Chapter 15

### Transport Disaster

“Good news, Fred. You’re losing your boarders,” Jack Evans grinned.

“About time. They’re eating a big hole in my jail budget,” Fred said. “So, when’s the big day?”

“Tomorrow, according to my supervisor. He got word back from the FBI. They’re fully on board, now. They want these guys down in Salt Lake for further questioning. Somebody’s gotten the big picture. Suddenly they’re very concerned about protecting these guys while they try to get more connections out of them. Just between you and me, my boss hinted that the higher-ups can’t quite believe what we’ve stumbled on to, and they want to confirm it for themselves.”

“I’m not sure I believe it, either,” Fred shrugged. “Whoever picked those guys for the job really screwed up. They know a lot more than they should. I can only guess they’ve been on too many jobs and they’ve remembered too many connections. And we’d still be in the dark, knowing little to nothing, if it weren’t for that spook of Reese’s, his interrogator from Special Forces. Jack, that guy — Jesse — I’ve never seen anything like that guy. He makes my skin crawl, just listening to him. Hour after hour he was at them. Made me soil my britches, once, when he made that one guy break down and go hysterical!”

“You and me both, Fred. I had to witness all the tapes and take notes for Washington. I had nightmares that night; I didn’t get two hours sleep for waking up shaking. Well, he’s off for some vacation time at Reese’s place; goin’ fishin’, he said.”

Early the next morning a prisoner transport bus with two state deputies and an armed driver pulled into the parking lot in front of the jail.

“Here’s our transfer papers and a copy of our orders and authorization,” one tall, sandy-haired deputy said to jailer Rebecca James when she stood to greet them at the counter. The other deputy stood nearby, heavy-set, pacing near the window, obviously uncomfortable and scowling as he gazed out at the open surroundings.

“Great. I’ll buzz Sheriff Nelson. He’s expecting you.” She punched an intercom button on her desk. Then she pressed the transmit bar on her desk microphone: “Custer 402, Custer 400, Copy?”

“Custer 400, Custer 402. They’ve arrived, ‘Becca?”

“10-4, 402. ETA?”

“Be there in five.”

“Okay, gentlemen. The Sheriff is coming across the lot now, and Chief Deputy Archer and his partner will be here in five minutes. Is your driver going to assist with the transfer?” she asked.

“He’ll stay at the wheel, but can assist if there’s any difficulty. Your deputies will bring the prisoners out?”

“Yes. They’re ready to go. Hey, Sheriff, here’s the papers they brought.” She handed the folder to Sheriff Nelson who strode in, eye-balled the two uniformed deputies, and stopped.

“Identification, gentlemen, please?” he ordered.

The tall sandy-haired guy smiled and pulled his ID wallet; stocky nervous guy growled something about ‘county hicks’ but pulled his wallet and showed it. Fred took both sets and examined them closely.

“‘Becca, call the number we’ve got on file and confirm these, would you?” he asked.

“Hold on a minute,” the nervous deputy protested. “I didn’t come here to be hassled... “ He backed away toward the door, right into the reach of Chief Deputy Randall Archer who’d stood waiting. He kneed the back of the man’s legs, collapsing him backwards. Before he got halfway down, the deputy reached around under the suspect’s suit jacket and snatched his shoulder weapon. He swiveled and dropped with him down to the floor, landing with his knees on each of the man’s arms and his free hand stiff-armed down on the suspect’s throat.

Sheriff Nelson kept a wary eye on the other man and stepped around to take the weapon from Randall’s raised hand.

“We got ourselves a ringer, Sheriff,” Rebecca called out. “The tall dude’s okay, but the guy on the deck ain’t who he claims to be. I read off his description to the Idaho Falls dispatcher and it doesn’t match. He’s no crew-cut redhead with a mustache like they say he should be!”

She reached under her counter and came up with a short-barreled 12 gauge riot gun. She jacked a round into the chamber.

“You, tall and homely, step into the corner behind you and face the wall ... NOW!” She motioned with the shotgun. He gulped, turned, and stepped into the corner, his hands held above his head.

Sheriff Nelson and his deputy spun the impostor face down on the floor to jerk his hands together.

“Wrists and ankles with zip ties. No point wasting good cuffs on him,” Nelson ordered. “He’s not getting turned loose anytime soon, not from here anyway.”

