Page 61 of Heston
“You bet. We’re tracking your GPS, and we’ve got two drones in the sky overhead. Both on the SUVs you’re following, in case one splits from the other. The Parkway will take them all the way to Maryland, but I doubt they’ll cross state lines.”
Heston choked. “Why not? Because Obermeyer’s politically connected? One of the elite? A fuckin’ upstanding citizen?”
“No, smartass, because we’ve identified two of the men with him, the Branson twins, Bernie and Buzz. They’re on parole for the same armed robbery. They set one foot out of state and they’ll be headed back to prison.”
Like that mattered to armed assailants, felons who shouldn’t be carrying the hardware these guys probably had, to begin with. “And again I ask—”
“Shut the hell up, Contreras!” Mother yelled. “I’m not stupid. You follow your gut, don’t you? Well, I follow mine, and when I tell you what’s going on, you’d better listen up and believe me, understood?”
Zack snickered.
Well, damn. Heston wasn’t going to win, and honestly, there was no sense arguing with Mother. He zipped his lips and watched the scenery fly by, as the GW snaked along the southern shore of the Potomac River. The farther northwest they went, the deeper the forests the GW ran through and the darker the shadows over the highway. Virginia’s hardwood trees were ancient giants. Thick, gnarly branches arched over miles of some sections of the road, creating shadowy tunnels broken only by rare bursts of sunshine. Even that dimmed as the predicted easterly weather front moved in. Heston’s mood dimmed along with it. He needed to get to London. The advancing rain and the casual chit-chat between Mother and Zack didn’t help.
“Just passed Snake Island,” Zack advised her. “Next exit will put them near US Park Police District, Station Two, if they take it.” He turned to Heston. “You think Captain Bates had input on Keane’s and Obermeyer’s plans for London?”
Heston couldn’t answer. It made sense that Bates might know someone at Station Two, though. Both the US Forest Service and Station Two ahead, along with the Bureau of Trust Funds Administration, the Office of Surface Mining Reclamation and Enforcement, US Fish and Wildlife, as well as US Geological Survey, fell under National Park Service oversight. NPS, in turn, fell under the Department of Interior. A USFS ranger from Washington State might’ve worked with someone from Virginia’s Station Two in the past. Hell, Bates worked for Malloy, who’d worked for Obermeyer and Keane. There could be a link between any one of them and Station Two. Probable? Not likely, but still possible.
Because he couldn’t do anything to help London, Heston’s brain kept spewing good-to-know but useless information. Such as Sterling Johnson, successful businessman and trusted friend of President Adams. Also nominated to his current position as NPS director by Adams and just as quickly confirmed bythe United States Senate. After Senate confirmation, it was the newly promoted NPS director’s responsibility to hire six senior executives to manage NPS national programs, policies, and budget. Each of those senior executives was given the power to hire regional directors who, in turn, managed the various branches of the National Park Service, including, but not limited to: Forest Service Rangers, Law Enforcement Officers (LEOs), Park Management, Fire Management, Resource Management, Marketing, Publicity, Administration, et cetera. The scope of NPS was as far-reaching as DoD’s scope. It was likely that Bates knew at least one person in the police station ahead. In fact—
A veritable lightning strike hit Heston’s frontal lobe and lit up his neural receptors like fireworks on the Fourth of July. A person’s frontal lobe was where logical thinking, planning, organizing, and deductive reasoning, and—
No. More. Shitting minutia!
“I know who the Irishman is,” he hissed, as his agile, intelligent mind continued to identify logical links at the speed of that same lightning strike. “Miles Wirth is the Senior Executive over NPS Administration. His father’s from Ireland, still lives there. Lancaster Wirth from County Armagh—”
“Isn’t that in Northern Ireland?” Zack asked.
“Yes,” Mother replied. “So?”
“Figures,” Zack snorted.
“Okay, so Northern Ireland, yes, but not Belfast. Not involved, that anyone knows of, in any car bombings or assassinations or—”
“That anyone knows of,” Mother interjected.
“Guys. Listen. Lancaster was up on racketeering charges in the States seven years and eight months ago, but the only eye-witness who could have identified him died in an unexplained explosion. Problem was Wirth had diplomatic immunity. The FBI couldn’t make charges stick without their witness, and—”Shit!Heston couldn’t get his brain to stop spewing details from the news articles he’d read years ago.
“Be advised both vehicles are exiting,” Mother interrupted calmly, which allowed Heston to draw in a breath after rambling like the eidetic idiot he was. “The right turn will take them into Station Two’s parking lot. The left puts them back on the GW with ramps that’ll head in either direction.”
“There’s also a dirt trail on the far west loop of that left turn that’ll take them down the banks of Turkey Run,” Zack replied.
“Yes, and that river empties into the Potomac. I hear it’s good fishing,” Mother said.
“Good hunting, too,” Zack added darkly.
“And Lancaster’s the asshole who put that hit on Kelsey!” Heston bellowed to get Mother’s and Zack’s attention. “Listen to me! He’s not the Irishman. He didn’t give Alex that burner phone. His son did. Miles is the Irishman. He was never as strong nor as respected as his old man. I know that because I’ve read the trial transcripts. All of them!”
Because I am just that anal.
“Lancaster’s pulling the strings. Miles is just another one of his puppets. Trust me on this, guys. I’m right. Miles’ oldest daughter is Katherine, aka Kitten. Kitten Wirth Bates. She married Devon Bates. She’s the cocktail waitress who set Bates up with one of Keane’s loan sharks. Now he thinks he owes them or they’ll kill her. But they won’t because the Wirth family runs the Irish Mafia in America now. Only the real boss lives in Ireland. Lancaster is that boss!”
“In Ireland where he’s untouchable,” Zack surmised.
“Your gut telling you this, Hes?” Mother asked with enough snark to choke a horse.
“That and listening to you guys yack. The second Zack mentioned US Park Police District, Station Two, my thoughts splintered off to a news article I read a few years back on theWirth family. At the time it meant nothing. But with Miles now Senior Executive over the NPS Administration, it makes sense. He’s connected to the Irish Mafia. Hell, he is the Irish Mafia, and I’ll bet each of you a hundred bucks nobody knows that, not even our President.”
“You do realize Miles would’ve gone through extensive screening before he was hired for any government position, don’t you?” Mother asked.
