by E. Joan Sims
As I brushed the dead leaves off my jeans, it suddenly occurred to me that something about Bert had changed dramatically. I grabbed his arm and turned him around so I could see his face.
“You can hear! You can, can’t you?” I asked excitedly.
“We don’t have time…”
“Answer me, damnit. You can hear, I know you can. You heard that man hit me and came to my rescue just in the nick of time. And you heard the rifle fire and everything I’ve said tonight whether you could see my lips or not. You’re not deaf anymore!”
Bert smiled down at me and nodded.
“I had an operation. The doc only gave me a fifty-fifty chance. It didn’t seem worth it before, but after knowing you…I decided to take a chance, and it worked.”
He gave me a quick hug and a peck on the cheek.
“Now we have to make tracks. An hour, more or less, is probably all the head start we have.”
I had a million questions to ask Bert, but I shut up and hurried along behind him. I was as anxious as he was to get as far away as possible.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Fleeing from enemies who were bound and determined to bring me back to their brand of justice was not a new experience for me. The big difference here was that during the revolution in San Romero, I had been driven to safety by a trusted family chauffeur in a comfortable luxury sedan.
Late one night under a bright tropical moon, we had raced across the mountains to a small airport on the coast. There we found a pilot willing, for an exorbitant price, to take Cassie and me to the safety of an island resort. We spent the last reserves of our cash and almost all of what my jewelry brought trying to get back to New York. It had been a harrowing, fearful time, but we were comfortable and warm. We stayed in the finest hotels, and when we had an appetite, we sated it in the best restaurants.
“I’ll have the lobster salad and a glass of Chablis, please,” I told the waiter. Only the waiter was Bert. He took me by the arms and shook me back to the present moment.
“Paisley!” he shouted urgently. “You’ve got to stay with me!”
I watched his face come into focus and shivered violently.
“Of course, I’m with you,” I answered crossly as I tried to clear my vision. “Where else would I be? Cold, wet, and miserable is my favorite thing.”
He grinned and touched my cheek with his rough fingers.
“You were having a fine old time there for a moment. You even told me to turn right at the next block and park in front of the restaurant.”
“Don’t be silly. Why would I say such a thing? But now that you mention it, I am very thirsty. Can’t we stop for a minute and drink something?”
“We’ll have to stop soon enough. It looks like snow. I’m afraid we’re in for it. Be on the lookout for someplace we can hole up. Okay?”
I nodded my head and gave him the bravest smile I could muster, but with the wind blowing in my face, it was hard enough to see his broad back as he walked in front of me, much less a cave or some other place to hide.
Only an hour or so later we almost stumbled over something even better.
“It’s a hunter’s den,” shouted Bert over the wind. “That’s why we didn’t see it at first. It’s camouflaged.”
He motioned for me to stay back while he crept cautiously forward and peered in the door of the small dugout. It was built against the side of the cliff we had been skirting for hours. The roof was made of tree bark and covered with brambles and vines. In the summer it would have gone unnoticed by even the most observant eye.
I watched anxiously until Bert reappeared and then hurried over to his side.
“Is it safe?”
“We’ll just have to take a chance,” he answered with a weary shake of his head. “I would have liked to put a few more miles between them and us, but we need to rest and eat something before we drop in our tracks.”
I smiled and hugged his arm. I knew he was being kind. I was the one who needed to rest. He could have gone on for hours.
“Allow me, madam,” he said as he lifted the thick leather hide that served as a door to let me crawl inside.
Before I could stop myself, I tumbled head over heels down the small incline into the saucer-shaped depression that had been carved out of the earth. I lay there for a moment catching my breath and cursing Bert with what little strength I had left.
“Sorry,” he laughed as he turned on the flashlight and saw my angry face. “I should have warned you about that first step.”
He extended a hand and pulled me up to a sitting position while he pointed out the features of our new home like a proud real estate salesman.
“It’s much bigger that it looks, and there’s even a chimney of sorts in case we want to risk a fire. We’ll be safe here tonight.”
I looked around skeptically at the dark corners as I listened for a rustling sound in the dry leaves that carpeted the floor.
“How about critters?” I asked petulantly. “Spiders. I hate spiders.”
“How about something to eat?” he asked, changing the subject. “You want a sandwich or an apple?”
“Oh! Sandwich, please!”
“Okay! Housekeeping chores first. Then we eat. Try to gather all the leaves over in that corner against the back of the depression and spread one of the blankets on top. I need to go find some wood in case it snows. Even those bad asses will stop for a snow storm, and we’ll be warm and cozy.”
“Let me go with you,” I begged.
I was still terrified of losing Bert.
He took my outstretched hand in his and pressed his warm lips to my palm.
“I’ll only be a few minutes, Paisley, I promise. Do you think I’d miss a chance to spend another night alone with you?”
And he was gone.
I closed my eyes and shut my mind against the irrational fears that assaulted me.
“Come on, Paisley Sterling, you big dummy. You have enough to worry about without borrowing trouble. He’ll be back. He promised.”
