Strong Cold Dead (Caitlin Strong, #8)(80)

“Then we’re getting somewhere.”

Cray Rawls straightened his shoulders and crossed his legs. “What do I have to do to make this right, Mr. Masters?”

“Ever hear of Homeland Security?”

“Is that a joke?”

“Answer the question.”

“Okay,” Rawls relented, shaking his head. “I’ve heard of Homeland Security.”

“Right now, you’re talking to me,” Cort Wesley picked up. “You don’t tell me what I want to know, I let the colonel there take over. He works for Homeland. Isn’t that right, Colonel?”

Paz nodded, once.

Rawls uncrossed his legs and leaned forward in his chair. “Wait a minute. What am I missing here? What’s Homeland Security’s interest in all this?”

“You talk to me, Cray, maybe you never need to find out. Let’s say that Indian reservation now involves a big, fat national security issue. You keep playing coy here and you might find yourself a resident of Guantanamo with all your assets frozen.”

This prospect didn’t seem to faze Rawls at all. “I’m not some sand jockey who tried to blow up a plane with his underwear. And I just beat a major class action beef back East.”

“Where they let you have lawyers. No such luck when dealing with Homeland, right, Colonel?”

Paz nodded again. Once.

Rawls flashed a smirk that looked only partially forced. “You really think I’m buying this shit? You think a man like me can disappear, no questions asked?”

Cort Wesley took a few steps closer to him, glaring down. “For sure. But you can spare yourself the bother of all that by just telling me what it is you’re after on that Comanche land.”

Rawls swallowed hard, his eyes flashing like the tiny lights on a computer modem. “You in a position to offer some guarantees, Mr. Masters?”

“Like what?”

“What I’m after on that reservation stays mine.”

“How about this?” Cort Wesley spoke down at him. “You get to keep your freedom.”

“You got this all wrong, cowboy.”

“What’d you call me?”

“Hey, you’re from Texas. It was meant as a compliment.”

“Sure it was.” Cort Wesley crouched just enough to be even with Cray Rawls. “Let’s try some simple yes-or-no questions. Is there oil on that land?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“So you’re after something else.”

“I’m telling you, you’re way off on this, cowboy.”

“Let’s go back to yes or no. Are you after something else?”

“Yes.”

“On that reservation?”

“Yes.”

Cort Wesley stood back up. “Essay question now. Describe for me what it is, exactly.”

“Not a weapon.”

“I didn’t ask you to say what it isn’t.”

“It can’t hurt anyone, only help. And I mean help on a level truly beyond your comprehension.”

Cort Wesley turned toward Paz. “You want to have a go at him, Colonel?”

“No, wait!” Rawls pleaded, hands thrust before him, bulging eyes fixed on Guillermo Paz. “It’s about how long those Indians have lived through the generations, the contents of their medical records.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Potentially the greatest medical find in history.”

“What else?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

“Depends,” Cort Wesley said, crouching down again, an instant before he heard a ping, followed by something whizzing through the air over him.

The same instant that Sam Bob Jackson’s head exploded.





77

SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS

“You’re looking good, Ranger,” Royal Canadian Mounted Police officer Pierre Beauchamp greeted Caitlin, upstairs in Captain Tepper’s office where he’d been waiting for her.

“I wasn’t the one who got shot on the last case we worked together, Mountie,” Caitlin returned, taking his outstretched hand.

Beauchamp shrugged humbly. “All worked out for the better. Thanks to us taking down those Hells Angels, I ended up reassigned to a Joint Terrorism Task Force dealing primarily with border issues.”

“Big shot now, eh?” Caitlin asked him, doing her best to mimic a Canadian accent.

“You’ve been doing pretty well for yourself, too, from what I hear.”

“If you count being a pain in just about everybody’s ass, I suppose.”

“You take down the Hells Angels, you can take down just about anyone.”

“They’re nothing compared to what we’re facing now.”

“ISIS, from what I’ve heard.”

“You’ve heard right. And my guess is your coming all the way down here is connected to them. Something my captain said you’re only willing to share with me, I’m figuring’s, got nothing at all to do with border issues. That because of our history, Mountie?”

“More on account of the fact that I know you’ll believe what I’ve got to say, Ranger.”

Beauchamp laid it all out as quickly and succinctly as he could; he was a no-nonsense man, good at making his points. Except for a touch of gray at the temples, he looked exactly as Caitlin remembered him: straitlaced and by the book, from his demeanor to his dress to the way he held himself. His pants were perfectly pressed and his shirt showed nary a wrinkle, to the point that Caitlin figured he must have changed after getting off the plane. He had a boy’s plump, rosy cheeks but a gunman’s steely-eyed stare that could look both ways and straight ahead at the same time.