Wyoming Bold

“If he doesn’t it won’t be my fault,” Greg said. He smiled. “I love animals.”

“Maybe someday you’ll find a woman who does, too.”

He shrugged. “Or not.” He eyed Tank. “You got this squirrel from Merissa Baker, didn’t you?” he asked.

“No comments about curdling milk,” Tank said defensively.

“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that,” Greg replied. “She’s got this way with animals, is what I meant,” he said. “Brought me a snake one day that she’d bandaged. She was afraid the bandage wouldn’t stay on.” He whistled. “Biggest damned timber rattler I ever saw, and it was lying in her arms like a baby. Minute I touched it, it tried to strike at me. But I bandaged it and nursed it back to health and turned it loose.”

“She told me about that.” Tank laughed. He shook his head. “Some gift.”

“Some gift. There are people among the Cheyenne tribe here who have it. I’ve seen them gentle wild horses with just light touches and tone of voice. You know,” he added, “maybe there’s something to this theory that everything has a soul.”

Tank held up both hands. “I have to go.”

“Just thinking out loud, is all.” Greg chuckled. “Anyway, your squirrel is going to be fine. Might not be a bad idea to truck him up north a few miles to turn him loose. For the sake of the wiring in Merissa’s house, that is.”

“I was thinking the same thing!”

* * *

TANK WENT BACK HOME. He was still laughing about the snake.

“What’s funny?” Mallory asked with a grin.

Tank smiled. “Merissa once took a snake to Greg Barnes for treatment.”

Mallory shook his head. “I’ll bet she hates snakes, too.”

“She does, but that isn’t what makes the story curious. It was a timber rattler.”

Mallory’s eyes grew larger. “It didn’t bite her?”

“Greg said she brought it in, holding it in her arms, and it just laid there. Until he tried to work on it, that is, and it struck at him.” He laughed at his brother’s expression. “She has a way with animals.”

“A timber rattler.” He sighed. “Well, that’s one for the books.”

Tank nodded and smiled.

Mallory was watching him with interest. “Things heating up, are they?”

Tank was surprised. “How would you know that?”

“You’re my brother. It isn’t like you to take an interest in a woman. Well, it’s not an everyday thing, at least.” Mallory was alluding to his own wife, Morie, in whom Tank had been briefly interested before he realized that Mallory’s antagonism to her was concealing a growing passion.

“I love Morie like a sister,” Tank said quickly. “Just in case you wondered.”

Mallory clapped him on the shoulder. “I know you better than that.”

“We had a very nice supper,” he recalled with a smile.

“I like the food at that place, too,” Mallory began.

“We went to a Chinese place in Powell,” Tank corrected.

Mallory’s eyebrows lifted. “Why?”

He shrugged, and jerked his head toward the base phone on Mallory’s desk in a corner of the living room. “Just wanted a change.”

“I see.” And Mallory did see. He was aware of the bugs.

Just as he said that, Rourke strolled in, one brown eye twinkling beside the one with the eye patch. His blond hair was thick and combed. He was wearing khakis, a habit from South Africa, where he lived, and he looked very smug.

“Fourteen bugs,” he said. “I tweaked them all. He’ll be listening, alternately, to ball games from San Francisco, police calls from Catelow and pings from the International Space Station.” He grinned.

They laughed. “Well, that’s a relief. I was afraid to say anything out loud,” Tank told him. “In fact, I took my girl to a restaurant in Powell because I was afraid they might have bugged the one in Catelow since I mentioned it in front of the phone.” He hesitated. “I’m probably paranoid.”

“You’re not,” Rourke commented. “They probably did have someone standing by to slip a bug under the table wherever you sat. Someone working as a temporary waiter.”

“You’re good,” Tank mused.

Rourke shrugged. “Years of practice. I used to work for Interpol, a long time ago. But the pay was somewhat less than I earn with small arms in dangerous places.”

“Hazardous work,” Mallory commented.

Rourke nodded. “But it’s what I do best.” He sighed. “There’s a revolution going on in a country near mine. Near Kenya. I was on my way there when you called for help.” He smiled at Tank’s guilty expression.

Tank knew about Rourke’s friend, Tat. He almost mentioned what Merissa had told him but he paused. She’d warned him to say nothing or it might cost the photojournalist her life. He kept his silence.

“Sorry about that,” Tank said gently.

Rourke shrugged again. “No big deal. I can go later. It’s not as if the war will be over in a day or two. Sad case. The president of the country is Harvard-educated, he’s brilliant and he has a feel for politics. His opponent comes from some dusty backwater village and he can’t even sign his own name.” His expression became grim. “He’s ordered women and children butchered for daring to help the government forces, in ways I can’t even tell you about. It’s like tribal warfare back in the 1800s, only worse.” He looked at Tank. “Even having been in a war in the Middle East, you have no idea how warfare is conducted in such places. I’ve been shot at by eight-year-olds with AK-47s.”

“Child soldiers.” Tank’s expression was eloquent. “People who employ them should be tried and shot.”

“They will be, when the president is back in his office. And he’ll prevail. I’m certain of it. He has the backing of most of the Western nations.” His smile was sarcastic. “His country is almost floating on oil, you see. Some of his advisors are spec ops people from a country I won’t name.”

Tank sighed. “At least he has help.”

“A lot of it. But meanwhile, whole villages are being burned out, their populations decimated. Crops are destroyed before harvest, so the refugee population grows daily. Borders are closing around the country, so there are tent camps set up everywhere. It’s the most heart-rending thing I’ve ever seen.”

“War is ugly,” Tank agreed. “Thanks for taking care of the bugs,” he added, changing the subject. “I was starting to twitch every time I looked at the phone.”

Rourke smiled. “I know that feeling.”

He turned. “I’ve got to talk to our electrician. I want him to go over to the Baker house and fix an electrical problem that the squirrel caused.”

“Is the squirrel returning when it’s mended?” Rourke wondered.