No True Justice

by H. L. Wegley

  “Go ahead. No one on the road can see us there.”

  While it was reassuring that the guard considered what Lex had told him, this still called for caution. But they needed to hurry before the phone call up the hill ended.

  Lex slowly pulled his soggy wallet from his cargo shorts. He opened it, flipped out his driver’s license and handed the wallet to the guard. “You'll see a laminated business card on the flip side of my driver's license.”

  “Well I'll be—suppose you tell me again why the FBI is after you.”

  “Sir, this isn't any ordinary FBI operation. These men were sent here by some corrupt people in high places in the DOJ. This is a black operation to kill a witness who can bring down all the players in this conspiracy. I'm trying to keep her alive, and so I'm a target too. If they even suspect that you were helping me, they'll kill you.”

  The security guard, a man who looked about retirement age, stroked his short beard several times. “Where's the witness?”

  “I'm right here.” Gemma crept around the tree from behind them with a big rock in her hand.

  “And you were going to brain me with that rock?”

  “I was going to try.”

  “Gemma, you don't follow directions very well.”

  She dropped the rock and hurried to Lex's side.

  The security guard shook his head. “I thought something wasn't right about those guys. Especially that one they call Blade. Gave me the creeps. Okay. You two can go. I'll think of some story to cover you.”

  “Thanks,” Gemma said. “Have you got any drinking water around here?”

  “Follow me. We’ll go through the building and you can grab a bottle on the way.”

  A minute later, Lex and Gemma crept into the bushes along the river a few yards above the spring. Each had a bottle of water in hand.

  Once they slipped behind the bushes, they opened their bottles and drank.

  Correction, Gemma guzzled.

  “Whoa. You're going to get sick, Gemma.”

  “First you said drinking bad water would make me puke. Now you’re saying good water will make me puke. You enjoy torturing me don't you, Mr. James?”

  Voices came from near the buildings seventy-five yards up the river.

  “Hush, Gemma.”

  The voices grew louder.

  One grew angry. “If you saw them, where did they go?”

  “Didn't you see them?”

  “No. Are you forgetting to tell me something, old man?”

  “Here's what I think. They ran down the road toward the dam but must've cut straight up the hill and got on the road you were on … somewhere above you.”

  “Here's what I think, old man … you let them get away. And, if you lied to an FBI agent, that’s a crime. You will die of old age in the federal penitentiary.”

  “If that's the way you guys work—intimidating good American citizens—somebody needs to clean house in the DOJ.”

  “You talk like that and you might not make it to retirement.”

  The voices grew quieter.

  Lex had heard enough.

  Gemma put her mouth near his ear. “We've got to stop these guys, or they can do things like that to any American. We’ll lose our country.”

  “Right now, we just need to get out of here.”

  With their thirst mostly quenched, Lex led Gemma downstream toward the finger of Lake Billy Chinook that poked into the Crooked River canyon.

  The moon hadn’t risen yet, and they had no trail to follow on this isolated stretch of Crooked River.

  In the darkness, the tangle of bushes snagged their clothing and scratched their bare arms and legs.

  Gemma didn’t complain, even when the canyon walls forced them to ford the river to get on the other side.

  They crossed in shallow rapids, but the knee-deep water nearly swept them away.

  After they stepped from the water onto the rocky river bank, a muffled rattling sound came from a bush on Gemma’s left.

  Lex hooked her waist and lifted her, then he set her down on his right side.

  But the buzzing grew louder.

  Gemma drew a sharp breath and froze.

  Lex scooped her up and carried her farther away from the rattlesnake’s warning buzz.

  “It’s okay, Gemma. He was just warning us to keep out of his hunting grounds.”

  Her grip around his neck didn’t loosen. If anything, it tightened, nearly choking him.

  “If you’ll loosen that chokehold, I’ll set you down.”

  “Are we safe?” Her words came wrapped in a hoarse whisper.

  “We’re safe.”

