Unacceptable Risk

by David Dun

  On his hip he had the large skinning knife, which he once again removed from its sheath. Its blade was still razor sharp. Two of the men lay with their feet within a foot of one another. Very quickly he lifted the first boot and sliced clean through the leather and into the Achilles tendon. There was a split-second reaction time and, with the first scream, he had cut the second man as well and then leaped back behind the log.

  Three guns literally exploded in rapid succession. The men farthest up the hill hadn't fired. The other three were wounded from metal fragments. The men who were cut were yelling and so were the wounded. It was pandemonium.

  "Stand with your hands up," Sam shouted.

  The two men with unfired guns hesitated but didn't seem interested in testing their weapons.

  "I can't stand," one of the men said. He had been cut.

  "You can stand if you wanna live," Sam said. "Step away from the fire. Hands behind your head and kneel."

  They did as they were told, even the men with the bleeding heels.

  Sam kicked snow over the fire.

  "Take off your coats."

  "We can't survive without coats."

  "You won't survive with them because I'll shoot you."

  "We are French diplomats. We have diplomatic immunity." The man had a Spanish accent.

  "Take off your coats, run down the mountain, and call your embassy."

  Sam collected the two functional weapons, the coats, and all the radios.

  Suddenly there was a huge roar down the river canyon and Sam knew the upper dam was gone, with the lower dam soon to follow.

  "Take off. If you hurry, you might make it to the landing where the cabins were and start a fire and stave off frostbite. If you don't get a fire going down there, you'll lose body parts from the cold. Don't forget matches." One of the men fumbled through a pack. "Now go!"

  Without waiting they hurried down the mountain, the uninjured helping the injured.

  Sam got on the radio.

  "Mr. Gaudet. Do you hear me?"

  "I hear you. What do you want?"

  "Same thing you do, only it's you I want to kill and not me. But I'll make you a deal. If you want to live in a prison, you can surrender yourself. Call off Cordyceps. It's failed anyway. I'll turn you in to a country that doesn't allow capital punishment."

  "We can make a different deal."

  "Oh yeah?"

  "I will trade you Benoit Moreau and the girl you call Grady for Raval."

  "Good luck, chum. Benoit's safe in a Manhattan hospital and Grady's back at the office."

  "Grady is on this mountain."

  "Five of your guys are headed back down. They're discouraged. Your plan is falling apart. FBI's all over the helicopters and cement trucks. Your underworld investors are gonna be pissed off. They'll hunt you harder than I can. Hell, I'll give you to them."

  "You aren't listening. Do you want Grady back alive?"

  "You've been whupped by Benoit Moreau, and you don't even know it yet."

  Gaudet had no response for that.

  "You've defrauded the French government. You. Not Benoit Moreau. Did you read the fine print in those papers you signed?"

  Again, no response, but Sam heard Gaudet's breathing.

  "You screwed your investors and the French. You're done, Gaudet. Fish food."

  "No," Gaudet said simply. The line went dead.

  "Hey," Sam spoke into the radio, changing from channel to channel. "The rest of you on the mountain should know your boss is losing it. Gonna be a Tilok war party up here and we'll be taking scalps. Go ahead, stick around. We've done five; we can do more."

  On one channel Sam heard calls go out to the five men he had neutralized. The calls got no response.

  "Told you. They're running down the mountain without scalps. Bad deal."

  "Stay in your places." It was Gaudet again. "I have Sam's woman."

  "Sam ..." It was Grady. She was crying.

  Sam ran through the dark, paying little heed to the noise of his movement.

  It took only a few minutes to get down to the Y, where he and the others had split up. There were the tracks of many men, even though the bulk had gone up the mountain on his trail. Even as he went, he knew he should call in, so he forced himself to stop.

  "What's happening?" he said to Jill.

  "Thank God you called. Grogg got into Gaudet's computer and got the virus file. His antivirus, with a little tweaking, will probably do the trick."

  "Release it."

  "Against the government's orders?"

  "I told you I spoke with the director of the FBI. And the vice president. They know, so just release it."

