Force of Nature (10 page)

Nate shook his head. “Not entirely. I’ve still got some allies, but there aren’t many left. A few of them died of natural causes. A couple went straight and won’t even acknowledge our old unit. A couple more are in prison, where they tried to put me. And there is a small group of them … in another state. They’re off the grid, too.”

“Can they help?” Joe asked. Nate wasn’t sure Joe knew about the conclave in Idaho, but he’d made references in the past and his friend was probably aware. For one thing, Joe knew Diane Shober, for whom they’d both searched in the Sierra Madre, was in Idaho. But Joe didn’t let on anything, and Nate didn’t press.

“I’m going to find that out soon,” Nate said. “I’m going to go away for a while. Nemecek won’t hang around here if he thinks I’m gone.”

“Can
I
help?”

“I don’t want you any more involved, as I said. The farther you stay away from me, the better.”

Joe sighed heavily. “I can keep an eye out, at least,” he said. “If this Nemecek is still in the area, I might get a lead on him. It’s a small town, Nate. Not much goes on somebody doesn’t talk about it.”

Nate started to object, then thought better of it. Joe did have a wealth of contacts and was the kind of man people liked to talk to. Joe was empathetic. People told him things they shouldn’t, and Nate was guilty of that as well.

“That might be okay,” Nate said. “As long as you don’t try to
do
anything. If you did and something happened and Marybeth and those girls lost a husband and a father … well, that can’t happen. I mean it, Joe.”

Joe scoffed.

“You think I’m kidding, don’t you?” Nate said. “And I don’t mean that as an insult. You’ve got a way of getting into the middle of things and you usually come out on top. But it’s a percentage game, Joe. The odds wouldn’t be with you if you got too close to him. He’s not like anybody you’ve ever run across.”

Nate paused, and said, “I’ve always admired you, Joe, you know that.”

His friend looked away, but even in the firelight Nate could see he was flushing and uncomfortable.

Nate said, “You’ve got a beautiful wife, great daughters, and a house with a picket fence. I know it sounds trite, but there are assholes out there who think my life is hard, but it isn’t. Anybody can keep to themselves and be selfish. What you do every day is hard, Joe. Staying true and loyal, man, that’s not the easy path. I admire what you’ve got. …”

Joe leaned back on the log and rolled his eyes, said,
“Enough!”
but Nate kept going.

Nate said, “I want to defend it, even if I can’t ever get there myself. That’s what this has always been about: admiration. So I can’t let you get hurt trying to solve my problem. And this guy … he’s something else.”

“He really scares you, doesn’t he?” Joe asked. “What is it about him?”

Nate thought about it as the fire died down. He didn’t put any more fuel on it. “You know what I’m like,” Nate said. “You know what kinds of things I’ve done.”

“
Some
of them,” Joe said, cautioning Nate again not to go beyond their conversation.

Nate said, “There’s a certain kind of ruthlessness that can only be achieved by the coldest professionals or the truly deranged. The middle ground is mushy as hell, and unpredictable. Nemecek taught me professional ruthlessness. It takes a certain kind of mind-set to believe that whatever you do is correct and whoever gets hurt in the process is no more than collateral damage when it comes to achieving something greater. He has that mind-set. He’s the greatest asset imaginable to his masters and to a righteous cause. Those are the circumstances I met him under. But if things get warped …”

Nate wasn’t sure he was making sense, based on Joe’s quizzical expression. Nate paused, thought about it, and said, “Nemecek is the greatest falconer I’ve ever seen. He’s better than I will ever be, and
I’m good. But what you need to realize is that great falconers, master falconers, see the world differently than anyone else. Think about it, Joe. A falconer devotes his life to a wild raptor and develops a partnership based on killing prey. But at any time, the falcon—the wild, untamed weapon—can simply fly away. Imagine devoting years of your life to a potential lethal partnership that could dissolve in an instant. It takes a crazy devotion to a possible outcome that may never materialize. Falconry is as old as human civilization. It goes against the nature of things that a human and a killer bird should work together for a common purpose. But when it happens, man … it’s the greatest thing in the fucking world. When it does, all the normal human social conventions seem like bat shit. And humans become just another hunk of meat compared to the rapture of wild and man when they intersect.”

