The Flock Part 7

"And how have you administered this espionage, concerning Riggs?" Irons' perfect, manicured fingers lightly caressed the manila folder on the desktop. Tatum knew the files he'd sent had been printed out and were enclosed, and that Irons had read them all.

"A combination of visual contact, and video surveillance. The discreet placement of cameras only allowed limited access to Riggs' movements. He was inspecting an area that's part of Phase Three. We don't have that part of Salutations as well monitored, and I didn't feel comfortable having him tailed this early on. Riggs ended up going far deeper into the forest around the village than we had thought, so we only reported on his actions around the substation where he parked his vehicle."

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?" 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 d.a.m.ned 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." didn't want him to become suspicious. No one else, Mr. Irons. I want to see where he's looking for this d.a.m.ned 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 a.s.sumed 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 pa.s.sed 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 sc.r.a.pes 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 on Dodd. Or Dodd, himself, for that matter. No. I think he just got sc.r.a.ped 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. Dodd. Or Dodd, himself, for that matter. No. I think he just got sc.r.a.ped 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 a.s.sumed 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 d.a.m.ned 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 circ.u.mstances." 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 s.p.a.ce, all of the high ground north of Phase Three, awaiting final approval for our purchase and capitalization. G.o.d, I have some great great plans for that area." He felt his blood rising, as it always did when the ambition began to burn in him. 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.

Chapter Sixteen.

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 pa.s.sably 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.

And there was the problem of their relationship. For a time, they had sparked; they'd had something going for a while. But Ron had put a stop to it. She'd been too persistent about things in general, and about his ancestry in particular. Mary was near full blood Seminole, could even speak a bit of Miccosukee, and she had begun to pressure Ron into "returning to his roots." And that was when Ron had put an end to their budding romance. He told her, and he told himself, that it was that, only that, and not Mary's profession, not her lack of formal education, and not her dark features and fear of his bloodlines that had made him back away.

As their relationship had grown from a playful friendship to a physical love affair, Ron had felt an ugly discomfort rising in his mind. How would he present Mary to his family? His mother had always been so happy that Ron's Indian heritage was so buried in the Caucasian features he'd inherited from his father's side. Indeed, his mother, who was half-Seminole, looked no less Anglo than most of the other women in the neighborhoods where Ron had been raised. He had thought of the expression on his mom's face if he brought Mary home to meet her. He thought of the dark children they would likely produce. Was he some kind of racist? Better not to deal with that issue. Better to end the relationship and never face that particular beast.

And so he had broken it off with her, never telling her and never fully explaining himself. How could he have told her? He wanted to sweep the times with her away, and not be reminded of the shadows that waited in his own thoughts. But due to her reputation as the best trapper on his supervisor's list, Ron was forced to call her more often than he felt comfortable doing.

Ron returned to his spot at the substation. Mary's battered, green truck was already there and she was sitting in it, the driver's side door opened. Niccols was at ease, her legs dangling, boots beating a soft rhythm to some tune that played only in Niccols' head. The lady had a tendency to fidget when she wasn't out hunting; it was just another thing about her that bothered Ron, or something else that he could consider a flaw. He parked his own truck behind the trapper's and climbed out. She came up to meet him, the sun glowing on her. When he was honest with himself, he had to admit that she was a true beauty. Her hair was long and very dark-she wore it over her left shoulder-not quite raven black, but nearly so. The Native American features that were so buried in him were quite evident on her face; prominent cheekbones accented a pair of long-lashed blue eyes that betrayed her own Anglo heritage. She was smiling, flashing those straight, perfect teeth.

"How are you, Mary?" He winced as Niccols gripped his hand, her slim but hard fingers squeezing with powerful ease. There was no bravado in the greeting, but the woman had a natural strength that was hard to control. Ron also felt a familiar jolt of physical excitement when their fingers meshed. But he sublimated that feeling, as he'd taught himself to do.

"Doing fine, Ron," she said, smiling, her sun-darkened face friendly. She would be happy to rekindle their romance, had even told Ron in just those words. But she hadn't been uncomfortably persistent about it. "So. What's this about a snake? Boa? Python? What are we talking here?" She stood no more than five foot five, built lithely, a powerful torso above strong legs, but still very feminine in a muscular way. She was wearing faded jeans and a sleeveless cotton shirt that showed off the physical power of her upper body. He tried his best not to think of her as attractive.