  "You got it. Benoit's doing well, but she's desperate to know about Raval."

  "I think he's fine, but somehow Gaudet has Grady."

  "Oh no. No. No."

  "I'm sorry. I'm going after them."

  He signed off and resumed his run. To improve his progress he popped on the light. At this point he didn't care about the risk. He scampered over the rocks, banging his shins occasionally, but managing most of the time. Finally he was out of the creek and on a tiny, steep trail. It was the trail to the high mountain meadows, where the berries were thick in summer. Damn it. He should have known Gaudet would take the other trail.

  Ahead he heard a laugh—an incongruous sound if there ever were one. Light from a campfire followed, and Sam shut his own light off. Slowly he crept forward. Soon he saw the fire and a big canvas lean-to. They had Grady tied spread-eagled on two poles that formed an X. She was close to the fire, nearly close enough to burn. Although she still had on her panties and bra, it was easy to see what was coming. Below her, also tied, sat Michael Bowden. The wound in his leg had reopened and bled freely. That explained how they were able to catch him in a forest. Fortunately, they didn't seem to have Raval. There were six men, all armed, all looking around, but all clearly distracted by Grady.

  Gaudet was nowhere to be seen. Sam guessed that Grady and the men were bait. Nearby Gaudet would wait with more men. Sam moved back in the forest, blocking from his mind what was going on with Grady. He moved inches at a time, slowly circling the fire and the men. Soon they would begin the torture and the rape.

  He had to focus.

  Gaudet would be sick with anger and even fear. For a few minutes in this forest Gaudet might be on top, but in the larger scheme his world was crumbling.

  Sam's radio crackled. Quickly he dialed down the volume and hunkered down to listen.

  "I just wanted you to know that there are also boats along the Manhattan waterfront. Just about now they are releasing the vector." Gaudet paused, breathing heavily. "My investors will be fine."

  Sam had to call Jill. That's what Gaudet would be counting on—to slow him down, maybe to give himself away. Sam walked deeper into the forest.

  Grady screamed and it nearly undid him inside.

  "Jill," he whispered. "There may be boats along the Manhattan waterfront. That's from Gaudet; he could be full of it. Pass it on to Ernie."

  "Okay. They've cleared people away from the waterfront just in case."

  Ernie was a smart guy.

  Sam wanted to call Gaudet and get in his face about the boats, but he knew it wouldn't help. Slowly he made his way back near the fire and began again to circle. If he touched branches, there would be a dusting of snow that would fall. The wind was his ally, for it too moved the bushes and made it difficult to discern what might be coming or going. After another thirty or more paces he saw a dark spot standing out against the forest hues. Grady screamed again. He could feel her anguish in his bones, but he couldn't see what they were doing to her. Tears were running down his cheeks and he wanted to kill like never before.

  He waited. For a minute nothing moved. He took another step. Then he saw it. The dark spot moved. Then another moved, and another. Soon he could make out people facing the fire. From their vantage point they could see what was happening to Grady. He could not. Grady screamed again in pure ago
ny. They watched the torture like cows watch a hay truck. "Put her down on the ground," someone near the fire said. Sam heard himself groan.

  "You bastard," he muttered. "You miserable piece of shit."

  Flipping the M-4 on automatic, he leveled it at the men hiding in the forest. Without caring who saw him, he walked forward. Grady screamed. His angle ensured his gunfire wouldn't hit the campfire area. He pulled the trigger. Shadows moved, men screamed; he marched on, spewing death. Five or more were down. A new shadow jumped into the forest. Without hesitation he sprinted, crashing through the snowy bushes. A massive-caliber gun roared behind him. Yodo must have shown up. The forest filled with thunder from all sides, but Sam kept after the one. He stopped. Everything was black. Then he heard something running through the trees. Without thought he ran and flicked on his headlamp. A head moving through six-foot huckleberry electrified him. He knew it was Gaudet.