Joe seemed stunned and said nothing.

Nate said, “What I’m telling you is that really great falconers, like Nemecek, think they’ve transcended low human boundaries in regard to behavior and morals. Therefore, everything they do is on a different and higher plane.”

Joe nodded.

Nate said, “So you take a person like this and you have to understand that he’s worst when he’s cornered. He has nothing but contempt for those who put him in that position, because they’ve never experienced what he’s experienced, and they don’t even comprehend the sacrifice that he’s undergone. And something has made him feel cornered. Believe me, he’s capable of
anything
.”

Joe shook his head, not fully comprehending what Nate was getting at.

Nate said impatiently, “Once, in a country I won’t name, I watched him saw the face off of a child with piano wire in front of her father to make the old man talk.” Nate paused and said, “He talked.”

“My God,”
Joe said, as an obvious shiver ran through him.

Nate said, “I’ve seen him do worse than that. But what you have to understand is that when you’ve devoted your life to studying and worshipping birds of prey, you can lose your empathy for mere humans. When you turn yourself over to the call of the wild and understand it, things we would consider cruel are just part of the game.”

Joe looked even more uncomfortable than before, the way he was shifting his seat on the log. He said, “I guess what it comes down to is values. And I’m in no position to argue that.”

Nate said, “You could argue, but this isn’t the time.”

Minutes went by.

Joe asked, “Tell me what I can do to help. Since you don’t have a phone, how can I reach you if I find anything?”

“Give me your notebook,” Nate asked.

Joe handed it over, and Nate flipped it open to a fresh page and jotted down the address for a website:
www.themasterfalconer.com
.

“It’s an old website,” Nate said, handing the notebook back. “It hasn’t been updated since it was put up over ten years ago. It’s one of those sites where there are dozens of comment threads on it about different aspects of falconry. No one monitors the comments, and there are probably less than a few dozen people who even look at it anymore. But if you need to reach me, call it up. You’ll find a recent thread with words or references in it you know are mine. Register on the site and keep your comments brief and vague. I’ll understand.”

Joe looked at the address. “How often will you check it out?”

“I can’t say for sure. But at least every couple of days from a public computer somewhere.”

Joe shook his head. “If there are dozens of threads, how will I know which one you’re using?”

“Look for a recent thread with a question about flying kestrels.”

“Why kestrels?” Joe asked. “Aren’t they little tiny birds?”

Nate nodded. “Yes, they’re the lowest and the most unreliable of the falcons. There’s a royalty of falcons, starting with the eagle, who is the emperor. The gyr falcon is the king, the peregrine is the duke, and so on. On the bottom of the pecking order is the kestrel, which is considered the knave or servant. The reason I’m choosing a thread with a kestrel is because no self-respecting falconer would give a rip and look at it. Even so, don’t say anything directly that could be interpreted by a lurker.”

“Can’t we do better than this?” Joe asked. “Can’t you call me from a pay phone or something?”

“Not a chance,” Nate said. “Nemecek has his tentacles everywhere. It’s better to be low-key and obscure. And remember—don’t write anything that could possibly be used to tie you to me.”

“Nate …”

Nate stood and ground the last of the fire out with his boot heel. It was suddenly very dark.

“One more thing, Joe,” he said. “If you get the word from me to evacuate, that means grab your family and fly away somewhere. Don’t even take the time to pack—just get the hell out.”

From the dark, Joe asked, “Do you think he’d come after us to get to you?”

“I told you,” Nate said. “He’s capable of anything.”

AS THEY
made their way through the downed timber back to the vehicles, Nate heard Joe clear his throat in a way that indicated he wanted to say something.

Over his shoulder, Nate asked, “What is it?”

“This thing you did,” Joe asked. “How bad was it?”

Said Nate, “Worse than you can imagine.”

“And Nemecek was there?”

“Yes.”

“It couldn’t have been that bad,” Joe said. “I mean, I know you pretty well after all these years.”

As Nate reached his Jeep, he said, “You just think you do, Joe.”

Joe reached out and grasped Nate’s hand. He said, “Be safe, my friend.”

“I will.”