I busied myself arranging things the way Bert had requested. It was cold inside the little enclosure, but the absence of the wind made it seem thirty degrees warmer. I pulled down my hood and unzipped my coat. Bert had left the flashlight sitting on its end in the middle of the room. I picked it up and peered gingerly into the dark corners. I didn’t see any bright, beady little eyes staring back at me, but I did see something that aroused my curiosity. I crawled over for a closer inspection.
The architect of our little abode had been very inventive. He had hollowed out shelves in the soft sandstone of the cliff that served as the back wall of the dugout. The bottom shelves were empty, but when I stood up and hunched over to peer in the back of the top one, I saw two large metal containers. I stood straight up in my excitement and banged my head on the roof, sending a shower of pine needles and bark down in my hair.
“What’s going on in here?” asked Bert as he stuck his head in the doorway.
He crawled inside with an armload of kindling. I waited until he turned back around and pulled in several big logs before I told him.
“Treasure! I found a buried treasure!” I said excitedly. “Big containers full of something. They’re too heavy for me to move. Maybe it’s food!”
Bert laughed and crawled back to my side to inspect the treasure.
“You’re right,” he agreed. “They are heavy. But don’t get your hopes up. I doubt we’ll find tins of caviar and plum pudding.”
“I’d settle for some pimento cheese and a cracker.”
Bert lifted the first container down and carefully stripped the wax seal away with his knife. I waited breathlessly while he pried open the top.
“Son of a gun! When did you get to be a witch?” he gasped as he pulled out a large jar of Cheese Whiz, several cans of deviled ham, and a round metal container of crackers. We sat back and laughed in amazed delight. Bert opened the crackers and one can of ham with his knife, and we dug into our feast.
&nbs
p; “We really should have finished your sandwiches first,” he said while he munched, “but this was just too good to be true. Want some more coke?”
I nodded and he passed the bottle. The crackers made me thirsty and I almost drank more than my share. Bert tried to refuse the rest, but I insisted, so he finished it off.
“If it snows, we can melt some over the fire,” I said with all the authority of my Girl Scout background. “Is there anything else in the tin? Chocolate mousse, maybe?”
“If there is, I’m finding another place to spend the night. It’s not Halloween yet,” he laughed as he tipped the metal container over and dumped the remainder of the contents out on the blanket.
“Well, what do you know! How about a box of Hershey bars instead?” he asked with a grin. “And here’s some more matches and a compass…”
In spite of my joy and excitement with our treasure trove, I was so exhausted that I slumped over against his shoulder and fell fast asleep before he could finish his sentence.
I woke up hours later feeling warm and relaxed. A small wood fire burned merrily in the center of the dugout, its smoke wafting up through a hole in the roof and leaving our little hideout warm and cozy. Bert sat up against the hide door with his arms crossed and his chin resting on his chest. At first I thought he was asleep, but when I made a move to sit up he opened his eyes.
“Ah, Sleeping Beauty!”
“I bet!” I laughed as I tried to run my fingers through my tangled hair. Pieces of bark and pine needles fell out when I shook my head. I knew I looked like hell.
“Want some water? I melted the snow like you said.”
“It’s snowing? But it’s so quiet?”
Bert smiled. “It’s been snowing for hours. It’s not exactly the blizzard I predicted, but it’s enough to call a halt to any search party out looking for us.”
I drank deeply of the melted snow, then poured a tiny bit on my shirttail and swiped at my face. I doubt if I accomplished anything, but I felt better.
“Hungry?” asked Bert. “You haven’t had dessert.”
“Shouldn’t we ration things out? I mean, we might be here for days.”
Bert looked uncomfortable. “I might as well be honest with you, Paisley. We won’t be able to wait around for days. These characters can’t afford to let us escape. They’ll be hunting for us with a vengeance as soon as the weather’s clear.”
“But why? I couldn’t even begin to tell the police where I was held prisoner. And I certainly don’t know who those men were.”
I looked up and saw his eyes darken.
“Oh, but you can! You’re not one of them?” I asked in alarm.
“Of course not! That’s the only stupid thing you’ve said to me since you asked me to pretend to be Leonard,” he said almost angrily.
“So what were you doing there? Is that where you disappeared? Andy didn’t even know where you were.”
Bert smiled slowly and dangerously.
“Oh, yes, he did. He and Danny helped me. Andy got me a driver’s license and a social security card, and Danny faked a jail record in the name I picked, Ernest Banks. I camped out in the woods for a week or so until I grew the beard back and got a nice woodsy aroma going. Then I struck out in the direction of the camp. Andy had a pretty good idea of where it was. He overheard a couple of drunks bragging one night after he threw them in jail. They were known militia members and…”
“Militia? What militia? I thought this was all about some maverick soldiers from Fort Morgan,” I sputtered.
“Yes, and no,” answered Bert carefully.
“Tell me about the ‘yes’.”
“About three years ago, that jerk back there at the camp, Sergeant Callard, got an idea of how to steal from the army. He sweet-talked Ta’Ronda Yancey into helping him.
“But she seemed…”
Bert held up his hand to stop me.