  Sprinting, he tried to hold the beam of light on the target. He filled his lungs and ran with huge strides. Then he was on him and grabbed him by the neck, pulling him down. Sam let out a guttural cry and Gaudet turned. They clawed at each other in wild combat. His teeth snapped at Sam's head, even as his knees churned, trying to find the groin.

  Sam's light wobbled crazily, filling the forest with a weird shadowy half-light. He swung with an uppercut, connecting to the ribs. Gaudet growled and gouged at Sam's eyes and face, ripping the skin off his cheeks and bruising his eyes. For once, Sam fought not with deliberation but with rage. He clawed back at Gaudet and grabbed his throat. In turn, Gaudet's hands clamped on Sam's throat and they were staring into each other's eyes.

  As they squeezed one another for death, Sam's years of training took over. He released Gaudet's neck and brought his joined hands up under Gaudet's chin with a fierce strike, breaking Gaudet's hold. Sam used a palm to splinter Gaudet's nose, which sprayed blood and had him wobbling. He threw an elbow into the floating ribs, intent on piercing a lung.

  Gaudet fought like a man possessed, hitting Sam in the head and body, fighting back only to be pounded in the solar plexus.

  The blow crumpled Gaudet, but before Sam could move in, Gaudet managed to rise and free his knife. Blood ran down his face, covering him, but Sam saw life in his eyes as he held the knife in front of him expertly.

  Sam waited. Gaudet lunged but missed. Once again Sam waited, and Gaudet jabbed, nicking Sam's arm. With lightning speed Sam grabbed the knife hand at the wrist and struck the back of the elbow with an open hand, breaking it clean. Gaudet screamed and Sam took out a knee. He threw the knife into the trees. Gaudet crawled on the ground like a cornered animal.

  "Hold it." It was Figgy. A light shone from his hand. "I'm afraid I need to take him for the French government."

  "I don't think so, Figgy."

  "I'm taking Raval too. The French got screwed in this deal."

  Sam shook his head at the audacity of the allegation.

  "You and Baptiste and Admiral Larive, and nobody else, screwed the French government and the Free World. You were going to let Cordyceps happen and reap the profits. This isn't about governments. It's about a few crooks. I'll prove that."

  "No. I don't think you will." Just before Figgy shot, Sam leaped at him. Figgy shot probably at the head but missed. The second shot hit the Kevlar vest dead center. Sam slapped away the gun, which tumbled into the darkness. Gaudet and Figgy came at him at once, both desperate. Sam went for the uninjured Figgy first. A kick to the knee connected. Then both men were on Sam, trying to take him down. They hit the ground in a tangle, fighting like animals, tearing, biting, going for anything vital.

  Sam struggled to roll free of the melee. Somebody had a hand on his throat. He didn't have long. Sam found a throat, grabbed the Adam's apple, and pulled with all his strength. Someone gasped, and the hand on his throat loosened. He punched blindly where the throat had been and connected with a face. Lifting his right leg over Gaudet, he caught his head and squeezed with a scissor lock. Gaudet bit into his thigh, and it became a contest of pain and endurance. Sam yanked on Gaudet's neck once, then twice, then clamped down viselike once more. At last, like a dying dog, Gaudet let go with his teeth and sank back.

  Figgy was still choking. He didn't seem to have any fight left.

  "Think about the upcoming throat surgery. It'll be a bitch."

  The gunfire on the mountain had long since ceased. Sam shouted for Yodo, got up, and found his emptied M-4. Then he slapped Gaudet awake, yanked him up on his crippled leg, and did the same for Figgy, who couldn't stop choking. Carefully Sam checked Gaudet for weapons.

  "So, you take me down. I got thousands or millions of your fellow citizens. I'm going to an American jail until the appeals run out."

  "Would you like to hear the bad news?"

  It took hours to get everybody that hadn't escaped back to the cabin site that was now covered with snow-frosted debris from the torrent. Both cabins were obliterated. Yodo and three men were left, plus Raval, Michael, Sam, and Grady. Raval, who had managed to escape into the woods, had taken up arms during the firefight. Grady was okay, but for a couple of nasty burns on her thigh and a badly bruised breast. Gaudet was a mess, his face swollen nearly beyond recognition, one broken elbow, a broken knee, and a badly sprained ankle. Figgy couldn't eat and could barely drink and would need an IV soon.

