The Triggerman Dance

The first is a plain white sheet with sketch of the Journal buildings and parking lot on it. It is an aerial view. It is not highly detailed, but Susan Baum's parking place is marked by a drawing of the "Baum" sign, with her name lightly penciled upon it. Fairway Boulevard is clearly marked, and the chain link fence that runs along the parking lot is identified as such. In the upper right hand corner is a notation:

4 to 5 Mon. Wed.

3 to 4 Tue. Thu.

noon Fri.

Baum's hours of departure from work, John thinks, including her inviolable half-days on Fridays.

John recognizes the neat, forward-slanting print that he saw in the files in Vann Holt's office desk.

The second sheet of paper is a black-and-white aerial photograph of a home somewhere in the foothills. Grease-penciled onto the fat bottom border of white are the words, "B. Residence—Newport Beach—3:15 p.m.—1/2 12."

Again, it is easy to see that the controlled, almost mechanically perfect printing on the photograph comes from the same hand that kept the notes in Vann Holt's desk files.

John stares down at these things as if they were a burning bush, or a huge nugget of gold. He turns away and goes back to the dining room table, walking with his head down, as if deep in thought, in the hope that no one will see him.

He sits down at the table and stares at his electronic in-basket, now empty, the message consumed by the software.

He feels the cold shudder in the muscles of his back.

He looks out the window to Holt's mission home, to Fargo's orange-packing plant house, to the Messingers' residence, once a church. Falsehood. Facade. Illusion.

John remembers that Joshua had warned him this might happen. That there might come a time when all their planning is not enough, when all their caution is insufficient.

If you're blown, run. If you can't run, deny. When you can't deny, confess. It will either get you out, get you turned or get you killed.

Fargo's voice darkens his mind like a cloud over the sun:

He went somewhere with Snakey and Snakey came back.

He looks out toward the hills, in the direction of his box and his telephone. One hour.

Patience, he tells himself.

Calm.

He takes the sketch and photograph into the bathroom, pulls the penlight from his pocket and shoots three exposures of each document. He uses tissue to handle them. When he's put them inside the bag he wipes down the bag and puts it back where he found it.

He sets out with his dogs again, around the lake, drawn by the cellular umbilical cord to Joshua, sure that every eye in heaven and on earth is watching.

Joshua is silent for a long while, as he digests John's story. He asks John to repeat it all, twice. When he finally speaks his voice is deep and hushed and oddly formal.

"You have been baited. The question is by whom, and what with. Put the penlight in the box now, and get a fresh one. You were thoughtful to leave the package in the vegetable cooler, but I need it by six tomorrow morning, safe in our box of toys with your film. We have two days to analyze it, determine if it's counterfeit, and return it if it is. We know that someone deeply suspects your motives. We don't know who. If it's Holt, you are being tested in his absence. The handwriting will not be his and the photograph will be somehow fraudulent. He'll expect you to take them to him."

"You can tell it's Holt's writing."

"No, Owl, you cannot. Forgery is an acquired skill, and plenty of people have it."

"What if it wasn't Holt?"

"If it wasn't, and the material is genuine, then there's another spy on Liberty Ridge."

"Am I going to get killed?"

"Not if you listen, and do everything I say. Continue. "John told him about his trip to Top of the World, Holt's proposal of "work" with Liberty Ops, the Holt family vaults and statues, the golden doors stamped with birds shining in the sun "They were unforgettably beautiful," he said.

"And the girl, Valerie. Is she beautiful, also?"

"I don't think you need an answer to that question, Joshua.'

"I think I have one."

They meet up again just at sunset, loading the picnic basket that Valerie has made into a little skiff and motoring out to the island in the middle of Liberty Lake. She wears a long loose summer dress of pale gray, with birds of paradise on it, and a pair of rubber thongs. John can smell the lotion she put on after the shower.