“No. I’m sure we would have seen them when we drove up to the house. Some of them are really close to the driveway. I don’t know why they’re here.”
“Maybe Shane’s idea to advertise for help with the protests paid off.”
“Maybe.” A tingle rose along the back of her neck. “They could be from the Freedom Fighters.” The people the Bureau had been after for months.
“Whoever they are, we’ve got to get past them to reach the ranch house,” George said. “We need to find another way in.” He pulled off his pack.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I’ve got maps.” He pulled out a sheaf of papers. He laughed at her astonished look. “Sometimes old school is still best. Let’s take a look and plan our route.”
Snow had piledup all day and night on the ridges above the resort. Ski patrol was out before dawn Wednesday, launching charges. At first light, Connor went up in the resort helicopter to drop bombs on a more difficult-to-reach cornice. The higher elevation lifts, including Ten, opened on a delayed schedule, but by eleven o’clock every lift was turning and skiers streamed down the mountain.
Banners hung over the plaza welcomed skiers to the upcoming Martin Luther King weekend festivities. The mid-mountain restaurant arranged dozens of bright red Adirondack chairs facing the sun and clustered around a fire pit, while Guest Services set up a large hospitality tent handing out water, maps and sunscreen at the base of Lift One. Though most visitors would arrive Saturday morning, early arrivals were already filling the parking lots and condos.
Connor had just released Farley for a morning run when Doug flagged him down. The resort director was in ski gear this morning. “I’ve been touring the front side,” he said when Connor reached him. “Everything looks to be in good shape.”
“It is,” Connor said.
“No problems clearing the ridges this morning?”
“None.”
“I hear we’ve got a new FBI agent here,” Connor said.
The lines around Doug’s eyes tightened. “He was waiting for me when I arrived at the office this morning. He’s even more tight-lipped than that woman. Said he was here to set things straight.”
“Did you call and ask the FBI for more help?” Connor asked.
“Stacy told me yesterday that she was going to do that. I would just as soon the government stay out of this. That includes the Forest Service. We’ve operated SkyCrest on Forest Service landfor forty years. They know we’re good stewards. Yet, they’re giving us a hard time about this expansion.”
“Since when does the government ever move quickly?” Connor said.
“We’re going to have protestors around all weekend,” Doug said. “The town granted a permit for them to collect petition signatures right outside ski resort property, and there’s some kind of rally in the town square. You’d think the local businesses would be on our side.”
“People have a right to free speech,” Connor said.
Doug grunted. “I want zero tolerance this weekend,” he said. “Anyone steps out of line, they’re off resort property. I don’t want any trouble. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Security is on red alert, too. Call them if anyone becomes a problem.”
“We’ll have everything under control,” Connor said. He only hoped Stacy and George could control things on their end.
Doug moved on, and Connor started toward ski patrol headquarters to kennel Farley. His radio crackled.
“There’s someone here at the office looking for you,” Lily said.
“I’ll be there in five.”
The man looked like a regular tourist, in dark pants and a navy parka, a black watch cap pulled low over his ears. But his rigid posture and alert attitude told Connor this was probably Special Agent Damien Anthony. “Connor Donaldson?” the man asked at Connor’s approach.
“That’s me.” Connor leaned his ski poles against the rack and clicked out of his skis. “What can I do for you?”
“Special Agent Anthony, Federal Bureau of Investigation.” Anthony showed his ID. “I need to ask you some questions.”
“Come on inside.”
