Page 28 of Battle Mountain

He said to Nate, “For being a bunch of cranky individualist paranoid types, many of our fellow outlaw falconers on BC are outright gossips. They want to know what’s going on with other members of the group, and they like to engage in too many conspiracy theories for my taste.”

“That’s why I don’t go there much,” Nate said. “I like to keep my conspiracy theories to myself.”

Geronimo chuckled at that. Then he said, “There was one thread I found after my house burned down that I found especially interesting. One of the guys, named C. W. Reese, said he’d been approached by an ex–BC member about joining his group. The ex-BCer was pretty cagey, but this group had something to do with taking serious action against the government. This ex-BCer knew that Reese is a hothead. Like us, he’s ex-military and he had bad experiences with his superiors. So he must have seemed like a good recruit.”

“How so? What’s C. W. Reese like?” Nate asked.

“He’s extreme,” Geronimo said. “There’s no doubt about that. He hates all politicians equally and he describes himself as an ‘armed anarchist.’ I can’t tell you if he’s really serious about that or just blowing smoke.”

“Who approached him?”

“His name was never spelled out on the thread, but I read between the lines.”

“Your Reese guy wasn’t specific as to what Soledad is up to?”

“No. I’m not even sure he knows. All he said was that even though he likes the idea of making some bureaucrats accountable, he got a weird vibe from the guy. And before he made a decision to join Soledad or reject him, some crazy lawyer showed up at his house and demanded to know all about the exchange. Some big Amazon-type woman, is the way my guy described the lawyer. It spooked him, knowing that this lawyer was investigating him.”

“Does she have a name?”

“He calls her the Giantess. But he never said her actual name. Two other BCers weighed in and said a woman lawyer of the same description had contactedthem. Of course, these guys are all worked up and they think it might be a setup by the feds to entrap them.”

“Of course they think that,” Nate said. “I would, too.” Then: “How did the Giantess get access to the site?”

“I wish I knew,” Geronimo said. “The possibility that an outsider has access to Bal-Chatri has everyone on it even more paranoid than usual. Especially if it’s the feds who penetrated it and are sending the Giantess out on their behalf to entrap guys.”

“Does Reese trust you enough to talk?”

“I’m not so sure,” Geronimo said. “That’s why we’re going toGardiner. I contacted Reese, and he’ll only talk in person. Ithinkhe trusts me, but he wants to look me in the eye.”

Nate squinted. “So you think that if we find out the actual identity of the Giantess, it could help lead us to Soledad?”

“I hope so,” Geronimo said. “And this time when we find him, we finish the job. We don’t leave him in some alley bleeding out. We finish him with a kill shot.”

Nate didn’t need to agree in words. He hoped he’d be the one to perform the act.

—

C. W. Reeselived in a tiny tree-shrouded house on Vista Street in Gardiner, Montana. The back of his home looked out over Yellowstone River Canyon, and the river, even in October, emitted a hushed roar as it flowed north.

Geronimo passed the house and pointed out the yellowDon’t Tread on MeGadsden flag hanging limp from a pole and the corner of a falcon mews jutting out from around the back corner of the building.

“That looks like him,” he said as he proceeded along Vista and parked on the next block, out of sight of Reese’s home.

“No need to spook him,” he said as he climbed out.

“We probably already have,” Nate said. “Not much gets by the residents here. Especially when we show up in the tank we’re driving in.”

Gardiner was a small ramshackle unincorporated community of less than nine hundred residents. It was located hard against the North Entrance to Yellowstone. The Roosevelt Arch, which was constructed in 1903, bore a plaque that readFor the Benefitand Enjoyment of the People. Most of the full-time residents worked for concessionaires and contractors within the park, or were hunting, fishing, or whitewater-rafting businesses. Or, in the case of C. W. Reese, a small-time bird abatement specialist who bought and sold guns and gold on the side.

Nate and Geronimo noted theNo SolicitorsandNo Trespassingsigns near the gate of the white picket fence and they walked up the cracked sidewalk to the front door and knocked on it. When several dogs barked inside but no one came to the door, they walked around the house into the backyard, where the mews was located.

As Nate came around the corner, he turned his head and looked straight into the gaping black O of a large handgun muzzle. An arms-length behind it was a gaunt, bearded man in a torn green army parka standing close to the exterior wall of the home. At the gunman’s feet was an open paper sack filled with frozen dead pigeons. He’d obviously been out feeding his falcons in the mews in the backyard when they’d arrived.

“C. W. Reese?” Nate asked softly. “I’d suggest you put that down.”

“Who are you and how do you know my name?”

As Reese asked it, Geronimo came around the corner and quickly stopped.

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