“I never heard of that.”
“It was specifically invented for situations like this, and for people like you.”
“Really? That’s neat.”
She explained, “You want to be inside the Custer Hill lodge before anyone knows we’re even going there. And by the time Tom Walsh reads my message, we are, hopefully, resolving some issues there. Correct?”
“Right.”
“And, we’ll be heroes.”
“Right.”
“Or dead.”
“Now, don’t be thinking negative thoughts.”
“Do you want to turn around now?”
I looked out the windshield. “Why? Did I miss my turn?”
“John, do you think this might be a good time for you to come to your senses?”
“No, this is not a good time for that. Did you come along to bug me, or help me?”
“To help you. But if you drive to the state police headquarters, I’d think you were very smart.”
“No, you’d think I was a chicken-livered, yellow-bellied, ball-less wimp.”
“No one would ever call you that. But sometimes, like now, discretion is the better part of valor.”
“Some wimp made up that expression. Look, I’m not stupid. But this is personal, Kate. This has to do with Harry. Plus, there’s a time element here.” I explained, “The ELF station is, or will be, up and running, and I don’t know if anyone in law enforcement could get on the Custer Hill property faster than we, who have been invited.”
“That may or may not be true.”
“What is true is that I want a piece of that sonofabitch before anyone else gets to him.”
“I know that. But are you willing to risk a possible nuclear incident to satisfy your personal vendetta?”
“Hey, you sent that e-mail on a delay.”
She pointed out, “I can call Major Schaeffer and Liam Griffith right now.”
“We’re going to do that right before we get to Custer Hill. For now, we need to get there without interference.”
She didn’t reply to that but instead asked me, “Do you think Madox is going to send that ELF signal tonight?”
“I don’t know. But we have to assume that our invitation to dinner has something to do with his timeline.” I suggested, “Turn on the radio and see if we hear a breaking news story about nuclear blasts somewhere. If we do, I can slow down and not worry about being late for dinner.”
She switched on the radio, but nothing happened. “It doesn’t work.”
“Maybe the ELF waves knocked out AM and FM. Try the ELF channel.”
“Not funny.”
I was on Route 56 now, heading toward South Colton, and I took the Hyundai keys out of my pocket and put them in her hand. I said, “I’m stopping at Rudy’s gas station, and you’re taking the Hyundai and driving to state police headquarters.”
She opened the window and tossed out the keys.
“That’s going to cost me fifty bucks.”
“All right, John, we’ll be there in about twenty minutes. Let’s take this opportunity to discuss what to expect, and what we need to say, and do. Plus, we should discuss some contingency plans, and what our objective is in going there.”
“You mean a game plan?”
“Yes, a game plan.”
“Okay. Well, I thought we’d play it by ear.”
“I don’t think so.”
“All right… well, first, don’t allow a metal scan. And certainly not a frisk.”
“Goes without saying.”
“I mean, I doubt he’d try that, unless all pretense of us being dinner guests is dropped.”
“And if that happens?” Kate inquired.
“Well, if they ask for our guns, then we’ll show them our guns and our shields.”
“What if there are ten of them with rifles?”
“Then, we go into our Federal agent mode and tell them they’re all under arrest. And let’s not forget to mention to Madox that the entire B Troop barracks of the New York state police knows where we are. That’s our ace in the hole.”
“I know that. But actually, no one yet knows where we’re going. And what if Madox doesn’t care who knows where we are? What if Hank Schaeffer is in the kitchen cooking, and the sheriff is making drinks? What if-?”
“Don’t make Madox ten feet tall. He’s smart, rich, powerful, and ruthless. But he’s not Superman, sweetheart.” I added, “I am Superman.”
“All right, Superman, what else do we need to think about to keep ourselves alive and healthy?”
I advised her, “Don’t ask for a frozen daiquiri or anything that can be drugged. Drink what he’s drinking. Same with the food. Be careful. Remember the Borgias.”
“You remember the Borgias. I swear, John, you’d eat chili and hot dogs even if you knew they were poisoned.”
“What a way to go.” I continued my briefing. “Okay, our demeanor. This is a social occasion, mixed with the unpleasant business of a Federal investigation. So, act accordingly.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning, just the right combination of being polite, but firm.” I continued, “Madox likes his scotch. Try to gauge his sobriety. If he’s not drinking much, take that as a sign of trouble.”
“I understand.”
We discussed a few more fine points of etiquette that might not be addressed by Emily Post.
When we finished with etiquette class, Kate returned to survival school. “Tell me about the BearBangers.”
“Hey, these are neat.” I gave her one and told her how to load it and fire it, and went over its possible use as a weapon of last resort if we were relieved of our hardware. I said, “It might pass a frisk since it looks like a penlight. But you might want to stick it in your crotch.”
“Okay. Can I tell you where to stick yours?”
“This is serious.”
We went through some possible scenarios, some contingencies, and some Plan Bs.
I said to her, “My original plan-which I still like-was to bust in there, through some point in the fence, and take out one or two of the antenna poles, and/or take out the generators.”
She didn’t respond to that.
I continued, “That’s a very direct solution to the ELF problem. That is the weak link in Madox’s plan to detonate these suitcase bombs. Right?”
“What if there are no suitcase bombs? What if that’s not an ELF station?”
“So, we apologize for the damage and offer to pay for the poles and generators.”
I let that sit there awhile as we drove, but Kate wasn’t talking, so I pulled out my map of the Custer Hill property and put it on her lap.
She looked at it. “Where did you get this?”
“Harry gave it to me.”
“You took this from the morgue?”
“It wasn’t inventoried-”
“You took evidence?”
“Cut the FBI crap. I borrowed it. It’s done all the time.” I tapped the map on her lap, and said, “There’s an old logging road there on the east side of the property which runs right up to the fence, then beyond. Okay, we take that road, crash through the fence, then about a hundred yards later, we intersect with this perimeter road that connects all the poles. See it?”
She wasn’t looking at the map, but at me.
I continued, “So, we run along that road, line up a pole with the front of the van, and hit it. Okay? The pole goes down, the wires snap, and the ELF station is off the air. What do you think?”
“Well, aside from this being insane, I don’t think this van would knock one of those poles from the bedrock.”
“Sure it will. That’s why I borrowed it.”
“John, I grew up in rural Minnesota. I’ve seen vans and even pickup trucks hit utility poles, and the pole usually wins.”
“Yeah? Hard to believe.”
“And even if the pole cracks, the wires usually hold, and the pole hangs there.”
“No kidding? I should have spoken to you before I got myself excited about this.”
“And if the wires do snap, and hit this van, we’ll be toast.”