Hunting Savage

by Edlund, Dave;

  “Did you murder Emma Jones and send that woman assassin to kill me?”

  “I don’t murder innocent civilians, Mr. Savage. My country is at war with terrorists who wish only to see the Jewish people wiped from the face of the Earth.”

  “Maybe you missed the news, but the U.S. is also at war with terrorism.”

  Nadya tugged the side of her mouth in a mock grin. “So I’ve heard. While Americans hear about terrorism in the news, my people live it every day. You have no idea what it is like to wonder if the city bus you are riding will be bombed. Or if the man or woman passing you on the street will attack you with a machete. That’s true fear.”

  “The ends never justify the means.”

  Nadya laughed. “You are naïve, aren’t you? The ends always justify the means. Your government, above all others, lives by that simple rule.”

  The silence hung on the air: Nadya waited for Peter to make the next move, while Peter was uncertain what that move should be. He wanted to feel righteous, and yet her words stung with the unmistakable pain of truth.

  She broke the silence. “So, I have answered your questions. Now, I will go.”

  The Mossad operator turned and began the long descent. Peter watched her leave, conflicted. True, she and her team had brazenly tried to murder Peter. But equally true, she was now seemingly unarmed and walking away.

  Peter slid down and rubbed Diesel’s head. The amber eyes peered backed at him. “I don’t know what to make of that either.”

  Only after she’d covered half a mile and was within the trees again, did she key the satellite phone. “Marcus. Change of plans.”

  She gave Marcus new coordinates. They would meet, rest, and regroup. This plan had fallen apart almost from the outset. She had made the capital mistake of severely underestimating her opponent.

  That would not happen again.

  Chapter 24

  Sacramento, California

  April 21

  Jim was finishing the details of his plan when his phone rang. It was Lieutenant Lacey. “I checked current records of all staffers working for the House, and there is an Angela Meyers. She’s the Chief of Staff for Abraham Schuman.”

  “The Speaker of the House?” Jim said.

  “That’s correct, sir. And she’s his principal campaign manager as well.”

  “Doesn’t get more high-level than that. We’ll have to proceed cautiously.”

  “How do you want me to handle it?” Lacey asked.

  Jim thought through the possibilities. “We still need confirmation that the email address Gary found is active, but I’m guessing it is. I want you to call Schuman’s office and get an appointment to talk with Angela Meyers.”

  “Given the time difference, I won’t be able to reach anyone in Washington until tomorrow morning. But she may be out on the road anyway. The Presidential campaign has got to be a huge commitment with a grueling travel schedule.”

  “I understand. Call first thing in the morning. If you get the brush off, tell them it’s a matter of national security—make up a story, whatever is necessary—but I want you on the phone with Meyers tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir. And when I do speak to her, what should I say?”

  “Tell her we are investigating a security breach. Ask her what she knows about top-secret files from 1967. But don’t mention the USS Liberty.”

  “You want to spook her, she if she slips up and says something incriminating.”

  “That’s the general idea. Maybe she’ll give us enough to get a warrant for a phone tap.”

  “Sir, we both know that is very unlikely. As a branch of military intelligence, we have no jurisdiction. And the Justice Department doesn’t like it when we try to help them do their job.”

  “I am well aware of the situation, Lieutenant. I took the same oath as you—to protect our country against all enemies, foreign and domestic. And right now it’s looking more and more like we have a very serious threat developing. Do what you can.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I still want to keep this under wraps, at least a while longer. Is Stephens enough support for you?”

  “We’re good. If I feel we need additional assets, I’ll let you know.”

  “One more thing. See if Stephens can get any new information from the Bend Police Department or Deschutes County Sheriff.”

  “We’re on it. I’ll let you know when we have something new to share.”

  Mona Stephens spent about 30 minutes on the phone, being transferred from one desk to another, before she was finally connected to Detective Colson’s desk. It was late in the evening. Luckily, the detective had her calls automatically forwarded to her cell phone when she was out of the office. And lately that was often.