  Gemma’s fear of snakes seemed to be a phobia, irrational. Evil people could shoot at them, and she didn’t panic. But one little rattler, even one that gave them fair warning, paralyzed her.

  The complexity of Gemma Saint baffled him, but that only prodded Lex to learn more about this young woman who seemed to be claiming huge chunks of his heart. If she were to ask for it right now, Lex James was inclined to give it to her.

  You are a fool, Lex James.

  Lex took the vermin’s voice in his mind and pictured feeding it to that rattlesnake.

  He could protect Gemma from the reptilian version, but human rattlesnakes sent by someone in the DOJ were another species and another matter. To keep Gemma safe, he needed to take her to a spot near the lake before morning.

  They moved forward again. And, in the darkness filled with obstacles, progress became painfully slow. But Lex's plan for tomorrow did not require them to make their escape until mid-morning or later. They should be able to get some much-needed rest.

  Gemma touched his bare shoulder. “You can have your shirt back. It might smell like me now, but I wouldn’t want you to get all scratched up by these bushes.”

  Smell like Gemma? He would keep that shirt forever, if reminded him of her. These growing feelings seemed to be more than just the comradery of shared danger. Like her name, Gemma Saint was—

  “Well, if you don't want it …”

  “Sorry, Gemma. I'm running on fumes. I’ll take my shirt. Would you like to stop for a nap? We'll need to be rested for what’s coming tomorrow.”

  “Wasn't going to say anything, but I've dozed off on my feet a couple of times. This is my second night in a row without sleep.”

  She hadn’t asked about what was coming tomorrow. Maybe Gemma was too tired to think about it. Another sign that he needed to find a place for them to rest.

  After passing on two scrubby trees, Lex found a tree with enough foliage to hide them from anyone in a helicopter and with enough room for two tired bodies.

  The ground was soft and, under the tree, covered with a bed of dead leaves.

  He and Gemma gathered tree boughs, bunch grass, anything soft that they could find, and piled it all against the trunk of the tree to make pillows.

  Lex stretched out on his side of the trunk and rolled onto his side.

  Gemma built her bed on the other side of the tree. Probably to maintain some semblance of propriety.

  Fatigue so deep that his muscles quivered threatened to put Lex quickly under its anesthesia. He tried to relax and simply succumb. He didn’t need to try very hard.

  “Lex?” Gemma’s voice.

  He had his shirt back. What was it now. “Yeah.”

  “I've heard people say that rattlesnakes slither into people sleeping bags to get warm. They wake up in the morning and—”

  “Gemma, people say a lot of things.”

  “You know that I don’t like snakes. Could we wake up with snakes beside us?”

  “Any warm-blooded animal bigger than the snake is a danger, an enemy. The snake will either slither away to escape, or bite if it has to defend itself.”

  “What if the snakes like me? I could wake up with snakes on both sides of me.”

  “I don't get it, Gemma. People shoot at us and chase us and you’re cool as a cucumber. But one thought of going under water or of snakes and you—”


  “I can’t help it. Those thoughts make me antsy. They give me diarrhea of the mouth.”

  “That is a mixed-up metaphor.”

  “It's what my mother calls it when I get this way.”

  “I thought you were sleepy.”

  “I will be.” Gemma stood and moved her makeshift pillow to his side of the tree. She stretched out on the ground beside him and laid her head on her pillow.

  She scooted closer until she bumped into his knees. “At least the snakes can't get on both sides of me. Please …” her voice grew soft. “… don't tell my accountability group at church. If you do, I'll never, ever … hear the end of … the … end …” Gemma’s soft, regular breathing started.

  It soothed Lex. Her breathing signified that they had survived the day, a day when several of the nation’s best, or worst, had tried to kill them and failed.

  He curled an arm around Gemma and soon drifted into his own place of peace.

  Lex's eyes popped open.

  The sun was up. Way up. He glanced at his watch. 10:00 a.m.

  Gemma lay facing him now, breathing softly. Despite their ordeal yesterday that had physically ravaged their bodies and taxed their minds, Gemma appeared unmarred by any of it. She was peacefully resting, absolutely and beautifully perfect.

