Monday mid-morning : Ft. Peck Indian Reservation

When Agent Andrews arrived at the home of Neha Littlebird, the Tribal Police Department had already roped off the crime scene. Ambulances were standing by with their lights flashing.  One FBI Suburban was at the scene—it was Agent Corbetta’s unit. Good, he thought. Corbetta was the best forensic man in the area.

Andrews had called the Tribal Police Chief as a courtesy because he needed cooperation and it was protocol, but the agent demanded that no one from the local authorities alter the crime scene. It was FBI jurisdiction. The Tribal Police verified the victims were dead and looked for survivors on the property and in the house—that was it.

Andrews stepped out of the black Suburban and checked his phone. Four additional black FBI Suburban’s pulled up at the same time. He called Zager to inquire about Agent Lee Michaels, now dead in Neha Littlebird’s back yard. He was expecting a call back any minute. Burk exited the other side of the vehicle. Andrews looked at her disdainfully.

He walked toward the house, seeing Agent Corbetta speaking with Tribal Police Captain Henry Firemoon. Andrews and Burk approached the two men, both of whom he’d met in the past.

“Captain Firemoon, thank you for coming down and roping off this scene,” Andrews said. “Any other victims in the house or on the property?”

“No,” Firemoon said.

“Captain, have you ever seen any of these victims on the res before?”

Firemoon shook his head, “I don’t think so. I wanted to get a closer look, but Agent Corbetta backed us away from the bodies after checking their vital signs.”

“That’s his job, Captain. Thank you for coming. We’ll take it from here.”

“I’m staying. This is Neha Littlebird’s house,” he said. “She and her houseguest are very prominent members of our community and they are missing.”

“We are aware, Captain,” Andrews said.

“You can’t just cut us out,” Firemoon said.

“I realize you wish to be involved, but I can’t allow it,” Andrews replied. His tone was gracious but firm. “This crime scene is now under FBI jurisdiction until further notice. I need you and your men to back off.  We will keep you apprised the best we can... when we can. That’s all I can say.”

Firemoon glared at Andrews.

“Ok, let’s move out,” he grumbled aloud.

The Tribal Police gathered their equipment to leave.

Andrews offered a polite smile to Captain Firemoon and turned his attention back to Corbetta, “So? Is it really Lee Michaels?”

Corbetta nodded and sighed, “It is.”

“Jesus. Have you been able to make out what happened?” Burk asked.

“We’ll dig deeper but my first thought on the matter seems to be very consistent with the information you received from Ms. Vanderbilt,” he said. “Four armed men pulled into the drive in a white Yukon. You would have passed it coming in.”

Andrews nodded, “We did.”

“The four men ransacked the house, presumably looking for Ms. Vanderbilt and Ms. Littlebird.  While the four perpetrators were in the house, two more men showed up.  For reasons yet to be determined, two men engaged the other four in the back yard near the shed. The two men who came later—our heroes—killed the other four.  One perp’s neck was broken. It was a clean break caused by a blow from someone who knew what they were doing.  Our second hero shot the other three perps with their own weapons.”

“Jesus, look at that gun,” Andrews said. “I’ve not seen anything like it before. What is it?”

“Those are Bullpup rifles,” Corbetta said.

“What are Bullpup rifles?” Andrews asked.

“Heavy-duty Chinese made assault rifles. They aren’t FBI issue that’s for sure.  Whoever equipped these men knew what they were doing. Those are fine state-of-the-art weapons.”

“Not good enough to get the job done, though,” Burk said.

“That’s true,” Corbetta said. “Our heroes were quite skilled. My guess is, military trained.  I would not want to mess with them.”

“Did you know Lee Michaels?”

Corbetta nodded, “No, he was out of DC.”

Andrews looked at the carnage around him.

“Anything here that might lead you to believe Michaels was not part of it... willingly?”

“He was part of it, all right.”

“Thought so. How about these other guys—any idea who they are?”

“No ID, of course,” Corbetta said. “All white males, between thirty-five and forty-five—built solid, probably ex-military. We’ll fingerprint them, but we won’t get a hit.  Whoever staged this little party is too smart for that.  I see two arm tattoos we might be able to trace. Dental records might help, but again, I doubt it.”

“Thanks Agent Corbetta,” Andrews said. “I’ll let you get back to work. Call me if you come up with anything significant.”

Corbetta nodded and walked away.

“Why so glum, Andrews?” Burk said. “This is a good thing.”

