Carnosaur Crimes Page 15

  “Quite an entrance. Doesn’t the FBI have cell phones? I might not have been home.”

  “We knew you were here.” He raised his briefcase. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”

  Ansel glanced at Standback who exited the flight deck and rounded the helicopter nose. His tall, slender form looked good in stone-washed jeans, navy blue tee, and boots. “Hello,” he said as sunlight bounced off his pilot sunglasses.

  “Hello, Agent Standback.” She gazed at Outerbridge. “Sure. Follow me.”

  It was a solemn procession. Ansel led them to the rear trailer porch, contemplating that she’d had no time to notify Dorbandt that a meeting with the FBI was pending. A neat tactical maneuver by Outerbridge, she considered. It made her invulnerable to negative outside influence while considering whether to help them. Or maybe it was pure loose-lips paranoia on his behalf, making sure that few people knew what he was up to.

  “Take a seat anywhere,” she directed as they entered the living room.

  Outerbridge sat in the recliner beside the sofa and laid his briefcase on the coffee table. Dixie grunted as she fell into the sofa, settling into the cushions as if for a long stay. Standback whipped off his glasses, winked at her as he passed, and took a seat on the sofa beside Dixie. Ansel couldn’t help grinning back before sitting in the rocker opposite them all.

  “So tell me what this is all about, Agent Outerbridge.”

  Outerbridge leaned over and popped the chromed briefcase latches. “This is about Operation Dragon, Miss Phoenix.” He pulled out a manila folder. “Basically my team has been set up as a paleo-task force designed to go undercover and apprehend the people involved in a major fossil poaching ring operating on public lands throughout Montana and Utah. The group we’re after is specializing in the rare meat-eating dinosaurs which are in greatest demand by collectors or dealers, sell the fastest, and always go for top dollar. For example, we suspect that this gang recently sold a complete Tyrannosaurus skeleton for five million dollars to a private corporation. Along with other multi-agency operatives, we’re infiltrating this network of marketeers, filming or recording their illegal transactions, and collating other evidence that can be used in court. We’re going to close them down.”

  He pulled out some glossies and handed them to her. “This is where the poaching ring started three years ago. Those are the larger complete or partial fossil remain sites which have already been plundered. The most recent was the Hell Creek site you saw the other night.”

  Ansel looked at the eight graphic photos in her hands one by one. Like the ravaged Tyrannosaurus skeleton she’d viewed, what remained of these excavations was little more than bone kindling, savagely destroyed for sheer pleasure after prime portions had been carted off by bulldozer, loader, and truck.

  She noted the legends typed beneath each: Albertosaurus, Allosaurus, Ceratosaurus, and Tyrannosaurus. The sites included prestigious U.S. properties like Charles M. Russell National Wildlife Refuge, Dinosaur National Park, Badlands National Park, Fossil Butte National Monument, and public lands adjacent to them.

  She felt sick to her stomach and handed the photos back. “These are all geographically isolated areas with large, naturally occurring bone beds. What makes you think your poaching group was involved with the Big Toe, Glendive, and Sidney incidents?”

  “They aren’t above quick smash and grabs,” Dixie piped up. “If he showed you reports on all the places they’ve hit in the field and out, and what they’ve taken, you’d need all night to read them. Right now the methods used in the Glendive and Sidney robberies are consistent with our poachers.”

  “But not the museum?” Ansel pressed.

  “No,” Outerbridge confessed, “but we haven’t discounted it.”

  “So what do you know about the museum heist?” Ansel peered hard at the agent.

  Outerbridge re-filed the photos. “Not much,” he confessed. “We’ve traced the concrete saw via its vendor registration number to a rental store in Billings. They were robbed a week ago, and the only thing missing was the cutter. We traced the truck VIN to a man in Billings, too. Same story. The pickup was stolen from a fenced construction site the night before the museum incident. We lifted prints from both the saw and the truck, but got no results on national or international I.D. systems. Still don’t know where the goggles came from. That’s it.”

  Ansel sighed. “And you have absolutely no idea who the Indian man was?”