Joe turned to leave. Nate said, “And if I don’t ever see you again, I just want you to know it was an honor to know you and you’re a good man and a good friend. As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing better I can say.”

Joe was uncomfortable, obviously, but he met Nate’s eyes and said, “Knock it off. When did you get so mushy?”

And Nate said, “When he came here after me.”

JOE RETURNED
home shortly after ten to find another Game and Fish pickup parked in his place in front of the garage. The lights were on inside the house, and Joe swung in next to his trainee’s vehicle.

He got out and took a deep breath of the cold, thin air. Nate had rattled him and he didn’t want to show it.

Luke Brueggemann sat on the living room sofa and looked up when Joe came in. He was wearing his uniform and cradling a can of Pepsi between his knees. He looked at him expectantly, his eyes wondering why Joe hadn’t called him.

“I called your room,” Joe said. “I left a message. In the future, you need to be prepared or let me know your cell phone number.”

At the same time, though, Joe was grateful Brueggemann hadn’t been along to see Nate Romanowski.

His trainee plucked his cell phone out of his pocket and punched numbers. Joe’s own phone burred in his pocket and he leaned back to pull it out but Brueggemann said, “That’s me. You have my number now.”

“Okay.”

“Did you find anything up there?” Brueggemann asked.

“Nope,” Joe said, as he turned and hung his jacket on a peg in the mudroom and put his hat on the shelf. “Somebody’s idea of a prank call, I guess.”

Brueggemann shook his head. “I’ve heard that happens.”

Joe sat down in a chair facing Brueggemann and said, “It does.” Then: “Why are you here?”

The trainee grinned and his face flushed. “I got your message when I got back to my room. So I threw on my uniform and waited for you to pick me up. When you didn’t, I started driving up here thinking I’d meet you here. But when I got here, you were gone.”

As he talked, Marybeth came into the living room from the kitchen, shaking her head at Joe. “My husband has forgotten what being a trainee is like,” she said. “Even though it should be scarred into his memory. It sure is scarred into
mine
.”

“I said I left a message,” Joe said, sitting back in the chair.

His wife looked casual and attractive in a pair of sweatpants and an oversized white shirt rolled up at the sleeves. Her blond hair was tied back in a ponytail, making her look young, Joe thought. She wore a pair of horn-rimmed glasses Joe referred to as her “smart glasses.” It was obvious she’d taken pity on Luke Brueggemann.

She said, “I saw him sitting in his truck out on the road, so I invited him in and fed him some dinner,” she said. “I told him you’d be back soon. I didn’t think it would be two hours.”

Joe shrugged.

“I tried to call you on the radio,” Brueggemann said, looking away from Joe so as not to pile on too much, “but you must have been out of range.”

“I guess so,” Joe said. He’d turned his radio off when Nate had appeared in the woods.

“Anyway,” Marybeth said, apparently finished with her admonishment,
“Luke here helped April with her math and listened to Lucy recite some of her part from the play. So all in all, a nice evening.”

She winked at Joe to show Joe she was teasing. Joe shook his head at his wife. Those items would have been on his agenda for the evening.

To Brueggemann, Marybeth said, “Remember this when you get married and move your new bride to your game warden quarters in the middle of nowhere. Advise her that you are always on call so she won’t be angry when you suddenly have to leave the house at any hour. In fact, before you get married, have her give me a call.”

“Don’t do it,” Joe said to Brueggemann. “Keep her in the dark. It’s better that way.”

The trainee looked from Marybeth to Joe, and to Marybeth again.

“I’m kidding,” Joe said.

Brueggemann visibly relaxed and realized he’d been played by both of them. “You had me going there,” he said.

“And another thing,” Joe said. “Don’t ever go out on a call without your trainee.”

“Ha! I never would.”

MARYBETH SENT
Brueggemann back to his room at the TeePee Motel with leftovers, which the trainee was enthusiastic about.

“I’ve been eating too much fast food and microwave soup and drinking too many sodas,” he said. “A home-cooked meal is pretty nice.”

“Anytime,” Marybeth said.

Joe told Brueggemann he’d call him in the morning.

“Are we going to check out those elk camps?” Brueggemann asked at the door.