Hostile Odds. Don Pendleton
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“I don’t trust Kellogg,” he repeated.
Newbury sighed. “You think he’s in bed with Gowan.”
“Yeah. You?”
Something in Newbury’s eyes betrayed she had similar feelings. Bolan had wondered why the inaction on Kellogg’s part.
“I don’t have a shred of proof but…well, I’ve suspected for some time. It’s hard not to get a pretty clear picture of what’s going on in smaller communities like Siskiyou County or up here in Timber Vale. Kellogg knows a lot of people, and he seems to have trouble keeping a low profile.”
“Likes to be in the limelight,” Bolan cut in.
“Exactly. And when you mention you don’t trust him, then that just seems to confirm my own suspicions and tells me I’m not crazy.”
“So for now I’d say keep quiet and don’t rattle too many cages,” Bolan said as he started the car.
“We’re leaving?”
“I’ll drop you off at my motel, and then I’ve got a few more things to take care of before I start work tomorrow morning at the mill.”
Newbury scratched at her head and finally yanked off her wig in unceremonious fashion. Bolan could see the cause of her discomfort. She’d used an assortment of rubber bands and metal clips to wind her dark hair against her head. She began to pull them loose one by one as Bolan pulled onto the road.
“So you convinced MacDermott to give you a job.”
“You know him, eh?”
She nodded. “He comes into the diner all the time.”
“You trust him?”
“Hell no!” Newbury popped a stick of gum in her mouth before adding, “Mac’s a braggart and a loudmouth. He’s also known for tipping them back a little too often.” She made a drinking gesture.
“That should prove helpful,” Bolan said. “Heavy drinking’s a weakness. Maybe I can use it to get under his skin.”
“Just be careful you don’t get too deep,” she said.
“I can take care of myself.”
“Maybe…but keep your eyes open anyway. The MacDermott fan club has quite a membership.”
“Is he on Gowan’s payroll?”
“Better believe it.” Newbury completed the task of removing the hair restraints. She tossed her head back and forth and lowered the window, and her long, thick strands of red-brown hair blew easily under the high-speed breezes.
Bolan thought he smelled something like apples or strawberries, but the scent quickly faded. “What’s his angle?”
“Mac’s a piece of work. I know he resents working under Mickey Gowan. He’s been heard mouthing off about that more than once. I know he went toe-to-toe with one of Gowan’s right-hand men a few months back, a guy by the name of Billy Moran.”
“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