reached me. I heard the snap of twigs and a loud creak and then a sharp whoosh sound and then the man gasped in panic. I slowly pulled my face from behind the tree and saw him dangling in the net, four feet in the air. Nat got up and approached us from the other side. The net bobbed up and down a few times before it settled. Lying on the leaves below it was the man's gun that he had dropped as the device snatched him off the ground. Nat may not have been all there, but he sure knew how to build a trap.
The man looked at us with a terrified expression. Nat's eyes were fixated on him. Nat had a gun of his own that he now produced. I approached the net about to ask the man some questions, but then as I had gotten close enough to see his face clearly I froze in disbelief. It was the FBI agent who sat on the right side of me when they picked me up that night. The one who spoke first, before poor Peterson took over.
"Shit," I muttered. I squatted down and buried my head between my hands. "Nat, I think we snared the FBI."
Nat put his gun away. His face registered some disappointment but little worry. To Nat anyone who was not the VC posed only a mild, unreal threat. "Then apologies are in order," he said.
I cut the net down. The FBI man struggled with it for a few moments and then took a hesitant step onto the ground, towards me, eyes on Nat as if he was afraid that he would make a sudden move. I handed him his gun back to show that he was in no danger. "I'm sorry," I said. "I thought you were them."
He spat on the ground. "I thought you were; just now when the net grabbed me that was the first thing that went through my head." He put his gun away into a shoulder holster. I was just as relieved as he was. With him thinking we were them, had his gun not fallen to the ground we could have found ourselves in a shootout with a federal agent. There could not have been a good outcome to this. I should have anticipated the FBI being there. I took it for granted that they were watching my house and my family's, so why not Doc's cabin? One of K's e-mails already hinted that they knew about him. Maybe they were also there outside the log cabin where Doc Minus Two transported my family. Maybe the goons he hired were not as good as they thought they were in evading the law.
"Why are you here if I may ask?" I said. "And by the way, excuse me for not remembering your name. I don't think you volunteered any."
"Terry Rieu." He rubbed his nose and pulled some leaves out of his hair and then brushed his clothes with his hands to remove the dirt that had clung to them. "We received a tip that Carl Hentschel disappeared. We wanted to confirm and to find out who's behind it."
"Who's Carl Hentschel?"
Nat said, "That would be Minus Two."
"Oh," I said. "I never thought..."
"That he had a name?"
"He refused to tell me his name. Deep inside I always knew he had one."
"Had one but ain't used it," Nat said. He turned to the FBI agent."Any idea what happened to him?"
"We don't know. We don't know if he was killed or kidnapped or scared away or none of the above. I take it from the question that you haven't seen him lately, either."
"No. But how did they know about Doc? How did you, for that matter?"
"How they knew about him I have no idea. How we found out is classified information."
Suddenly I remembered something and had to change the subject. "How is Peterson doing?"
Terry shook his head again, but did not seem emotional. "Not too good."
"Still in a coma?"
"Dead."
"I'm so sorry to hear. He was a great guy, really. I owe him more than I can ever repay."
"He knew the risk. We all do. It's the nature of the beast." He seemed eager to move on to a different topic. I did not know a thing about the relationship between them. Were they the best of friends? Rivals? Was Terry crying inside or happy at an opportunity for promotion? Either way, he was uncomfortable talking about Peterson. He took to quizzing me instead. "And you? Where have you been hiding?"
"That is classified information," I said.
He assumed a serious expression. "You shouldn't take risks like this. They'll get you sooner or later."
"I know what I'm doing."
He sounded sarcastic now, and a little impatient. "Do you? You suspect they're coming here to this cabin, and yet you show up to catch them. If I was one of them like you thought I was, I'd have taken a shot at you from the tree line over there before taking one step towards you. Only then would I have checked if it was you or not. These are professional killers, Al, not good Samaritans looking for an opportunity to save people from a bear trap. And that P.I. of yours, all of his survival skills didn't get him very far, now did they? For all we know he might be dead now."
"What do you suggest I do?"
"Come with me. We'll find you a hiding place where they won't get you."
