TWO STOCKY MEN DRESSED IN GREEN PANTS, gray shirts, and campaign hats walked through the AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY door and approached Emerson and Riley.
Riley glanced at their hands and saw that both men had the crossed sabers tattoo. She was sure Emerson saw it as well.
“I’m Bob Smith,” one of the men said. “My partner is Jim Jones. If you’ll come with us we’ll take you to the deputy chief.”
Bob had a large ragged scar that ran from the corner of his mouth to his left ear. Riley thought he was the better looking of the two.
Bob led the way down a narrow corridor and motioned Riley and Emerson into an office at the very end. A tall man with a gaunt face and a sinewy body was standing in front of a desk. He was wearing a park ranger uniform and he had the requisite tattoo. The nameplate on the desk identified him as Francis Scully, deputy chief ranger. Tin Man was standing next to him.
“What a pleasant surprise,” Emerson said to Tin Man. “Did you bring your hatchet?”
The tall man stepped forward and smiled at Emerson and Riley. Friendly. “I need to ask you some questions. Would that be okay?”
Emerson smiled back. “Oscar Wilde said it’s never the question that’s indiscreet, only the answers.”
Scully dropped the smile. “Just so. Let’s just say that we’re all going to be able to part as friends so long as there aren’t any indiscreet answers.”
“And if there are?” Emerson asked.
Scully gestured to Tin Man. “Then I leave the room, and he asks the questions.”
Riley raised her hand. “Um. Yeah. I’m kind of against this plan. Discretion’s not really his thing.”
Emerson nodded in agreement. “That’s true. This is a lot of pressure. Could I possibly be allowed just one indiscreet answer?”
Scully shook his head. “I’m afraid not. It’s a matter of national security. I’m sure you understand. Why are you so interested in finding Joshua and Emma Bulfinch?”
“I’m not,” Emerson said. “At this point, I’m presuming they’re dead.”
Scully smiled. “A very good response.”
Emerson gave Riley the thumbs-up and mouthed “Nailed it” before turning back to Scully. “I’m much more interested in why you purposefully misdirected the search to the Gallatin wilderness, all the way on the other side of the park from where they disappeared.”
Riley smacked her forehead.
“The only plausible answer is that you did not want a search party poking around Sour Creek Dome,” Emerson said.
“It’s a bear management area,” Scully said. “It’s filled with grizzlies.”
“It’s also the area where the volcano bubbling underneath the park is most active.”
“Another reason why it’s a restricted area.”
“How convenient,” Emerson said.
Tin Man leaned forward. “Still peddling your crazy conspiracy theory that people are being murdered at national parks?”
“Not all national parks,” Emerson said. “Just the ones built over mantle plume volcanoes, like Yellowstone.”
“One final question,” Scully said. “If you’re no longer interested in the missing hikers, what do you want?”
“I want to know who or what you’re hiding at Sour Creek Dome.”
“That is a horribly indiscreet answer,” Scully said. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to turn the whole matter over to my associate. Final requests?”
“I’d like an explanation,” Emerson said.
Scully went silent for a beat before nodding agreement. “It’s a secret that the U.S. government has gone to great lengths to protect. The National Park Service was created over a century ago. The public mission was conservation of America’s most beautiful, unique lands, but that was a smoke screen.”
“For what?” Riley asked.
“To hide a secret within millions of acres of wilderness, protected in perpetuity from development or private ownership. Originally, back in the nineteenth century, the U.S. Army was put in charge of Yellowstone, but it was only a temporary solution. A military installation the size of a small country would have aroused too much attention. So, the idea of hiding it in plain sight under the guise of a national park was formed.”
Riley looked at Emerson. “A needle hidden in a million-acre haystack.”
“An apt analogy,” Scully said. “In 1903, President Theodore Roosevelt secretly authorized the creation of an elite network of rangers responsible for protecting the ‘needle,’ at any cost.”
“Rough Riders,” Emerson said.
Scully again nodded in agreement. “The army has its Green Berets. The navy has its SEALs. I suppose you could say the National Park Service has its Rough Riders.”
Riley cut her eyes to Emerson. “You’re gloating again, aren’t you?”
“Big time,” Emerson said.
Riley turned her attention back to Scully. “Why haven’t I ever heard about these Rough Riders?”
“Their very existence is highly classified. There are whispers, of course, but even 99.9 percent of the people working for the Park Service have no idea who we are or what we do. Tin Man will take it from here. I think we can all take comfort in the fact that your deaths are going to be for the greater good.”
Scully left the office, and Tin Man pulled a hatchet from a holster under his jacket. “Does this answer your question?” he asked Emerson.
“You probably buy them in bulk and get them at wholesale,” Emerson said. “Personally, I think the whole Tin Man hatchet routine is a little clichéd.”
“It serves my purpose,” Tin Man said.
Bob and Jim stepped into the office.
Tin Man gestured at Emerson and Riley with his hatchet. “Truss them up and let’s move them out.”
THIRTEEN
RILEY STRAINED TO ADJUST HER SITTING position so that the zip ties binding her wrists together would be just a little less uncomfortable. They had been sitting in a small cell in the back of the Yellowstone jail for almost four hours.
“Well this is a fine mess you’ve gotten us into,” Riley said to Emerson.
“It’s not over until it’s over,” Emerson said.
The door to the cell opened, and Vernon and Wayan Bagus were shoved in, hands tied behind their backs. The door closed and locked behind them.
Vernon grinned. “Well, I sure am happy to see you two. Although I can’t say I’m impressed with the facilities here. They got all the basics but none of the amenities you’d find in one of your higher class jails.”
Wayan Bagus reached into his robe and pulled out an assortment of bath soaps, shower gels, and little bottles of Listerine he’d borrowed from the Old Faithful Inn.
“I would be happy to share these with you,” Wayan Bagus said to Vernon. “Except for the Listerine, these complimentary products make your hands smell like flowers.”
Riley looked at Wayan Bagus. The zip ties that had been binding his wrists were lying on the floor.
“How did you get out of those?” she asked.
Wayan Bagus shrugged. “A wise man, recognizing that the world is an illusion, does not act as if it is real, and so he escapes suffering.”
The door to the cell opened again, and Bob walked in. “Everyone out. We’re going for a ride.”
Jim was in the hall with his service weapon drawn. Lights in the hall were dim. The building was silent. As far as Riley could see they were the only detainees.
Outside the jail, it was dark except for an idling Chevy Tahoe’s headlights. Emerson, Riley, Vernon, and Wayan Bagus were herded into the SUV. Bob and Tin Man were in the front, separated from the back by a police partition cage.
Emerson leaned forward. “Where are we going?”
“Not far,” Tin Man said. “We’re tending to your bucket list. You wanted to see some of the park’s restricted areas.”
Fifteen minutes later, Bob pulled off the main highway onto a smaller one-lane dirt access road. Tin Man got out and unlocked a gate, marked by a sign that read NO TRESPASSING.
Past the gate, the road was heavily rutted and the Tahoe crept along for a couple more miles before coming to a stop. Tin Man and Bob got out of the SUV and opened the rear door.