“She was bored with the army and anxious to get out. She was a young girl, pretty and ambitious. This man made her believe that they could make a fortune and then go away somewhere and live like kings.”
Bert smiled sadly. “It’s the same old story, but some women always fall for it. When she got scared and wanted to call the whole thing off, they had a fight and broke up. He experimented with the idea on his own, got caught, and was immediately given a dishonorable discharge. Ta’Ronda felt sorry for him and let him back in her bed when he had no place to stay. Finally, she agreed to do what he wanted when he threatened to spill the beans about their relationship. She could have gotten in big trouble for having an affair with a man who had a record of stealing from the army.”
“Anyway, after Callard’s bad experience, they decided they needed someone more knowledgeable who could hack into the computer in the Quartermaster’s Office. Ta’Ronda came up with a young civilian from Morgantown who had a crush on her. Armed with a laptop computer and the hacker’s expertise, they were in business in no time at all.”
“And that was?” I interrupted.
“They ordered supplies—pots and pans, blankets, boots—you name it. Then they got the shipping papers and sent them by fax to several bases. They made fake transfers of the goods into each base’s inventory electronically, received payment by changing the name of the shipping company to an address of their own, then deposited the money in an offshore account. After doing this several times over, they had quite a little nest egg. That was when Callard got the really big idea.”
“And what was that?” I asked in excitement. I had forgotten the cold and the snow and our precarious situation.
“The militia. He decided to sell the goods to militia groups. After all, what could he do with a few hundred gross of pots and pans? And the crazies in these extremist groups believed fiercely in stockpiling goods for the coming battle against what they called the New World Order.”
I was puzzled.
“I thought it was the Special Forces Underground? That’s what Horatio said.”
Bert nodded thoughtfully. “Smart man. I can see why he would have come to that conclusion. I had my suspicions, too, but as far as I could determine Ta’Ronda was the only active duty soldier involved, after her boyfriend was cashiered. These militia guys are all loners, but they have similar politics. They used to belong to larger groups, but since the Oklahoma City bombing they’ve broken up into small individual cells and gone to ground.”
Bert added another log to the fire and stirred the ashes underneath until the wood ignited. “During the last few weeks, I’ve met quite a few of them. Some of them are serious-minded people who are really concerned about the future of this country. They mean to protect their families at all costs, and they have no agenda other than arming themselves to the teeth. But the largest contingent hate the federal government. They believe they are being taxed into poverty and forced into menial, low-paying jobs while minorities are given special privileges. As far as they’re concerned, they’re already at war, and they’ll stop at nothing to defend their rights.”
“And these soldiers need arms and ammunition, am I correct?” I asked.
“Correct. And that’s where Ta’Ronda’s little computer nerd dug in his heels. He didn’t mind stealing blankets, but he refused to help with the guns. That’s when they ordered him killed.”
“Oh, God, my laptop was his wasn’t it?” I breathed.
“Yes,” admitted Bert. “Callard put the word out that the hacker was an enemy of the patriots: a spy. Unfortunately, the executioner that the militia sent was also a petty thief. After he blew the hacker away, he took what valuables he could carry, including your laptop, and pawned them before he disappeared back into the hills.”
I passed Bert a candy bar and took over the narrative.
“Cassie bought the computer for me. I wrote Virtual Violence using some of the information on the hard drive, including a line or two from that pathetic love poem…”
I stopped for a moment. I was stuck.
“Who read the book?”
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br /> “I don’t really know,” answered Bert. “But it doesn’t matter. When Callard found out about it, he went crazy. He had no idea how much information was on the computer or how much Leonard Paisley really knew, but he had to get the computer back at all costs. Again, I don’t know who, but someone brought the article in Pen and Ink to his attention. He sent out another hit man after Leonard, only this time, the target fought back.”
“Thank God,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry, Bert. I’m so sorry I got you all mixed up in this crazy mess.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
If we had been Cassie’s age and in the bloom of romantic youth, we might have spent the night in other ways. But we were older, if not yet old, and content simply to lie in each other’s arms in front of the campfire as we passed in and out of a light sleep. At times, as I felt him press against me, I felt the stirring of desire, but Bert was a gentleman of the old school, and I still had a ghost hovering at the edges of my memory. So we just held each other close and whispered throughout the night.
Bert told me that Ta’Ronda had been left behind in the camp the day I was captured. The others had gone to make an arms deal with several militia members who had come from as far away as Utah and North Dakota. When Henry dragged me back and dumped me in my cell, she waited until he went to join the rest, then brought me food and water. She meant to help me escape, but her loving boyfriend returned. When he discovered what she had done he beat her severely. Bert was sure she was dying from internal injuries even before Callard kicked her that one last time.
“How far is it to some relatively safe place?” I asked a little after midnight. “I mean, will it take us another day, or what?”
Bert shifted his weight and pulled me against his shoulder. He buried his face in my hair and nibbled on my ear instead of answering my question. As ticklish as I am, it was impossible not to laugh and squirm. I retaliated by tickling him back. We rolled around like two teenagers until we were out of breath and the edge of the blanket caught on fire. Bert doused it with some melted snow and got out the biscuits.