There were a number of towns that could have been possible destinations. Sheridan lay more or less to the north, and Buffalo was bit to the south of east. Big Horn and Banner offered highway access, and there were a number of one-pump nameless communities scattered about
The snipers—Clicker hated to attach a title he honored to such thugs—would have ridden their three-wheelers to a pair of pickups or perhaps vans. Once loaded, they would have joined traffic and returned to their home places, or perhaps to a campground. The men could have come from far away, Bell feared.
Before noon, Clicker left for the hospital. Wounds and fevers worsened in later afternoon, and Bell wished to tell what he knew before the Colonel wore out.
He tapped lightly on Maynard's door and pushed in. Sydney read in a comfortable chair alongside the patient's bed. A television flickered, but the sound was muted. Looking wan and puny with his chest bandaged, Maynard lay with his upper body propped high. Tubes and bags hung around, and a monitor beeped softly.
Sydney looked up, her pleasure showing. Clicker smiled, said, "Hi," kissed the proffered lips, and turned his attention to the victim.
He stood at the foot of the Colonel's bed, squared away, with his hands on his hips. Sydney Maynard was bemused by the resemblance to her father. The military molded their men, and most of them stood apart from the increasing mob who had never served.
Clicker said, "How you doing, Colonel?"
Maynard squirmed minutely, and then wished he hadn't. "Doing great. How you doing?"
Irascible, Clicker thought, and guessed he would be himself with a bullet hole clean through his body.
Bell ignored the question and studied the hoses and bottles. "You look like a plumbing project."
Maynard grunted—but gently. "I feel like the soldier in white."
Clicker laughed, but Sydney was confused.
Bell said, "Your dad's referring to a wounded soldier in Heller's book Catch Twenty-Two. The guy was all swathed in bandages, and the story's hero suspected they drained fluids out of him until the jugs were full then just poured it back into him."
"Oh god, that is disgusting."
Both men appeared pleased by the response.
Clicker sat on a hard chair beside the Colonel and prepared to talk.
"Tell me you got him and shot him, Clicker."
Bell grinned. "Not yet, and it wasn't one gunman, it was two."
"Damn it, shoot 'em both."
"We're working on it. Hell, Colonel, it's only been two days."
Maynard again shifted uncomfortably. "It seems longer."
He glanced at a soundless wall clock. "Better tell me fast and dirty, Bell. My nurse will be throwing you both out of here any minute." He rolled his eyes in pretended exasperation. "Got to get my rest, you know."
"OK, the best part first."
"I told Sydney earlier that you getting shot was no accident. I found where the sniper had determined his range by shooting into the wall you were standing on."
Maynard glared at his daughter. "She did not pass on that information, Bell."
Clicker paused to add further impact "The rifle shooter wasn't after you. He was hunting me."
"What?"
"What?"
Both listeners were shocked. Clicker enjoyed their consternation.
"Well, that's how I figure it, and I believe the state cops are buying my version."
Clicker explained how a rifleman could not have expected Colonel Greg Maynard to appear at the wall. He reminded Maynard about the boonie cap he had snatched, and that only he, Clicker Bell, regularly wore one around the lodge site.
Bell judged that his listeners accepted his reasoning, so he went on.
"The investigators will be asking around, trying to find out who owns three-wheelers. I'm planning on doing the same. Maybe we will get lucky and...."
"You can't get that lucky, Click. Hell, Honda alone sold a million of those things. We had three at the ranch in the old days, but they were dangerous, too easy to tip over, and when the four-wheelers came along we got rid of them."
"Yep, and so did everybody else. Most of those things are junk or laying unused in the back of an old barn. But, if there are some guys still riding them, we might have our men."
"You sure they are men, Bell?"
Clicker groaned. "Now why add to the problems, Colonel? They'll be men. Stuff like this is always men. Women talk meaner and go to the lawyers faster, but men do the physical crimes."
"Maybe." Maynard ignored his daughter's irritation at their conclusions. "So what are you going to do next?"
"I'm going to go to each town along Highway 90 and ask around. While I am doing that I am going to be thinking hard about who would want to shoot me."
Clicker paused to consider. "I haven't fired anybody capable of that kind of revenge."
Maynard surprised him. "What about Iraqis?"
"Iraqis?"
"Yes, Iraqis. You killed a bunch of them out there in the desert."
Bell was doubtful. "Hell, Colonel, that was war, and how would any of them know who killed who, anyway?"
"There could have been someone of importance there. Remember that major you couldn't account for at such a minor station? He could have been executed for losing those Scuds. Maybe he has vengeful relatives. Some of those people are like that, Clicker, and they can wait a generation if they have to."
"Sounds really thin, Colonel, but I'll also ask about middle-east people."
"Well, ask a lot because if some of them are looking for you, and maybe for me, we want to know it before we go back over there."
"Go back there?" Bell was shaken.
"Yeah, back there. The camel, Clicker. The shield of gold and jewels. Remember?"
"I remember talking about the situation, but when did we decide we were going back, Colonel? I must have been out of the room just then."
Maynard's eye was stern. "I decided for us, Clicker. Hell, we can't just forget the possibility that an artifact of that importance is laying there waiting."
