RUNAWAY TWINS and RUNAWAY TWINS IN ALASKA: BOXED SET

by Palamountain, Pete

  Justin kept one word uppermost in his mind: civilization. He needed human beings—normal human beings, not minions of the God's Way Temple. He needed to find a new road, a new path, a cabin, a house—something where he could find people—people to help him. He understood that even though he was now making good time, some of it on his feet, his body could fail at any moment and he would be easy prey for whoever was pursuing him.

  He made it to the top of a ridge in an extensive clearing, hoping that the increased panorama would reveal evidence of some sort of habitation. He was sure he was far enough away from the God's Way Temple by now that whatever structures he came upon would not be part of the cult. When he reached the crest he was astonished by the scene below, for directly ahead less than a mile away ran the mighty Yukon River, for which the Yuktapah River itself was only a tributary. Could he make it to the Yukon's banks? He must. He knew that the city of Whitehorse occupied both sides of the river and civilization had to be close by, either upstream or downstream. He could probably tell which as he got closer. He stumbled on.

  Paul and Timothy were growing frantic. Justin's trail had disappeared within the first two hundred yards and they hadn't been able to pick it up no matter how wide they ranged or how intently they examined the forest floor. The boy was a wraith, a phantom, a spirit—where was he? Where were the signs he had crawled through these woods?

  "Shall we go get help?" asked Timothy.

  The older man rubbed his face. "Last resort," he said. "First let's strike out for the upper river—maybe he's headed that way. Maybe we can hike across country and cut him off."

  Rachel and Janie were beginning to stir. Rachel opened her eyes first and surveyed the luxurious apartment-like safe room beneath the Temple's kitchen. She got up from the bed and went to the largest of the two windows and yanked back the curtains. The light shining through proved to be an electronic picture of some sort, a moving photograph of a waterfall spurting out of a cliffside. What was on the other side of the photo? Rachel had no idea—maybe a brick wall. She tried the door, but already knew it would be locked. She knew from Idaho Joe's comments that the Prophet J.J. Flack was involved, but she had no concept of where they were or what day it was. She couldn't even guess the time or speculate regarding what their imprisonment meant, though she had a fairly good idea.

  She returned to her sister on the double bed. Janie was sleeping so peacefully it seemed a shame to wake her, but Rachel knew she had no choice. They needed to be awake, planning, scheming, fighting, making it clear to whatever sycophants were running this abomination that these two girls were not going to buy into the program.

  Janie opened her eyes.

  33

  The Color Red

  Though the rest of Justin's push to the Yukon River was largely downhill, it was nevertheless a torturous journey. He knew his body was very close to its limit of endurance. His head throbbed wildly and he had no doubt he had suffered a major concussion. His legs were once again so weak he was sure he'd soon be forced back to his knees—if not to his belly. The thought of crawling the remaining distance began to sap his strength and his spirit. He stopped several hundred yards short of his goal and lowered his head below the level of his thighs to see if the additional blood flow would help. It did and he staggered forward.

  His last obstacle appeared to be a twenty-foot incline that rose between him and the water, but he had no idea what lay beyond…perhaps a steep drop off. The land seemed to lend itself to such a configuration.

  He heard shouts coming from the northwest, and though it sucked much-needed energy from his system, he turned with the hope that it might be someone who would offer assistance. But his hope was dashed when he saw Paul and Timothy angling toward him across the grassy field. They were waving their arms and yelling curses at him that didn't seem commensurate with their claims to spiritual enlightenment.

  Justin resumed his forward progress, wondering if he could possibly make it to the top of the hill before he was intercepted. One positive: the shock of seeing and hearing the men who were chasing him galvanized his resolve and kept him on his feet.

  He reached the top of the rise with seconds to spare, but to his consternation he now stood on a bluff overlooking the river. The water was at least thirty feet below and the murderers were already at his heels.

  What he saw next confused him and caused him to delay making the one move that offered a way out—a plunge into the icy waters of the Yukon. There was a huge cluster of red at the top of his peripheral vision, floating down the center of the river, and a smaller concentration of red and black about forty yards to his right. He couldn't take the time to stop and focus on what he was perceiving—maybe the colors were splashes of blood filling his eyes. He continued toward the edge, forcing all but the task ahead out of his mind. He then threw himself off the cliff, losing control of his body as he fell. He hit the surface in a shattering belly flop and lost consciousness immediately.

  When he came to, the red color was still present—in fact it was everywhere. He was lost in a sea of red.

  "Easy, son," said a soaking wet, red-coated RCMP inspector. "The ambulance is on its way. Don't imagine that short dive was responsible for all this."

  Justin shook his head. Standing close by were two RCMP staff sergeants in full dress uniforms, also dripping wet. And three riderless black horses waited patiently a few feet away.

