Gideon's Corpse

59

Stone Fordyce eased his car down the hideous dirt road toward Blaine’s ranch. He was filled with misgivings. Under any other circumstances, he would have said to hell with it. But these were not normal circumstances. Washington was, perhaps, one day away from being nuked. And the investigation was now totally screwed up, headed in the wrong direction. Millard and Dart had it wrong: Gideon had been most certainly framed. By a Los Alamos insider. And that insider—probably Novak—was somehow involved with the terrorist plot. It was the only conclusion he could draw.

Actually, he’d come to a second conclusion: Gideon hadn’t run away. He was still in the neighborhood, trying to prove his innocence by searching for the guilty party. That was why he’d gone to Los Alamos, at huge risk to himself. And then he’d confronted Lockhart, again at high risk. Gideon was a clever fox, as sly as they came, but even he wouldn’t go to such extreme measures unless he was truly innocent. Somewhere along the way, Gideon had managed to convince Alida Blaine that he was no terrorist—that was the only way to explain her ongoing involvement, her not contacting the authorities.

So where was Gideon? He couldn’t have walked from Los Alamos to the Paiute Creek Ranch, back across the mountains, in such a short space of time. He had no horse. Therefore, he must have used a car.

But whose?

As soon as Fordyce asked the question he knew the answer. Gideon and Alida were being helped. Who would they turn to? It was so obvious he couldn’t believe no one had thought of it. They were being helped by Alida’s father—the writer, Simon Blaine.

From there, it had been a trivial matter to learn that Blaine had a ranch in the Jemez Mountains. And once it was obvious to him, Fordyce realized it would eventually be obvious to Millard, as well. The investigation might be off-base, but Millard wasn’t stupid. Somebody, at some point, would think to raid Blaine’s ranch.

He just hoped to hell it hadn’t already happened.

But as he approached, he saw that everything looked quiet. The ranch buildings were scattered around a large central field, through which ran a burbling creek, with stands of timber hiding various outbuildings, barns, and corrals.

He pulled off the road well short of the ranch, got out his service piece, and exited the car. There were no vehicles, no signs of life. He moved into the trees and approached the main house quietly, stopping every few minutes to listen. Nothing.

Then, when he was about a hundred yards away, he heard the banging of a door and Alida Blaine came striding out, her long blond hair streaming behind her, walking across the yard.

Fordyce stepped out into the sunlight, gun and badge on display. “Miss Blaine? Federal officer. Don’t move.”

But she took one look and broke into a run, heading straight toward the thick forest at the far side of the meadow.

“Stop!” he cried. “FBI!”

She only ran faster. Fordyce took off after her, sprinting at high speed. He was a fast runner, in excellent shape, but she was really flying. He realized that if she got into those trees, she knew the country and might just get away.

“Stop!” He redoubled his speed, sprinting like a madman, and began to close the gap. They entered the trees but he was still gaining, and in a few hundred yards was close enough to launch himself at her and tackle her from behind.

They landed heavily on a bed of pine needles, but she rolled and fought like a mountain lion, screaming and punching, and it took all his ability, and a few high school wrestling moves, to subdue and pin her.

“Jesus Christ, what the hell’s your problem?” he yelled. “You’re damn lucky I didn’t shoot you!”

“You don’t have the balls,” she spat back, her face red, furious, still struggling.

“Will you just calm down and listen?” He could feel blood trickling down his face where she had raked his cheek with her hand. God, she was a wild one. “Look, I know Gideon was framed.”

The struggling stopped. She stared at him.

“That’s right. I know it.”

“Bullshit. You’re the one that tried to arrest him.” But she said this with a little less conviction.

“Whether bullshit or not, I’ve got a gun trained on you, so you’re going to goddamn well listen to me. You got that?”

She was quiet.

“All right.” And Fordyce briefly explained the arc of his reasoning. But in doing so he didn’t mention Novak’s name or go into any details—the last thing he needed was more freelancing on the part of Gideon. Or her.

“So you see,” he said, “I know both of you are innocent. But no one will listen to me, the investigation is completely off-base—and it’s up to us to pursue this line on our own.”

“Let me up,” she said. “I can’t think with you lying on top of me.”

He cautiously let her up. She stood, slapping away the pine needles and dust. “Let’s go into the house,” she said.

“Is Gideon inside?”

“No. He’s not on the ranch.”

He followed her into the house, into a large rustic living room with Navajo rugs on the walls, a bearskin on the floor, and an elk skull over the mantelpiece of a big stone fireplace.

“Want anything?” she asked. “Coffee?”

“Coffee. And a Band-Aid.”

“Coming up.”

The coffee tasted wonderful. He looked at her discreetly as she rummaged for a bandage. This was one hell of a woman. Like Gideon: formidable.

“What do you want?” she asked as she tossed him a Band-Aid box.

“I need to find Gideon. We took on this assignment together and I intend to complete it—with him, partners.”

She thought about this, but only for a moment. “Fair enough. I’m in.”

“No, you’re not in. You have no idea how dangerous this is going to be. We’re professionals—you’re not. You’d be a serious hindrance and a danger to us both—not to mention yourself.”

A long silence.

“Well,” she finally said, “I guess I can accept that. You and Gideon can use the ranch as your base.”

“Can’t do that, either. This ranch is likely to be raided—not today, maybe, but soon. It’s just a matter of time. You’ve got to get the hell out of here. And I’ve got to find Gideon. Now.”

More silence. She was thinking it through, and he was pretty confident she’d understand what she had to do.

Finally, she nodded. “Okay. Gideon’s taken the Jeep and he’s headed up to the Paiute Creek Ranch to confront Willis. Because sure as hell, he and his weirdo cult are behind this.”

Fordyce managed to cover up his surprise. Gideon had already confronted Willis—the day before.

“He went up to Paiute Creek…this morning?”

“Right. Left at dawn.”

So Gideon was lying to her, too. What the hell was the man really up to? He was on the track of someone, Fordyce was sure of that—and he had some reason for not sharing the information with her.

“All right,” he said. “Give me the plate number and a description of the vehicle, and I’ll take it from there.”

She gave him the info, while he wrote it down.

He rose. “Miss Blaine? May I offer you some advice?”

“Sure.”

“You need to go to ground. Now. Because it’s as I said: sooner rather than later, they’re going to raid this ranch—and with the mentality of this investigation, you might not survive it. Understand? Until we find out who’s really behind this, your life is not safe.”

She nodded.

“All right,” he said. “Thanks for your cooperation. I’m outta here.”