Bloody Basin Read online

  Chapter 11

  Let’s Build A Bunker

  Three days after Carolyn and I saw the underground shelter in Kingman, Arizona, I was on my way back to Pinetop. After talking with Tom about taking down the old pole barn on the property, he’d contacted me and had good news. A local construction company was between jobs, and they’d been tearing down the old pole barn for the last two days, which was great. I’d told Tom I would be back up to the ranch before noon, and I was right on schedule, arriving just after 10 a.m. that day.

  I couldn’t believe my eyes. There was a cherry picker, with men attaching straps to the trusses of the old pole barn, and a group of people loading the scrap wood into a large metal roll-off container. These guys were taking the job seriously, and it wouldn’t be long before all traces of the old barn were gone.

  Back at the ranch, I saw Tom sitting on the porch, drinking coffee and watching the flurry of activity going on.

  “It’s good to see you, Jack,” called Tom. “You’re just in time. I just finished brewing a new pot of coffee for you. I know how much you like that stuff.”

  I waved and smiled. “If there’s anybody in this world I can count on, it’s you, Tom.” We shook hands.

  After seeing everything that was going on, I turned back to Tom and thanked him for getting ahold of the construction company, or in this case, the demolition company.

  “Things worked out pretty good,” Tom told me. “These fellas were just sitting at home, not getting a paycheck for the next week or so, and when I told them of the work that you needed done here on the ranch, they were more than happy to get right on the job and get things done for you.”

  I looked back at the old pole barn and could see that all traces of it would be gone by the end of the day. I hadn’t realized when I walked through this place weeks ago with Old Bill Feather that the floor was compacted dirt, so that would save a few dollars on the demolition.

  “The owner of the construction company is interested in buying the old roof timbers from the barn. He’ll give you a good price for them,” Tom informed me.

  I thought about this for a moment. “The owner is more than welcome to whatever he wants from the old barn. I’m just happy that these guys are doing a wonderful job and clearing the property so thoroughly.”

  “That’s mighty nice of you. I was thinking, though. Some of those timbers would be worth several thousand dollars.”

  “They might be, but as far as I’m concerned,” I said, “they’re welcome to all the wood they want.”

  Just as I thought, a few hours later there was virtually no sign a barn had ever stood on that location. All traces of the barn had been removed. The ground had been swept clean, and the heavy equipment was on its way back to town. It was just after the construction crew had left that our friend from Kingman, Arizona, the owner of the shelter company, arrived on the property.

  Two men accompanied him. I soon learned one was his brother, the co-owner of the company and a mechanical engineer. The other gentleman was the foreman on this project and wanted to see firsthand where they were going to be excavating the hole for the shelter. I introduced the three men to Tom and let them know that if I weren’t available, he would be the person to go to if they had any questions regarding the upcoming project. The three of them nodded.

  One looked at Tom and said, “All right, then. When Jack’s not here, you’re the boss.”

  The five of us laughed and headed over to the area that had once held the old pole barn.

  The site foreman looked at several of the nearby trees. “These should be removed because we’ll be using a rather large overhead crane to lift the sections of the shelter off the flatbed trailer and lower them down into the hole.”

  He pointed out the trees he thought should go. Then the company engineer described what was happening with the root systems and the integrity of the soil and things of that nature, and all I did was agree with them.

  “I hope you fellas know what you’re doing, so if that’s what you think needs to be done, go ahead and get rid of those trees,” I said.

  The owner of the company walked over to the small blacksmith shop, interested in seeing what was left of the old furnace and any tools still in the building. The three men then produced some surveying equipment, wooden stakes, flagging tape, and an assortment of other tools they needed in order to do an exact survey of where the bunker would be positioned.

  Then the owner spoke up. “When we were looking at that project in Kingman, the access to the bunker was located in a small storage shed.”

  “Yes, I remember,” I said. It seemed like a pretty interesting idea to hide it in plain sight.

  “I’m thinking we could do the same thing here,” he said, and he and his brother staked out the area they would be excavating and in turn were able to exactly pinpoint where the access hatch to the bunker would be located. I could see what they were talking about with the idea of putting the access hatch in a small shed off to the side. It made sense. The hatch itself would be inside a ten-by-ten-foot wooden shed that would give you protection from the weather and privacy from prying eyes, so having seen this option and how it worked, I agreed with their plan.

  The engineer asked, “Do you plan to build anything on the old pole barn location?”

  “I’m leaning toward putting in another barn that would be somewhat smaller and have a concrete floor,” I said, having thought about it for the last few weeks.

  Just how big of a barn I wasn’t sure. It would be more along the lines of a six- or eight-vehicle covered parking structure, not necessarily a barn. Just a way to secure and protect any vehicles I wanted to keep on the property when we weren’t there.

  It did not take long for the three men to gather all the data they needed for a final presentation as to where they would put the bunker along with what trees would come down and their estimation for how long the job would take to complete. The five of us retired into the house and sat around the large kitchen table. It was a rather quick presentation on the part of the three men from Utah; from start to finish, the entire project would be completed within one week.

