Jill sat in Brand’s canvas chair, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Someone had built up the fire, and she was staring into it. Her hair had dried some, yet it was still matted to her head. Her eyes were swollen from the crying she had done. I sat next to her and held her hand. I had been holding it for nearly two hours. I just didn’t want to let her go.
The volunteer fire department had come and gone. There hadn’t been much for them to do except wet the ground and extinguish all the embers they found. After the barrels had exploded, the fire burned off all the aviation fuel. A few trees had gone up with it, yet not as many as you’d think before the fire died out on its own.
The Mexicans were on their way to the Cities along with their weapons. The serial numbers of the guns proved that they belonged to a batch the ATF had lost in Operation Fast and Furious. There were only four of them, and Bullert seemed disappointed until his people searched the Mexicans’ seaplane. Apparently they had enough ordnance on board to arm the entire population of Orr. The seaplane was licensed to an address near Thunder Bay, Ontario. Bullert conveyed that happy bit of news over the phone to his people in Washington, D.C. It was a pleasant conversation. When he finished he smiled broadly and announced he was going to Canada in the morning.
“Good for you,” I said.
Meanwhile, his people searched the pontoon boat. They found the money all safe and sound, but not the bomb.
“Where is it?” Bullert asked. The woman I knew as Carolyn Rooney stood next to him. “We searched the pontoon from one end to the other.”
“Where’s what?” I asked.
“The bomb?”
“What bomb?”
“You’re telling me there was no bomb?”
“Nice bluff,” Rooney said. “Very nice.”
“Half a bluff,” I said. “There is a second bomb, it’s just not on the boat.”
“Where is it?” Bullert asked again.
“There’s a shed near Lake Cody that’s used by Deputies Eugene James and Allen Williams. Inside, you’ll find an IED made with half a block of C-4 that you should be able to trace to our Mexican friends. When you apply for the search warrant you can tell the judge you’re acting on personal observations by a credible confidential informant who has provided reliable information to the government in the past.”
“Is that true?” Rooney asked.
“Does it matter? Oh, and if you look carefully, you’ll find evidence of other crimes as well.”
Bullert was smiling. “I have to tell you, McKenzie, this isn’t the way I imagined things would go, but damn”—he patted my shoulder—“great job.”
“We were lucky. Lucky that you understood what I meant when I told Daniel to strap on his sneakers.”
“Sneakers?” Jill asked.
“We placed a GPS transmitter in the sneakers David Skarda was wearing when he escaped custody,” Bullert said. “That’s how we were able to track his movements, how we were able to track McKenzie once he put them on. It told us where he was going. I’m sorry it took so long to get into position.”
“McKenzie,” Jill said. “Is that your real name?”
“Yes,” I said.
“You’re an informant, a spy for the ATF?”
“Yes.”
“Helping Dave, that was a lie, then.”
“Yes.”
“All the time acting like you were our friend, that was a lie, too. It’s all been a lie.”
“Not all.”
She stared at the fire some more. I released her hand—I thought she would want me to—yet she continued to hold mine.
“We need to get you home,” I said. “Everyone must be worried sick.”
“I’ll get you a car,” Bullert said. He walked off. Rooney followed him.
“McKenzie?” Jill asked.
“Yes, sweetie?”
“When he … when the man said to give him the phone or he would … he would kill me—were you going to give him the phone, give it to him even though he said he was going to kill you? If the police didn’t come, would you have given him the phone?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
A moment later, Bullert reappeared.
“I have a car,” he said. “Carolyn will drive. She’ll take you wherever you want to go.”
“Thank you,” I said.
When I rose from my chair, Jillian rose from hers. The blanket slipped from her shoulders, revealing her damp nightgown. She released my hand to pull it back around her. When she finished, she extended her hand to me. I took it gladly. She smiled. It was bright and warm, and I thought that after everything I’d done to her and her family for Jill to give me that smile—it was like the first time I went to confession at St. Mark’s Catholic Church when I was a kid. I felt saved.
We turned to walk toward the car. I stopped when I saw a shadow emerge from the forest near the mouth of the road.
“Who’s that?” I spoke loud enough that the agents were spooked; hands flew to the butts of handguns.
“It’s me,” the shadow replied.