He walked to the car with his breath fogging the air, the stars brilliant against the blackness, and then he fell back on family tradition on his first night in Cooke City: he slept in the car and waited for the saloon to open.
40
Eli took Garland Webb down the mountain beneath a blanket of spectacular stars, but his ability to find comfort in the spectral illumination was ruined by the clatter of the ATV engine and the harshness of the headlight.
And the news of Markus Novak’s presence in Montana.
At the base of the slope, where the stream cut through the valley and nothing could be seen of Wardenclyffe, he shut off the ghastly machine and stepped into the shallow remnants of the spring’s last snow.
“Everything is rushed now,” he said. “Because of you. You know she spoke the truth. She came here with Novak. Who knows how many will follow?”
Maintaining control and order of violent men was difficult, and Garland Webb was exhibit A-a critical player who had nearly been lost because he could not keep himself out of trouble. Garland was both a mechanical genius and a sexual predator. Eli needed the former, had no use for the latter. The problem was that you couldn’t separate the two.
“You taunted him,” Eli said. “That is why he came to Cassadaga, and from Cassadaga he got to Homeland Security somehow, and from there to here. Because of your taunt.”
“He tried to have me killed. You would have done nothing, said nothing?”
“Not until greater goals had been achieved. Absolutely not.”
Garland didn’t respond. The sound of the stream was all that could be heard. In the moonlight, it was a quicksilver ribbon.
“You passed the test in Coleman,” Eli said. “That was already done. You’d succeeded, but success was not enough for you.”
The test in Coleman had been vital indeed. Eli had instructed Garland to take full ownership of the murder of Lauren Novak, to claim it to his cell mate as an attempted sex crime, a random victim. Eli wanted to bring police attention to Garland and see if that would result in the utterance of Eli’s name, mention of Wardenclyffe, any of it. That much Garland understood. What he had not known was that Eli had another listener in the prison, and an execution planned if Garland didn’t follow through.
But Garland had obeyed. He’d confessed to the killing-a low-risk confession, cell-block boasting, immediately denied to police-and Eli watched from afar and waited to see if Garland would implicate him. He did not. Instead, he drew the focus of authorities, and also Markus Novak. Eli had been satisfied with this, and so he allowed Garland to live and came to realize that he was perhaps more useful in prison, where he couldn’t make any more mistakes, than on the outside.
Eli had not counted on his release.
“I followed your instruction,” Garland said. “Every bit of it. I could have let her leave town. She might never have returned.”
“With the questions she asked? She was going to return.”
Garland shrugged, uncaring. Eli knew that Garland felt little interest in the fate of Lauren Novak. He hadn’t when given the order, and he didn’t now.
“You’ll have to miss the council now,” Eli said. “The timeline has changed.”
Garland nodded.
“The traps are your responsibility,” Eli said. “Activate the ones already installed. We have no time for the others.”
He took out the keys to Scott Shields’s pickup truck, which was parked at the far end of the forest road.
“When they’re active, wait in the third warehouse until I’ve given you the word.”
“All right.”
“You might have visitors.”
Garland tilted his head. “Who?”
“Novak.”
“How will you arrange that?”
“There’s only one link between him and this place,” Eli said. “That’s his uncle. If he chooses to take that route, I know where it will lead him, and I’ll see that he is redirected. Right to you. You’ll need to be ready.”
Garland spun the keys on his massive index finger, a glittering whirl in the moonlight.
“I’ve been ready for Markus Novak for a long time,” he said.
41
It was just past dawn when a fist hammered on the window of the Tahoe and Mark jerked upright. A man in a short-sleeved Hawaiian shirt was peering in at him. He had a mug of coffee in his hand, steam rising off it. There was a glaze of frost on the windshield and over the hood. Mark opened the door and climbed out stiffly. The man in the Hawaiian shirt sipped his coffee and regarded him without much interest.
“Well, that’s good, at least,” he said.
“Huh?” Mark tried to stretch his neck, without much success.
“You’re not dead. Sleeping drunks out front are the easy kind of trouble. Dead guys out front are a different thing. That would have been a ballbuster this early.”
“Sorry,” Mark said. “Came in late last night and didn’t have a place to stay.”
“I’d love to pretend that I give a shit, but I’m an honest man, so I can’t. You’re not going to be sleeping out front all day, okay? Bad for business. Now, if you were dead…that would have sold some drinks, actually. Huh. Maybe I miscalculated. Maybe it would have been better if you were dead.”
It was cold enough that Mark was shivering, and this man was wearing shorts and sandals to complement the Hawaiian shirt. Springtime in Cooke City.
“I’ll get out of your hair real fast if you can point me in the right direction,” Mark said.
The man in the Hawaiian shirt lifted his hand and pointed down 212 toward Silver Gate. “That way. The other way, the road is closed. Those are the only directions we’ve got. Pretty damn simple.”
He was headed for the door of the saloon when Mark said, “I’m looking for Larry Novak.”
The man turned back, looked the Tahoe over, and nodded as if something made sense to him that hadn’t before.
“Never heard of him.”
“I’m not serving any papers.”
“Oh. Well, in that case, I’ve never heard of him.”
“You own a place in this town that pours whiskey. You’ve heard of him.”
He drank his coffee and stared at Mark in silence.
“He’s family,” Mark said. “It’s a family issue, and it’s damn important.”
That was so interesting to the man that he almost raised an eyebrow. Almost.
“Listen,” Mark said, “I’m Larry Novak’s nephew. I came all the way up from Florida to find him. I know damn well he’s passed through here at some point in the past few months. If he’s gone now, you can save yourself some trouble and say so. If you want some dollars for your help, that’s fine. But I need to find-”
“I’m not taking any dollars to narc somebody out, bubba.”
“You aren’t narcing, you’re helping him.” Mark took out his wallet.
“I just said I’m not taking any money to-”
“I’m not giving you any.” He handed over his driver’s license. The man didn’t take it, but he read the name, and there was a little light in his eyes. He looked up over the steam from the coffee.
“Markus.”
“Yeah.”
He rubbed his jaw and didn’t say anything for a minute. He was staring up at Mount Republic when he said, “Tell me your dog’s name.”
“What?”
“You had a dog that got left here. Most people called him Town Dog. Larry didn’t. What would he have called him?”
“Amigo.” The dog had been Mark’s best friend for a short time. Then his mother got arrested and the dog was left behind in Cooke City. Mark swung at the cop that day, not because he was arresting his mother, but because he’d said that Child Protective Services wouldn’t let Mark bring Amigo with him. When Mark met with the social workers, his only questions were about the legal recourses available to get Amigo back.