Bell said, "We can't even get in Iraq much less...."
"We'll go in the way we got out We'll go to visit that guy Patton's relatives. Hell, we'll take Patton. Then we'll just hump across that desert, grab the shield and hump out"
Maynard was pleased with his explanation and quickly continued. "Now that I think about it, we will take in a couple of the four-wheelers we have been talking about. We can ride them to that radar site in one day. We can...."
Bell snorted and waved a hand in objection just as the nurse appeared.
Bell's voice lacked doubt. "Colonel, you aren't going anywhere for months, and you said yourself that we ought to hurry because word might get out. It's probably already too late.
"On top of that, we've got this minor shooting meant for me to work out." Clicker grinned. "I don't think I'll pack my desert gear just yet, Colonel."
"That's what you've said every time we speak about the shield. Just get ready, Shooter. Figure out how we can get the thing out of Jordan and back home. Work out a way to carry it on the ATVs. Find out our probable fuel consumption. You can do all of that while you are hunting the bastards that shot me."
Clicker and Sydney let the door close behind them.
Bell said, "Man, he is hot for that shield."
"It will give him something to think about while he is getting well, Clicker. You don't have to go, you know."
Bell shook his head. "I don't know, Syd. He sounds serious to me, and I couldn't let him go back in there without me. If he makes up his mind, he will sure as hell try."
"He won't be fit for months, Clicker. By then it will be an old idea, and something else will be more important—and a lot more practical."
"We might fly the shield out of Jordan by private jet, if the plane had a compartment ready for the damn thing. It'd have to do the same with the ATVs. You can't just hang something like that off a...."
"Clicker?"
"Sorry Syd. I was just th
inking about how it might get done, but we're not going to do it, and that is final!"
"Final my foot"
"Well, sort of final—for right now."
Chapter 10
"Tex?"
"Hello, chief. I was expecting your call."
"You've made a mess of everything."
"I didn't make the mess. Those big-bragging bench shooters did. I am already repairing the damage."
"It cannot be repaired."
"Sure it can, and remember that it went right out here."
"You are hired to take care of everything, not just part of it"
"I am taking care of everything. So they shot the wrong guy. I'll take him out myself and that will be the end of it."
"No! And I mean that most emphatically. There is no longer a need. They will not mount a search without Maynard and his money. We will simply go ahead with the rest of my plan."
"It would be safer if we got rid of Bell. He could be dangerous."
"It is not necessary, and there is no place for your wish to prove who is best."
"I don't need to prove it. I could take him one-on-one, anytime."
"Your immediate task is to make certain that those who shot the wrong man are never tracked. The trail must end with them."
"Consider it ended."
The phone went dead, and Tex, who actually lived in Kansas, also hung up.
+++
When they walked together, Clicker carried his Mannlicher. He tended to step out ahead on single-file trails and placed himself to Maynard's right when they strode side-by-side.
The rifle hung from Bell's left shoulder by a long sling, muzzle forward, almost horizontal. Bell's left hand lay near the rifle's balance where a single sweep of his left arm could plant the rifle butt in the hollow of his right shoulder with his eye already aligning the crosshair. The carry was a European hunter's that appeared in paintings as old as firearms themselves. Unless a rifleman carried his weapon in both hands at Port Arms, there was no faster technique for getting into action.
They walked each morning no matter what the weather. At first, Maynard's endurance had limited them to a tottery circumnavigation around the ranch house, but his strength returned quickly, and after a month of recovery, they walked briskly for three miles.
At Bell's insistence, they varied their departure time; they left the ranch house by different doors and returned by others. They rarely repeated a route. Maynard suggested that Bell visit a shrink as his paranoia was irritating, but the Colonel also kept his eyes working.
At first, they mostly discussed Maynard's wounding in the ranch kitchen, but as the walks began and lengthened, and neither Bell nor the police developed leads, other subjects intruded. The ranching operation required regular conversation, but Maynard always returned to the campaign to recover the Khan's magnificent shield.
Clicker said, "Look, Colonel, we had agreed that we would have to act swiftly or someone else would be in there before us. It's been nearly two months since Professor Grant announced his theory. On top of that, you aren't going anywhere for at least another pair of months. That's what the doctors told you, and it's clear to both you and me that you aren't fit to be hammering around the Iraqi desert."
Bell smirked. "Right now, I'd rather have Sydney along than a broken down old husk like you."
Maynard remained above it. "I'll get fit faster than you think, and I do not like the image of you and my daughter in the desert. Keep your mind on our mission."
"There is no mission."
"I am initiating one right now.
"You mentioned your former Assistant Team Leader. Would he want to go in with us?"
"Giacamo? I haven't talked to him for two years. He is married and starting a family. He won't want to go."
"Call him anyway. We can swing by your lodge, and you can call him while I wait"
"What am I supposed to tell him, Colonel? When is all this supposed to happen? How are we going to do it—if we do it? How much will you pay him? Man, we aren't ready to start anything."
"Call him, and we will wing it. We've got to get moving."
"He's probably moved, anyway."
