“I see… so I can call the FAA to get their flight plans?”

“Yeah, if you’re authorized, and if you have their tail registration numbers.”

“Well, I’m authorized, Chad.” I pulled out the sheet of paper that Randy had fetched from this office and put it on the desk. “Which are the GOCO aircraft?”

He studied the sheet and checked off two numbers: N2730G and N2731G. Chad informed me, “Sequential registration numbers. A lot of companies that fly their own airplanes do that.”

“I know that.”

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“Typical tax crap. The rich are different from you and me.”

“No kidding?”

“Okay, thanks, Chad. Think more about this. Ask around for me and see if anyone else remembers anything. You got a cell-phone number?”

“Sure.” He wrote it on his business card and asked me, “What exactly are you looking for?”

“I told you-tax evasion. Bags of money.” I said to him, “Don’t mention anything to anyone about a Federal investigation.”

“Mum’s the word.”

I left the operations office and got back in the car. I said to Kate, “There are two GOCO corporate jets that use this airport.” I filled her in as I drove toward the airport exit and told her that we’d have to call the FAA office in Washington to find out what continuing flight plans had been filed for those two jets.

Kate asked me, “Why do we want to know that?”

“I don’t know yet. This guy Madox interests me, and you never know what’s important until you piece it together with something else. In detective work, there’s no such thing as TMI-too much information.”

“Should I be taking notes?”

“No, I’ll give you one of my taped lectures that I gave at John Jay.”

“Thank you.”

At the airport exit, I asked Kate, “Did you get directions?”

“Sort of. The desk sergeant said take Route 3 west, to 56 north, then ask around.”

“Real men don’t ask directions.” I asked, “Which way is Route 3?”

“Well, if you’re asking, turn left.”

Within a few minutes, we were on Route 3, designated a scenic highway, heading west into the wilderness. I said to Kate, “Keep an eye out for bears. Hey, do you think a 9mm Glock will stop a bear?”

“I don’t think so, but I hope to God you get to find out.”

“That’s not very loving.”

She sat back in her seat and closed her eyes. “Every minute that goes by without word about Harry makes me think he’s not alive.”

I didn’t reply.

She stayed silent awhile, then said, “It could have been you.”

It could have been, but if it were me out in the woods around the Custer Hill Club, things may have turned out differently. Then again, maybe not.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

We continued west on Route 3, a road that seemed to have no reason to exist, except to look at trees while you went from nowhere to nowhere.

Kate had picked up a few brochures from the airport and was perusing them. She does this wherever we go so she can enhance her experience; then, she regurgitates this stuff back to me, like a tour guide.

She informed me that Saranac Lake, the town and the airport and this road, was actually within the boundaries of Adirondack State Park.

She also informed me that this area was known as the North Country, a name she found romantic.

I commented, “You could freeze to death here in April.”

She went on, “Large parts of the park have been designated as forever wild.”

“That’s pretty depressing.”

“The area designated as parkland is as big as the state of New Hampshire.”

“What’s New Hampshire?”

“Much of it is uninhabited.”

“That’s fairly obvious.”

And so forth. Actually, I could see now how someone could be lost in here for days or weeks, or the rest of their lives, but I also realized that someone could survive if they had some experience in the woods.

Route 3 was actually a decent two-lane road that occasionally passed through a small town, but there were stretches of wilderness that aroused my agoraphobia and zoophobia. I could see why this guy Bain Madox would have a lodge up here if he were up to no good.

Kate said, “This is so beautiful.”

“It is.” It sucked.

There were yellow signs with black silhouettes of jumping deer, which I guess were to warn the deer to jump out of the way of cars on the road.

Around a turn was a big sign that had a black painting of a bear and the word CAUTION. I said, “Did you see that? Did you see that bear sign?”

“Yes. That means there are bears in the area.”

“Holy shit. Are the doors locked?”

“John, stop being an idiot. Bears won’t bother you if you don’t bother them.”

“Famous last words. How do you know what bothers a bear?”

“Stop with the fucking bears.”

We continued on. There wasn’t much traffic going our way, and only a few vehicles passed us going back toward Saranac Lake.

Kate said, “Tell me why we’re going to the Custer Hill Club.”

“Standard police procedure. You go to the place where you last heard from the missing subject.”

“This is a little more complex than a missing-person case.”

“Actually, it isn’t. The problem with the FBI and the CIA is that they make things more complicated than they need to be.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Yes, it is.”

“I need to remind you that we don’t want to alert Madox or anyone there that a Federal agent was on his property.”

“I think we’ve discussed this. If you were on the Custer Hill property with a broken leg, no cell-phone service, and a bear nibbling on your toes, would you want me to follow orders and wait for a search warrant to look for you?”

She considered that, then said, “I know that a cop will risk his life and his career to help another cop, and I know you’d do the same for me-though you may be conflicted about my dual role as your wife and as an FBI agent-”

“Interesting point.”

“But I think you have another agenda, which is to see what the Custer Hill Club is all about.”

“What was your first clue?”

“Well, the stack of airline passenger lists and car-rental contracts in my briefcase, for one. And you inquiring about Global Oil Corporation aircraft, for another.”

“I just can’t seem to fool you.”

“John, I agree that we need to push the search for Harry, but beyond that, you’re getting into something that may be a lot bigger than you realize.” She reminded me, “The Justice Department is interested in this man and this club and his guests. Do not screw up their investigation.”

“Are you speaking as my colleague, my wife, or my lawyer?”

“All of the above.” She paused for a moment, then added, “Okay, I’ve said my piece because I had to say it and because I really worry about you sometimes. You’re a loose cannon.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re also extremely bright and clever, and I trust your judgment and your instincts.”

“Really?”

“Really. So, even though I’m technically your superior, I’ll follow your lead on this.”

“I won’t let you down.”

“You’d better not. And I also want to remind you that nothing succeeds like success. If you… we… go beyond our orders, then we’d better have something to show for it.”

“Kate, if I didn’t think there was more to this than oil-price rigging, we’d be sitting around the state trooper headquarters now, drinking coffee.”

She took my hand, and we drove on.

About forty minutes after we’d left the airport, I saw a sign for Route 56 north, and Kate said, “Bear right.”

I hit the brakes and reached for my Glock. “Where?”

“Here. Bear right. Go.”

“Bear… oh… bear right. Don’t use that word.”

“Turn fucking right. Here.”

I turned onto Route 56 north, and we continued on. This stretch of road was real wilderness, and I said to Kate, “This looks like Indian Country. What’s it say in the brochure about Indians? Friendly?”