  For Lex James she seemed perfect. And his two boys appeared to have rapidly jumped to that same conclusion. And with their two hundred, how could they be wrong?

  The droning sound of an engine replaced his thoughts of Gemma.

  The sound grew louder.

  Lex rose to his knees and turned toward the noise.

  Please let it be a boat.

  He peered through the tree branches that hung around them and looked toward the mouth of the Crooked River. It lay only seventy-five yards to the north. And beyond that, Lake Billy Chinook.

  Their nighttime trek had ended right where they needed to be. Maybe it was a sign of how their day would go.

  From somewhere behind Lex, came the telltale sounds of a helicopter.

  Or was that a sign of how their day would go?

  Gemma jumped at the sound of the chopper and rose to her knees beside him. “What's happening?”

  “It's good news and bad news.”

  “After yesterday, can I have the good news first?” She opened her water bottle and drained the last few ounces from it.

  He pointed toward the Lake. “See that boat pulling in?”

  She nodded.

  “This is a popular picnicking and fishing spot, but there’s only room for one boat.”

  A boy about twelve years old sat on the bow with a rope in hand as the big boat nosed in to the shore.

  “That could be our ticket out of here?”

  Gemma pointed downstream. “Can’t we walk out of here? There’s a bridge down there, somewhere. I drove over it once, when I went to Culver.”

  “The chopper just landed on the rim above Opal Springs.”

  “The Fibbies.”

  “What did you call them, Gemma?”

  “They’re not really FBI, not good cops. So I think we should call them Fibbies. It’s what comes out when you try to pronounce the acronym.”

  “Then Fibbies they are. Looks like we'll have to wait a bit for our ride out of here. By then, we’ll know if the Fibbies are doing what I think they're gonna do.”

  “You mean the bad news?”

  “Yeah. They’ll figure out that we passed them during the night, and they’ll sweep the canyon all the way to the lake. We can't be here when they finish their sweep.”

  “Wouldn't they just fly over in their helicopter?”

  “That didn't work yesterday. And that tree we slept under—they couldn't have spotted us from the air. No, they'll be on foot.”

  “So what are we going to do, steal that nice family’s boat?”

  “No. We'll borrow it.”

  “That's not how they'll see it.”

  “Gemma, after it's all over, we’ll return the boat and they'll be understanding of our patriotic intentions.”

  “Sure they will.”

  The boat had tied up to shore. A woman and four kids climbed off it, while a forty-something man handed them boxes, packs, and camping chairs.

  “Looks like an all-day picnic. But we can't be here when the trigger-happy Fibbies show up. We might endanger an innocent family.”

  “So we steal their boat to keep them safe?”

  “Gemma, you have the doggonedest way of putting things.”

  “Lead the way, Lex. I want to see how you do this.”

  “Wait. Let's listen for a moment.”

  In the distance, occasional cracking sounds came from upstream.

  “They’re coming down the canyon like hunters on a deer drive.”

  “On a what?”

  “Never mind. They’re less than a mile upstream. We've got about fifteen minutes to turn that boat into our pirate ship.”

  “And then the Fibbies really will be chasing a couple of criminals.”

  “Like I said, you have the doggonedest way of putting things.”

  “And they will have the doggonedest way of putting us in prison.”

  “No, Gemma. The only things they want to put … are bullets in us.”

  Chapter 12

  Blade stood beside the chopper on the Canyon rim above Opal Springs evaluating his options for spinning their latest failure. Carr would call any minute for his morning report and all Blade had to offer was plan B.

  Whenever plan A fails, it’s because someone didn't know something they needed to know, or because someone was incompetent. Bladen Sikes was not incompetent. But Kirby and Walker were.

  Kirby got himself snake bitten when he had Saint and James pinned down. And Walker let them slip past him last night, though the night watchman may have been complicit.

  An old swamp rock tune played on Sikes’s phone. He chuckled. Carr’s song. Something about who’ll stop the rain. Whoever that was, it surely wasn’t Carr.