  “Detective Colson,” she answered.

  “Detective, my name is Mona Stephens and I’m working on a case involving national security. Do you have a minute?”

  It took closer to five minutes to offer sufficient explanation for Colson to agree to share an update on her investigation. She concluded with a name to call within the Sheriff Department, Deputy Tom Hastings. “He’s your best source at the moment. Two hours ago they found the body of a deputy sent to track down a lead. He was executed, his body and vehicle pushed off the road. State Police and Sheriff Deputies are organizing a manhunt.”

  “What lead?” Stephens pressed for more specific information.

  “A location in the mountains, west of here—possible location of Peter Savage after he fled the crime scene in Bend. Three civilians are dead; a security guard is in the hospital with a skull fracture, he may not make it. Mr. Savage is our prime suspect. And now it looks like he’s graduated to cop killing.”

  Stephens thanked Colson for her help and promised to return the favor should she learn anything new. No mention was made of secret files.

  Next, she phoned the contact in the Sheriff Department. The phone rang six times before going to voicemail. Frustrated, Stephens phoned the non-emergency number, explained her situation, and asked how she could reach Deputy Hastings.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. He’s unavailable now. I suggest you leave a voice message for him.”

  Stephens sighed. “Already did that. Thank you.”

  It had taken an hour to gather only a few additional clues, and she was frustrated she couldn’t get a detailed briefing from either department. She walked down the hall to Ellen Lacey’s office. The door was open. Still, she knocked before entering.

  “Come in,” Lacey said.

  Mona Stephens closed the door behind her and took a chair in front of the desk. “The local law enforcement doesn’t like to share much.”

  Lacey frowned. Seems like they still couldn’t catch a break.

  Stephens continued, “But I do have one additional clue. A sheriff deputy was checking a possible location for Mr. Savage. Somewhere in the mountains—I couldn’t get the specific location. But it didn’t go well. The Deputy was shot, execution style. The crime scene is still being processed, and the State Police and Sheriff’s Office are coordinating a massive manhunt. The local news will probably air the story tonight, might get more details then.”

  “Probably, but we’ll lose several more hours in the meantime. Maybe the Commander will have a guess as to where Peter might be hiding out.”

  Two minutes later Jim had joined his two intelligence analysts.

  “The detective… she said west?” Jim wanted to confirm he’d heard correctly.

  “Yes, sir,” Stephens replied after checking her notes. “Detective Colson is her name. She said Peter Savage was believed to be at a location in the mountains to the west of Bend. Is that significant?”

  “It might be,” he answered. And then, almost as an afterthought, “Follow me. I need a large display.”

  They followed their boss to the nearest conference room. Jim booted up the computer and soon had a satellite map of the Cascade Mountain range displayed on the large wall-mounted monitor. He focused in on the area due we
st of Bend.

  “Peter often spoke of this area.” He pointed with his finger to identify certain features. “Here’s Mount Bachelor and Broken Top.” He moved his finger a little to the north. “And these three peaks are the Three Sisters—North, Middle, and South.” The satellite image showed snow on all the mountain peaks, but the lower elevations were shades of green and gray indicating foliage and open ground.

  “Todd Lake was special to him. It’s here, next to this unimproved road.” Jim jabbed an oval blue shape with his index finger. “He often told me how he likes to hunt in the back country north of the lake and on the eastern slope of Broken Top.”

  “You think he might have fled there?” Lacey asked.

  Jim stared at the map in silence. On many occasions Peter had spoken so fondly of his time at Todd Lake with his children and his late wife, Maggie. Those memories harkened back to happier times for Peter, when his life was full of hope and love; a time when the future held limitless possibilities. In those memories Peter found sanctuary, a spiritual comfort that he turned to in time of need.

  Lacey’s question still hung on the air when Jim answered. “Yes. I know that’s where he is.”