"Well, to tell you the truth, Mary...I'm not sure. I'm not even sure there is is a snake. There have been four dogs that have vanished without a sound and without a trace in the past couple weeks or so." a snake. There have been four dogs that have vanished without a sound and without a trace in the past couple weeks or so."

"Nothing, eh?"

"Nada. Not a peep. Not a drop of blood. Not a blade of gra.s.s out of place."

"Cool." Niccols smiled. "I like a challenge."

"This is the part of Salutations where most of the pets vanished. Well, not counting a couple of cats, this is where they've all disappeared. Phase Three, you know."

"Dogs, huh?" She didn't need to mention alligators. Mary knew them as well as anyone, and she knew that if there had been sign of the big reptiles, then Ron would have said something. She had nailed the previous two problem gators in Salutations.

"Yes. Two were small. Maybe twenty pounds. But the other two were big animals. One was an Airedale. I can't imagine any animal making off with something the size of an Airedale without some commotion."

"Unless it was a snake." Mary smiled again, showing her perfect teeth. "I ever tell you about that python I caught over in Frostproof?"

"Frostproof? h.e.l.l, no. That's not that far from here. How'd you miss telling me about that that one?" one?"

"Yeah. Retired doctor had a place on Lake Reedy. Some neighborhood pets had vanished, and the racc.o.o.ns he was feeding weren't coming around to the slop trough anymore. He told me he and his wife had enjoyed sitting on the deck and watching them come up to eat the sc.r.a.ps every night. I warned him about rabid c.o.o.ns, but he ignored me, of course.

"Anyway, they also had a terrier which they would keep locked up in the bedroom at night when the c.o.o.ns came around. But in the day the dog had the run of the yard. Well, they'd noticed that the c.o.o.ns had stopped showing. They started leaving all kinds of food for them, but none of them showed up. And they'd noticed that the numbers had been getting thin for a while, less each week. Finally, none of the c.o.o.ns were showing up for supper. He and his wife figured they'd just gone off into the swamps, or something.

"Then, one day they let the terrier out in the yard. This was about a month after the c.o.o.ns had stopped coming around. He said his wife let the dog out, and it started barking at something. But it barked all the time. At anything. So they didn't pay it much mind. But all of the sudden, right in the middle of a barking fit, it stopped. Just shut up. It stopped so sudden-like that they went out to see what was going on." Mary chuckled, a little bit of trapper humor.

"What'd they see?" Ron asked, smiling at Mary's morbidly amused expression.

"What they saw saw was about fifteen foot of python wrapped around their dog. By the time they got out there, the dog was already dead, squeezed about as big around as my wrist. The doc's lady started screaming while that snake unhinged its jaws and made a big snack out of Bowser. After that, it crawled under their house where it had been denning for a few months, apparently, since it had been enjoying a steady supply of baited c.o.o.n. When the c.o.o.ns were either all eaten or spooked off, the only thing around for it to eat was that dog." The trapper shook her head in disbelief. "d.a.m.n, people are stupid." was about fifteen foot of python wrapped around their dog. By the time they got out there, the dog was already dead, squeezed about as big around as my wrist. The doc's lady started screaming while that snake unhinged its jaws and made a big snack out of Bowser. After that, it crawled under their house where it had been denning for a few months, apparently, since it had been enjoying a steady supply of baited c.o.o.n. When the c.o.o.ns were either all eaten or spooked off, the only thing around for it to eat was that dog." The trapper shook her head in disbelief. "d.a.m.n, people are stupid."

"Mary! Don't talk about the public that way," Ron chided. "Heck. If it weren't for all of those stupid people, you wouldn't have this career you've got going."

"Yeah, you're right. G.o.d bless the stupid b.u.t.theads." Mary looked around, taking in the whole of the artificial township that was visible to her. "So. Where do you think this snake might be? Think he's denned up somewhere around?"

Ron turned back to his truck, waving his arm for Mary to follow. "Come over here," he said. "I'll show you this map and maybe you can make some a.s.sumptions."

Niccols waited while Ron reached into the truck and produced the map. It was a studio layout, blue line in great detail, which showed each lot and parcel, even naming each individual owner and the size of properties, right down to the inch. Mary looked at the map, quickly picking out the places Ron had highlighted. She pointed with a brown finger at the lot marked #1 #1.