  Standback shook his head. “His limited personal effects didn’t tell us anything and without a facial ID, it’s a wash right now.”

  She eyed Standback carefully. He looked as disgusted as she felt. Out of everyone in the room, she was prone to believe him. “All right, you’re on the trail of this poaching gang. What do you need me for?”

  Outerbridge took over again. “We’ve been monitoring Internet fossil groups out of Montana and Utah for months. That includes email posting boards, chat rooms, and online fossil sales of all types. A computer operative using a false identity has made friends with a person connected to a black-market dealer who belongs to our poaching ring. It’s taken six months of building mutual trust and buying several small illegal fossil items from this person through the mail, but it’s paid off. Our operative has put in a request for something bigger to buy. An Allosaurus skull of specific size and characteristics. One that we know was stolen along with other skeletons in Utah a month ago.”

  He sat back in the recliner. “This agent has received instructions to go to a specific shop located in Billings and meet with somebody who will continue negotiations. Probably a poacher- dealer who assesses the situation before sending someone directly to the seller with the skull. Normally, I’d have Dr. LaPierre go in with our contact agent, but I can’t this time. The front man expects to meet an Indian man. We’ve deliberately set it up this way so the buyer seems as unlikely to be helping the police as possible. Standback is going in as the buyer, and you’re his wife.”

  Ansel nodded. It made sense, but it was scary work. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “I’ll do all the business talking,” Standback said. “You mostly look and listen. You’re the fluff to make it look legit and to make sure that what this guy tells me is true. You’ve got the working knowledge of fossils. We’ll be shown photos and documentation for the skull. You’ve got to clue me before we leave that we’re going to get the stolen Utah skull we want along with bogus paperwork. It’s evidence that they’re selling black-market merchandise.”

  “Once we crack the first link in the chain, we can follow where it leads,” Outerbridge interjected. “Right up to the major players organizing this poaching ring and raking in the money. This is the first step and between us, the IRS, Customs, and the National Park Service, these thugs will go down hard for theft, fraud, customs violations, and a host of other crimes.”

  “That’s it? I go in one time, look pretty, and cross reference what I know about the Utah skull’s morphology with the info we’re given?” Ansel clarified.

  Outerbridge smiled. “That’s it. A couple hours of work.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting something? Like how you’re going to record what happens while Agent Standback and I are in there?”

  Outerbridge leaned forward, his eyes bright. “Agent Walthers has already checked out the shop by going undercover as your average rockhound. Turns out the building’s got surveillance cameras inside and out just to watch who comes and goes. We’re going to use their own video system to record everything they do with us, and they won’t even know about it. Kinda like letting them hang themselves.”

  “How is that possible?” Ansel asked.

  Outerbridge pulled a square white plastic device from his case and passed it to Ansel. “That’s an X10 nanny cam. It’s a mini-wireless surveillance camera that you can buy for under one-hundred bucks. They’re popular for watching babysitters, property, and anything else you want to keep an eye on. We set up close to the shop and use a hand-held directional antenna
connected to a laptop with a video card and intercept the shop’s wireless video signals. Then we watch and record to DVD on our laptops the same thing the shop nanny cams are sending to the their TV security monitors. We already know where their shop cameras are. Inside the shop, both of you will be well within a one-hundred foot radius of their cameras in any direction. That’s all we need.”

  Ansel was totally intrigued. “Isn’t highjacking the signal illegal?”

  Standback smiled. “The act of wiretapping sound recordings on tape without permission is a federal crime. Not so with the interception of wireless video signals as long as it’s lawful. We’re trying to prevent a crime so the video images are even admissible as evidence.”

  “So are you in or out at this point?” Outerbridge asked, taking the nanny cam gently from her.

  Ansel could tell that he’d said all he would about Operation Dragon. Now it was time for her to ante up. Well, Dorbandt wanted her to go through with it, didn’t he? And she didn’t see anything wrong with giving the FBI several brief hours of her time. This could be very interesting.

