He watched Shepard from the corner of his eye. "You are a successful man, Tommy, you have sold homes and valuable properties all over the west coast. How come you aren't married and settled down with a porch full of kids?"
Shepard sighed. "I will answer your nosy question with my own. Why aren't you married with a family, Byrne? You are a doctor, and I happen to know that you have more than enough money to live extremely well. Answer that, and I will answer your question."
While organizing his response, Byrne studied the road's light traffic for a long moment. His question to Shepard had not been simple curiosity. If Bravo was involved or committed, or had unmentioned family responsibilities, he should not be part of the actions Don Byrne was considering.
The law and the attackers considered Tom Shepard dead. If he chose to, Shepard had the opportunity and the money to quietly disappear, to resurface in Europe or Brazil at a later date—wherever and whenever he chose. Seeking revenge, or attempting to end the attacks was trying for the long ball or swinging for a knockout. Neither was successful often enough to be good tactics.
The Santos were a powerful family closely knit by the drug trade. Getting even or eliminating a Santos threat might be impossible and even trying might stir a hornet's nest.
Byrne explained in a lofty tone. "As you know, we doctors are prone to marry trophy wives—long legged blondes with large bosoms. We are sought after because it is believed that we make a lot of money, our medical degrees bring us deserved status, and we are obviously intelligent and often personable."
Bravo said, "I am already sorry I asked the question."
"The reasons I am not married, Tommy, are that I worked my butt off for almost ten years becoming a doctor. During those often-miserable years I dreamed of having a place up here in Idaho and doing all of the things I was missing. Mostly, I wanted solitude without endless duties filled by physically damaged people who were not always pleasant and courteous in their suffering.
"I wanted to hunt big animals, even go fishing—which I have since found to be stunningly boring. I wanted to see my own place built to ideas I have nourished since we were on the Noisy Oyster.
"All of that took time, years of time, and I am not done."
Byrne grinned at his friend. "I have to tell you, Mister Shepard, that, when desired, we doctors are not without female companionship of the highest order. When the time comes, I expect to marry, but I think I may choose not to have children. My observation has been that parents too often sacrifice their lives for limited personal satisfaction and less appreciation from their offspring. My expectation is that I will still want to spend more time in the wild country than at my fireplace. I will wait and see."
Byrne believed he was finished, but a late thought intruded. "With the Santos crowd on my tail, all of the good living I have planned on may not occur, at least not here in the big sky country."
His voice was somber, "We may have to run for it, Tom, and if we do, we may never be able to come back for more than short visits here or in your sunny California. That is why I asked about your marital status."
Bravo nodded understanding, but he was not without criticism.
"A powerful description, Doctor Byrne, but before I explain myself and my intentions, you should be aware of a few holes within your glib explanation.
"Take money, for example. If you make more than decent wages in your practice up here in the sticks, I will be astounded.
"Next, as to the desirable doctor bit: easy women look for doctors, strong and capable women seek men of business who do not live off the misery of others. Men like myself, I might add.
"Third, not being ready to marry is a copout. I recognize it because that rationalization is one of my favorites. Which brings me to my much simpler reason for not being burdened by a wife and a handful of house apes.
"The fact is, Alpha, that, just like you, I am a loner. No matter how many people may be clustered around, I am never really part of what is going on. I never have been, and neither have you.
"My God, Byrne, why do you think we were in the army? Why do you think we signed on for all of those schools and rotten-condition training in jungles and worse places—like that Fort Greely Arctic training?
"When we were in, we were poster boys for the military life. On our off time we went to the PX, the gym, the library, and the post theater. We didn't drink, and we didn't hang around with people who did. We each had a fast car, and we went to movies in town or maybe out to some lake to swim. AND . . .and we always knew the local gunsmiths, but almost nobody else.
"If we hadn't been too restless to barely finish high school, we would have gone to college and become commissioned officers and made the army a career. Hell, we both liked it, and we were good at it.
"We looked like schoolboys, but we knew the moves. That is why the army chose us to protect hapless Dewey Lavender when he went among the bad guys. We could pass as innocent spoiled Americano rich boys just out on a lark, but we would be able to fight off a brigade or two of any locals that tried for Dewey."
Bravo's snicker slowed his words.
"Unfortunately for the army, there was no way they could anticipate all of the main men of the Santos combine sitting at that one table. That, old pal, was too much for hard-assed young guys like we were to resist."
They broke through the mountains, and turned on a road leading to the north.
Alpha said, "I went to college, Shepard, and for a lot of years."
His friend pretended to be disdainful. "You went to some off shore academy, Byrne. I hope I don't get hurt beyond reach of a real doctor. Do you still use leaches and mustard plasters?"
Byrne ignored the insults. He had heard them from Bravo since they had first banked money in the Caymans.
"We've only got a couple of miles to go. The campground is on the right. It's clearly marked, and the way I see it is to just drive right on in as if we knew where we were going."
Bravo drew his pistol and stuck it under his thigh away from his window. He rolled the window down and was ready.
Bravo said, "Don't drive fast, Alpha. If I have to shoot I will be shooting left handed, and that stinks. Try not to draw fire."
