Don Pendleton: Toxic Terrain

Then it was her turn to stare into the eyes of the man who’d introduced himself as “Matt Cooper.” When she looked into his icy blue eyes, she felt trust. “At least you weren’t the guy who shot my horse. That’s something, I guess.”

“If it helps, I’ll be as honest as I can about who I am and what I’m doing here,” Bolan said. “You’ve probably figured out that there’s a reason I can’t be more specific. But what I can tell you is that I intend to find out what happened to Rog and Ms. Bowman and hopefully bring them home safely. I have some training and experience in this sort of thing.

“I should also tell you that I know Rog and Bowman were investigating a possible outbreak of BSE,” Bolan continued. “Rog suspected that the prions that cause BSE had in some ways mutated, and that had him worried.”

“So why’d you need me to tell you about that?” Kemp asked.

“You’re not the only one who needs to know who can and can’t be trusted.”

“Do you already know about Ag Con, too?”

“Some. It’s Chinese-owned, but the exact nature of the corporation is a little murky.” He didn’t tell her that Stony Man Farm intelligence indicated Ag Con was controlled by retired officers of the People’s Liberation Army— PLA—and ranking members of the Central Military Commission of the Communist Party of China. Aaron “the Bear” Kurtzman, who headed Stony Man Farm’s team of crack cybersleuths, was helping Bolan on this project. He had become friends with Roger Grevoy and wanted to find out what happened to the man. Kurtzman suspected that some of the Ag Con’s principal owners were part of a secret cabal dedicated to ending China’s drive toward a free-market economy and restoring the country’s former socialist status quo by creating chaos in China’s primary export market: the United States. This was just a suspicion on Kurtzman’s part; since he and his team hadn’t been able to find any substantial evidence about the existence of this cabal. But it was starting to look as though Bolan might have found a solid lead.

Bolan didn’t withhold this because of lack of trust in Kemp—his gut was telling him she was okay, and he tended to take his own advice. He withheld it because at this point it wasn’t solid information but rather innuendo and rumor based on vague suspicion.

“What do you know about me?” Kemp asked.

“You’re thirty-four, you have a doctorate in veterinary medicine from Purdue University, you served six years in the military, where you finished your undergraduate degree and started your doctoral program, you have far too many speeding tickets, and you are the co-owner of Grassy Butte Veterinary Clinic with Ms. Bowman.”

“Anything else?”

“You and Ms. Bowman are lovers.”

“My, you are thorough,” Kemp said. “But not completely up-to-date. We were lovers, not that it’s any of your business. These days Pam and I are just business partners again. She’s got another partner in her personal life.”

“You okay with that?”

“You mean did I kill her in a jealous rage? Who the hell are you again? Wait, I know—Matt Cooper, security consultant. I guess you got me. I busted a cap in both her and Rog’s asses because I couldn’t stand the thought of her with another chick.” She held out her hands. “You might as well cuff me and bring me in.”

Kemp was a tiny woman, maybe five-two in her stockings, tops, but she had an energy that seemed much larger, and Bolan couldn’t help but like the incendiary little brunette. He could see the gold flecks in her green irises start to glow, but she calmed down.

“Sorry if I got a little melodramatic,” she said. “I’m not used to complete strangers regaling me with the sordid details of my love life, especially while I’m standing over the dead body of another stranger who just tried to kill me.”

“About that,” Bolan said. “I suppose we have to call the sheriff. Can we trust him?”

“Jim Buck? Hell, yes, we can trust him—to a point, anyway. I know he’s not working for Ag Con, though he does have to answer to some county commissioners who do. Plus he’s as lazy as they come. He’s not going to be happy with all the paperwork this is going to create.”

“I have to say, you’re taking this dead body thing fairly well.”

Kemp looked down at the corpse. “I put down animals all the time,” she said, “and most of them have never done anything to me. This son of a bitch shot my favorite horse. Please excuse my lack of compassion.”

Watford City, North Dakota

“SHUT THE FUCK UP,” Gordon Gould said to the large man standing in his office. “I’m trying to think.” McKenzie County Sheriff Jim Buck didn’t appreciate being treated in that manner, but Gould, president of the North Dakota Cattle Raisers’ Association—and one of the most powerful men in the state—could make Jim Buck’s life a living hell.

After he’d digested the information Buck had given him, Gould said, “Tell me again what happened.”

“Apparently one of those guys Ag Con brought in from out of state went ape shit and tried to shoot Kristen Kemp and some dude named Cooper up north of Beicegel Creek Road, just east of the Little Missouri River.”

“So how come the guy from Ag Con is dead instead of that woman or her friend?”

“I guess he missed and shot Kemp’s horse,” Buck said.

“So you’re just taking her word for this?” Gould said.

“Her word and the word of Cooper, the guy who was with her.”

“Who the fuck is he?”

“I checked him out. He’s a retired Marine, lists his current occupation as ‘security consultant.’ Seems to have some pull with Justice and his record’s spotless.” As usual, Kurtzman had done an outstanding job setting up Bolan’s cover identity.

“Besides,” Buck said, “all the evidence backs up their story. The Ag Con guy fired four shots into the wooded draw where Kemp and Cooper were riding their horses. He was either poaching and thought the horses were elk, in which case he was even blinder than he was stupid, or the man was trying to kill them, which is what I’d say it looks like he was trying to do.”

“You’re going to write it up as an accident,” Gould said.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Buck asked.

“I said you’re going to write it up as an accident. The man was out poaching, mistook the horses for elk and forced Cooper to return fire.”

“I’ll do no such thing. That’s pure bullshit, and you know it.”

“I also know that I have evidence that Linda’s been stealing meth from the evidence room and selling it to support her casino habit.”

“You’re full of shit.” Linda was Buck’s wife. The sheriff knew she had a gambling problem, but he couldn’t believe she’d sink that low.

“I figured you’d see it that way,” Gould said and pulled a remote control from his desk drawer. A large LCD monitor on the wall beeped and came to life. “In case you get any ideas, I burned these disks from the originals, which are now in the possession of my lawyer. Watch.”

He hit Play and a grainy image of Linda Buck appeared on the screen. The DVD was obviously taken with the security camera in the sheriff department’s evidence room. Buck watched as his wife, who happened to be the legal secretary for the county attorney, walked into the room and removed a package containing at least an ounce of meth. Gould stopped the DVD, and Buck heard the tray in the multidisk DVD player rotate. Gould hit Play again, and once more Linda appeared on screen. This time the camera appeared to be at a low angle in the cab of a pickup truck. The wide-angle lens showed Linda handing the package of meth to a fellow Buck recognized as Gould’s nephew, Jason. In return the nephew handed her a large envelope. Linda pulled a large stack of bills from the envelope and counted them. She was an attractive woman, in spite of her 1970s-era Farrah Fawcett hairdo. When she finished counting the money, Jason said something Buck couldn’t quite make out and then started to unzip his pants. Once he’d exposed himself, Linda moved toward his lap.