Nelson Demille - Wild fire

“The late Dr. Putyov.”

Kate nodded.

I asked, rhetorically, “Where the hell did Madox get these nukes?” Then I answered my own question. “I guess they’re for sale from our new friends in Russia-which is why Madox hired a Russian. Shit, I couldn’t even find a good Swedish mechanic to fix my old Volvo, and fucking Madox has a Russian nuclear physicist to tune up his atomic bombs.” I added, “It’s all about money.”

“Money and madness are not a good combination.”

“Good point. Okay… so, I guess four cities someplace are in trouble in a few days… or a few hours-Islamic cities. Right?”

“Right. What else makes sense?”

I thought about who might be in Madox’s crosshairs. But the potential targets were too numerous to count. And it depended to some extent on if those nukes were being transported by air or sea or some combination of air, sea, and land. I wouldn’t put it past this guy to nuke Mecca or Medina, but maybe this was purely a business deal, and he’d picked oil-shipment points in countries that had pissed him off. Bottom line-what difference did it make?

Kate said, “Well, I think I did everything I could, and Doug is going to do everything he can.”

“Yeah…” I glanced at my watch. “This will give the LA field office something to do before their evening aerobics classes.”

“John-”

“But on the subject of who knows what, and when-Washington does know something about this. It’s just that they forgot to tell us about it.”

No comment from FBI Special Agent Mayfield.

“That’s the only way Harry’s assignment makes any sense.” I continued, “The Justice Department and therefore the FBI in Washington know what Madox is up to. Right?”

“I don’t know. But, as I told you, this was something a lot bigger than you realized when you started sticking your nose into a Justice Department investigation.”

“I think we both understand that.” I said to Kate, “Here are two conspiracy theories for you: one, the government knows what’s going on at Custer Hill, and Harry was the sacrificial lamb sent to give the FBI an excuse to bust down Madox’s doors and arrest him. But here’s a better one-the government knows what’s going on at Custer Hill, and Harry was the sacrificial lamb sent to get Madox and his friends off their asses so that they’d pull the trigger on those nukes.”

Kate shook her head. “That is insane.”

“Yeah? Do you see FBI SWAT teams descending on the Custer Hill Club?”

“No… but… they may be waiting for the right time-”

“If that’s true, they may have waited a little too long.” I reminded her, “Harry was at Custer Hill Saturday morning. Madox’s meeting with his friends was Saturday and Sunday. Putyov showed up on Sunday morning to tune up the nukes. Madox’s aircraft landed on the West Coast Sunday night. Monday was probably the day the nukes were making their way to Sandland. Today is Tuesday, and Potsdam Diesel is finished tuning up the generators.” I concluded, “Sometime tonight or tomorrow is detonation day.”

Kate didn’t reply.

“And Madox is not acting alone. It was not a coincidence that his weekend guests included two, possibly three, and maybe more high-ranking men in the government. Hell, for all we know, the directors of the FBI and the CIA are in on this.” I added, “Maybe it goes higher than that.”

She thought for a few seconds, then said, “Okay… but does it matter at this point who else may be involved with Madox, or who knows about this? The point is, if this is what it seems to be, then I’ve done the right thing by calling the FBI field office in LA-”

“I assume you didn’t tell your friend about Madox, ELF, or where you were calling from, or-”

“No… because… I wanted to speak to you first. What if I’m wrong about all of this? I mean, if you think about it, there could be another explanation for everything-”

“Kate, you’re not wrong. We are not wrong. Harry was not wrong. It’s all very clear. Madox, nuke, ELF. Plus, Putyov.”

“I know. I know. Okay, so now we have to contact Tom Walsh and have him officially notify FBI Headquarters as to the source of this information, meaning me… and you, and what we’re basing this-”

“Right.” I looked at my watch again and saw it was 6:10 P.M. “You do that. Meanwhile, I have a dinner date.”

She stood and said, “No. There’s no reason to go there.”

“Sweetheart, Madox is tuning up his ELF transmitter, awaiting some sort of message that his four suitcase nukes are where they’re supposed to be. Then, an ELF wave will be making its way slowly across the continent, and the Pacific Ocean-or the other way across the Atlantic-until it’s picked up by the ELF receivers in those four suitcases.” I added, “Millions of people will die, and a radioactive cloud will blow across the planet. The least I can do is try to stop this at its source.”

She thought about that, then said, “I’m going with you.”

“No, you’re going to call out the cavalry and get them to the Custer Hill Club-without a fucking search warrant or probable cause or any of that crap-by telling them truthfully that a Federal agent is on the property and is in danger.”

“No-”

“Call Walsh, call Schaeffer, call the local sheriff if you have to, and call Liam Griffith and tell him where he can find John Corey. But give me a thirty-minute head start.”

She didn’t reply.

I went to the kitchen table and got my act together by loading my two Glock magazines with 9mm rounds and clipping the two BearBanger launchers in my shirt pocket alongside my pen, and finally putting on my new socks, which didn’t seem so important any longer. Also, I couldn’t think of a use for the air horn, but I took it anyway, in case Rudy’s van horn didn’t work.

While I was doing this, Kate was banging away at the laptop, and I asked her, “What are you doing?”

“I’m sending an e-mail to Tom Walsh, telling him to contact Doug in LA, and revealing that I was the source of the information.”

“Don’t send it until you hear from me.” I added, “I hope Walsh is checking his e-mail tonight.”

“He usually does.”

On that subject, the FBI still has only internal, “secured” e-mail, so, as unbelievable as it sounds, Kate could not e-mail Walsh’s FBI account, and couldn’t reach or copy anyone in the office, such as the after-hours duty agent. Therefore, she was e-mailing to Walsh’s personal account, hoping he checked it regularly. And this is a year after 9/11.

I said to her, “Okay, I’ll call you on my cell phone when I get close to the Custer Hill Club.”

“Hold on. Okay, I sent it to a service. Delayed send for seven P.M.” She unplugged the laptop, placed it on the kitchen table, then put on her suede jacket. “Who’s driving?”

“Since I’m the only one going, I guess I’ll drive.”

She put the box of.40-caliber ammo in her purse along with the two magazines, then picked up the laptop and walked to the door. I held her arm and asked her, “Where do you think you’re going?”

She reminded me, “You said Madox specifically asked for me, darling. You wanted me to go. So, I’m going.”

I informed her, “The situation has changed.”

“It certainly has. I’ve done all I can here.” She pointed out, “You put me through two days of shit to get where we are-now, I want to be in on the action. And you’re wasting time.” She pulled away from me, opened the door, and walked outside. I followed her.

It was dark now and cold. As we walked to the van, I said to Kate, “I appreciate your concern for me, but-”