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Chapter Twenty-Four

“Congratulations,” Governor Rulon said wryly from behind his desk. “You’ve helped preserve our military-industrial complex for years to come. And very, very few people will ever know what you did.”

It was two days after the battle on Battle Mountain, and Joe squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. He was in the governor’s private office in Cheyenne, along with Geronimo, Susan Kany, and Mark Eisele. Ann Byrnes hovered on the side, half sitting on a credenza and clutching her cell phone.

Joe had spent the last forty-eight hours being shuffled from Game and Fish headquarters to the state FBI office to a windowless soundproofed room in the basement of the federal building filled with anonymous men in suits and military uniforms. He’d told them all what he’d experienced so many times that he was sick of the sound of his own voice. And he was so ready to get back home that he’d almost left the engine running in his pickup.

“You were wise not to volunteer anything to those people,” Rulon said to Geronimo. “The less you say to the feds, the more likely you’ll stay out of prison.”

“I learned from the best, sir,” Geronimo said.

Rulon smiled at that.

“What do you mean, no one will ever know?” Eisele asked his father-in-law. Eisele’s arm was in a clean white sling and Joe noted that he leaned to the side in his chair to avoid putting pressure on his other wound.

“No one in power wants the public to know what almost happened here or how easy it was to get to them. Those Centurions have more collective power and connections than any group you can imagine,” Rulon said. “What happened here will never show up in the national media, which they own. Maybe we’ll hear a few rumors from fringe websites down the road, but for the most part, it’ll be buried into a black hole.

“Of course,” Rulon said, stabbing the air with his index finger, “ I know what happened. I can keep that information in my back pocket and use it when I’m negotiating with the feds. It’s an enormous gift, from a political standpoint.”

As he said it, Joe noted that Ann Byrnes looked away.

“What about those vets we found on the scene?” Geronimo asked. “I’d hate to hear that something happened to them, sir.”

“I like how you call me sir, but you can relax. This isn’t Colorado. As for your vets, into the black hole they go,” Rulon said with a shrug. “Federal custody, I imagine.”

Eisele asked, “What about all the bodies? Those activists…”

“Black hole,” Rulon said.

“At least Allison got back with her family,” Geronimo said to Eisele.

“I’m glad for that,” Eisele responded. “I think she saved my life.”

“Which I’m grateful for as well,” Rulon mused. “It meant I could move back into the mansion.

“You all did well,” Rulon said to the three of them. “I’m proud of you. Especially you, Joe. I’m sorry what happened to poor Spike Rankin, but you found my son-in-law.”

Rulon turned to Joe. “I hear you’ve got another sheriff problem in Twelve Sleep County.”

“Yes, we do. Or did,” Joe said. “Apparently after he was cut loose, Bishop cleaned out his office and his home and no one knows where he is.”

“Probably for the best,” Rulon said. Joe agreed.

“Are you headed back to Colorado now?” Rulon asked Geronimo.

“Yes, sir. My family just returned. I’m anxious to see them.”

“Good for you, although we could use a few more like you up here in God’s country. You might want to think about that.”

“I will, sir.”

Rulon grinned and clapped his hands sharply. The meeting was over.

“Oh,” he asked Joe. “Where is the third musketeer, anyway?”

“He’s back in Saddlestring,” Joe said. “He’s getting reacquainted with his daughter.”