Cantina Valley (A Ben Adler Mystery Book 1) (24 page)

“I want to see his permit to carry,” FBI said.

“I’m in a private residence,” Ben said.
 
“A person doesn’t need a permit to carry here.”

“Let’s see your permit,” the FBI said again, his left hand out and his right hand sitting on the butt of his own pistol on his right hip.

“Right,” Ben said.
 
“I reach for my wallet in my right back pocket, you take that as a move toward my gun, and your people shoot me.”

Maggi took control and reached into Ben’s back pocket, retrieving his wallet and opening it.
 
Then she pulled out Ben’s carry permit, along with his military identification. She handed both to the senior special agent.

“You’re retired Air Force?” FBI asked.

“Guilty.”

“What did you do in the Air Force?”

“Four years in security forces and the rest of my time as a special agent in the Office of Special Investigations.”

FBI raised his brows and handed Ben his two identification cards.
 
“I’m sorry, Mister Adler.
 
You’re free to go.”

“Thanks, but I’m her ride,” Ben said, shifting his head toward Maggi.

A tactical officer appeared at the front door, and Maggi realized it was her friend from the FBI.
 
She drifted to the front door and said, “What have you done with my brother?”

“He’s being held and will be processed in Portland,” the female FBI agent said.

“On what charge?” Maggi asked.

“I can’t say at this time.”
 
She shifted her eyes toward the special agent in charge.
 
“You’re his lawyer.
 
I recommend you go to Portland.”

“This is ridiculous,” Maggi said.
 
“You think you know someone.”
 
She turned and went back to Ben, who was talking with the FBI agent much more amicably now.

“This jack-booted asshole was former Air Force security forces for four years before joining the FBI,” Ben said.

“Hey,” FBI protested.
 
“I’m just doing my damn job.”

Ben laughed.
 
“So was Mengele.”

“That’s harsh,” the FBI man said.

The forensics team came from their search of the house carrying a desktop CPU and a laptop.

Marlon got up and said, “Hey, those have important business data on them.”

The FBI agent in charge said, “You’ll get them back, assuming you have nothing to implicate you in a crime.”

“What about my client?” Maggi asked.

“He’s a man of considerable means.
 
He will have to relinquish his passport.”

“What if I don’t have a passport?” Marlon asked.

FBI grinned.
 
“You do.
 
It was issued three years ago.
 
You have traveled extensively overseas in the past two years—including to Thailand, which is a huge distributor and producer of child pornography.”

“And it also has some of the most important Buddhist temples,” Marlon said.
 
“Not to mention their oral history of Bigfoot sightings.”

The FBI man stared in wonder.

“It’s better if you don’t ask,” Ben said to the FBI man.

Now the FBI guy turned to the large windows in the living room.
 
“What happened to the windows?”

“Kamikaze mosquitoes,” Ben said.
 
“They get bigger every year.”

FBI shook his head and turned to Maggi.
 
“We’re taking your client into custody for questioning.”

“You’re wasting your time,” Maggi said.
 
“He will not say a word to you.”

The FBI special agent considered his options.
 
Finally, he said, “All right.
 
But I’ll still need his passport.
 
And he will be on a no-fly list until our investigation is complete.”

“Guilty until proven innocent,” Ben said, shaking his head.
 
“Gotta love the state of our government.
 
You might as well drill a hole in the Constitution and stick your little pecker in it.”

“The only reason I’m not taking you in is out of professional courtesy,” the FBI man said.

“That and the fact that you have no cause,” Ben said.
 
“Oh, yeah.
 
That doesn’t seem to matter anymore with the Fucking Bureau of Incompetence.”

While Ben had been haranguing the FBI, Marlon had gone to a small desk on the edge of the living room and returned with his passport, handing it to the FBI agent.

The FBI guy twirled his hand in a circle to his people and they all piled out of Marlon’s house.

Maggi closed the door and locked it behind the feds.
 
Then she turned to Ben and said, “Did you have to antagonize the FBI?”

“No,” Ben said.
 
“But life is short and I only get so many opportunities.”

“I quite enjoyed Ben’s complete insolence,” Marlon said.
 
“He was only saying what I was thinking.
 
But I knew if I said those things they would have hauled me in.”
 
He gazed at Maggi with concern.
 
“What do we do now?”

“What will they find on your computer?” she asked.

Marlon shrugged.
 
“Only my business practices.
 
But I have detailed maps with GPS coordinates of my mushroom and truffle fields.”

“No child pornography?” Ben inquired.

“Hell, no!”
 
Marlon paced back and forth and then, with more concern than he had shown when the FBI was there, he said, “That’s all my Bigfoot research.”

“But you have backup copies,” Ben said.

Marlon pulled out a chain from around his neck and showed them a jump drive.
 
“I need the both of you.
 
Maggi for your skills with the law, and Ben for your investigative experience.”

“I was on the fence,” Ben said.
 
“But I came here to tell you I would do what I could.
 
Now, with the FBI involved, there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“Awesome,” Marlon said.
 
