Smith's Monthly #22

by Smith, Dean Wesley

  “Oh, there are ways of getting the others,” Nyland said. He continued to glare at R.A. “How about you? Why do you want them?”

  R.A. took a step toward Nyland, and this time I didn’t move to stop him.

  Nyland shook his head at R.A. “I wouldn’t.”

  Nyland looked just about as mean as they came.

  Steven still had not moved.

  R.A. hesitated, glanced at Steven, then back at Nyland.

  “Nice playing with you, gentlemen,” Nyland said, backing toward the door. “And kid. You’re a better player than your old man ever was. Come on, Steven.”

  “You know we’re not going to let you get away from here with those keys,” I said.

  “Oh, I think your grandfather will tell you right about now that you should let me go. Why don’t you call him.”

  “You kidnapped Ace?”

  “Let’s just say I borrowed him until I get out of here.”

  I hoped that Nyland’s voice was loud enough for the recording equipment. Even if we didn’t get much on the murders from him, we now had him for kidnapping.

  “But that’s not going to stop me,” R.A. said.

  “Have you talked to your wife lately?” Nyland asked, glaring at R.A.

  A second kidnapping charge. Nyland was burying himself and he didn’t even know it.

  Steven sighed and shook his head, as if his father was just a child who had gotten into some stupid problem.

  R.A. moved to a satellite phone on a side desk and made a call.

  “Put it on speaker phone,” Nyland said, smiling.

  I so wanted to just wipe that smile forever off his face with my fist, but I stayed where I was. He was soon going to a place that there would be more than enough people to make sure he never smiled like that again.

  A woman answered.

  “Dannie, are you all right?” R.A. asked, a real touch of concern in his voice.

  “Fine, dear. But two men were arrested a short time ago trying to break into the house. It was kind of scary. Both are now talking to the police and everything’s fine.”

  I let out a slow, silent sigh of relief. The police there had done their job. I had warned them what might happen and they promised to put men stationed around R.A.’s house and guard his wife.

  “I’ll be home shortly,” R.A. said. “Don’t go out.”

  “No plans to,” she said.

  He hung up.

  The smile was gone from Nyland’s face. He looked like he might just be sick.

  I moved the few steps to the phone and dialed Ace’s number, then put it on speaker phone as well.

  “How’s it going there?” I asked when he answered. I had no doubt everything was fine, but I had to play the hand out for Nyland.

  “I’ve got a sum total of twelve bucks off that Cold Poker Gang of yours. They are the tightest damned players I’ve ever tried to pry a dime out of. And that Bayard Lott is a real player.”

  “Had any visitors?” I asked, keeping my eye on both Nyland and Steven, just in case they made a move during the call.

  “Oh, yeah, that,” Ace said. “Three idiots tried to break into my house while we were in the basement playing cards.”

  “What happened to them?” I asked.

  “Last I heard, they were down at the police station singing some song-and-dance about some rich guy hiring them to kidnap me, if you can believe that. So, how’s it going there?”

  “I’ll tell you all about it when I get back,” I said, and hung up.

  I turned back to Nyland. “My guess is that they are not going to let you keep those keys where you are going.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  Idaho Primitive Area. August 28

  “FATHER, YOU ARE as stupid as they come these days,” Steven said.

  I watched as Nyland stood like a child who was being forced to come inside when he wanted to play. The guy looked like he might just throw a tantrum at any moment. Or break down and start to cry.

  I was betting on the tantrum.

  “All I have to do is start talking,” Nyland said, panic making his voice squeak. “Tell them what happened here in 1982.”

  “And not a soul is going to believe you,” R.A. said. He stepped over to a small writing desk, opened a drawer, and pulled a silver-plated pistol from the desk.

  He pointed it at Nyland. “Because you’re not going to have those keys for long.”

  I had had no doubt that a gun or two were going to make an appearance. It had been my biggest fear, and now we were facing it. Annie and I neither one had brought a gun. Too many risks of being searched by one or the other of the players.

  “Put the keys on the table,” R.A. said to Nyland. “I’ve buried one man in these hills. I can bury another.”

  I had no doubt that statement was causing some comments from everyone who was listening. I was sure R.A. just figured he would destroy the tape on the recorder I brought for his scam.

  Nyland stared at his old enemy for a moment, then with a glance at the gun, took the keys and put them on the table.

  R.A. glanced at me, but kept the gun focused on Nyland as he picked up the keys. He pushed at something hidden in his shirt pocket. “Trust me, I was always going to leave with these keys.”

  Steven just sat, shaking his head, clearly trying to keep from laughing. I had no idea what he was finding so funny, but clearly he thought all this amusing.

  I glanced at Annie. She was sitting, poised, ready to move in any direction she needed to.

  I turned back to R.A. I still had a little work to do. “What do you mean by that?”

  “You didn’t really think I would just let you destroy the keys, did you?” R.A. asked. The he glanced at the front door.

  The door was staying closed.

  “You waiting for someone?” I asked. “Not too many people up on this part of the river this time of the year.”