  The owner of the company said he could have the installation crew on-site the next afternoon, and they in turn would have the trees removed and the excavation area staked out and ready for the rest of the crew that would arrive with the actual bunker a day or two later. Needless to say, I gave them the go-ahead to start the project. The owner of the company and I excused ourselves and went out to my vehicle, where I retrieved a package of cash that would pay for the majority of the project.

  In New Mexico, Agent Lank Tygard and Chuck McGowan were taking a tour of the Double Eagle Airport facility.

  “I must say I’m very impressed with what you’ve accomplished over the years, Chuck,” said Lank. “I especially like this airport. It’s almost like having your own private airfield.”

  Chuck looked around and said, “Yes, it feels that way now, but in the next few years, this facility will really take off, in a matter of speaking. There are plans to put in a small aircraft manufacturing company on the far side of the field.”

  Lank turned his attention to the beautiful hangar facility his own airplane was in. “I guess it’s time to get the airplane outside and have the fuel truck come over to top off her tanks,” said Lank.

  Chuck walked over to a nearby telephone hanging on the wall and gave the instructions to the tanker truck. He returned to Lank and, looking around to make sure they were alone, told him, “We could be getting ourselves in to a real sticky situation if there is someone back in Washington stealing information from the FBI.”

  “I know,” said Lank. “I’ve been giving this an awful lot of thought, and I believe that if Paul finds the mole—if there really is one—then we need to eliminate that threat as quickly as possible.”

  Chuck nodded, saying, “I never thought we’d b
e in this business again, but I can damn well guarantee you, Lank, I’ll do everything I can to stop these guys.”

  “I know you will, Chuck, and I know Paul will do whatever he feels is necessary if he finds a mole.” “Are you even a little bit concerned as to how far Paul is capable of taking this?” Chuck asked.

  “I think if Paul finds a mole, he’ll do so much damage to the opposition that they will think twice before trying to infiltrate the FBI again. I’m sure you remember how Paul would make completely sure there were no loose ends on any of the missions we’ve undertaken over the years. If there’s anybody with the ability to root out all the rats in this instance, it’s Paul.

  “In my years working in both the military and government security, if Paul wanted you gone, then no one would ever find any trace of you. And what about you, Chuck? How far will you go?” Lank said.

  “How can you even ask me that?” said Chuck. “Now that you have filled me in on what is going on and what to look for, part of me is itching to get back into the fight . . . but you’re right. I’m not twenty-five years old anymore, and neither are you.”

  Lank put his hand on Chuck’s shoulder. “Don’t involve Cho in any of this if it materializes itself into a fight. And one other thing, Chuck. If you find yourself waist-deep in shit, make sure you’re the one that comes out alive.”

  “You can count on that,” said Chuck.

  All the two men could do was nod in agreement. Yes, they were not twenty-five years old anymore, but they were still a force to be reckoned with.

  The old Feather homestead was buzzing with activity. Several trees had been removed to make way for the overhead crane that would lift the main structure of the shelter off the flatbed truck and lower it down into the newly excavated pit, which would be its home for the next one hundred years. During the excavation and the building of the bunker, Tom and I went into town to enjoy a quiet lunch. After all, those fellows from Utah knew exactly what they were doing, and the last thing they wanted was the property owner looking over their shoulders.

  “That’s quite an operation you have going on,” said Tom.

  “Yes, I never thought I would do it, but after looking at what’s going on in this world, it makes sense to have a safe place for the family to go to,” I said. “Tom, I want to tell you that I really appreciate everything you’re doing for me. I couldn’t do it without you. Next to my wife and son, you’re the best friend I have.”

  “Well, thank you, Jack. You know I have your back, and I have got to tell you that I’m very happy you bought the old Feather property. Knowing that you’ll be up here from time to time makes me feel surprisingly good.”

  Our waitress came back, asking if we would like warm-ups on our coffee.

  Tom had to tell the waitress who I was. “Just a minute, Nicole. I want you to meet a friend of mine, Jack Roberts. Jack and his wife are the folks that purchased the old Feather homestead just behind my place.”

  The waitress reached out her hand and said, “It’s nice to meet you, Jack. I guess we’ll be seeing you and your wife in here from time to time?”

  I shook the lady’s hand. “The food is good. Yes, the wife and I will be in from time to time.”

  Of course, when you say something to a waitress in a small diner in a small town in northern Arizona, everybody in the place hears every word. Everyone wanted to say hello, so for the next ten minutes or so, I greeted around a dozen people that wanted to wish me well on the purchase of the old homestead. Every time I said, “Hello, it’s nice to meet you,” I looked over at Tom, flashing him a smile that was my way of saying “Just wait, pal, just wait. I’ll get you back for this.”

  We finished our lunch. Both of us were quiet when, as if by providence, a young man came into the diner and said hello to Tom. Tom waved, said hello, and motioned for the young man to come over to us.

  Tom introduced me to Leonard Kelly, the son of a man Tom had met in church who had just started a remodeling business. To make a long story short, it was brought to my attention that while I was cleaning up the old Feather property, I might want to consider putting some insulation and new windows in the cabin.

