“That’ll be all, Ken,” Ruger said. “You did a good job.”
“Thank you, sir,” Willis said, and left the office.
“Are you pleased, Pat?” Ruger asked.
“I certainly am,” Casey replied. “He did as he was asked to do, and I’m particularly pleased that he wouldn’t give Willis the briefcase until he’d called me.”
“Yes, I agree that was kind of a bonus. Shows he’s both a thinker and that he’s of a cautious nature.”
“I think Jesse Barron is quality material,” Casey said.
“What is Jack Gene’s take on him?”
“You know Jack Gene; he relies more on intuition than judgment.”
“And what did his intuition tell him?”
“That Jesse is covering up something.”
Ruger chuckled. “Who isn’t? Did you pick up anything like that on the polygraph?”
“Not really.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, I got the impression that he lied about a couple of things there was no need to lie about. He could have been planting a lie or two to cover a real lie.”
Ruger frowned. “If he actually did that, then we have something to worry about.”
“I know. Nobody of Jesse’s background — his stated background — is going to know anything about defeating a polygraph.”
“Pat, if you were Jesse and you were a fed, how would you have played the New York delivery?”
“I’d have tried to find out what was in the briefcase,” Casey replied. “But there’s no indication that he tried, and there’s no indication that he even contacted anybody before he delivered the case.”
“But if you were a cop trying to gain our confidence, might you just do as you were told?”
Casey shook his head. “Maybe, but I think the briefcase would be too much of a temptation.”
Ruger took a magnifying glass from a desk drawer and began examining the case closely. Casey joined him, switching on the desk lamp. “You see any sign of attempted entry?”
“Nope, not a thing.”
“Could they have X-rayed it?”
“The lead foil lining would have obscured the contents, and the combination has to be reset after the case has been opened twice. If they’d cracked it, you wouldn’t have been able to open it with the same combination.”
“What do you think our recommendation to Jack Gene should be?”
“Well, Jesse has had as much or more scrutiny as anybody else who’s joined us, and he’s passed with flying colors so far. Still, as long as Jack Gene has doubts, I don’t think we want to go the whole hog.”
“I agree. What should we do then?”
“I’ve already done it.” He explained his action to Ruger. “All we have to do is wait.”
Chapter 32
Jesse had been back from New York a week when Pat Casey called and invited him to do some shooting on a Saturday morning. Jesse wasn’t sure what Casey meant by shooting, but he accepted.
Casey picked him up mid-morning and drove toward the mountain. They passed the church and started to climb and, near the top of the mountain, shortly after passing Coldwater’s house, they turned right onto a dirt road. They emerged from the trees into a clearing that had, apparently, been scraped into the side of the mountain by a bulldozer. To Jesse’s left, some one hundred feet away, was the exposed side of the mountain, with many pockmarks and a rail system for transporting targets to and fro. They got out of the squad car, and Casey went to the trunk.
“You done much shooting in your time?” Casey asked.
“A good bit.”
“What with?”
“I’ve owned a twelve-gauge shotgun for birds and a thirty-ought-six for deer.”
“Handguns?”
“Somebody gave me a World War Two-vintage forty-five automatic once. I could never hit anything with it.”
Casey was rummaging in the trunk. “A formidable weapon at close range, but a pig otherwise. The newer stuff is a lot easier to handle. Give me a hand, will you? Grab that ammunition box.” Casey walked away from the car with a cased rifle under his arm and a canvas hold-all in the other hand.
Jesse picked up the ammunition box, and it was a lot heavier than he’d expected. As he closed the trunk lid a Mercedes sedan drove into the clearing, and Jack Gene Coldwater got out.
“Good morning, Pastor,” Jesse said.
“Good morning, Jesse; glad you could join us.”
“I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Shooting is a hobby of mine.” Coldwater took a large bag that looked as though it might hold skis from the backseat of his car.
Casey removed an assault rifle from his gun case. “Come over here, Jesse, and try this.”
Jesse accepted the weapon and looked it over as if he’d never seen one.
“It’s an AR-fifteen that’s been converted to an M-sixteen,” Casey said. “Only takes a few legally obtained parts and it becomes fully automatic.” He showed Jesse how to operate the weapon, then attached a paper target to a metal rack and pulled a rope until the target was against the bank a hundred feet away. “Try a few rounds.”
Jesse brought the rifle up and fired carelessly in the direction of the target. He was expert in this, but he certainly didn’t want to appear so. Holes appeared in the top right-hand quadrant of the target.
“You’re pulling the trigger,” Casey said. “Do it more slowly and squeeze.”
Jesse fired more rounds and brought them closer to the center of the target.
“Looking good,” Casey said.
Coldwater stepped up to the firing line, shoved a clip into his own rifle and emptied it quickly. The bull’s-eye became one large hole.
“That’s very fine shooting,” Jesse said.
“My country taught me well,” Coldwater replied. “A little practice, and you’ll do well, too.”
“Try the prone position,” Casey said, spreading a blanket. He helped Jesse arrange his body into the proper position.
Jesse fired more carefully prone, then moved into a sitting position, then into a kneeling position. With each clip his accuracy improved.
“I believe you’re a natural, Jesse,” Coldwater said. “Draw a finer bead; you’re still a little high.”
Jesse followed instructions, and his target no longer had a center.
“Let’s try a handgun,” Casey said, removing a pistol from his hold-all. “This is a Heckler and Koch nine-millimeter automatic.” He instructed Jesse on loading and firing, then stepped back.
Jesse turned his shoulder toward the target and fired a round. It went high and wide of the target. “Not so good,” he said. “I haven’t had much experience with handguns.”
“Turn your body square to the target,” Casey said, “and support your shooting hand with your left. Again, squeeze off your rounds.”
Jesse obeyed, and his shots began to hit the target, although erratically. He concentrated on seeming to concentrate, but he didn’t allow himself to improve much.
Coldwater stepped up. “Watch me,” he said. He assumed a firing position and emptied a clip into his target. Again, the bull’s-eye disappeared.
“You look a lot more relaxed than I do,” Jesse said.
“That’s right. You were much too tense.”
Jesse rolled his head around and shook his arms to loosen up. “Keep both eyes open this time,” Coldwater said. “Don’t draw a bead, just point where your eyes fall on the target.”
Jesse squeezed off a round and clipped a corner of the bull’s-eye.
“Much better. Now use up the clip, but do it slowly, one at a time.”
Jesse kept firing, and put everything near, but not in, the bull’s-eye.
“A little off, but a nice grouping,” Casey said, taking Jesse’s pistol and reloading it.
“If your target had been a man, he’d be very dead,” Coldwater said. He shoved a new clip into the pistol and handed it to Jesse.