  “Excuse me, sir,” Stephens said, “but how can you be so certain. Reference to ‘the mountains west of Bend’ covers a very large territory.”

  “Because that’s his refuge. He knows the area extremely well. Just being there is comforting to him. Plus, he can play a defensive game in that country without the risk of civilians getting hurt.”

  “Once that manhunt gets underway,” Lacey said, “they will find him. And they believe he executed a deputy. Law enforcement won’t be inclined to bring him in alive.”

  Jim folded his arms across his chest, his jaw clenched. “That’s why I have to get to him first.”

  Chapter 25

  Eastern Drainage of Broken Top

  April 21

  Nadya never turned back, didn’t even look over her shoulder. Instead, she hiked directly back to the meadow beneath the rocky point. There, she picked up Marie’s rifle and the extra magazines from her cooling body. There was no time to be sentimental. Marie and Ben and Joshua were dead. Others would deal with the bodies, when they were finally discovered. For now, she still had a mission to complete.

  Shouldering the rifle, she referenced her GPS and set off on a new bearing—one that would take her to the rendezvous location. This was one of several locations agreed to in advance and pre-loaded into the hand-held navigational unit of each team member. The destination was overlaid on either a topographical map or a satellite photo, depending on settings she selected. Currently she was using the topographical display and following a course that would avoid any difficult terrain. She had a mile to cover.

  When she reached the coordinates, the sun was behind the mountains and only twilight remained, soon to be followed by an ink-black night sky speckled with starlight. She’d familiarized herself with the lunar tables and knew the quarter-moon would rise after midnight.

  Because of the detour Marcus had to take when the rendezvous location was altered at the last minute, Nadya arrived first. She unlimbered the rifle at the sound of a twig snapping. Careless, she thought. She had her body pressed tight against a large tree to breakup her outline. In the ever-dimming light it was impossible to discern details. Through her night vision glasses she watched the approaching figure and raised her rifle. She called out in a low voice, “Marcus?”

  The figure froze. “Nadya? It’s me.”

  Nadya exhaled in relief, lowered the rifle, and stepped into the open. “Over here,” she said.

  Marcus also was wearing his NVGs and joined up with her.

  “Where are the others?” he asked.

  “Dead.”

  Surprise was evident when Marcus spoke. “But how can that be? We were hunting only one man.”

  “One very dangerous man. The plan has changed. We were sent in poorly prepared. Now, we are going to change that.”

  She placed a call on the satellite phone.

  The voice had a hard edge. “This better be important.”

  “It is,” she said calmly. “If you want the mission completed, you need to send in a fire support team and heavier weapons.”

  “What? Lady, you’ve got to be kidding me. Your team was supposed to handle this easily and quietly.”

  “My team is no longer functional,” she answered through gritted teeth. “There are only two of us left. The target has detailed knowledge of the terrain and is picking us off before we can get close enough to kill him. Now, as I said, if you want this mission to succeed, send in more firepower.”

  As a member of the Guardians, Richard Nyden was the coordinator for the Mossad team. He’d arranged to supply their weapons and gear and had provided the intelligence that led them to this location. But he was not supposed to have contact with the team again—too risky. Rather, they were to complete the mission, leaving the body to be discovered months or years later, probably by backpackers or hunters. They were to dispose of the weapons in the forest after wiping them clean of prints, pack up, and drive out.

  A simple plan.

  Nyden sighed, “Okay. I’ll get the firepower. What are your coordinates?”

  Nadya provided her location and agreed to check back in two hours. They would review the new plan at that time.

  She turned toward Marcus. “Now we wait. Try to get some sleep. I’ll take the first watch.”

  Richard Nyden was furious. He had never been on a mission with so many screw-ups. Who was this Peter Savage anyway? Every contact with him proved to be trouble.

  He dialed Ellison’s number. “We have another problem.”

  “You and problems seem to go hand in hand. I have to say, you are leaving an impression.”