  “I’m in,” she said firmly. She looked at Standback for an instant, and he gave her a heart-stopping, supportive smile. Dixie, too, grinned from ear.

  “Welcome to our team, Miss Phoenix,” Outerbridge exclaimed as he snapped his briefcase shut like a happy man who’d completed a job well done. “We’ll go in tomorrow. Dr. LaPierre will be staying with you tonight and briefing you about the Utah skull, the shop layout, and the undercover scenario,” he commanded before standing.

  Ansel’s mouth dropped open, her idea of working on the book drawing all night blown to smithereens. “Is that necessary? Couldn’t we do it now?”

  Outerbridge fixed her with a firm stare. “No. I want you well acquainted with FBI procedures. This isn’t a game. I need a flawless negotiating session with these people. No mistakes. If they smell a rat, they’ll disappear into the woodwork and six months of undercover work will go down the tubes.”

  Standback got up. “See you soon, Ansel.”

  “This will be great, honey,” Dixie added, remaining on the couch. “It’ll be just us girls tonight. I’m really looking forward to it.”

  Before Ansel had assimilated that Standback had called her by her first name, he and Outerbridge had exited the trailer with quiet expediency. She turned and looked at Dixie’s pretty face, feeling out-foxed yet again.

  Somehow she’d have to notify Dorbandt where she was going before she got spirited away to Billings.

  Chapter 19

  “Those who lie down with dogs get up with fleas.”

  Blackfoot

  Ansel noticed the odd looking ring on Dixie’s left hand right after the agents left. It’s dark gray tones stood out against the paleness of LaPierre’s skin, and it was the only finger jewelry the paleontologist wore. A thick, non-metallic band with a flat round top. No stone, just that clear, circular plastic cover piece with pinwheel-like cutouts. It was exactly the same as Standback’s which she’d seen the night he piloted her to the bluff. She’d forgotten to look and see if he’d been wearing it today.

  Dixie sat across the dining room table from her, explaining the sting operation. Two folders were open on the tabletop, pulled earlier from her duffel bag. All Ansel could think about was that ring, and she glanced inconspicuously at it whenever she could. Why would two people on Outerbridge’s team be wearing those?

  Dixie looked straight at her. “Basically you and Parker will be going in as an Indian couple that just won three million in the Powerball lottery.”

  Ansel’s attention diverted from the ring. So Parker was Standback’s first name. Now she could finally associate some personal information with the agent’s face. She focused totally on what Dixie was saying as the woman pulled out a baggie with plastic cards inside.

  “The FBI’s got everything set up with the lottery commission for verifying your names as winners should anyone check out your story. You’ve also got fake IDs and histories in place which include social security numbers, licenses, license plates, multiple bank accounts, and plenty of high balance credit cards. Dump your own stuff and carry these. These guys may check you out by trying to trip you up with questions so memorize your new data, as well as this prepared sheet with both your biographies.”

  She slid the baggie and typed papers across the table. Ansel picked them up. According to her license which sported a picture of her head taken right off her commercial Phoenix Studio website, her name was Angela Georges and she lived in Billings.

  “What if they decide to go to my fake home at 5498 Midland Road or to phone there?”

  “Not a problem. That’s an FBI safe house. A female agent dressed as a maid will answer in either case and tell them you and your husband aren’t home.”

  Ansel smiled. “That’s pretty slick.”

  “The idea is that you’re upper-income, Native American professionals and your new-found wealth has made you spend-crazy. You’ve decided to build a new house and you want to decorate it with all sorts of expensive art and sculptures.” Dixie grimaced. “You know the type, Yuppies who think fossils make fashionable conversation pieces during cocktail parties.”

  “Sure,” Ansel agreed. “I went once to the home of a private collector who had a complete pterosaur skeleton set in a limestone slab on the wall of his home office instead of a painting. He claimed that the ninety-one-thousand dollar price was a bargain compared to a traditional object d’art of the same quality. It was an investment for him, along with one-thousand dollar a piece mudstone dragonfly fossils cut into accent tiles for his bathroom and a twenty-one thousand dollar, phallic-looking mammoth tusk over his bed.”