Then he turned his gaze on Maggi.

There wasn’t much she could really do to help Marlon, despite being a lawyer.
 
“I’ll do what I can,” Maggi said.
 
“But I mostly deal with corporate law.
 
I do have a number of friends in Portland who are defense attorneys.”

“Thanks,” Marlon said.
 
“The lawyers I have dealt with in the past simply worked the sale of my company, taking way too much in the process.
 
I don’t want to give them another dime.”

“All right,” Ben said.
 
“As long as this child pornography beef is total bullshit, let’s try to figure out who is attacking you and your business.
 
It could be that the two things are connected.”

Maggi had the same thought.
 
“But what about the Compound and my brother and his friends?”

Ben smiled and said, “I’ve got a feeling the same people who implicated Marlon in bogus child porn might have dropped a dime to the FBI on Kevin, Tavis and associates.
 
Based on the history of that place, it wouldn’t be a huge jump for the FBI to raid it thinking it was a militia.”

“It’s not against the law to be part of a militia,” Maggi said.

“Tell that to the FBI,” Ben said.
 
He turned to Marlon.
 
“Now, is there any way an outside hacker could have gotten access to your computer?”

“I’ve got pretty good security,” Marlon said.
 
“Why?”

“Because someone could have hacked in and found the current location of your truffle hunters.
 
Also, if they could get in, they could have also left something behind—like a folder with child pornography pictures and videos.”

“Seriously?” Maggi asked.

Ben nodded.
 
“Damn straight.
 
Who else had the location of your truffle crews?”

Marlon considered that carefully.
 
“Just the Mammoth Paper Company.
 
They own most of the land up in the Coast Range that isn’t part of the National Forest or State Forest.
 
I negotiated a lease from them.
 
A stipulation of my lease says I must tell them where my crews will be each week.
 
But there’s no way they would divulge that information to the truffle cartel.”

“Maybe not,” Ben said.
 
“But it’s a place to start, since I can’t check your computers to see if someone hacked you.”

Maggi said, “I need to get to Portland.
 
My brother needs me.”

“Wait,” Marlon said.
 
“If they need bail money, you let me know.”
 
He handed her his business card with his contact info.

She gave Marlon her card as well.

25

They got to Ben’s house shortly, and Maggi gathered her stuff in a small bag.

“Would you like some company in Portland?” Ben asked.

She dropped her bag and gave him a big hug, holding him tight against her body.
 
Then she looked up and said, “Would you do this for me?”

“Sure.
 
No problem.”

“How do you feel about cats?” she asked.

“Although you haven’t seen them since you got here, I actually have two cats that I inherited from my parents.
 
They usually hang out in the barn, though.”

“My babies never leave the townhouse,” she said.
 
“My neighbor is checking in on them while I’m away.”

“All right,” he said.
 
“I’ll follow you in my vehicle.”

“Will that truck make it to Portland?”

He smiled.
 
“I’ll take the car.”

He packed a small bag and took Maggi through the attached garage.
 
It was dark until he opened the garage door, exposing his classic Chevelle.

“Nice,” she said.

“It could use a new paint job,” he said.
 
“But I’m afraid if I did that I’d be less likely to drive it.
 
Hang on.”
 
He got into his car and cranked over the engine, which roared to life and sounded like a massive pride of lions having sex with howler monkeys.

She leaned in for a look at the interior.
 
“It looks like the original.”

“My dad drove to Mexico and had the leather done to match the original in nineteen ninety-two.”

“Sweet.”

“Follow me,” he said.
 
“I need to stop by my neighbor to see if he can take care of my animals while I’m gone.”

She nodded and then went out to her BMW.

He backed out and revved the engine a few times to hear the sweet sound of victory and freedom.
 
Then he drove down to his closest neighbor, Jim Erickson, who agreed to come by and milk the cows, collect eggs, and feed all of his creatures.
 
Soon they were on the open road and Ben opened it up a little to blow out the carbon.
 
During his days in the Air Force he had been stationed in Germany for quite a while, where he had driven as fast as his car would take him on the autobahn.
 
The exhilaration of that experience came back to him with a broad smile.
 
Then he looked in the rearview mirror and saw that Maggi was right on his tail.
 
He forgot just how fast those German cars could be.

About an hour and fifteen minutes later they were at Maggi’s townhome complex snuggled into the West Hills above Portland and on the edge of Beaverton.
 
Luckily she had a two-car garage, so he was able to pull in next to her.

She got out and said, “I’ll just be a minute to check on the cats.
 
Then we’ll head downtown to the FBI building.”

“Do you want me to wait here?”

Maggi hesitated.
 
“Why?”

“I don’t know.
 
Maybe you have panties and bras laying around.
 
Or dildos.”
 
He tried not to smile.

“Don’t be silly.
 
I keep all of my dildos and vibrators in a drawer.
 
Otherwise the cats chew on them.”

He wasn’t sure if she was messing with him, so he simply followed her up the stairs to the first level.
 
Maggi’s townhome was an end unit with two floors of living space—three if the garage was one floor.