“Good job, ‘Becca. Keep that one covered. I’d better see about that driver.” He reached down to his belt and grabbed his radio.

“Stan, you got eyes on the vehicle?”

“Yeah, boss. C’mon out. He’s covered. You can climb in the bus. He’s keepin’ both his hands on the wheel.”

Fred stepped out into the parking lot to see Deputy Stan Miller standing under the driver-side window, his service revolver held inches from the glass beside the driver’s head who nervously held his hands gripping the 10-2 positions on the steering wheel.

Nelson clambered up the steps into the bus and ordered the driver to produce his identification. “Use two fingers of your left hand and slowly ... very slowly, pull out your ID and hold it out,” he ordered. “Good. Now keep both hands on the wheel so my deputy doesn’t have to shoot you. He hates the paperwork involved, so try not to mess up his day, okay?”

Chief Deputy Archer had the suspect face down in the entrance to the jail block with his lower legs bent forward. A pair of zip ties connected them to his wrist ties.

“I got everything off him while you were out there terrorizing the driver,” he grinned. “Keys, billfold, some change, and an ankle gun in a holster strapped under his sock. Good thing I dropped him, huh?”

“Yeah, good thing,” Nelson grinned. “Leave him there. We’ve got some calls to make.”

The driver checked out clean and was released. ‘Tall and homely’ was immensely relieved when Rebecca lowered and safetied her shotgun and let him drop his hands. His ID was confirmed and his description matched that on file with the Idaho Falls State Police district office.

“Okay, I’ve just got to ask,” Sheriff Nelson said to him in his office down in the Courthouse basement. “How the hell did you NOT know you had a ringer riding with you? I’ll try my damnedest to be polite, but DAMN! Man, that is purely a bad spot to be in. I’m sure glad it’s not me trying to explain it.”

State Deputy Edgar Clifton, as his ID and his office confirmed, glowered at Nelson. This had proved to be a very, very bad day for him and he was totally pissed off from being held at gunpoint in the Sheriff’s jail.

“He was assigned to me as a last-minute replacement this morning. I’ve never seen him before.”

“And you didn’t think to check him out?”

Clifton glowered and said nothing.

“Have it your way, then. I’ve called and reserved rooms for you and the bus driver at the local motel. You’re paying. My deputy will give you a ride. There’s a restaurant next door to the motel. We’ll call you in the morning ... we’ll call you; you don’t call me. I’m going to be busy trying to sort this out.

“I do blame you, you know. If you’d had half a brain when somebody dumped that ringer on you, I wouldn’t be hung up in this SNAFU. Maybe before you drop off to sleep tonight you might think on what could have happened if we hadn’t checked you all out. Maybe you’d be out in the Arco desert dead, both you and your driver. Somebody put that ringer with you for a reason. I’d be thinking about that real hard before I get too comfortable back at the office. Is that thought jarring anything loose in that complacent head of yours, Clifton?”

Nelson shook his head in disgust and motioned for the deputy to lead them out to his unit.

“Nothing?” Sheriff Nelson roared into the phone. “We’ve got a ringer here that somebody in your office cleared! And you’ve got no information and no idea who cleared him? Are you people seriously, irredeemably, incompetent?” He paced around, holding the phone at the limit of its cord while circling back and forth in front of his desk.

“Alright!” he said, forcing himself to calm down. “We’ve got six prisoners that I want rid of. I’m informed that the FBI in Salt Lake City wants five of them. Whether or not you want the sixth prisoner, the ringer you sent us, is not my concern. You’re taking him out of here with the others. Your man and his driver are waiting at the motel for orders. And I’m asking: are you going to send another state deputy to fill out the team, or are you going to let this one handle it alone?”

The following morning Sheriff Nelson, two deputies, and Jailer/Dispatcher Rebecca James with her riot gun held ready escorted the prisoners single-file out of the jail and onto the transfer bus. Each was restrained with waist and hobble chains, with their handcuffs linked to their waist restraints. When seated, their hobble chains were locked to eye bolts in the bus floor. Each prisoner sat alone, separated from the others by an empty seat.

Deputy Clifton rode alone in the front seat across from his driver. Nobody had been sent to assist him. The bus was scheduled to drive southeast down the desert highway to link with the freeway, then south to the Pocatello airport where the prisoners would be flown to Salt Lake City.