Hostile Odds

“Yeah, Moran’s no longer with us.”

Newbury looked at Bolan in shock. From her expression she knew good and well what Bolan meant by the comment. He looked for something more there, but he didn’t get anything. He still had no real reason to trust Newbury, but for now he only needed her for information.

“Like I said,” Newbury said more quietly, “Mac hits the sauce pretty often and pretty hard. And he likes his women, too. Considers himself somewhat of a ladies’ man. He’s even hit on me a few times at the restaurant. Usually it’s after the bars close and he’s been out most of the night. I always just tell him I have a boyfriend and that seems to satisfy him.”

“Well, if you need somebody to actually stand in for the part, give me a call.”

Newbury burst into laughter. “You know, that’s about the most gentlemanly offer I’ve had in quite a while. Say, you mind if I ask you something?”

Bolan shook his head.

“This other business you have to do. What exactly is it?”

Bolan considered the question a moment and then shrugged. “When I went to the mill for my little job interview this morning, some of MacDermott’s guys searched my vehicle. I expected they would, so I didn’t leave anything incriminating inside of it. Still, that tells me they’re up to something. I need to find out what it is, make sure if I get chummy with this MacDermott I’m not going to get blindsided.”

“Okay, sure, but what exactly are you going to do?” Newbury pressed.

“Simple. I’m going to do exactly what they’re hoping I’ll do,” Bolan said.

“Which is?”

“Pick a fight.”

5

Jeff Kellogg never believed in putting his eggs all in one basket, which included the basket of the Gowan Family. Kellogg knew his only chance of emerging unscathed should Gowan get caught with his hands in the till would be to provide as much critical information to Gowan’s enemies as possible. Of course, information didn’t come cheap, and Kellogg took a distinct pleasure in double-dipping. Kellogg’s benefactor was a man who, according to his FBI profile, headed up the local chapter of the Earth Liberation Front.

Many who knew him described Percy Jeter as an outgoing and personable man—not a surprise considering he operated as head of the Western States Campgrounds for Challenged Youth. Jeter’s work with the WSCCY afforded him complete autonomy and discretion; after all, he had a lot of old money and influence backing him, not to mention assistance from the federal and state governments. That kind of wealth and power practically immunized him from prosecution, and most people didn’t give a tinker’s damn about his political affiliations.

The very thought of it sickened Kellogg, but the profit motive allowed him to find a way to see beyond the pettiness of it all.

Kellogg had specifically requested they meet in a popular park just outside Tulelake. He knew about Jeter’s secret location in the mountainous terrain surrounding Siskiyou Pass, but he didn’t like to meet there. Kellogg preferred neutral territory, and since Jeter liked his privacy and obviously didn’t trust Kellogg, he usually sent some lackey. This time though, Jeter had come himself.

The two men sat across from each other at a picnic table. The result of years of cushy living off tax-free donations lent Percy Jeter a groomed, distinguished appearance. Legally, Jeter received very little in the way of income, but he lived like a king. Nobody looked too hard, though, as he provided a number of services through the WSCCY, a not-for-profit cash cow. Salt-and-pepper hair and beard complemented the tanned skin and clear blue eyes that jutted from under pronounced orbits.

“To what do I owe the pleasure this time?” Jeter asked in a deep voice.

“We got to talk about what happened last week,” Kellogg said. He looked around. Nobody seemed to pay attention to them. Families played together, parents pushing kids on swings or feeding ducks or just enjoying a picnic, and joggers and cyclists took advantage of the nice day as they traveled along the gravel paths that skirted the park.

Jeter shrugged. “What’s to talk about?”

“How about what went down at Kingsley Airfield?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Kellogg waved the flat of his palm as he countered, “Don’t be coy, Percy. You know damned well what I’m talking about. Why the fuck are you shooting down American fighter jets? That’s not your style.”

Jeter leaned forward in a menacing fashion. “That’s exactly my style. You promised to rein in Mickey Gowan, and nothing. You promised to protect our assets, and nothing. You promised we wouldn’t have to worry about outside interference while we build up our cash reserves, and nothing. We’ve paid you a lot of money, Kellogg, and you haven’t done a single goddamned thing.”

“I’ve done a lot.”

“Bullshit. You’ve collected from us and from Gowan, and I haven’t seen you do one thing to earn your keep so far. Well, the free ride’s over and it’s out of my hands. The Committee decided.”

There he went with his mysterious talk of the Committee. Allegedly, the Committee acted as the unofficial head of the Earth Liberation Front. It was chaired by some lackey who oversaw a handful of lackeys, one of them being Jeter, and who allegedly administered the entire western region from Washington to California and extending as far east as the Continental Divide.

“You can stop paying me if you want, but I can just about guarantee that I’m the least of your worries right now.”

Jeter didn’t look convinced. “Yeah, right.”

“Blow it off, then. But just remember that Gowan’s going to continue robbing you blind, and the small amount you’re paying me is a pittance compared to the millions of dollars you’re going to lose if you continue to trust him.”

“Maybe we just plan to rub him out of the picture entirely,” Jeter said.

Kellogg let out a snort. “Sure…whatever you say. The FBI’s been after him for years and they still haven’t come up with squat.”

“We’re not the FBI.”

“No, you’re not. And I think that’s the first thing we’ve agreed on since we formed this little partnership. Listen, it’s none of my business how you screw this up for you and your precious Committee, but I’m sure as a hell not going to let you screw it up for me.”

Jeter sighed. “You still haven’t told me why you called this meeting.”

“I came to tell you about the return on your investment,” Kellogg said. “All that money you think you wasted on me is about to pay off.”

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