James Smith - The Flock

Irons tented his fingers and stared at Tatum. "We? We didn't feel comfortable having him tailed? Since when did I tell you to have your decisions vouched by anyone else?"

"I didn't want him to become suspicious. No one else, Mr. Irons. I want to see where he's looking for this damned snake so that I can have it taken care of without any outside publicity. No need to call in his animal control contractor when we can just do it ourselves, no one the wiser."

Irons smiled, said nothing.

"What I did find interesting, and a bit disturbing, was the subsequent arrival of Tim Dodd." Even Tatum noticed that Irons winced at the name. "The reporter had obviously been tailing Riggs and followed his route into the forest. I decided not to pursue him, also, to keep from arousing suspicion in either of them. I assumed that the last thing the studio needs at this point is a suspicious reporter creating another exaggerated headline for his paper."

There was still silence from Irons, and no facial expression that Tatum could decipher. He took it for approval and continued with his verbal report.

"After that, the subjects' vehicles sat undisturbed for some hours. Until after nightfall in the case of Riggs."

"Long walk, eh?" Irons fell silent again, his sarcasm thinly masking anger.

"The disturbing aspect of our observations came when Dodd and Riggs each returned, separately. First, we monitored a truck known to be licensed to Winston Grisham, and this truck arrived at Dodd's rental car and deposited him. There was some verbal exchange between Grisham and Dodd, but we couldn't read it from the distance we were recording. They both seemed rather calm, until Grisham left and Dodd proceeded at a relatively high rate of speed back to The Executive where he's booked.

"What is more telling are the images of Dodd coming into the hotel lobby." Tatum stood and opened the manila folder that sat in his own lap. He extricated a grainy photograph and passed it to Irons who glanced down at it for just a second, for he'd viewed it previously. "As you can see, he's quite ragged looking there and in a state of agitation. Our own people, who were right there with him, concluded that he was covered in a number of minor scrapes and scratches, but not seriously injured."

"A violent run-in with our militant neighbor?" Irons asked, referring to the retired colonel.

"I doubt that. If Grisham had wanted to get a point across, violently, I don't think we'd have seen a mark on Dodd. Or Dodd, himself, for that matter. No. I think he just got scraped and cut in the underbrush out there in the woods." Tatum knew Grisham well. In fact, part of his own military career had been spent on the base at which Grisham had ended his long years in the armed forces. He knew the man's reputation as well as any.

"And what did Mr. Dodd do after that? Details, please."

Tatum opened his file again and handed a second photograph to his superior. "This is from his room. The den area, where he set up his laptop. As you can see, he downloaded the images from that digital camera. In subsequent shots we have of him, he seems quite excited over the contents of that camera.

"We don't yet know what he has," Tatum added reluctantly.

Irons frowned. That was an indication of extreme anger, Tatum knew.

"The rest of that night's surveillance is pretty bland. He bathed, he ate, he slept. He made no calls and made no attempt to electronically communicate the files from the camera. We don't know what he has in the way of images."

"That's interesting," Irons said. "I can think of a number of reasons he might be reluctant to have communicated what he has." He didn't elaborate, but seemed pleased, which made Tatum feel a bit more comfortable.

The security chief handed Irons yet another photograph. "And this I personally find even more bothersome." Irons was looking at an image of Ron Riggs standing beside a truck that belonged to that fool, Vance Holcomb. The picture had been taken with a night vision lens. "Riggs obviously met with someone working for Holcomb while he was out there in the forest. And they obviously were, at some time, in the compound over there. Again, we weren't able to eavesdrop very effectively, but the driver was identified at Kate Kwitney, who we know is a longtime employee of Holcomb's."

"I know who she is," Irons said. He eyed the photograph, his poker face as blank as ever.

"Those two did nothing very exciting after the drop. Kwitney drove back to Holcomb's compound, and Riggs returned to his home. We accessed his phone records for all of that day and night, and he made no calls." Tatum placed his own folder on Irons' desk, although he assumed it was largely a duplication of the one he already had. He didn't ask.

"Well." Irons sat and stared, gazing at nothing Tatum could see. "You were right. This is all very disturbing." He smiled his shark's grin. "Some might say we're being paranoid. Eh?" He winked. "But in fact this does not look good to me. Or to you. Am I right?"

"You're right, sir."

"Yes." His eyes ranged around the room as he thought. "The last thing in the world we need just now is for Grisham and Holcomb and some damned government agency combining legal forces to stop our development of Salutations USA." He stood.

"I'd thought we had the government aspect of the thing under control. But as we all know, it only takes one or two of these environmental impact statements to put a halt to any plans any company might have. Believe me. Just getting the first four phases of Salutations underway and seen through were more trouble than I'd care to repeat. And that was under far more friendly circumstances." He sighed.

"Keep an eye on all of these parties," Irons said, touching the files with his fingers spread, like a huge, pink spider.

"It's already done," Tatum said.

"I thought I had this thing in the bag. Currently, we have the fate of about fifteen thousand acres of prime building space, all of the high ground north of Phase Three, awaiting final approval for our purchase and capitalization. God, I have some great plans for that area." He felt his blood rising, as it always did when the ambition began to burn in him.

"So. Keep this bunch under your watchful eye, Tatum."

"Yes sir." Irons was quiet, and Tatum stood, ready to leave. He waited to be dismissed.

"And one last thing."

"Yes?"

"I want to see what Dodd had in that camera of his." He stared at Tatum, his face as flat as a dead calm lake. "Get those images for me."

"I'll do it."

He walked around the desk and extended his hand to Tatum. "I'm sure you'll do it." And he gripped the other man's hand to transfer the confidence he felt in his abilities. "Until later, then."

Quickly, Tatum was out of the room, leaving the building. He had his marching orders and did not even stop to take a last look at Irons' beautiful receptionist.

Ron arrived in Salutations early the next morning. He had hoped that Kate would have phoned him, to possibly arrange a meeting, but she had not. Really, she was a strange woman; about as different from any he had ever considered dating. Perhaps it was that strangeness that attracted him. She certainly was the brainiest woman with whom he'd ever wanted to spend time. Along the way from where he had met her until they'd arrived at Holcomb's compound, there hadn't seemed to be a living thing they'd encountered that she wasn't at least passably familiar with. Strange, perhaps. Amazing, definitely.

Very early that morning, he had made a phone call of his own. Not one he'd been particularly looking forward to, though. Mary Niccols' phone number was on a page of his Rolodex that was getting thumbed quite often. With every call about a problem gator, it was time to call Mary. There were a few other trappers out there, but she was the best of the bunch, and the Department had come to depend on her such that she was their first choice in most situations. Of course, it had come to a point where Mary was hard to reach, sometimes.