“How so?”

“We found our mole—Lee Michaels. This is a win.”

Andrews sighed, “I guess.”

His cell phone rang.  He looked at the display—it was Agent Zager.”

“Tell me you got something,” he said as a greeting.

“Lee Michaels was an agent out of D.C.—been with the bureau for nine years,” Zager said. “He worked in the private security sector for eleven years before someone recruited him into the bureau.”

“Where’d he go to college?” Andrews asked.

“What?”

“College.”

“He graduated from Georgetown.”

“What year?”

“Hold on,” Zager replied. Andrews could hear him pecking on his computer. “Here it is... 1996. He got his degree in Criminal Justice.”

“Ok, go on.”

“He was adequate but not spectacular at his job. He was quiet, had few friends, kept to himself.”

“If his assignment was in D.C., how is it he is here in Montana?”

“Believe it or not, he was on a planned vacation,” Zager said. “He put in for vacation for these dates more than a month ago. Told people he was going hunting with buddies.”

“He went hunting all right,” Andrews said. “So, he figured he’d be here more than a month ago. It sure fits the theory that this was all carefully planned to happen this week. Anything at all in his record to make you believe he was ripe to be turned?” Andrews asked.

“Not that I see.”

“How about known associates? Anything odd there?”

“No, nothing.”

“Ok, I need a favor—an off-the-books favor.”

“What?” Zager replied, his voice lowering into a whisper.

Andrews turned his back the crowd of agents in the area and whispered.  He told Zager what he needed.

“Holy crap, do you think...?”

“Just do it, Zager. Keep it quiet and get back to me.”

“You must have your reasons,” he said. “You got it.”

Andrews ended the call, moving away from the group of FBI inspectors and from Burk. He pulled out the burner phone Rainhorse had given him and dialed a number from memory.  Rainhorse answered on the first ring.

“Tell me you will not search for Lindsay,” he said.

“You found out about that already, I see” Andrews answered. “I spoke with her before she took off with two Cheyenne. She is fine, but you probably knew that already, too. No, I will not try to find her. She is probably safer where she is.”

“You know the man you shot is not Barnabas’s primary mole, right?” the former assassin said. “A low-level DC field agent could not have supplied Barnabas with...”

“Yes, I figured. Lee Michaels has only been in the bureau nine years. Barnabas has been getting intelligence from within way longer than that. Did you know there was more than one?”

“No.”

“I’m ninety percent certain I know who the primary mole is, now,” Andrews announced.

“Who is it?”

“Never mind that, now. I’m having a background check being done now, under the radar, but I’m certain.”

“How did you find out?”

“I’ve had my suspicions for some time,” Andrews said.

“The question is, does the mole know you know who he is?”

“No.”

“Good. Keep it that way for now,” Rainhorse cautioned. “We can use it.”

“How?”

“Here’s what I want you to tell him,” he said. Rainhorse spent the next two minutes outlining what he wanted Andrews to say.

“I got it,” Andrews acknowledged. “Hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Makes two of us,” Rainhorse agreed. “Your men are in Seattle?”

“They’re there in full force, chasing their tails looking for some hangar that doesn’t exist,” he replied.

“Ah, they bought the hangar story,” Rainhorse said.

“Director Rice was listening to Lindsay’s conversation with your man at the same time I was,” Andrews acknowledged. “The man ordered the search himself. That Lindsay is one cool character.”

“She is,” Rainhorse agreed.

“Anyone who isn’t in Seattle is out there looking for a man named ‘James,’” Andrews added, “but there is no James… is there?”

“Nope,” Rainhorse replied. “I needed your men in the area but not snooping around in areas that would cause Barnabas concern. I have special instructions for tomorrow. You need to follow them without question or alteration, do you understand?” 

“I don’t know why I have faith in you,” Andrews stammered.

“Because I am the best shot you have at averting disaster, that’s why.”

“Well stated,” Andrews replied. 

“Be ready,” Rainhorse continued. “When the time comes, it will all go down quickly.”

Andrews sighed, “Roger that.”

Andrews hung up. Burk had been approaching and was now standing within earshot.  She was just ending a call on her own cell.

“So, I wonder how this will affect Barnabas’s plans?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” Andrews queried.

“I mean, we cut off his inside information into the FBI,” she clarified. “That has to be meaningful, right? It may even cause him to delay things, don’t you think?”

“It’s possible,” Andrews admitted, thinking exactly the opposite.