Randy White - Shark River

McRae now wore a soft smile. “Then I’ve got to ask you one more time-mind if we take a look at that cut on your arm?”

“Nope. I unwrap it, it might start bleeding again.”

“That’s what I figured. One phone call to the right judge, and we can have a deputy bring a court order out and place it in your hands. A piece of paper that says you’ve got no choice. We can make you take that bandage off and show us. Isn’t that right, Officer Walker?”

As the woman nodded, Tomlinson interrupted, not bothering to disguise his outrage. “Hold on there, Dirty Harry. First you call him a hero, then you threaten him like he’s a criminal? Very uncool, man, very, very uncool. That is a very serious conflict of vibes.”

McRae looked at him for a moment before he said, “What did you call me?”

Tomlinson has a longstanding and irrational dislike of people in law enforcement that’s gotten him into trouble more than once. He does not share my belief that most people in the emergency services tend to be better at their jobs than most others.

I cringed a little as he said, “Dirty Harry. That’s what I called you. As in ‘Dirty Harry, you can kiss my ass on the county fucking square.’ ”

McRae’s expression changed, became a flat mask. “In my notebook, I’ve got you down as”-he flipped through a few pages-“I’ve got your occupation down as a Zen Buddhist monk and sociologist consultant. That’s pretty foul language for a monk, isn’t it, sir?”

“Well… normally, yes-when I’m on duty, I mean. So… consider this like a spiritual coffee break. I’m taking a little time off from being the Buddha incarnate to tell you that you’re coming off like an asshole. Accidental or not, my buddy here just saved two women. Give him a little respect. Catch where I’m coming from? Can you relate?”

“No, I don’t relate and I don’t want to relate. But here’s some advice: Drop the Dirty Harry references, sir, or maybe Doctor Ford won’t be the only one we check out. Lots of times, you counterculture types have something old and interesting in the files. Outstanding warrants, possession charges from other states.”

I thought that would make Tomlinson uneasy, but it didn’t. He turned his palms outward, as if amazed. “First the guy threatens you, then he threatens me. Right here in our own private whatcha-call-it, our own private domicile. What’s the use of staying on an exclusive island if it’s not exclusive?”

I was deciding whether to reply or not when Waldman reentered the room. He said, “You folks mind if I speak to Doctor Ford alone? It’ll take just a few minutes. I’m going to try one more time to convince him that he should cooperate. Tell us what really happened, then let us talk to the U.S. marshals, see what we can do about protection.”

Tomlinson was still angry. “There he goes, calling you a liar again.”

Waldman looked at him, no emotion. “A few minutes with Doctor Ford alone. Then I think we’re done here.”

F BI Special Agent Waldman took one of the kitchen chairs, turned it, straddled it, then folded his arms over the backrest, his face very close to mine. He said, “Okay. It’s just you and me now, Ford. Private, no one else listening. Your very last chance. So tell me what the hell happened out there today. At least give me some interesting version of the truth. Just a little something I can work with.”

I shook my head. “Waldman, this is really starting to get tiresome. I collect fish for a living. I operate a tiny, one-man business. I’ve got a three-page catalog. I can send it to you. Want a hundred horseshoe crabs? Or a whelk egg case in preservative? I can collect it and sell it to you. Or brittle stars or octopi or unborn sharks with their veins already injected. That’s what I do. That’s what I’m good at. Not dealing with kidnappers or rescuing women.”

“That’s the way you want to leave it?”

“The truth’s the truth.”

He sighed, looking at me with careful appraisal. “You need to understand that, when you leave this island, whoever you screwed over out there on the water this afternoon may come looking for you. The girls say you knocked the hell out of the one guy. Said they heard a loud popping sound, like you maybe even broke his back. Depending on who it was, how bad he’s hurt, who he’s related to, they’re not going to let something like that slide.

“With the drug cartels, it’s business. A matter of pride. You hurt a member of their family, they’re going to double the hurt on you. With people like the Shining Path, they’re zealots, lunatics. What they enjoy is hacking someone up with a machete as a political statement. Not that you’d be a top priority. If they do check back and ID you, though, you’d be a very easy guy to find. Depends on whether or not you make it under their radar. Personally, I don’t think you ought to risk it.”

With the two of us alone now, Waldman’s manner was less official, his tone more reasonable. There was a time when the FBI hired only CPAs and attorneys, and he had the bookish, librarian look of a man who enjoyed the clarity of numbers, but who also got out and played golf or tennis on weekends. His hands and fingers told me he’d been married to the same woman for many years, didn’t smoke, didn’t do manual labor, was left-handed, and possibly dipped snuff judging from the orange stain on his thumb and middle finger.

Probably a good, dependable man. We might have become friends under different circumstances.

Even so, I wasn’t going to accept his help. Also, I thought it was extremely unlikely that cartel people or an organization like Sendero would waste time and money on an insignificant marine biologist who just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. But I also had to admit to myself that Waldman might be right about one thing. Revenge is a compelling motivator. There was a lot of adrenaline and mass combined when I put my shoulder into the shooter’s spine. If he was badly injured, if he did have the right connections, he or his family might send someone after me to even the score.

It was a possibility.

The more information I had, the better chance I had of anticipating any move against me, so I decided to ask Waldman a few questions of my own, just in case. I said, “Off the record, you mind telling me why you think they targeted the girl?”

“We don’t even know who ‘they’ are yet, Doctor Ford.”

My expression was one of pain and tolerance. “Come on now, Agent Waldman. Wait a minute… know what? After nearly two hours together, we should be on a first-name basis, don’t you think? Call me Doc or call me Ford. Okay?”

He nodded, and waited for a moment before he said, “Sure. You’re Ford and I’m Doug. Just two guys talking, so talk away.”

“Doug, what I don’t understand is, you dropped the shields there for a little bit. Now, the first time I ask you a question, you raise the shields right back again. It’s pretty obvious you’ve been in your business awhile. What’s your title? Special liaison to the U.S. State Department’s Office of Counterterrorism? You must have an opinion. Like you said, it’s just you and me in here. So why not tell me what you think?”

“Are you offering me information in exchange?”

I said, “I think I told you everything, but I might be able to remember a few more details. I’ll try. I really will.”

“Okay. Why not?” His was a careful, formal smile. “I’ll risk it. Lindsey Harrington’s father is one of those behind-the-scenes diplomats, the kind you never hear about but who apparently has a lot to do with steering U.S. policy. He’s got some very powerful connections. I say ‘apparently’ because the moment the Agency got word Harrington’s daughter was almost taken down, the director ordered.. .” He paused, rethinking it. “Let’s just say that certain people in the director’s office made it very clear that this case is a priority. We’ve got people on the island doing the crime scene, standing guard over the girl, all of us reporting back with updates every hour.”