  As soon as they were at the cabin site, now a mess of mud and wood, Sam called Jill.

  "We're all okay." "Grady too?"

  "They abused her, but no rape. She's tough and she'll heal."

  "Thank God."

  "What happened with the vector?" "We got all the copters and all the cement trucks. It was a miracle and took three thousand law enforcement personnel, but that did it. There were some boats. They tried to evacuate everybody, but there were stragglers and some homeless that remained. It wasn't pretty. The homeless murdered each other in gruesome ways. Lost maybe fifty to a hundred people. Still counting. Those that survived the fighting died from the immune response. It could have been a horrible disaster involving millions."

  "The antivirus on the Internet?" "They say it worked." "Benoit?"

  "Doing okay. She's going to need your help, Sam. A lot of angry Frenchmen here."

  "I'm coming as fast as I can." "We're waiting."

  It was twenty-four miserable hours later that the sheriff and National Guard and FBI made it to the hillside. They used inflatable rafts to cross the river—the cable across the river was gone—and then rope ladders and lines for gurneys to retrieve everyone. With the storm raging, helicopters remained impossible.

  Sam went with everyone to the hospital. Just before leaving he got a call from the director of the FBI.

  "Pretty damn gutsy of me, approving that antivirus without any testing."

  "That's real leadership," Sam joked. "Maybe you should write a book."

  "How come you never want to take credit for anything or be associated? It might be good for business."

  "I like my privacy. And I'd appreciate it if the Bureau would support me in that. Tell the People magazine crowd and the rest that this was the work of my good friends, Ernie and Dennis."

  Sam chose silver gray hair for the occasion, along with a mustache and horn-rimmed glasses. He watched from behind a one-way mirror. Benoit Moreau was present with her attorney, Jefferson Peakum, a Tennessee trial lawyer hired by Sam. They sat at a big table with about twenty other people.

  "This is an informal get-together to try to mediate an agreement," the fellow from the State Department began.

  "We'll begin with Benoit's legal counsel, Jefferson Peakum."

  "I'd like to say," he began in his Southern drawl, "that Miss Moreau has been granted asylum for her outstanding role in saving us from a considerable calamity with which you are all familiar. She's grateful for that, and I think no one quibbles that said asylum was well deserved. Initially we had some arguments about the rules concerning asylum, but we're here today to make our case to the French that the government of Fr
ance should grant a pardon making asylum unnecessary. We are certain that once the fair-minded French have fully considered the matter, such a pardon will be granted."

  He looked pointedly at the French, who suddenly all looked like their neckties might be too tight.

  "There has been some concern that the French bought a pig in a poke from a French citizen of ill repute by the name of Devan Gaudet. Now a pig in a poke is a Southern term for a farmer's acquisition of unknown livestock. And that's like the French. They didn't check the pedigree. Chaperone, which is the pig in my little analogy, is a process centered on a molecule, and this process was developed by one Georges Raval, another Frenchman, at a time when he was an independent contractor for Grace Technologies. Now, in your notebooks I have supplied you with a copy of that contract with Mr. Raval that specifies his independent contractor status at the time of his discovery of Cordyceps and at the time of his development of the process, and I have also verified with the French trustee that, in fact, this document is in the official minute book of the corporation duly attested by the secretary, Benoit Moreau. It is dated 1999. The Grace Technologies corporation took back a royalty-free license to use the invention when it executed the independent contract."

  "That was all done by Benoit Moreau," the French diplomat interrupted in a shout.

  "It was done in 1999 and the full board signed off on it." "I doubt the board even understood...." "Were you there? Benoit was there. Why not ask someone who was there?"

  The Frenchman was red-faced but did not continue the debate. "Also attached are the notes of the American attorney wherein he records that Benoit Moreau raised the issue of Raval's employment and further indicates that the French bankruptcy lawyers represented that they would look into the matter of Raval's employment status at the time of the invention."