He weighs my proposition in silence. Then he says, “There’s no evidence suggesting Brody Royal was ever a Double Eagle. How can I justify including him in the surveillance?”
“You said you’re operating under the Patriot Act. Don’t I count as a reliable informant? I just told you the son of a bitch was the real power behind the Double Eagles during the sixties. That’s probable cause, if you really need it. From what I understand, you guys have been playing pretty fast and loose with National Security Letters.”
The FBI agent’s face hardens.
“Come on, John. Just put the Big Ears on those two bastards. The end will justify the means, I guarantee it.”
Kaiser is a tough sell. “What are you really up to, Mayor? Are you trying to use the FBI to prove your father’s innocence?”
“If I’m right, that’ll be a by-product of your surveillance. But everything I told you is true. If you really want to bring peace to the families of all those dead boys, then turn the NSA loose on Royal and his attack dog.”
Kaiser takes a deep breath, then sighs. “What are you going to do while I do that?”
“Poke a stick in the rattlesnake hole. Just like you.”
“Why does that scare me?”
“It shouldn’t, if you’re being honest about your motives. I’ve told you mine. If my dad has really jumped bail, he could be killed at any moment by an overzealous cop. I’ve got to move fast to help him.”
Kaiser blows out a rush of air like a man getting ready to make a high dive. “If I found your father first, I could protect him as a federal witness.”
A tingle runs down my back.
“If you tell me who owns that silver van,” he adds, “I could find him pretty quick.”
Walt Garrity’s name is pushing its way up my throat, but I force it back down. I can’t afford to trust Kaiser until he proves himself. After a moment’s hesitation, I shake my head. “I’ll see what I can find out. Meanwhile, will you promise me one thing? If your people locate my dad, will you call me before anyone else? Especially the state police?”
Kaiser’s sudden squint tells me my last question hit a nerve, but he doesn’t offer any explanation. “So long as you warn me before you do anything that might disrupt my investigation. I’m no fan of local politicos who use their power to settle personal scores.”
“Thanks, John.”
The FBI agent stands and offers me his hand. “Let’s go get the girls.”
I shake his hand, and we start back toward the FBI vehicles. Before we’ve taken ten steps, a rush of anticipation floods through me. Thanks to Kaiser’s link to the NSA, my plan to shake the tree in the Royal camp is back on.
“How soon can you be monitoring Royal and Regan?” I ask.
“One phone call. I’ll make it now, if you like.”
“Please.”
He takes out his cell phone and speed-dials a number. I need to find Randall Regan, fast. As we trudge through the mud beside the disappearing Jericho Hole, Kaiser begins talking, and the rhythmic pounding of the colossal pumps reverberates through the earth like a great beating heart.
CHAPTER 66
TWENTY MINUTES AFTER Forrest Knox and Alphonse Ozan left the Yacht Club, a Eurocopter AS350 from the state police Air Support Unit set down at Lakefront Airport and took the CIB chief and his adjutant into its belly. Then the chopper lifted off and stormed up the Mississippi River with Forrest sitting in the left seat and Alphonse Ozan behind him. Knox and Ozan were linked by a special interphone circuit that could exclude the pilot at the touch of a button, and Forrest had made liberal use of this convenience on the way up. Ozan had already learned that a “silver RV-style van” had been seen near Sonny Thornfield’s fishing camp last night, shortly before Trooper Dunn requested a position trace on Sonny’s cell phone.
The Roadtrek van was almost certainly the 2005 Anniversary Edition registered to one Walter Garrity, a retired Texas Ranger and former combat medic who’d served in the same unit as Tom Cage during the Korean War. According to state police records, two months ago Garrity had assisted Penn Cage in his battle to break up a gambling and dogfighting operation in Adams County and Concordia Parish. Garrity’s name had appeared in several LSP reports at the time, and Forrest figured Colonel Mackiever—himself a former Ranger—probably knew Garrity, even if they weren’t personal friends. While some men in Forrest’s position might consider this possible connection a problem, Forrest was elated. If a friend of his boss had helped someone jump bail and killed a state trooper, that was bound to offer some unique opportunities.
“Excuse me, Colonel,” said the pilot, breaking into Forrest’s circuit. “I think I see the cruiser.”
Forrest followed the line of the levee with his eyes until he saw what the pilot did. Two SUVs with light bars were parked fifty yards from the borrow pit, while a white state police car with its trunk open stood much nearer to the water.
“Who the hell told the locals about this?” Forrest snapped.
“Some fisherman probably drove up on the scene,” said Ozan. “Hell, it’s their parish.”
“They’d better keep that crime scene pristine!”
“Set her down between those sheriff’s cars and our cruiser,” Forrest ordered the pilot.
“Yes, sir. I think I see the body. Between the cruiser and the water.”
Sure enough, a man in a blue uniform lay sprawled across some muddy sand near a patch of weeds. From eight hundred feet, he looked like a G.I. Joe doll cast aside by a bored little boy. But he wasn’t. He was Deke Dunn.
“Take us in, Sergeant. Double quick.”
“Yes, sir. Hold on.”