Twisted All To Hell

by J E Moore

crossed over on Yukon One an hour ago," whispered Bruce.

  "Your buddy is golden. Remind me to send him a case of scotch if this works out... and a liter even if it doesn't," requested Jack. Then he announced, "Bruce and I are going for coffee and a bagel at the corner deli. Does anyone want anything?" he asked of Kitty and Rachel. "Be back in twenty."

  On the street, "Here's the plan, partner. Call and get your funny-looking plane ready to fly. Our first stop will be Anchorage. We're going shopping for clothes... old clothes. We need merchant marine duds. After that we need to be dropped off at Fairbanks, lease a utility van and have, 'Bay Marine mechanics' painted on both sides. The van will provide enough room in the rear to secure and transport the prisoners far enough away until we call in the Calvary to take over. We'll drive to Prudhoe Bay without relaying to the office our true intentions. It is possible I may have by accident misled Rachel about the direction we'll be traveling," as he winked. "It happens a lot in complicated big Operations." Bruce understood the ploy and grinned. "We're not in a hurry. I want our brainiac bikers to get there at least one day before we do. They shouldn't be hard to find riding a Honda, Star or Kawasaki. I doubt the Bandits will let them park those low- life pieces of metal anywhere near their beloved Harleys. We'll devise our capture plan after we locate and scout them out. We have a warrant for Atwater, not the other two but we'll take them all if we get the opportunity. Baldreed and Gunderson as persons under suspicion in the Patriot Act." Jack rubbed the stubble on his chin, "Humm, we'll have to stop shaving." He looked at Bruce's peach fuzz, "Well, one of us will. You may have to rub soot or grease on that kisser. I don't want those bikers to think you're my love-slave. They may want me to share you. Let me know when you're ready to roll."

  Again, "I'm always ready, boss. Do you think I would have a few minutes to question the prisoners during transport... assuming all goes well?"

  "I don't see why not," reasoned Jack, "providing they'll talk. But I'll tell you one thing for certain; they're going to spill their proverbial guts in a most uncomfortable manner if the National Security Agency or the C.I.A. gets their hands on them."

  "I understand," acceded Bruce. "I've thought about this for a while and I want to learn why Pandora drives people to suicide. I believe I can handle it."

  "We'll find out soon enough; saddle up."

  Two days later as they rode through Sagwon, Alaska "There's a lot of economically depressed families living here," observed Bruce.

  "They're mostly Inuit. They don't appreciate being called Indians, Eskimos or First Americans," informed Jack. "I reckon they have earned the right to be called whatever they want since it's been proven they have occupied these lands for over nine thousand years. There are a lot of similarities between their culture and the hundreds of tribes scattered over North and South America. They may be the First Americans source. Did you know they have shamans and their religious beliefs incorporate thousands of gods which is similar to Hinduism? That's a bit of the local intel I gathered when my ships docked here." They both looked about - trees, pine trees and more trees. "These trees you're looking at exist mainly due to the Inuit's resolve; they carried a lot of weight in preserving Alaska's woodlands. They deserve a lot of credit... unfortunately you can't eat credit. Their high priced attorneys, paid for by the Department of Indian Affairs, a U. S. agency, embarrassed the Government itself by making it face its own misdeeds and the proof of destroying our natural resources to support preferred Big Business greed. So, even though the Inuit won the court decision their lawyers took the entire awarded cash settlement. However, in hindsight the natives prevailed but lost the proverbial battle - a reverse case scenario in U.S. and Indian confrontations. The bottom line is that Nature and the scum-bag lawyers got the goodies and the Inuit got nothing to improve their lives. Still, I believe they were satisfied. They were never in it for the money."

  Bruce had been impressed again and reflected, "I've got to get out more or start watching the Travel and History channels."

  "Seventy miles to the Bay; catch forty winks if you can," suggested Jack. "Who knows what's going to happen after we arrive. We'll try to lay low but it's a small town and everyone has eyes." The young F.B.I. special agent couldn't sleep.

  The remnants of Prudhoe Bay the town.

  "Not much here," noted Whitaker.

