The Hidden Society

by R. Chauncey

  Larson slowed the Highlander, shifted to power drive two, and turned off onto a snow covered road that was marked only by bare trees on both sides. He drove for a mile before he stopped in a clearing surrounded on three sides by snow covered brush that looked like small snow hills. He turned the Highlander around to face the road.

  “This looks like as good a place as any to test fire one of those automatic,” he said, turning the engine off.

  “Remember, aim, squeeze, and fire. Take your time. We don’t have ammo to waste,” she said as she opened the passenger door and got out.

  “If what you’ve said about the Society’s killers is true, I doubt if we get the time to waste ammo,” he said, getting out and opening the left rear door.

  The automatics were in her backpack.

  “Should I open your backpack and take any one?”

  “Any one,” she said.

  He opened her backpack and took the first one he saw, checked it to make sure the safety switch was on then checked the butt of the weapon to make sure it had a full magazine.

  “You still remember how to safely handle firearms from your Army days,” she said, standing at the other door watching him as she removed the four empty coke cans from the floor of the Highlander she had brought from the truck stop.

  “I don’t like guns,” he said, slamming the door and walking around to the side she was on. He kept the barrel pointed up and to his right.

  Marajo, holding the coke cans, took fifteen long strides through the deep snow to a snow covered bush and sat the cans on top of it.

  “Why so far away?” he asked when she came back.

  “If we run into soldiers from the Society before we reach this information center, and we probably will, we don’t want them getting close,” she explained as she walked up to his right side. “Unlike you, they’re very familiar with weapons. Especially electric guns which I’m sorry to say I couldn’t get.”

  “Aren’t those illegal?” he asked her.

  “That’s why I didn’t try to get any,” she told him. “Start asking gun shop owners where you can get an electric weapon and you’ve got the local police on your back.”

  “Yeah,” he said as he went into a shooting stand and aimed at the first can.

  Marajo started to tell him to aim and squeeze, but decided against it. She hoped he had the ability to shoot, because if he didn‘t the responsibility of keeping them both alive when they ran into the Society’s soldiers would fall on her shoulders. And she didn‘t think she could handle it.

  Larson flicked off the safety switch and squeezed the trigger on the automatic and it fired. The bullet hit the first can and sent it flying high in the sky. He did the same thing with the second can and third can in half the time it took him to hit the first can.

  “Excellent!” Marajo said. Amazed at how well he shot. “You still remember what you were taught in the Army about shooting.”

  “The cans aren’t shooting back,” he said as he took aim at a bare branch on the bush the cans had sat on and fired.

  The branch snapped off.

  “You aimed at that?” she asked in a surprised voice.

  “Yes,” he said, flipping the safety switch back on the weapon.

  “Where did you learn to shoot like that?”

  “In the Army, of course. I was a sharpshooter in my company. It was a reconnaissance company in Germany. We spent a lot of time preparing for an attack against middle-eastern countries America didn’t consider friendly to American interests.”

  “So why was your company in Europe and not the Middle East?”

  “So the American arms industry could make billions off the voters supplying us so gutless members of Congress could get fat political contributions from them for their reelections. As for why we weren’t reassigned to the Middle East, I don’t know.” He turned to her and smiled as he said, “What you wanna bet the Hidden Society backed a lot of those gutless Congress members?”

  “Suckers bet,” she said. “Now let’s see how good you are at snap shooting.” She looked around and saw a tree to his right rear. “I’m going to tell you to fire at something.

  You must turn and fire in less than three seconds.” She looked at her watch. “Tree. Right rear.”

  Larson spun around, saw the tree, and fired three quick shoots.

  Only one hit the trunk of the tree.

  He relaxed and turned to face her, and asked, “How did I do?”

  She looked up from her watch and said, “It took you five seconds.”

  “Too slow, huh?”

  “Did you have the safety on?”

  “Yeah, I always keep the safety on unless I’m going to shoot.”

  “Good rule. But don’t do that when we come in contact with the Society’s soldiers.”

  “It’s dangerous not to,” Larson protested.

  “Not really,” she disagreed. “If you’ve noticed that weapon requires a strong squeeze of the trigger. That prevents the weapon from being fired until you squeeze the trigger hard.”

  “Okay,” Larson said, putting the safety on and offering the pistol to her butt first. “Let’s see how you do.”

  Marajo took the automatic and asked as she flicked the safety switch off, “What should I shoot at?”

  Her looked at his watch and said, “Behind your left shoulder. Tree. Fire!”

  Without a moment’s hesitation, Marajo turned, and raised and fired the automatic at the tree. She hit it.

  Larson looked at her then looked at the tree. “Three seconds flat,” he said. “You’ve been practicing.”

  “Necessary if I was to be ready for the Society’s soldiers,” she said. “Driving in the back country around Westport also gave me the chance to test the Highlander.”