  “Sikes.”

  “Carr here. I didn't get the call, so I assume you still haven't gotten them.”

  “My two young guys, Kirby and Walker, let us down.”

  “You chose your team, Sikes.”

  “I did. Within some pretty heavy ideological restrictions, if you’ll recall. Look, Kirby let himself get bitten by a rattlesnake when he had them in his sights. Walker let them slip past him last night.”

  No reply.

  Carr was probably red-faced and smoking from his ears about now.

  “We might get them in the next few minutes. But if we don't, I recommend we go with plan B … in parallel with what we’re doing.”

  “I don't know if I should trust you to go any further, Sikes. You screw up and we all could go down. Now, remind me what plan B entails.”

  “We keep looking for them using the chopper, but we also nab James’s boys. He'll play ball to save his kids.”

  “Isn't KC Daniels watching them? You hurt her and you'll have half this nation, the military, and all of law enforcement nailing you on the wall and tanning your sorry hide.”

  “We won’t touch a hair on her head.”

  “How will Lex James hear about your, uh … bait?”

  “If he slips away from us this morning, he’ll check on his boys. If he doesn't get away, then we have nothing to worry about.”

  “So, the scope of the mission keeps creeping.” Carr muttered something indistinguishable, then swore at Blade, at his men, and at Gemma Saint.

  “Speaking of Ms. Saint, the Intel you gave us was bogus. She's not some sweet, naïve little college girl. She's as tough as nails, can run like the wind, and is all heart. If she wasn't, Lex James couldn't have kept her or himself alive yesterday.”

  Carr sighed into the phone. “Okay. We go with plan B.”

  “We’re on it.”

  Carr ended the call.

  Blade drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

  He was seldom thankful
for anything that happened in life, but he was thankful for Carr’s agreement on plan B because, while Walker watched Opal Springs last night, Blade and Kirby had taken the two kids.

  Chapter 13

  “It's now or never, Gemma.”

  Lex was actually going to commit grand theft. Soon Gemma would be a pirate on Lake Billy Chinook sailing—rather motoring—on some nice family’s stolen Bayliner.

  Lex hooked her arm and pulled. “Come on. It took us five minutes to sneak over here. The Fibbies could be here in less than ten minutes, Gemma.”

  She scanned the shoreline of the lake up to the family’s picnic area near the mouth of the river. With the boat between them and the picnickers, she and Lex could climb onboard, untie the boat, and be ready to go—No! No! No! This was crazy.

  “Lex, how do we know the keys will be there? Do you know how to drive this thing?”

  “You worry too much. This is an isolated area. They'll leave the keys. And, yes, I've piloted boats on this lake. My friend has one. I’ve driven his.”

  Lex took a step toward the twenty-five-foot boat which rocked gently in the ripples at the confluence of the river and the lake.

  She jerked Lex to a stop. “What kind of boat did your friend have, a dinghy with a motor?”

  “Do I detect a lack of confidence? No. It was bigger than a dinghy.”

  “How much bigger?”

  “Have I let you down, Gemma? Forget it. We don't have time for this.” Lex scooped her up and set her on the bow of the boat. “Slide in. I'm right behind you.”

  Gemma climbed in and crouched in the boat, trying to keep her head down so she couldn’t be seen. “I’ve been kidnapped by a pirate.”

  Lex scurried to the wheel. “Keys are here. Bon voyage.” He hit the starter and the motor turned.

  With the twist of a key and the push of a button, Gemma Saint had become a felon, a modern-day pirate. “Lex, when do we hoist the jolly roger?”

  “Daddy, he's taking our boat!” An eight- or nine-year-old girl on the shore pointed at them.

  “I think they hoisted it for us.” Lex waved at them. “Sorry, folks. It's an emergency. We’re borrowing it, but we'll bring it back.”

  The engine revved.

  Lex cranked the wheel toward the lake.

  The boat leaned toward the port side like a banking airplane and zoomed away from shore into the lake.