  Dixie shook her head. Long silver-dangle earrings whipped back and forth. “It just makes my blood boil. It’s the pretentious jerks with that mind set who make poaching profitable. If they’re not buying fossil trophies from any source they can, they’re taking fossil souvenirs right off the ground from the national parks. I see it all the time.”

  “What park do you work in?”

  “I work at Dinosaur National Monument. Been there five years.”

  “That’s in Utah. Did this Vernal skull we’re buying come from near you?”

  Something dark flickered across Dixie’s shining face. “Fossils are stolen from all over Utah. As far as my park is concerned, a lot of park visitors just don’t know any better, think taking a tiny piece of bone or rock won’t hurt anything. The problem is, thousands of people come there every month. What if they all took something? Others are just plain greedy. They’re private collectors who know what they’re doing and don’t care. On top of that, we’re always battling to protect the fossils from poachers. It’s a never-ending cycle.

  Ansel wasn’t fooled by Dixie’s attempt to steer the conversation away from the precise origins of the Allosaurus skull. She made a mental note to do some research on Dinosaur National Monument and Vernal, Utah.

  “Sure sounds like a wonderful job,” she said, shifting gears.

  Dixie looked up again and smiled. “Yeah, I love it, despite the problems with keeping it safe from thieves, vandals, and tourists.”

  Dixie blinked and got back on track. “Anyway, Ansel, you’ll need to dress the part of a rich, frivolous wife: high-end, casual clothing and accessories, jewelry and makeup. Parker will carry the conversation. You stick near him and look over any potential sale materials. Like Outerbridge said, make sure we’re getting the Allosaurus skull from the Vernal heist and let Parker know you’re satisfied with the deal. Simple.”

  “Not a problem. What type of pathologies am I looking for on the skull?”

  Dixie picked up another folder with quick, thick fingers. The gray ring caught Ansel’s eye again. God, the mystery of the bauble was going to drive her nuts all night long. She really wanted a closer look. She could ask LaPierre about it, but her instincts told her not to. The rings served some important purpose to the team if both an FBI agent and a NPS employee wo
re them. They weren’t telling her something.

  “Here’s some glossies of the skull shot by park personnel before it was stolen from its dig site. They show the lateral side which was facing up out of the ground. Looks like a male.” She slid the color photos across the table.

  “The skull is thirty-six inches long, very high, and laterally compressed,” Dixie continued. “There are the usual brow horns behind the eyes, plus the snout ridges. The teeth are almost fully intact, normally laterally compressed, and recurved. Two posterior teeth on the lower lateral mandible are missing. Visible pathologies seen upon initial excavation included two scar marks across the cheek and a half-inch diameter hole in the brain case, directly behind the ear hole.”

  Ansel looked at the jumble of bones partially imbedded in fine sandstone as represented by the first photo. The large, brown-gold skull was nestled inside its own pelvis and surrounded by a cross-hatch of huge rib bones. This was its natural skeletal disposition. Geological drift over many centuries had moved the Allosaurus skull completely away from its original death position at the top of the neck. Now that skull was gone. Stolen by crooks and being sold on the black market to her tomorrow afternoon.

  She looked at the next picture. It was a close-up lateral view of the entire skull with its huge eye socket and long jaw rows of upper and lower teeth. The bone scarring behind and to the side of the triangular, orbital opening was easily visible as deeply-gouged grooves. The very noticeable puncture behind and toward the top of the ear hole was also apparent.

  Ansel gazed at Dixie. “Looks like this guy was in a fight. Tooth puncture in the rear and smaller teeth marks along the face. She gave Dixie the photos. “Wonder if this is what killed him.”

  “Could be. Infection or brain damage might have made him unable to function even if he survived the initial attack. Anyway, thanks to those wounds and the missing teeth, you should be able to verify the skull as the one we want.” She gathered up the folders and then rubbed her shoulders. “I’m starved. Should we order out tonight? I’ll foot the bill.”