  “That’s why you were capable of knocking me out in that parking lot in Westport without me knowing you were there. You’d be practicing sneaking up on people.”

  “And the reason for the Highlander. I stayed ready.”

  “You practiced at a shooting range?”

  “The Open Range Gun club is a private one south of Westport,” she told him. “I rented the weapons I used, but I practiced test firing these in the back country.”

  “Is that where you got these two semi-automatics?”

  “Yes, right after I got a federal gun owner’s permit. Bought them on sale.”

  “Okay the last can on the bush. Now,” he said.

  Marajo turned toward the can sitting on the bush and fired within three seconds. She hit the can.

  “Twenty years of waiting and practicing,” he said.

  “And worrying.” She put the safety on the automatic. “We’d better leave and find somewhere we can get some sleep. It’s better traveling at night.”

  Larson looked up at the falling snow. “Storm’s getting worse, too.”

  “It’ll be a blizzard in less than an hour. We need to find outdoor shelter and wait it out.” She started walking toward the Highlander.

  “Let’s gather up those cans,” he said. “I’m a strong believer in keeping the environment clean.”

  They both walked back and picked up the cans and carried them back to the Highlander and put them in a plastic trash bag.

  Larson asked as he got into the driver’s seat, “No chance of a motel I guess.”

  “No. Motel’s register guests on their computers. And the Society’s soldiers can access them.” She got into the passenger’s seat and closed the door.

  “Then I suggest we get farther away from that truck stop we ate at,”
Larson said. “In case the Society’s computer people have accessed every security camera at every truck stop west of Wichita. Two people walking down a road to a truck stop in the middle of winter when there’s a perfectly good parking lot isn’t normal, you know.”

  Ten minutes later they were back on Route 29 driving twenty miles an hour into a snow storm which reduced their visibility to less than fifty yards beyond the hood of the Highlander. Half an hour later they had stopped on a side road in a wooded area without any signs of civilization for miles around.

  “Here okay?” Larson asked, looking out the window at an almost white world of snow.

  “Best place,” she said. “You can take the back seat. I’ll sleep up here. We can start again after a few hours rest. If you need a blanket, there‘re two behind the seat.”

  “My parka’s alright,” he said, climbing into the back seat. He settled into the seat saying, “Let’s hope whatever soldiers the Society’s sent for us are waiting somewhere outside and are cold.”

  “Yeah,” Marajo agreed. “We’ll be rested and alert if we should meet them.”

  If the Society’s soldiers are as good as Julian implied they were being cold and tired won’t do a damn thing to slow them down, he thought as he closed his eyes.

  ***

  Chapter 29

  January 8, 1:45 a.m.

  “No chance of us stopping somewhere for food,” Betty asked Dodge.

  “We do and we might lose them while we’re eating,” he said, noticing the storm had gotten worse. “We’re probably in the middle of the storm. I’ll bet they’re just at the beginning of it.”

  “Maybe not,” she said.

  “Remember she left her home in Westport around three in the afternoon on the seventh. They’re not going to be traveling fast. They don’t want to attract attention in that unpainted Highlander. That gives us an edge if we don’t stop or slow down,” Dodge told her.

  She looked over at the speedometer. “You’re doing eighty.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “With these road conditions?”

  “If we are to catch them we’ve got to reach that spot on the Utah Nevada border before they do,” he said increasing his speed to eight-five.

  “Listen to me, Dodge,” she said in a strong calm voice. “We’re probably over a hundred miles or more ahead of them. Driving at eighty miles an hour isn’t going to help us step up an ambush for them. But it will attract the attention of some passing state patrolman. So slow down, Dodge. We’ve got mileage and time on them.”

  “How far are we from US 80?”

  “At the present speed. Less than an hour,” she answered. “If we don’t crash and kill ourselves, or get pulled over by a state cop. And considering what we’ve got in this Land Rover we don’t want that.”

  She was right and he knew it. He dropped the Land Rover’s speed to forty miles an hour. Still fast for the road conditions, but slow enough not to attract a state cop.

  Betty looked at the speedometer. “That’s better,” she said.

  “Let’s hope, Betty, they’ve stopped because of the storm.”

  “I wish we could track them some way,” she said in a thoughtful voice as she looked out the window on her right.

  “Would be nice if -” he stopped speaking and started thinking.

  “If what?” she asked, looking at the landscape racing pass them.

  “We control satellites!” he said a grin developing on his face.

  “We don’t control them, but we can access them anytime we want without anyone finding out,” she began then stopped when she realized what he meant, and reached for her com-cell. “I’ll ask Karl if we can access one of them to look for them.”

  “Think he’ll give us permission?”

  “Don’t know,” Betty said. “Probably won’t. Karl told us to ambush them if we could, but to report to those coordinates in Nevada if we can’t. He probably got those from of one the leaders.”

