at least every couple of days from a public computer somewhere.”

Joe shook his head. “If there are dozens of threads, how will I know which one you’re using?”

“Look for a recent thread with a question about flying kestrels.”

“Why kestrels?” Joe asked. “Aren’t they little tiny birds?”

Nate nodded. “Yes, they’re the lowest and the most unreliable of the falcons. There’s a royalty of falcons, starting with the eagle, who is the emperor. The gyr falcon is the king, the peregrine is the duke, and so on. On the bottom of the pecking order is the kestrel, which is considered the knave or servant. The reason I’m choosing a thread with a kestrel is because no self-respecting falconer would give a rip and look at it. Even so, don’t say anything directly that could be interpreted by a lurker.”

“Can’t we do better than this?” Joe asked. “Can’t you call me from a pay phone or something?”

“Not a chance,” Nate said. “Nemecek has his tentacles everywhere. It’s better to be low-key and obscure. And remember-don’t write anything that could possibly be used to tie you to me.”

“Nate…”

Nate stood and ground the last of the fire out with his boot heel. It was suddenly very dark.

“One more thing, Joe,” he said. “If you get the word from me to evacuate, that means grab your family and fly away somewhere. Don’t even take the time to pack-just get the hell out.”

From the dark, Joe asked, “Do you think he’d come after us to get to you?”

“I told you,” Nate said. “He’s capable of anything.”

AS THEY made their way through the downed timber back to the vehicles, Nate heard Joe clear his throat in a way that indicated he wanted to say something.

Over his shoulder, Nate asked, “What is it?”

“This thing you did,” Joe asked. “How bad was it?”

Said Nate, “Worse than you can imagine.”

“And Nemecek was there?”

“Yes.”

“It couldn’t have been that bad,” Joe said. “I mean, I know you pretty well after all these years.”

As Nate reached his Jeep, he said, “You just think you do, Joe.”

Joe reached out and grasped Nate’s hand. He said, “Be safe, my friend.”

“I will.”

Joe turned to leave. Nate said, “And if I don’t ever see you again, I just want you to know it was an honor to know you and you’re a good man and a good friend. As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing better I can say.”

Joe was uncomfortable, obviously, but he met Nate’s eyes and said, “Knock it off. When did you get so mushy?”

And Nate said, “When he came here after me.”

Joe returned home shortly after ten to find another Game and Fish pickup parked in his place in front of the garage. The lights were on inside the house, and Joe swung in next to his trainee’s vehicle.

He got out and took a deep breath of the cold, thin air. Nate had rattled him and he didn’t want to show it.

Luke Brueggemann sat on the living room sofa and looked up when Joe came in. He was wearing his uniform and cradling a can of Pepsi between his knees. He looked at him expectantly, his eyes wondering why Joe hadn’t called him.

“I called your room,” Joe said. “I left a message. In the future, you need to be prepared or let me know your cell phone number.”

At the same time, though, Joe was grateful Brueggemann hadn’t been along to see Nate Romanowski.

His trainee plucked his cell phone out of his pocket and punched numbers. Joe’s own phone burred in his pocket and he leaned back to pull it out but Brueggemann said, “That’s me. You have my number now.”

“Okay.”

“Did you find anything up there?” Brueggemann asked.

“Nope,” Joe said, as he turned and hung his jacket on a peg in the mudroom and put his hat on the shelf. “Somebody’s idea of a prank call, I guess.”

Brueggemann shook his head. “I’ve heard that happens.”

Joe sat down in a chair facing Brueggemann and said, “It does.” Then: “Why are you here?”

The trainee grinned and his face flushed. “I got your message when I got back to my room. So I threw on my uniform and waited for you to pick me up. When you didn’t, I started driving up here thinking I’d meet you here. But when I got here, you were gone.”

As he talked, Marybeth came into the living room from the kitchen, shaking her head at Joe. “My husband has forgotten what being a trainee is like,” she said. “Even though it should be scarred into his memory. It sure is scarred into mine.”

“I said I left a message,” Joe said, sitting back in the chair.

His wife looked casual and attractive in a pair of sweatpants and an oversized white shirt rolled up at the sleeves. Her blond hair was tied back in a ponytail, making her look young, Joe thought. She wore a pair of horn-rimmed glasses Joe referred to as her “smart glasses.” It was obvious she’d taken pity on Luke Brueggemann.

She said, “I saw him sitting in his truck out on the road, so I invited him in and fed him some dinner,” she said. “I told him you’d be back soon. I didn’t think it would be two hours.”

Joe shrugged.

“I tried to call you on the radio,” Brueggemann said, looking away from Joe so as not to pile on too much, “but you must have been out of range.”

“I guess so,” Joe said. He’d turned his radio off when Nate had appeared in the woods.

“Anyway,” Marybeth said, apparently finished with her admonishment, “Luke here helped April with her math and listened to Lucy recite some of her part from the play. So all in all, a nice evening.”

She winked at Joe to show Joe she was teasing. Joe shook his head at his wife. Those items would have been on his agenda for the evening.

To Brueggemann, Marybeth said, “Remember this when you get married and move your new bride to your game warden quarters in the middle of nowhere. Advise her that you are always on call so she won’t be angry when you suddenly have to leave the house at any hour. In fact, before you get married, have her give me a call.”

“Don’t do it,” Joe said to Brueggemann. “Keep her in the dark. It’s better that way.”

The trainee looked from Marybeth to Joe, and to Marybeth again.

“I’m kidding,” Joe said.

Brueggemann visibly relaxed and realized he’d been played by both of them. “You had me going there,” he said.

“And another thing,” Joe said. “Don’t ever go out on a call without your trainee.”