"First dog disappeared from here, hey?" She squinted, reading the lines scribbled down in yellow fluorescent ink. "Big dog, too. Biggest of the lot." Mary could see that Ron had written the animal's weight: 60 pounds. Then she pointed again, her index finger etched a bit with dirt and oil. "And the next dog was just a week later? No way. No way does a snake, any any snake do something like that." She looked at Ron who was still gazing at the map. "I mean, even if it was a twenty footer, it couldn't digest sixty pounds of dog meat that fast and come back for twenty more pounds. Hunh-uh. No way." snake do something like that." She looked at Ron who was still gazing at the map. "I mean, even if it was a twenty footer, it couldn't digest sixty pounds of dog meat that fast and come back for twenty more pounds. Hunh-uh. No way."

Ron sighed, ran his hands through his sweat-damp hair. "Yeah. I know, I know. But there's the way it happens. Each owner tells me the same story. Place is real quiet. Happens in the late afternoons, while the sun is still up. Not night, yet. The dogs have never barked or shown alarm, and then...poof...they're gone. No tracks. No blood. Nothing."

Mary shrugged. "Hey. Look. I could use the money, hunting for a big snake. Catching it. But this doesn't look like a snake."

"What then?" Ron was folding his Berg Brothers map, carefully bending it the right way.

"Well, h.e.l.l. I think somebody's taking them."

The paper ruffled in the still air. Ron stopped. "What?"

"Somebody's taking them. Stealing them. Dognaping, they call it."

"Well, I thought of that." He resumed folding the map. "I thought of it, too. But I don't think that's what it is. I'd think of them running away before dognaping would occur to me."

Mary reached out and took the map from Ron. "Give me that thing. You got the names of the folk with missing critters?"

"Yeah, sure," he said, reaching into his shirt pocket for the small notebook he carried there. "Got 'em all right here." Ron began to tear the names and addresses out of the spiral-ringed book. "I've got them at home, and on some paperwork in the glove compartment. You keep these."

Mary closed her fist around the three little squares of paper, Ron's black ink scribblings showing boldly. "Let's talk to some of these people. See what we can figure out. h.e.l.l. Maybe there's more than one snake. Maybe there are two."

"Or three," Ron added.

The two of them saw a flash of a shadow in the trees and looked up to see an osprey glide past at treetop level.

"You know," Mary muttered. "There could be a freaking army army of giant snakes in that wilderness." She indicated the green forest beyond them with a wave of her muscular right arm. "There's no of giant snakes in that wilderness." She indicated the green forest beyond them with a wave of her muscular right arm. "There's no telling telling what's in there." what's in there."

"No telling," Ron agreed.

"Good idea to take your truck."

"Huh? Why is that?" Ron looked over at Mary, who was sitting low in the seat, peering at the corner of the mirror on the pa.s.senger side of the truck.

"Well, if I had been driving instead of admiring the neighborhood, I think I might have missed the fact that we're being tailed."

Ron glanced in his rearview mirror. "Tailed? Who the h.e.l.l..." He slowed down a bit, almost to a crawl to get a look at the car that was about a block behind them.

"Recognize it? It's a 1999 Buick Grand Regal. Royal blue metal flake paint, with a V-8, loaded. Rental, I'd say. Know who it might be?"

Riggs crossed the next intersection and continued to steal an occasional glance back at the car. The windows were tinted and he couldn't make out the driver. "No. I've never seen it. If it's a rental, it could be anyone. How do you know it's following us, anyway?"

"Believe me. He's following us. Not a very good tail, if you ask me. I've been followed by some guys who were good at it."

"You were?"

"Yeah. Once, back when I was still married, my husband thought I was steppin' out on him and he hired a private detective to follow me. I only found out when he felt guilty about it and told me. He finally coughed up the file he'd built. Pictures and everything. Just added fuel to my desire to divorce him."

"You never told me about that," Ron said, a squint in his eyes that betrayed his surprise.

"Well, as you should recall, you didn't like for me to mention my short-lived marriage when we were dating. It made you jealous."

Ron could think of nothing to say to that.

"Anyway," Mary continued. "I never even knew he was there. That guy was good. This guy," Mary pointed back with her thumb, "ain't worth a darn at it."

"Well, we're going to be pulling over in about five seconds to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Brill who owned that Airedale. If the guy is following us, he'll have to either stop or pa.s.s us. Maybe we'll see who it is." Ron squinted, rubbed the sweat off of his brow. "I'll bet it's one of those Salutations security officers."

"I dunno," Mary said. "Why would they be tailing us? Who else wants to know about us?" Mary wiped at her forehead, too. "And tell me something else, Mr. Fish and Wildlife."

"Yeah? What?"