  “You’re right,” Dodge agreed. “But Karl did tell you we could ambush them if we could. We’d sure look good to the Society’s members if we killed them. Wouldn’t we?”

  “Sure would to the leaders and Council of Twenty.” A smile of pride appeared on her face. “Maybe they’d even make us members.”

  “Wonder if they’ve ever made members out of soldiers?” Dodge looked at the speedometer. He was still doing forty.

  “Don’t know,” Betty said. “But I’ll bet the leaders and Council of Twenty would sure love it if we used our own initiative.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed watching the road ahead for any icy patches.

  He was glad the Land Rover had all terrain tires. Not that they would be of any use if they hit a long slick icy patch and lost control of the Rover. They’d go flying off the road like a leaf in a high wind with no chance of survival. It would be a quicker and better death than the Society would give them if they failed.

  “Fuck it!” Betty said angrily. “I’m going to do it. If the leaders and Council of Twenty don’t like us using our own initiative, fuck’em!” She reached for the computer.

  “Know how to do it?” he asked, knowing she probably did.

  She started typing on the computer. “Wish we had a verbal computer.”

  “Do the best you can.”

  Forty minutes later she had accessed a satellite. “I’ve got one. A weather satellite right overhead. Just a few minutes and I’ll see everything it sees on Route 29.”

  Three minutes passed.

  “Got Route 29, but I can’t see any dirty gray green Highlanders. The snowstorm is blocking a clear picture. Maybe they rented another vehicle?”

  “No. Marajo put a lot of work into that Highlander according to that kid. Wide tires and high suspension system. The damned thing was built just for what they’re using it for,” Dodge said. “Sure you can’t see anything that looks like a dirty gray green Highlander?”

  “Nothing like that shows up on the computer.” She pushed the copy button on the computer copying the display to the computer’s hard drive. “And I’m doing a detail scan.”

  “How wide an area?”

  “From the western border of Kansas to the Utah Nevada border.”

  “Scan all roads before the satellite leaves the area,” he told her.

  “I am!” Betty shot back. “I don’t see them, Dodge. And there aren’t that many vehicles on the roads because of the storm.”

  Dodge didn’t say anything.

  “Did you hear me!” she yelled at him.

  “Yeah,” he mumbled thoughtfully. “They’ve been going for probably close to twenty-four hours with little rest and probably no food.”

  “They’ve stopped somewhere,” Betty said.

  The satellite image passed to a section of the country farther east.

  “But why?” Dodge asked thoughtfully as he dropped the Land Rover’s speed to thirty miles an hour.

  “Because they’re tired and hungry,” Betty said. “Like us.”

  “They know we’re after them or they wouldn’t be running. They know, or at least, this Marajo woman, knows what we’d do to maintain the Society’s secrecy.”

  Betty caught what he was getting at and said, “They’re armed and are prepared to fight us.”

  “Those coordinates Karl gave us must be important,” Dodge said.

  “That’s where they’re probably heading,” Betty said.

  Dodge nodded in agreement.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t intercept them,” Betty said.

  Dodge nodded.r />
  “But you want to anyway,” she said, looking at him.

  “Karl gave us permission to set up an ambush, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “What if we brought them alive to Karl?” Dodge said, knowing that might be easier said than done.

  “We’d look real good to the leaders and the Council of Twenty,” she said.

  “Then?”

  “Let’s hope they’ve stopped somewhere and are asleep,” Betty said.

  Dodge didn’t say anything. He was too busy concentrating on the road.

  “Let’s hope they sleep a long time,” she said.

  “Yes,” he agreed. “A very long time.” He dropped the speed of the Land Rover to twenty-five and relaxed a bit. “The longer they sleep the more time we have to set up an ambush.”

  “And we can slow down and relax a bit,” she added.

  “Yeah, we need to do that,” he agreed.

  “How are you holding up?” she asked him as she looked at his face.

  He looked at the time listed on the bottom left hand corner of the computer screen.

  2 a.m. He pulled over to the side of the road and stopped. “I’m dead tired. You take over for two hours while I get some sleep. Then wake me and I’ll take over.”

  “Cat naps are better than no sleep,” she said.

  He opened the driver’s door and a blast of cold air hit him in the face making him feel good.

  Within a minute they’d switched places and Betty was driving the Land Rover at twenty miles an hour while Dodge, having lowered the back of the passenger’s seat was sleeping.

  She thought of cracking the driver’s window a bit to get some cold air to keep her awake because she was as tired as Dodge. No, Dodge needs a few hours of rest. I can drive for another two hours without sleep.

  ***

  Chapter 30

  January 8, noon, Eureka County, Nevada

  Karl and Willow had reached the position they were in at one in the morning on the eighth and sat up camp on a hill where they could see for ten miles north, south, and west. Only the hills half a mile to the east of them limited their vision to half a mile. But Marajo and her companion to come in from the east. They’d chose open country where they could see for miles in any direction.