  Nyden silently cursed Ellison. I doubt that desk jockey has spent any time in the field, he thought.

  “The Mossad team has suffered heavy casualties and is no longer able to pursue the mission objectives.” He went on to brief Ellison and make his request for a backup team.

  After he finished, Ellison said, “Anything else that I should know about?”

  “Just this: the Mossad team leader—Nadya Wheeler—had a brief conversation with Peter Savage.”

  “She what? How can that be? Why didn’t she kill him as ordered?”

  “It seems he got the jump on her. Anyway, they had a short conversation. Wheeler says that Savage mentioned files on the Liberty. She wanted to know what that was about.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “Nothing, of course.”

  Ellison answered through gritted teeth. “Very well. You’ll have your backup. Make sure this job gets done. Only now the parameters have changed. I want Peter Savage alive, if at all possible.”

  “That won’t be easy.”

  “There’s a bonus to whoever sees to it. I don’t care how you hurt him, as long as he can answer questions. I need to know how deep his knowledge of the files goes, and if he’s talked to anyone.”

  Much farther up the slope, Peter and Diesel were preparing for the night. Uncertain if the woman would come back during the cover of darkness, he decided they’d make their stand where they were. The shear rock cliff provided protection, the only likely approach being from the west.

  Still foregoing a fire, Peter drained the remainder of the water, sharing it with his companion. “I guess tomorrow we need to fill up the bottles.”

  A chill had settled upon their encampment—or was it just the effects of coming off the Adrenalin rush? Peter wrapped his parka around his shoulders. “It’s gonna get cold tonight.” He caught the glint of starlight off Diesel’s eyes. In the dim light, he could just make out the fat, droopy lips. It always reminded Peter of the late actor Edward G. Robinson.

  Peter unrolled the sleeping bag and laid it on the ground at the base of the rock semicircle. He sat with his back to the rock, and Diesel settled in next to him. From his position he had an unobstructed view u
p the slope. The terrain was mostly open, so it would be difficult for someone to approach unnoticed, especially with a clear sky. The Milky Way already shone brilliantly, adding to the glow from countless stellar bodies.

  Diesel was relaxed, a good sign. Peter trusted his dog’s hearing to alert him to danger. Donning the civilian night vision goggles, he watched for any approaching danger. It was going to be a long night.

  The minutes slowly became hours, and Peter found himself nodding off. He turned off the NVGs and tilted his head skyward just as a shooting star streaked by and then burned up in the atmosphere, providing a flash of light at the end. He saw several more streaks of light, all moving in the same direction. A meteor shower.

  Without light pollution from the city, combined with the elevation, the heavens were unbelievably clear. It was one of the joys of the mountains, one that Peter had missed lately. He tried to remember when he last spent time in these woods. Was it two or three seasons ago?

  He was still marveling at the multitude of stars when a bright pinpoint of light moved from south to north—it was moving too slowly for a meteor. The light faded and vanished. He knew this to be a satellite. There were so many objects in orbit—mostly space debris—that seeing the sunlight reflect off a passing object was common.

  It was on nights like this that Peter had spent time with his children, Joanna and Ethan, in these same mountains. He remembered looking up at the clear night sky, teaching the youngsters how to distinguish passing aircraft from satellites and meteors.

  Later, when Ethan was a teenager, Peter took him backpacking along the Tam McArthur Rim on the youth’s first deer hunt. They spent a week in the woods, with Peter teaching Ethan survival tradecraft.

  Now, in the silence and solitude of his surroundings, he longed for those days. His mind shifted to Maggie and he closed his eyes, her smiling face vivid in his memory. How many years had passed since she died? She loved these mountains, too. As Peter recalled memories of love and life, tears traced a wavy track down his cheeks.

  “I can’t do this, not now,” he said to Diesel. His companion was breathing deeply, and at the sound of Peter’s voice, he opened his eyes, failing to understand.