Clicker said, "Mrs. Giacamo? This is Clicker Bell, your husband's old buddy. Is he handy? I've got a proposition for him."
The conversation came from the other end. Maynard heard concern in Bell's short answers, which were mostly "When, How, and Good Lord." It sounded as if something was wrong in the Giacamo's home. Maynard went to Clicker's refrigerator for Cokes, and when he returned Bell had hung up and was sitting on his couch looking concerned and thoughtful.
"That didn't sound good, Click."
Bell roused himself. "It isn't. Giacamo is dead."
"What? Hell, that's lousy. How did it happen?"
Bell's eyes held the Colonel's. "He was hit by a stray bullet while working in his garden."
"What!" Maynard came up straight.
"Yeah," Bell was somber. "Some coincidence isn't it?"
They sat thinking about it. The Colonel broke their silence.
"Neither of us believes it was a coincidence, of course, and there is only one connection that I can imagine."
Clicker continued the thought. "Giacamo could have walked right up to that Iraqi hide."
"Maybe you had better check the other team members, Clicker."
"You'll have to get your Pentagon friend to dig out some addresses, Colonel. I haven't any idea where they might be."
Maynard began planning. "I'll do that this morning." He paused. "It's about the shield, Clicker, and we've got to try to figure out the connections that would let someone know that only you and your team could go straight to the hide."
"Then we have to work out how whoever is behind this expects to find the shield himself if you and your team are dead."
Clicker said, "I wonder how many other people Shelby Grant spoke to about his shield theory? Dozens, more than likely."
"Well, someone he spoke with believed him, and that person has unleashed some really bad people. When did Giacamo get shot, Click?"
Bell's voice was grim. "The day after you did, Colonel."
Thereafter, their walks were mostly planning. Maynard worked the phones, and Clicker resumed his search for the local shooters.
The plan developed almost as Maynard had first suggested, and George Patton and his Jordanian relatives were to be the key. Maynard would rent a friend's Lear jet. Bell arranged for a local P&A mechanic to make the modification they would need.
Clicker chose and bought the two Kawasaki four-wheel ATVs he preferred and began re-shaping them in his garage shop.
The overall plan was simple enough. The ATVs would be flown to Jordan as quickly as possible. Their redesigned bodies would comprise huge, round fuel tanks that might best be described as saucer-shaped. Going in, each would carry fuel. Coming out, one would hold the Shield of the Khan, they hoped. The great shield would be transferred to the Lear and placed in the specially designed and carefully disguised cargo space built-in by the local P&A. The treasure would not be declared anywhere along its journey to the ranch's private air strip. It sounded easy.
So, how to make an ATV body that had a shield-hiding ability but that still looked like a gas tank that could be opened and resealed in the field and that.... Maybe it wasn't as easy as it sounded.
How much would a solid gold shield of perhaps three feet in diameter weigh? Hell, they were only guessing at the size, anyway. What if the shield was six feet wide and weighed six hundred pounds? Not likely. Too much for one camel, but—the damned thing wouldn't be there, so why sweat the small things?
Bell formed ready-mix cement into a saucer-shaped mound. When it hardened, he greased the smooth convex surface with axle grease and began a fiberglass, carbon fiber and epoxy lay-up on top. He made the build-up a half inch thick, strong enough to resist the bucking and thumping the cross-desert trek would administer. When he lifted his saucer shape, the grease release agent immediately loosened and Clicke
r had his first shield holder.
He made two saucers, one for each ATV. He formed his tank tops in the same manner, giving them a small curve for strength.
The rest was detail. Bell glassed-in fuel intakes from old motorcycle tanks, and used their valves to control fuel flow from the tanks to the engines. Clicker epoxied and glassed the tanks to the Kawasaki frames and had only one remaining problem, how to join the tank halves together so that they would hold fuel but could be opened and rejoined without difficulty in the desert and again when off-loading the shield onto the airplane.
The answer again proved simple. Silicone and pop rivets. A thick bead of 100% silicone would seal and resist leakage. He would pack a pop-rivet gun and a battery-powered hand grinder. He would open the tank by grinding off the rivet tips and use a knife to slide through the silicone sealing beads. With the shield in place, he would reapply silicone and new pop rivets in the old holes, and no one would be the wiser ... and he would carry touch-up paint to hide his work.
The Colonel shipped the ATVs to Amman, Jordan. He made contact with a Jordanian mechanic in the general aviation section of the Amman airport and requested that upon their arrival the mechanic run the ATVs daily so that they would be in top shape when Mister Patton's family used them for their amusement in the eastern Jordanian desert.
Clicker Bell was admiring. "Now that's clever, Colonel. You make sure the ATVs are in place and in good shape. You get everybody at the airport familiar with seeing the things running around. Hell, that mechanic will probably let half the employees in the place drive the rich American's toys. Nothing suspicious there, right? And when we come back, why it's just the same old ATVs. Who will even look?"
The Colonel beamed. "Thank you, Mister Bell. It is comforting to be appreciated."
From Marine headquarters, Maynard's Pentagon contact got three last known addresses for Bell's team.
Clicker made the calls. He enjoyed conversations with two of his old team, and they reminisced at the Colonel's expense.
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