A large tiger-striped cat nearly attacked Maggi, weaving in and out of her legs as soon as she entered through the kitchen.
 
Then a smaller fluffy black one came stretching from the living room, still half asleep.

She introduced her cats to him as if they were little humans.
 
He had to admit that cats were not his favorite.
 
Part of that, he knew, was because he had only known the outdoor versions.
 
The kind that earned their keep by killing mice and anything else they could catch.

“Looks like they survived my absence,” she said.
 
“But we need to get going to see if we can get in to visit my brother and the others.”

They went back down to the garage and got into her BMW.

“On the way down I was able to talk with my friend with a major law firm in Portland,” Maggi said.
 
“She contacted the FBI and they wouldn’t tell her anything over the phone.”

“Let me guess.
 
They wouldn’t even confirm that Tavis was being held.”

“That’s what she said.”

Maggi’s townhome was less than five miles from downtown Portland, but Ben guessed that drive could take a while during rush hour, since the highway leading from the Beaverton and Hillsboro suburbs funneled through a gorge and a tunnel just before sifting into the Portland hillside.

They parked in a complex next to the FBI building and found Maggi’s attorney friend waiting for them at the security entrance to the FBI offices.
 
Della Bluesky was a short stocky woman with indistinguishable ethnicity highlighted by a luscious caramel skin tone and high cheek bones.
 
Her shiny black hair could have been Asian or Hispanic, but Maggi had already told Ben that Della was a Native American from the Confederated Tribes of Coos, Lower Umpqua and Siuslaw Indians.
 
Maggi had also warned Ben not to dismiss Della’s diminutive stature.
 
Della was a cross between a pitbull and a shark.

Ben shook Della’s hand and noticed immediately a strong shake.

“I was able to get us in to see someone about your brother,” Della said.
 
Then she led Ben and Maggi through security and to a bank of elevators.

Ben had been forced to leave his handgun in Maggi’s BMW, since he couldn’t carry concealed in a federal building.

Once they got into the elevators and started heading up, Della turned to Maggi and said, “Your brother is suspected of being part of a subversive militia group.
 
Do you know anything about this?”

“It’s bullshit,” Maggi said.
 
“I know that much.”

Della shook her head.
 
“They wouldn’t tell me what evidence they had against Tavis.
 
But it’s never good when the FBI gets involved.
 
These assholes can call anyone with a gun subversive.”
 
She pointed up to a camera in the corner and said, “That’s right, assholes, I’m talking about you.”

Ben mumbled to Maggi, “I’m already liking your friend.”

When they got into the detention holding area, another level of security, they were forced to sit and wait.

“So,” Ben said.
 
“Maggi says you’re from the Lower Umpqua area.”

“Our tribes were shoved together,” Della said.
 
“My people are the Siuslaw.
 
We ranged from the Siuslaw River area to the coast and toward our brothers to the south, the Umpqua.”

“Do you speak the Siuslaw language?” Ben asked.

Della smiled and said, “You know that we have our own language?
 
Most people have only heard of the Siuslaw River and the Siuslaw National Forest.
 
I speak some, but I’m afraid the language might die with our elders.”

“That’s too bad,” he said.
 
Changing the subject, Ben said, “You’re a criminal defense attorney?”

“Yes,” Della said.
 
“But I also deal with tribal affairs for various people in Oregon and southern Washington.
 
Maggi says you are retired Air Force.”

“That’s right,” Ben said.
 
“Now I’m just trying to live a simple life.”

Della looked at Maggi and then back to Ben.
 
“Maggi said something about that.
 
Says you are pretty self sufficient.
 
Off the grid?”

“Just about as much as one can be today,” he said.

Without saying another word, Della suddenly jumped from her seat and went to a secure window and started talking with a man behind the glass.

“What do you think?” Maggi asked.

“She’s feisty.”

“You don’t know the half of it.
 
She never loses.
 
She graduated first in our class.
 
Destroyed anyone who tried to argue with her.
 
The women wanted to be like her and the men were afraid of her.”

Ben nodded toward Della, who was now speaking much louder and threatening with legal clarity.
 
“It looks like they’re still afraid.”

Della turned and her scowl transformed into a smirk when she glanced at Maggi and Ben.
 
“They’ll let us see only Tavis, since I said I represent him.”

“That’s a good start,” Maggi said, and then got up.

The locked door clicked open electronically and a younger man who looked like a former football player escorted them down a stark corridor to a small interview room.

Tavis was already sitting at a desk that was bolted to the floor, his hands cuffed and locked to the desk.

The guard closed the door behind them and Ben drifted to one side while the two attorneys took seats across from Tavis.

Della explained who she was and her relationship with Maggi.

“She mentioned you before,” Tavis said.
 
“I appreciate anything you can do for me and my friends.”

“Do your friends have representation?” Della asked.

Tavis shook his head.
 
“No, ma’am.
 
We are all former military.
 
We met through friends of friends.
 
I don’t understand what the FBI wants with us.
 
We are not a radical group.”