"You found me a hiding place before, remember? I was in your capable hands. Were it not for poor Peterson I'd be dead for over a week now."
He let out a forced sigh. "Someone must have followed us back to the office. Granted, we should have been more careful. But we won't make the same mistake twice."
I shook my head vigorously, almost with anger. "Neither will I. Peterson himself..." and then I stopped before revealing Peterson's suspicions. I made up something quickly. "... drove me to the hotel and he was very careful we're not being followed."
I did not know if he saw through me or not, but if he suspected that Peterson knew something, Terry did not reveal it. His poker face betrayed the exact emotions he wanted you to see and nothing more. You could not figure out what was going on in his head. He thought he was being smart, but in fact he made himself untrustworthy that way. People who succeed in being inscrutable can never inspire trust in others.
He did not try to argue with me; maybe saw that the battle was lost, or maybe I was not important enough in his eyes. He said, "It's your call. No one's going to force you to take cover. The only thing I can do is strongly advise it, and I did just that."
"Suggestion noted." I was surprised at myself for talking to the FBI that way. Two weeks ago I would not have dared to. Spending time with Doc Minus Two does something to a person.
Maybe he was offended by my tone of voice, because he shook a finger at me. "We're your only hope you know. That P.I. of yours, if he's still alive, is not much of a detective. Not much of anything, judging by his file." Then he turned to Nat, who had been standing in silence a few feet away leaning against a tree trunk and chewing on a twig. "And who are you?"
"He's a friend," I answered for Nat. "From Boston." Nat confirmed with a nod and said nothing though I think he did not like to be from Boston.
Terry did not seem to believe me but he did not press the issue, and his attention reverted back to me. "You should not be here. The people we're dealing with — you're not in their league. If you don't want to trust us with your protection, at least try to stay the hell away from them. Tell me you'll at least take that advice."
"Gladly." He was right about that. Nat and I had been foolish to fly so close to the sun.
He turned around and began to walk away, without saying goodbye. I caught up with him. "Did you make any progress with the investigation?"
"I can't tell you the details at this point but I think we're close. I just wish you let us handle this and give up the gumshoe work. This isn't a game."
"Can you at least promise me you'll find Doc? I got him involved; I feel responsible."
"Now, how can I promise you something like that? How can anyone?" He was growing irascible and now hastened his pace. I stopped following him and in a minute he was out of the wood and we could not see him anymore. The last thing I noticed as I caught a final glimpse of the cabin was the cat jumping onto one of the windowsills, about to get back into the house.
I felt a hand gripping my arm. "Let's get out of here, now."
"Sure, let me help you fold that net."
"Forget the net. We need to disappear right now."
I could see what he meant. I began to thi
nk it myself. Peterson suspected a leak, one that had cost him his life. Terry was his partner; they worked together on the case. Peterson might have noticed something. When you work closely with someone they cannot fool you for long. When he was shot Peterson put two and two together. No wonder Terry was uncomfortable talking about him. It was guilt, that's what it was. He knew exactly where Peterson was taking me that night. One phone call from him was all that was needed. "I agree," I told Nat. I helped him with the seeder, now empty, that he then pushed hurriedly ahead of him, using it to stabilize himself as he hopped forward on one leg. It was not easy to keep up with him.
"I didn't like how he tried to get you to come with him," Nat said when we were a hundred yards away.
"No siree."
"He's the mole. For all we know he might be calling 'em right now."
"Yes he might."
"You shouldn't be staying here no more."
"No."
"I mean in Tennessee."
"I know what you mean."
"I didn't like how he talked about Minus Two, neither. Lousy doctor yes. Not lousy at what he does now. If they got him it ain't because he was lousy. It was because he was getting closer. This FBI agent ain't close to nothin'. If he was, you think he'd of been here bothering with Minus Two's cabin? He'd of caught them or be dead like that Peterson."
"I know. We can't be sure if Terry is the mole, but it wouldn't surprise me. Even if he's not, he'd have to let his boss know where I am, and that would be leaked to them in a matter of minutes. For all