"We won't draw fire, pardner. If we are challenged, we are just returning the truck. Nobody will shoot until we explain a lot more than that."
Bravo was dismissive. "My guess is that there is no one waiting here. We will decide which trailer is ours, hook it up, and drive away. No one will question and no one will wonder. End of story—as far as this campground is concerned."
Alpha said, "Have you wondered why we didn't find a receipt for this campground or a key to a trailer on the dead sniper? I may have figured it all wrong, Bravo, and we will have to start all over."
They were turning onto the campground's gravel road, and Shepard said only, "You ruin everything, Byrne. Can't you just look on the bright side?"
They passed a closed ticket booth and followed a single lane campsite trail as it circled through the park. Most sites were empty, but three or four showed occupancy that was not present at the moment.
The road had turned back on itself when Bravo saw the travel trailer backed into a thickly wooded camping site. A green automobile with some years on it was parked alongside, but dust had settled on everything, and no one was about.
Bravo said, "Bingo!"
Alpha said, "Maybe," but he pulled over, and delayed dismounting until Bravo had put away his pistol.
They walked into the campsite, and Bravo went deeper to check the trailer's license plate. Alpha knocked on the trailer door and waited for a response. There was none, and Byrne noted undisturbed dust heavy on the single doorstep.
Bravo said, "Virginia plates and the same on the car. Checks out good enough for me."
Alpha studied campsites beyond the trailer, but none were occupied.
"So, we can hook up the trailer and go, but where are the keys for the car?"
Bravo was already checking on top of the
tires and feeling for a magnetic box. He found nothing. On a hunch, Alpha did the same on the trailer but came up empty. The trailer's generator box was closed by twist bolts and had no lock hung in the hasp. Maybe? Byre opened the box and fumbled around.
"Yep," he held up a set of keys. "They look like keys to the trailer." He tried one in the door and the lock turned.
Bravo was first in, his pistol fisted, but the trailer was empty with the inside air fetid and stale. On the kitchen counter lay a set of car keys.
Alpha said, "Big score for the good guys."
Bravo said, "We should become detectives."
It was going better than they could have expected. Which made Alpha suspicious.
"These guys were professionals, Bravo. We had better check both vehicles for explosives."
"Oh God, Byrne, you could ruin a thanksgiving dinner. There aren't any bombs," but Alpha noticed that his friend crawled around under the car and raised the hood as well as looked under the seat.
Alpha backed the pickup into position, and they heaved the trailer's hitch onto the truck's two-inch ball. Bravo attended to the safety chains and the electrical hook up.
"We've got the right trailer, Alpha."
Byrne looked and agreed. The electrical connection between truck and trailer was a plug and socket unlike anything either had encountered. The unusual connection made them certain.
Bravo said, "Wait until I get the car started before you drive off. The damned thing could have a dead battery."
The car started and ran smoothly. Bravo leaned out the window and said, "Tank's almost full. We're in business."
Byrne nodded and climbed into the sniper's pickup. He drove on around the one-way campground road, passed the ticket shack, and turned onto the paved road. Smooth as silk.
They were away without seeing a living soul. Had they been seen? Possible, but who would question? A groundskeeper? The trailer had not used electrical or water hookups—a clean get away.
Byrne had found a shotgun under a bed mattress. There were papers, but he had not examined them. The trailer was the hit team's headquarters, so there might be worthwhile information in hidden compartments, but other things had to come first.
First would be Bravo making contact with his lawyer to cover his absence. The lawyer had to disclose Tom Shepard's survival to the police, and the sooner the better.
The police would want Shepard's testimony and explanations, but if Tommy went in, his surprising survival would reach the newspapers, and someone interested might be informed. The police should understand Shepard's unwillingness to be disclosed. Shepard could not return, at least not until security deals had been struck. Something could be arranged—Alpha hoped.
Byrne's task was much easier. His partner at the clinic would again cover Byrne's absence. He had dozens of times before when Doctor Byrne was attending seminars—yeah, in the high Rockies or even the Himalayas with a rifle instead of a stethoscope.
Those absences were part of the clinic's business arrangement. Byrne's money had equipped the clinic, and he was the senior partner. The other doctor was an older man as content as Byrne to enjoy a family practice that returned an acceptable livelihood and gave service to grateful patients—a steady, undemanding practice that would never grant either doctor status in the medical world.
Don Byrne smiled to himself. Tommy Shepard knew nothing of the secret rooms within the silver mine or the useful items stored there.
Within his still little-formed planning, Alpha wondered if there could be a way to lure their unidentified enemies into the Idaho wilderness, perhaps even into the hills that Byrne knew so well.
Doubtful, probably only fantasizing, but if they could, Alpha and Bravo would again function as a team, and anyone coming against them would encounter serious opposition.
He checked his side mirror. Bravo was close behind, holding convoy distance just like he should. Highly satisfying. Byrne believed he had gained a lot of ground since he had received the lawyer's call. Only yesterday? Whew, it had been a busy twenty-four hours.