  "I wouldn't say it never became a Boom Town but it held its own for fifty years," as they viewed the rows of dilapidated buildings lining either side of 'Oil town' the main street. "This is going to be better than I expected providing I'm correct and they're here. There's one hotel in town and one motel on the outskirts... the same goes for the honky-tonks or roadhouses as you know them. I damn sure the Bandits won't let them camp with them. All of this will be easy to check out. However, if our guys aren't here and don't show up in a coupla days I'll have to slink back to Washington with my tail tucked between my legs. But don't worry none, partner; I won't compromise you. Even so, you may expect some heat for authorizing the expense of using of the go-fast jet. So, either way, you'll be screwed too. Welcome to the Marshall's Club! You do something right and someone else gets the credit. You mess up and it's all on you."

  The town proved to be unfruitful, however five miles out at the End of the World Bar it appeared they had tracked down their quarry. There were three non-Harley bikes parked at the corner of the building, away from the real bikes.

  "What are we going to do?" asked Bruce.

  "I'm not sure. We could go in guns blazing and kill all the bad guys. Then drag our scientists out by their hair." Bruce gasped. Jack laughed. "Sorry, a little bit of Marshall humor." He counted the bikes to estimate the number of Bandits. "Seriously, this could be a tricky, fatal situation. Remember what I said about the bikers getting the word out about Colorado and they'd gut any lawman who infringes on their domain? I wasn't kidding and that's why we're dressed as mariners. We can back off and wait for a safer opportunity or we can play it close to the vest and go inside. No one knows us; we don't have to tip our hand."

  The nervous young F.B.I. agent with a heart full of courage and his finger on his weapon said, "Let's go for it!" as a shiver ran up his spine.

  As they approached the door Jack warned, "Don't look around. Keep your eyes on the bar or the floor. We can casually check out the premises after we have hopefully been accepted and... take your hand off your weapon! That sticks out like a sore thumb." At the bar, "You can look around if you appear as if you don't give a rat's ass of what's going on even if someone is getting beaten or killed. And, no eye contact! Better yet, how about if you mosey on off to the restroom and don't say a word to anyone. Oh, and if you find someone in there get the hell out fast!"

  Rattled a bit, Bruce tendered, "May I just stay here and stare at my beer?" Jack nodded assent.

  After twenty minutes and the delivery of his second beer, Jack was able to discern four men in a large booth at the far side of the bar. Ten fat, surly Bandits and five Inuit were between the law and their quarry. There also sat a lone seaman two booths away from their objective. "Here we go, partner." Bruce concentrated on his mug. Jack turned and yelled, "Hey, Lucky, is that you hiding over there?" Crenshaw grabbed his mug and sauntered across the tavern. "Ain't seen your worthless ass since Singapore!" The Bandits gave a casual glance at the two new Merchant Marines. They figured the second fellow, the smaller one served as the older guy's bitch. Whatever. The two lawmen arrived at the surprised patron's booth. "Oh, sorry Bro, you look similar to an old humping buddy of mine. We laid a lotta pipe together," as he winked, "in Malaysia. Sorry again," and shuffled toward the four conspicuously seated men two booths further back.

  "Mind if we join you?" as Jack and Bruce took the end positions and pushed them closer to the wall. The occupants didn't object, they knew better than to challenge real bikers or drunken seamen. "You appear to be nice fellows. We're new in town; can we buy you a beer? What would like to have Mister Atwater, Gunderson and Baldreed?" They turned pale. "Sorry, I don't know
this gentleman," referring to the Inuit seated with them. "Your name sir?" He refused to answer.

  "He's Argun Siginig, a shaman of many generations. He's not concerned about you and doesn't deem it necessary to respond to your pettiness," explained Atwater.

  "Sounds about right," returned Crenshaw. "Reminds me of my ex-wife. I assume you guys have figured out who we are." All three scientists looked glum. "You're all under arrest under the Home Land Security Act except the shaman. You, Louis Atwater, for stealing confidential material from N.A.S.A. although I don't believe they have determined exactly what it's connection is in regard to Pandora. And you two," referring to Baldreed and Gunderson, "for collaborating with a known fugitive. Isn't the H.L.S. Act wonderful, Bruce? It's like a 'Go to jail free' - a lawman's Monopoly card." To the trio, "We have a van waiting outside for your transportation pleasure. Hey, it's easier than riding your electracycles... which will be confiscated and placed into storage. But I suspect they will turn into chunks of rust before you ever have another opportunity to ride them again. Shall we mosey on out now? And try to appear happy; I don't want to spook the patrons."

  The Inuit