“Ya stupid wanker,” Kilmer yelled as Jarrod entered the room. “ What have ya done now?”
“Hey, man, I’ve been saying all along you’re in over your head,” Jarrod grinned evilly. “Have you an inkling now about what I’ve been trying to say? Hell…if my cousin can find your dumb ass, how far behind do you think the police are? You really are screwed, Mr. Leader,” Jarrod said, choosing his words carefully, aware that Ryan and Sarah would be hanging on each one.
“How’d they find us? I want answers and I want ‘em now. Who else knows? No bullshit…or yer Sheila ends up lookin’ like a bush pig,” Kilmer threatened, absolutely furious.
“Well…because you’re so persuasive, I’ll tell you, Chief,” Jarrod glibly answered. “Every time I used my computer, which you allowed, you dumb bastard, I sent Sarah a clue. First, the bus driver gave me Louisville-remember our little demonstration in the bus?” he asked impudently. Kilmer glanced over at Ventura, who blanched and hung his head.
“Then you marched us into this house right past the silo outside blazoned with the Wildcat logo. Elementary, Watson, ” he said smugly.
Processing Jarrod’s explanation and realizing he’d been duped caused Kilmer to grow even angrier. His every movement became exaggerated; his jaw was taut, his eyes narrowed, and he looked on the verge of a nervous breakdown. “ Who…else…knows?” he asked in a slow and measured way, through teeth tightly clamped together.
Jarrod gave an almost imperceptible wink that only Ryan and Sarah could distinguish. “No one else knows,” he shrugged, making it seem obvious.
“Come on, man…think…pull your head out your ass. If the police knew our location, wouldn’t they already be here? My cousin’s on the lam, for chrissake…you saw to that,” he said, using parts of Kilmer’s plan to corroborate their story.
“When Jer was abducted,” Jarrod continued, “we made a decision to find him without involving the police. I was their only contact. It just so happens that you led them here when you kidnapped me. This is your doing, Chief…simple as that,” Jarrod said with a smirk. He was proud of his own adaptive brilliance, spinning a yarn on the fly that was both plausible and misleading.
“So help me, Professor…yer on my last nerve. If this is more bull dust I’ll personally blow yer arse away,” Kilmer threatened.
“By the way, ya might fancy knowin’ that yer partner sold ya out. It was Penburton put me on to ya. He conjured the plan to hit yer lab and finger Marshall,” he said nodding his head toward Ryan. “He even gave us Coscarelli. He’s got ya up shit creek.”
“Frankly, that doesn’t surprise me in the least. Our association started to sour when that agent from DOD insisted on monitoring my research. Niles is soft. I knew he was going behind my back. He’ll get what’s coming to him,” Jarrod replied, with little reaction to the news of his partner’s betrayal.
“Well, then maybe ya’ll fancy knowin’ that Farley blew up his car yesterday. He’s history.”
Kilmer could see from the look on Jarrod’s face that he had finally landed a blow. There was no mistaking that the surly professor was stunned by the news of his disloyal partner’s untimely death.
“By jingos, Professor, what’s wrong? Yer not lookin’ so swank now,” Kilmer said, enjoying his newfound leverage. “Here’s somethin’ else to ponder. Farley’ll be guardin’ yer rellies this evenin’. If anythin’s jaked and I don’t contact ‘im on time…he’ll cap every last one and git-off doin’ it.”
Kilmer’s statement quieted the room with utter finality; everyone on both sides seemed taken aback. Struffeneger stood abruptly and walked out of the room, taking the news especially hard. Mills also seemed nonplussed but remained quiet as a mouse, preferring not to draw any attention.
“Farley, git these yahoos out o’ my sight,” Kilmer ordered. “They’re yer worry now.”
“You heard the man, get your asses up,” Farley growled, pointing his gun at Ryan and Sarah.
With Ventura’s help, Farley moved the hostages to the back bedrooms of the house. They would be kept isolated until the team departed. Thereafter he planned to round them together in the great room to better facilitate guarding them alone. Farley was the only one that wasn’t surprised by Kilmer’s announcement about eliminating the hostages. He could hardly wait to have them to himself.
Time was running out and the strain of carrying out Holloway’s plan was beginning to show. The unanticipated arrival of the Marshalls had shaken Kilmer’s confidence. He couldn’t allow himself to believe that Conrad was actually telling the truth, but he had to acknowledge that his explanation made perfect sense. If the police knew about the Wildcat location, surely they wouldn’t let the Marshalls show up alone. Though he hated to admit the facts, he had no alternative but to accept Conrad’s explanation for how they’d been found. There was no other alternative but to stay the course and carry out the mission.
He thought briefly of calling Holloway but quickly dismissed the notion. He would only want the mission to start on schedule. There was nothing to gain in calling him but more insults.
Kilmer sat back down at the table to continue his review of the Fort Knox plan. It was almost noon, less than fifteen hours until he was to commence the biggest operation of his life. Never had he felt so unprepared; never had he experienced such misgivings. It did not bode well for the outcome.
SIXTY
Wildcat Catfish Farm
13:00 hours
Agent Jason Henry and Lieutenant David Morris arrived at the Louisville airport but did not immediately leave for Wildcat Fish Farm. Instead, Henry decided it best to wait for Emerson Palmer’s arrival; he had important information to discuss before they set out. In all the years he’d worked for the DOD there had never been a time when something this extraordinary was authorized. As he waited, Morris secured a rental car for the drive to Wildcat Farm.
Henry sat impatiently at the luggage claim for Palmer’s plane to arrive. To pass the time, he fell into one of his old habits: people-watching. A choice place to engage this pastime was in shopping malls, although amusement parks were also a target-rich environment. He enjoyed choosing a particular physical characteristic and counting the number of cases he could recognize, bemused by the seemingly infinite number of variations the human body could derive from forty-eight chromosomes. Tallying redheads was his favorite- a true redhead was a rarity and was easily distinguished from dyed red hair because it was actually orange. He wondered about the environmental significance of orange hair and what possible evolutionary advantage this genetic anomaly imparted. Fascinating, he mused. Today he focused on the escalator moving hundreds of people through the airport and waited, cutting through the boredom.
Henry’s daydreaming was interrupted by Palmer’s call signaling his arrival. After providing Palmer with his location at the Southwest luggage carousal, Henry informed Morris of the need for a brief confidential discussion with Palmer before leaving the airport.
Even though he hadn’t seen Palmer in several years, it wasn’t hard to recognize him as he approached the top of the escalator. He was still the compact, squared-away agent he’d always been, even though nothing much stood out about the man. The woman that accompanied him, however, stood out like a lighthouse beacon on a seaside cliff. Heads turned when she walked by, and he could tell from Palmer’s lively step that he relished having her by his side.
“Jason, ol’ buddy…holy hell it’s good to see you, man,” Emerson said, giving him a big bear hug. “Look at you…damn, you’ve aged, sport,” he added, eyeing him up and down with his hands on Henry’s shoulders.
“I can’t say you look much better, Emerson,” Henry rejoined. “Jesus, where’d you get all those wrinkles? I’ve seen better-looking Sharpeis,” he said with a chuckle.