  I looked at Tom for a moment and said, “You’ve been talking to Carolyn, haven’t you? Because just before I drove up here, she made it clear that she wouldn’t be staying in a hundred-year-old cabin that was drafty and cold.” The three of us laughed.

  Tom turned to Leonard and said, “Son, I think you’re going to have a remodeling project in the near future!”

  Again, we laughed, and I looked at young Leonard. “I have just one question for you.”

  “What is that sir?” said Leonard. “Will you work for cash?”

  Leonard nodded. “I love working for cash.”

  At first Leonard wanted to stop by in the next day or two, but I told him that because of the removal of the barn, I was having some cleanup done around the entire homestead and it would be a real mess. We agreed that in two weeks he would start upgrading the old log cabin, measuring for new windows and adding insulation.

  High above the city of Pinetop, Arizona, a sleek twin-engine aircraft was cruising back to Scottsdale Airpark, and at the controls was Special Agent Lank Tygard. He looked down and could clearly see the Pinetop airport and the beautiful pine forest and lakes that dotted the area, and for a moment he forgot about drug dealers and FBI moles. He looked forward to finding a small retirement home nestled in the tall pines. Lank smiled to himself and thought he might even take up fishing.

  Then he shook his head. Who am I kidding? I hate fishing. He put his full attention on flying. Soon he would land at his home airport, and shortly after, he’d be holding his wife in his arms.

  Leonard excused himself and went to his own table, where he and two of his employees were enjoying their lunch hour. Before he left, Tom reminded him to stop by his place first so he could unlock the cabin for them.

  I said, “You know, Tom, I never thought owning a ranch could be this expensive. I mean, Carolyn and I saved a lot of money, and we had some great investments, but good heavens! At this rate, I might have to go back to work!” We laughed.

  Tom said, “I can see it now: we can buy an old airplane and give scenic air rides up to the Petrified Forest and back.”

  I looked at him. “Tom, that’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard you say. Now, if you had said we should get a helicopter and give tours up to the Petrified Forest, well, that’s something I could really get into.”

  “You and those damn helicopters,” said Tom. “I thought you would’ve learned your lesson by now.”

  “What do you mean? The new helicopters they’re flying now are a lot safer than what I flew in the military, and besides, no one would be shooting at us. As a matter of fact, I have already checked into getting a helicopter, and I am not going to because there aren’t any certified maintenance facilities within one hundred miles of Pinetop.

  “And even more importantly, if I even use the word ‘helicopter’ in a sentence around Carolyn, she gives me a double dose of the stink eye, and I’d be sleeping on the couch for the rest of the month.”

  “The last thing any married man wants is a dose of the stink eye from the wife,” said Tom.

  I turned to him. “Time to get out of here, my friend. Let’s build a bunker.”

  Chapter 12

  An Eyeful

  Special Agent Lank Tygard looked up from his table and out into the parking lot of their favorite diner. He saw Detective Gore quickly pull into the lot (quickly being the operative word), exit his car, and scurry into the restaurant. Agent Tygard was sitting in a corner booth when the two men made eye contact, and the young detective scampered over.

  “Running a little late this morning, aren’t you, Adam?” commented Agent Tygard.

  “Sorry, I had a flat tire coming down 68th Street,” said Detective Gore. “You know in our bu
siness we don’t call for roadside assistance; we take care of it ourselves.” The detective motioned that his hands were filthy from changing the tire, and he excused himself and headed toward the men’s room.

  The young server watched as Detective Gore disappeared around the corner. Then, looking at Agent Tygard, asked, “Are you ready to order?”

  Agent Tygard replied, “Yes. Coffee for two, and both of us will have the morning special, with eggs over easy.”

  The young server read back the order and returned to the counter for the coffee. When the detective finally returned this time, calm and collected, he shook hands with Agent Tygard as he sat down. Both men had information to share with the other, and Agent Tygard started this morning’s conversation.

  In his usual fashion, Agent Tygard quietly and carefully looked around the restaurant, making sure no one was within earshot when he started to update Detective Gore on what had happened during his trip to New Mexico. The young detective listened intently, taking in every detail given to him. Even though he had known Agent Tygard for many years, he still found it incredible and sometimes hard to believe that the man and his friends had been trained by the government to be assassins. After several minutes of speaking, Agent Tygard suggested it might be necessary for the two of them to travel to New Mexico together for a sit-down meeting with Chuck McGowan and Paul Rossi.

  “Do you really think that would be necessary?” asked Detective Gore.

  “Yes, I do,” replied Agent Tygard. “The main reason is we could be dealing with people that, if discovered, would not give a second thought to having any of us taken out of the picture. Not only us but our families as well, and we can’t take that chance, can we?”

  “I see what you mean,” said Detective Gore, “and I couldn’t agree with you more. Just the thought of somebody targeting me or my family is enough for me to want to meet your friends.”

  “Now tell me what you found out in Flagstaff,” said Agent Tygard.

  The detective relayed every detail of his meeting with Professor Wilock and the events that had taken place at the Flagstaff City Hall. He also told Agent Tygard he had gone through business license and tax records of the storage units in Flagstaff and in Phoenix and then done a comparison of the names of the company owners and the known relatives and friends of Nicholas Salazar.