Chapter 14
It was again dusk, and Alpha and Bravo examined Byrne's newly seeded lawn. Both were sweaty and tired. They had hauled, leveled, seeded, spread straw, and watered until there was no more to do. The explosion hole was gone, but it was clear that recent work, and a lot of it, had been done.
Bravo said, "That looks just like a cover up of something rotten."
Byrne said, "You city slickers don't know about lawns and other country things."
Byrne's ancient handyman had replaced three broken windows panes and slapped filler and paint on other damaged spots. The old timer had not even asked how the injuries had occurred. Byrne was his doctor, and he was glad to be of service. Byrne paid him, thanked him as a friend would, and the man departed.
Bravo marveled. "Do you have any idea how hard those repairs would be to have done, especially on short notice, in almost any other place I could name, Don?"
"That's one of the reasons I live here, Tommy, and that is one of the reasons I dig out my medical bag on a lot of nights and weekends and drive to farms and ranches."
The trailer was parked deep in Byrne's woods. The green car was alongside. They were back in so far that Byrne had used his farm tractor to haul them to where an ordinary four-wheel drive truck could not go.
Bravo had spent two hours on Byrne's cell phone explaining to his local law enforcement why he could not report in for a week or two. Byrne had come in for a cold drink and heard his partner repeating to yet another investigator most of what he had already told to more than a few others.
Bravo had finally finished and leaned back to consider.
"Well, they aren't too happy, Alpha, but I am not under arrest or charged with anything. I am not a suspect or a person of interest in the death of my house sitter, and as you heard, my claim is that if they discovered they had gotten the wrong man, the same unknown individuals or gang would again be after me.
"I claimed that I was on the move, that I would check in regularly, and that I feared to use my own cell phone—so I would contact them, but they could not reach me." Bravo snickered, "They didn't like that part much, old buddy."
Then they had worked together filling and disguising the dynamite hole. Byrne suggested, showers, and they went to their bathrooms to cleanup.
When Bravo came out, clean shaven and smelling of Irish Mist soap, Alpha was at his kitchen table cleaning his 191l pistol. Byrne pulled out a chair and watched for a short minute.
"Ok, Byrne, where is it?"
Byrne's eyebrows rose. "Where's what?"
"Your stash, Byrne. Your hideout where you have packed away enough survival stuff to last for a hundred or so years, and where I hope you have lots of guns and exotic weaponry that are going to help us stay alive for the next month or two."
Bravo thought about his words. "Make that staying alive for the next dozen or so years, pardner. I don't see how we are going to pull clear of this scrape without hauling ourselves to a faraway place that the Santos never heard of."
Byrne pretended confusion. "Everything's right here, Shepard. There's my gun locker with my hunting rifles, a pistol or two and a pair of shotguns, and that pantry is full of enough canned food to last for more than a year, and . . ."
Bravo didn't bother to snort. He said, "Alpha, we've been friends for, how long, almost thirty years? I know you, and I know exactly why you live out here in the sticks. You, my paranoid pal, have cached enough material to equip a small regiment.
"While I have lived a decent and honest life, without fear of some sort of Viva Zapata vengeance, you have sweat in your sleep and worn trails to survival marts buying freeze dried food, water purifiers, and chemical warfare suits.
"Don't claim innocence to me, Alpha. Now is the time to break out whatever we need. My guess is that you have been formulating some sort of super-secret scheme to give us breathing room before we bolt to a distant place, or more likely, and even worse, we go, ar
med-to-the-teeth, to our probable deaths in some high noon face off."
Byrne's smile was knowing. "Well, I do have a few more things in another place. We can check all of that out once we have worked out what we are going to do."
Bravo rose and moved to a comfortable living room chair.
"Fair enough, Donny. You have always been our planner, and we have survived so far. What have you been working on? What do we do and where do we go?"
Bravo grimaced, "I hope this plan isn't one of those dive in and start shooting mindless plots like we did at the airstrip or on the Noisy Oyster. I don't think much of charging, shooting, and hoping. I want to hear a complete and satisfying scheme that will leave us healthy, still wealthy, and victorious.
"I don't want to be shot at too much or have to shoot back too often. I don't want to end up running from the law or most of the Central American drug cartels. Beyond those few requirements, I am open to ideas."
Bravo examined his watch. "Let's see. You've had almost two days to think about this; you should have everything down rock solid. So let's hear it."
Unfortunately for Bravo's hopes, Byrne had nothing planned and few hopes for sudden breakthroughs that would put them in the clear.
He said, "We can't plan solutions until we know a lot more, Tommy. First, we want to tear that trailer apart until we find that sniper's stash. Where are the team's personal papers—their wallets and their money? They must have owned side arms. Hell, all we found were shaving kits. I think we should rip into that trailer before we do anything else—except call Charlie. We should find out about him first."
Bravo moved uncomfortably. He cleared his throat before saying, "Yeah, good old Charlie."
Bravo added, "Look Alpha, we almost know Charlie has to have ratted us out. Why he told anyone will be an interesting discovery. If Dewey Lavender did not spread our names, I will apologize to him a hundred times, but it was Lavender, and we know it."
Pardners Page 14