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Scully went silent for a beat before nodding agreement. “It’s a secret that the U.S. government has gone to great lengths to protect. The National Park Service was created over a century ago. The public mission was conservation of America’s most beautiful, unique lands, but that was a smoke screen.”
“For what?” Riley asked.
“To hide a secret within millions of acres of wilderness, protected in perpetuity from development or private ownership. Originally, back in the nineteenth century, the U.S. Army was put in charge of Yellowstone, but it was only a temporary solution. A military installation the size of a small country would have aroused too much attention. So, the idea of hiding it in plain sight under the guise of a national park was formed.”
Riley looked at Emerson. “A needle hidden in a million-acre haystack.”
“An apt analogy,” Scully said. “In 1903, President Theodore Roosevelt secretly authorized the creation of an elite network of rangers responsible for protecting the ‘needle,’ at any cost.”
“Rough Riders,” Emerson said.
Scully again nodded in agreement. “The army has its Green Berets. The navy has its SEALs. I suppose you could say the National Park Service has its Rough Riders.”
Riley cut her eyes to Emerson. “You’re gloating again, aren’t you?”
“Big time,” Emerson said.
Riley turned her attention back to Scully. “Why haven’t I ever heard about these Rough Riders?”
“Their very existence is highly classified. There are whispers, of course, but even 99.9 percent of the people working for the Park Service have no idea who we are or what we do. Tin Man will take it from here. I think we can all take comfort in the fact that your deaths are going to be for the greater good.”
Scully left the office, and Tin Man pulled a hatchet from a holster under his jacket. “Does this answer your question?” he asked Emerson.
“You probably buy them in bulk and get them at wholesale,” Emerson said. “Personally, I think the whole Tin Man hatchet routine is a little clichéd.”
“It serves my purpose,” Tin Man said.
Bob and Jim stepped into the office.
Tin Man gestured at Emerson and Riley with his hatchet. “Truss them up and let’s move them out.”
THIRTEEN
Riley strained to adjust her sitting position so that the zip ties binding her wrists together would be just a little less uncomfortable. They had been sitting in a small cell in the back of the Yellowstone jail for almost four hours.
“Well this is a fine mess you’ve gotten us into,” Riley said to Emerson.
“It’s not over until it’s over,” Emerson said.
The door to the cell opened, and Vernon and Wayan Bagus were shoved in, hands tied behind their backs. The door closed and locked behind them.
Vernon grinned. “Well, I sure am happy to see you two. Although I can’t say I’m impressed with the facilities here. They got all the basics but none of the amenities you’d find in one of your higher class jails.”
Wayan Bagus reached into his robe and pulled out an assortment of bath soaps, shower gels, and little bottles of Listerine he’d borrowed from the Old Faithful Inn.
“I would be happy to share these with you,” Wayan Bagus said to Vernon. “Except for the Listerine, these complimentary products make your hands smell like flowers.”
Riley looked at Wayan Bagus. The zip ties that had been binding his wrists were lying on the floor.
“How did you get out of those?” she asked.
Wayan Bagus shrugged. “A wise man, recognizing that the world is an illusion, does not act as if it is real, and so he escapes suffering.”
The door to the cell opened again, and Bob walked in. “Everyone out. We’re going for a ride.”
Jim was in the hall with his service weapon drawn. Lights in the hall were dim. The building was silent. As far as Riley could see they were the only detainees.
Outside the jail, it was dark except for an idling Chevy Tahoe’s headlights. Emerson, Riley, Vernon, and Wayan Bagus were herded into the SUV. Bob and Tin Man were in the front, separated from the back by a police partition cage.