  R.A. pulled out a small device from his shirt pocket, looked at it, and then pushed on it. Then he turned to the front door, expecting it to open.

  Nothing.

  The silence in the room was almost painful.

  I had had no doubt that either R.A. or Nyland, or more than likely both would have people outside, people that got into this remote area in other ways. They weren’t the types to leave things alone.

  Now, clearly Nyland had expected to just walk away because of his kidnapping trick. So only R.A. had people out there.

  “Actually,” I said, after I let the silence drag on long enough to make R.A. squirm, “I don’t think either of you is going anywhere but to jail.”

  I walked past the stunned R.A. and opened the door. It was black dark like it can only get in the trees in the mountains. Clearly the moon wasn’t up above the ridgeline yet.

  “Any problems out there?” I shouted into blackness.

  “No, sir,” a voice shouted back. I recognized it as Valley County Sheriff Ray Hendricks. “We managed to capture five wolves with big bites lurking in the trees and have them penned in the plane maintenance shed, if you’d care to see.”

  “Thanks,” I said as he came up onto the porch out of the darkness.

  I stepped back inside, making room for him to come in. “I think there are two more wolves inside here that need to join their friends in the pen, don’t you?”

  “From what I heard going on in here, I’d sure say so,” the sheriff said, smiling at the two men and tapping an earplug showing them that he has been listening in.

  “Father,” Steven said from his bar stool, “you know you really are a complete idiot.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  Idaho Primitive Area. August 28

  “HANDS BEHIND YOUR backs, gentleman,” the sheriff said, flashing two pair of handcuffs. “You’re under arrest for attempted kidnapping, extortion, attempted murder, and as many other murders as we can pin on you both. And from the sounds of things, I guess I better start looking for that body you mentioned burying, Mr. Scott.”

  “I
don’t think so,” R.A. said. He waved the gun at the sheriff. “I still have control here.”

  Before I had a chance to ask R.A. just where he thought he was going, and why compound the mess with even more charges, Nyland shouted, “No! I won’t go to jail.”

  Moving very fast for an old guy, Nyland yanked a pistol out of his suit pocket and fired it at R.A., hitting him squarely in the chest.

  The force of the shot slammed R.A. back against the wall.

  The shot seemed as loud as a canon going off inside the contained space.

  I moved instantly, since I was the closest to the crazy old man. Before he could get his gaze off of R.A.’s falling body and focus a shot on anyone else, I smashed the gun from his hand.

  The weapon banged across the wooden floor toward the fireplace.

  Annie dove for it, rolling once and coming up in a professional firing posture with the gun in her hands.

  Steven hadn’t moved from his bar stool, his back against the wall, his eyes cold and watching everything.

  Nyland spun around. Then, holding his injured hand, he shoved the sheriff into me.

  We staggered together toward the wall.

  “Stop!” Annie shouted.

  Nyland ignored her and bolted through the open front door, down the porch stairs, and along the trail headed for the river.

  “Where the hell does he think he’s going?” the sheriff asked as we untangled ourselves, then went for the door to follow Nyland.

  By the time I reached the trail, Nyland had disappeared into the darkness.

  The sheriff was right behind me as I started down the trail toward the river, doing my best to keep my feet. I had been on this trail a few times. I doubted Nyland knew the way well enough to make it very far in the dark.

  The sheriff pounded along behind me, the bouncing beam of his flashlight giving me just enough light to see where I was going.

  Suddenly, there was a scream from the dark trees ahead.

  An ugly scream, like an animal trapped.

  A few long moments later, crashing brush and a sickening thud echoed through the night.

  That did not sound good.

  I slowed, moving carefully to where the trail neared a sharp drop down to the river, then turned hard right. I was betting that Nyland hadn’t made the turn.

  “Slow down, Ray,” I said to the huffing man behind me. The last thing I needed was him shoving me over the edge, and besides that, I didn’t want him to have a heart attack right here in the middle of everything.

  Carefully, we approached the turn in the trail.

  In the beam of the sheriff’s flashlight, it was clear what had happened. Or at least I thought it was for a moment.

  Nyland’s body lay crumpled against some rocks a good fifty feet down a steep bank. The dark swirling waters of the river lapped at the man’s arm like a dog trying to wake up its master.

  “I think he missed his turn,” the sheriff said.

  “Or he was trying for a new river high-dive record,” I said.

  “There is one?” the sheriff asked.

  “There is now,” I said.

  We stared at the body for a few long seconds.

  “My men tell me he’s dead,” a voice said from behind us. “Broken neck.”

  My heart felt like it was going to explode out of my chest. The last thing I expected was someone to come up silently behind us.

  Completely silently.

  The sheriff and I spun around to see a man dressed in all black, with a night scope pushed up on his forehead. His skin around the night-scope was painted black.

  “Who the hell are you?” the sheriff asked between gasps for breath. “You damn near killed me there.”

  “Special Forces, sir,” the soldier said. “We were sent to back you up, but your men did just fine without us. Good job.”

  The sheriff looked at me with a real puzzled look.

