Blood Trail (19 page)

Brewer continued, “On his website, Moore stokes the fires of the extreme animal-rights movement. He makes no bones about the fact that he finds hunting abhorrent and hunters demented. He advocates interfering with hunters in the field, and sabotaging hunting seasons across the country and the world. He’s clever in how he does it, though, always couching his advocacy in phrases like ‘We’re not asking you to break the law, but . . .’ or ‘We don’t advocate violence or criminality in any shape or form, but . . .’ types of caveats. Obviously, he’s been advised by lawyers so that his words are clear but he covers himself so he can’t be held accountable for what happens.

“The most interesting thing we found on his website is called ‘The Forum,’” Brewer continued, opening the file and pulling out a thick stack of printouts. “It’s where his followers can post messages and have discussions. Sometimes, Mr. Moore joins in. And in doing so, he is often not as careful about his words and meaning as he is in his more formal statements on the website.

“For example, there was a post three weeks ago from a person who calls himself Wolverine. Rather than read it, I’ll let you,” Brewer said, handing copies to Joe and Pope.

Joe glanced at the pages, recognized the comment format of a blog.

 
 
 
 
BREWER SAID, “This exchange took place two weeks prior to John Garrett’s death near Lander. Obviously, Klamath came to his senses at the end there and tried to cover his enthusiasm for the concept. And by the next day, the entire thread had been pulled from the Forum page. Luckily, my tech guys had somehow automatically archived it during the night so we have it. Did you note the reference to gambling? Gamblers use poker chips.”

Joe was suddenly wide awake, his mind spinning.

“Obviously,” Brewer said, “we don’t have enough to make any charges or even a serious accusation at this point. But when we saw this we wanted to trace the IP address of Wolverine and see if we could find him. That was beyond our expertise, so we turned to our brothers in law enforcement who are proficient in this kind of thing,” he said, gesturing to Portenson, who was now smoldering.

“I’ll take it from here,” Rulon said, “since it is now three-twenty-five and my friends in the press are clamoring to take a chunk out of me just outside the door.”

The governor pushed his face across the desk as if it were a balled fist, aiming it at Portenson. As he spoke, his voice didn’t rise so much as get harder-edged, until he was biting off his words and spitting them out, flecking the top of his desk and Brewer’s file with moisture.

“So my DCI takes the information to the FBI just down the street, where we get absolutely stonewalled. In the meantime, another innocent man, Frank Urman, gets butchered, which leads to three more deaths last night in a clusterfuck and a severed head mounted on a wall. Finally, we get our entire congressional delegation on the same line this morning and pressure is applied by them on Homeland Security to such a degree that Mr. Portenson and his pals
have
to talk to us. And when they do, we find out they’ve been monitoring Mr. Klamath Moore and his followers for months because they’re considered to be potential domestic terrorists, and they even have a man on the inside! And while we won’t accuse the FBI of being an accessory to murder since they didn’t know all we knew—”

“Oh, come on!”
Portenson shouted. “We were doing our jobs! We couldn’t blow our undercover investigation for an office that leaks like a sieve!”

“We can say to the press out there,” Rulon continued, “without equivocation, that if the FBI had cooperated with us when we first asked for cooperation we might not be here today.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Portenson seethed. “We had no idea this Wolverine person was going to start killing people—and we still don’t know it was him. We have no idea who Wolverine is. We don’t even know if he’s in this country. The IP address he used was from one of those Internet kiosks in the Atlanta airport, so we can’t trace him. You’re speculating and trying to point the finger at us.”

Rulon nodded his agreement.

“Who do you have on the inside?” Joe asked Portenson.

“Oh,” the agent replied, deflated, “some guy. I can’t give you his name. But we asked him a couple of weeks ago to see if he could figure out who Wolverine is. He’s working on it, but he doesn’t know yet.”

“We need his name,” Joe said. “I need to talk with him.”

“Not a chance,” Portenson said. “We’re in the middle of breaking this thing. This is what we do now—domestic counterterrorism. We can’t blow his cover and put him in danger.”

“A name,” Joe said, thinking of the promise he’d made to Nancy Hersig.

“Stella,” Rulon said calmly, “please go tell the press I’ll be out in a moment with a very big announcement.”

Stella nodded dutifully and stood up.

Rulon said, “Let them know we’ve learned that Special Agent Tony Portenson of the FBI withheld information that resulted in the deaths of six people and the shutdown of state and federal lands across Wyoming.”

“You can’t do that!” Portenson shouted. “You’re out of your mind!”

Rulon arched his eyebrows. “This isn’t the first time someone has said that.”