  All I could do was shrug. This was one part of all this I hadn’t set up. But I knew the President had to play a part somehow. I just didn’t know where.

  “Thanks, I guess,” the sheriff said.

  I turned and stared down at Nyland’s body. “Broken neck?”

  “Yes, sir,” the soldier said, his voice colder than the night air.

  I just nodded. I could see no point in asking anything more.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  Idaho Primitive Area. August 28

  BACK INSIDE THE log house, R.A. Scott was also dead.

  He had a good-sized puddle of blood forming under him, and his eyes were closed. The room smelled like gunpowder and blood and felt warm after the cold night air outside.

  The door stood open and one of the sheriff’s men was on station near the body as I came back in. No one else was in the room.

  I had sent the sheriff’s son down the trail to help his father with Nyland’s body. Chances were they would just take a few pictures, then stand guard on the body until morning, when they could get more help in here. I didn’t know many pilots who would try these high mountain grass runways in the pitch dark. There was just no reason.

  Annie came out of the kitchen, wiping off her hands on a large dish towel. More than likely she had been washing off R.A.’s blood.

  “Did you catch him?”

  “He’s dead at the bottom of a good-sized drop down to the river,” I said.

  “Where the trail turns hard right?” she asked.

  I nodded. But I wasn’t at all sure if the drop was what had killed him. I didn’t say that for the tapes still working.

  I looked around, then saw one of the keys a few feet from R.A.’s body. It was my father’s key.

  “Did you see the other two?” I asked, holding up the key before putting it in my pocket.

  “They fell out of his pocket,” Annie said. “I’m sure they were all right there where that one was.”

  They weren’t.

  “You think it would be all right if we searched his pockets?” I asked the deputy.

  The young guy shrugged. “I can’t see why not since you said the guy that killed him is dead as well.”

  “Very dead,” I said.

  Annie did a quick search, again getting her hands covered in blood.

  After a moment, she rolled the body one way, then back the other, and looked under R.A.

  Nothing.

  “Where’s Steven?” I asked, glancing around at the empty bar stool.

  Annie shook her head. “I was taking care of R.A., trying to stop his bleeding. I didn’t see him leave. My back was to the door. And the keys.”

  I looked over at the deputy. “You see another man leave here?”

  “Not since I got here from the maintenance shed, sir,” he said.

  Annie went to wash off her hands again while I went back outside into the cold night air and toward the runway. Nyland’s plane was still sitting there, and none of the sheriff’s men guarding R.A.’s hired goons had seen anyone leave.

  Somehow, Steven took his father’s key, and R.A.’s key, and left me Carson’s key right out in plain sight, where I would be sure to see it.

  Steven was going to try to get out of the Idaho Primitive Area in the dark, and on foot. That wasn’t a task I would attempt.

  Maybe I should go find a Special Forces member to track him. Then I decided against that idea.

  “Why would he leave your father’s key and take the other two?” Annie asked, coming up beside me on the porch were I was standing, staring into the darkness.

  “He wants to come after me personally to get it,” I said. “It’s a game to him, a challenge. We’re playing heads-up now.”

  She nodded, then after a moment she said, “Well, at least we have figured out who our killer is.”

  All I could see was the image of Nyland’s body at the bottom of that hill, his neck broken. And the Specials Forces soldier telling me that was the case.

  “Yeah, I think we have,” I said. “But I have a lot bigger question now. A very frightening que
stion.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Is Steven working alone?”

  SECTION FOUR

  THE FINAL SHOWDOWN

  In a poker tournament,

  only one player remains alive at the end.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  White House, Washington, D.C. August 29

  PRESIDENT DOLAN CHASE sat at the dining table in the White House residence and just stared at his chief of staff. He couldn’t believe what he had just heard. This was not the way things were supposed to have gone out there.

  “You’re telling me that Nyland is dead? R.A. Scott is dead? Doc Hill still has Carson’s key, and Steven took the other two?”

  Paul only nodded, looking almost sick, and clearly as unhappy as Dolan was feeling right at that moment. He should look unhappy. Their entire lives were just about to be flushed down the toilet, not counting what all this would do to the country if what had happened back in 1982 got out.

  And what he and Paul had done to cover it up since.

  “Have our names been attached to this in any way at all?” Dolan asked, “at least with anyone that matters?”

  “Not that I know of,” Paul said. “People are asking why the FBI is involved, but no one has a clue as to the reason behind it. A county sheriff heard about a body that R.A. buried out there, but doesn’t know where to even start looking, or how old it is. And with R.A. dead, it’s not a high priority.”

  “Good,” Dolan said. “No one would connect us anyway, even with a body, without all the stuff in that damned box.”

  Paul went on. “Doc Hill knows we are involved, of course, but he has himself and his family surrounded by the Las Vegas police and his own private army. I have no idea who he’s told, if anyone. More than likely no one.”

  Dolan could feel his stomach twisting up into a giant knot. This had to get settled in one way or another, and settled quickly. Having Carson’s kid involved with this was throwing off all hopes of this ending easily.