“I’m this far,” Portenson said, pinching his index finger and thumb together, “from breaking this Klamath Moore thing and getting my transfer out of this hellhole. I should have been moved up a year ago, but it didn’t happen. This will absolutely kill me! This might get me sent to Butte, Montana!”

“What’s wrong with Butte?” Joe said. “I
like
Butte.”

“It’s where bad FBI agents are sent to die,” Portenson whined.

“That’s your choice,” Rulon said, nodding to Stella to go.

“No!” Portenson said.

She hesitated at the door.

“What do you want?” Portenson pleaded with Rulon.

“Access to all your files on the Wolverine investigation and the name of your snitch so Joe can question him,” Rulon said.

“Okay,” Portenson said as if in physical pain. “You’ve got it.”

“What’s my role?” asked Randy Pope, the forgotten man.

“You stay here,” Rulon said. “I want you in your office leading your agency and deflecting the outrage we’re already getting from constituents about the state lands closure. Plus, I don’t want you in a dicey situation where you might run like a rabbit again. That kind of behavior makes me want to puke.”

“You don’t understand,” Pope said, pleading. “The head was in my room . . . this is personal. I
have
to be involved.”

“No,” Rulon said bluntly.

Pope dropped his head into his hands. Joe was put off and embarrassed by the reaction.

“Okay, then,” Rulon said, gesturing to Stella to open the door.

Joe sat up. “That’s not all.”

Portenson and the governor both looked at him. Stella hesitated, with her manicured hand poised above the door handle.

“No,” Portenson said, his face flushing red. “I know what you’re going to ask, and the answer is: absolutely not. Don’t even ask.”

Joe turned to the governor. “Nate Romanowski knows the area and he has contacts with extremist groups all across the West. I don’t condone it, but he does. He’s got special insight into somebody like Wolverine because, frankly, Wolverine reminds me more than a little bit of Nate. If you want me to continue this investigation, I need his help.”

Portenson continued to shake his head.

“If he was released into your custody,” Rulon said, “do you give me your word you’ll bring him back for his trial when and if this investigation is over?”

Joe swallowed hard. “I’ll do what’s right.”

Portenson hissed, “We can’t release a federal prisoner on Joe Pickett’s word! We can’t release him, period!”

Pope surprised Joe by saying, “I concur. We need all the help we can get.”

Joe said to Portenson, “You charged him with flimsy evidence that hasn’t gotten any better. You’re just hoping something falls into your lap between now and the trial or you know you’re going to lose.”

“We’re building our case!”

“Just like you were building the case against Klamath Moore and Wolverine?” Joe asked.

Rulon stood up. “Stella, tell them I’m coming out with
explosive news
.”

“No!”
Portenson shouted again, his voice cracking. Then: “Okay, okay!” He pointed his finger at Joe. “But if he doesn’t live up to this agreement, I’m going to throw both of them in jail.”

“Agreed,” Rulon said breezily.

Joe wanted to tell the governor he’d perhaps spoken too soon. Although he had some influence over Nate and Nate had promised years before to assist Joe and protect his family, he didn’t
own
the outlaw falconer. Nate had always gone his own way, used his own methods, lived under his own code.

“Governor . . .” Joe said, as Rulon turned and Stella preceded him out the door. His words were drowned out by Rulon booming, “Men and women of the press, we’ve got a break in the case! Due to an unprecedented partnership between the state of Wyoming and the Federal Bureau of Investigation, I can tell you today that we’re closing in on the vicious killer who . . .”

As he went on, Joe slumped back in his chair, as did Portenson.

Joe listened to Rulon assure the media that the end of the investigation was now in sight, that leads were being vigorously pursued, that the forests and high-country plains of Wyoming would once again be reopened for hunting, fishing, and recreation.

“I can’t believe I just agreed to release Nate Romanowski,” Portenson said sourly to Joe.

I can’t believe it either,
Joe thought.

“That governor of yours,” Portenson said, jabbing a finger toward the conference room. “He fucked us both.”

“And that’s why we love him,” Stella said, overhearing Portenson and leaning in the door, flashing her biggest smile at Joe.

17

STELLA DROVE the Escalade with Joe in the passenger seat to meet Tony Portenson at the Federal Building before it closed at five. Joe knew the layout of Cheyenne well enough to know she was taking an unnecessarily circuitous route via Lincolnway and Depot Square downtown. When she stopped at a red light under the galloping plywood horse and rider of a massive western wear store, she said, “I’m really sorry for the families of the dead hunters, but I can’t help but think that maybe some good can come of this in the long run. I never knew that’s what hunters did to animals. I guess I never thought about it before. It repulses me. I told the governor that.”

“And what did he say?” Joe asked.

“He just shook his head. He’s a hunter.”