  "The three of us jumped in after you," said the inspector. "If we die of pneumonia, it's your fault."

  Justin managed a glance toward the river and was startled to see the source of the great majority of red he had glimpsed earlier. A long barge, now secured to a small pier, held a score or more Royal Canadian Mounties in full regalia—scarlet uniforms with high-collared tunics, blue pants with yellow leg strips, Sam Browne belts, ox blood riding boots, and Stetson hats. Justin took it all in, but he still didn't understand. He tried to raise up, but the inspector prevented him.

  "Parade, son. Water parade. Marine patrol barge—Marine Division. Showing off for the people of Whitehorse down the way. Getting impatient by now, I'd guess, but they'll just have to wait. The staff sergeants and I were supervising from the bank on our mounts. We saw you go in and we went in, too."

  "A lot of red," said Justin. "Red everywhere." He began to fade again, but he managed to grin at the inspector and his two subordinates. Then with the last of his strength he looked out again toward the marine patrol barge where all the Mounties were gathered on the near side. And to his astonishment they saluted him.

  Of one thing he was certain, for the rest of his life red would be his favorite color.

  The door to the dungeon beneath the Temple kitchen splintered under the force of the battering ram and a beefy RCMP staff sergeant entered the safe room. "Been easier with a key," he said, "but the folks upstairs wouldn't cooperate. Something about us thwarting God's will."

  Rachel and Janie watched wide-eyed as a swarm of red-coated Mounties, still in their ceremonial uniforms, followed the sergeant inside.

  Rachel tried to speak, "What—"

  The sergeant held up a finger. "Wait, I'm supposed to give you a message first…'Justin sent us!' "

  The twins stared at each other in wonder. They had assumed Justin was dead, crushed, ruined by the evil men in the white van in the hospital parking lot. They burst into tears at the same moment and ran to embrace each other.

  "He's alive!" cried Janie.

  Rachel choked back a sob. "Yes, and isn't it just like him to send someone else to do his job."

  And then, as if they were ten-year-olds, they held each other even tighter and jumped up and down on the sub-basement floor.

  On her way out the splintered door, Rachel said, "Wait a minute." And she went back in, straight to the electronic photograph which served as a window. She picked up a bronze lamp and hurled it directly at the waterfall, smashing both the lamp and the picture. She stood for a moment, watching the sparks fly. Then she turned and said, "I prefer
the real thing, thank you."

  In the hallway Janie grasped Rachel's hand and whispered, "Good for you—wish it could've been the Prophet's head."

  "Just give me another metal lamp if we ever see him again."

  The Mounties made short work of the God's Way Temple crowd. All of the male leaders, including Paul and Timothy, were arrested and dragged in for booking. The women were brought in, too; and the children were turned over to child protection services until it could be determined who among their parents had broken what Canadian laws and under what circumstances.

  J.J. Flack got the news in the person of the Montana Attorney General who called him to a meeting in the warden's office.

  "Been busy, haven't you, Flack?" said the warden. "First things first. We're currently searching your cell for the phone you've been using so actively. Also you might like to know that three guards have lost their jobs for granting you special privileges. We're fairly certain bribes were involved, so charges against the men will be filed soon. Plus your Temple elders are being transferred out of your section, and your social life will be cut to zero. Solitary will play a big part in your life from now on."

  The Prophet narrowed his eyes. "I've got rights! This is nothing more than religious persecution. What possible—"

  The attorney general silenced him. "Your Whitehorse operation has exploded. The RCMP has rescued your child brides, and the boy you tried to kill is alive and well."

  Flack's visage blackened. He lowered his head but kept his eyes level. The effect was hideous and the two officials flinched.

  "New charges will be brought against you," said the attorney general, "—as quickly as we can submit the paperwork. And you can be sure that copies of the new charges will be sent to the court of appeals. I wouldn't count on finding any sympathetic judges in Helena…no matter how much money you toss around."

  Flack regained his confidence. "You can't tie me to anything that happened in Canada. That's a brand new church up there, and if they made a few novice mistakes, I had nothing to do with them."

  The attorney general smiled coldly. "Your people in Whitehorse are already chirping like crickets. I'll admit they've been protecting you so far—but that'll change. And it's only a matter of time until the surviving member of your gang of hired killers starts talking in Alaska."

  Flack shrugged.

  "One more thing," said the A.G. We've located and frozen three of your secret bank accounts. We know you've got more, but eventually we'll find those, too.

  Seth Lemon sat alone in his new cell at Deer Lodge. The full story of what had happened to his daughters had finally filtered down to him. For several days he'd been wrestling with the fact that the Prophet had been lying to him all along. Rachel and Janie had been kidnapped, not convinced. They had been in danger from violent men on numerous occasions, and the Prophet had been responsible.

  He got to his feet and gazed at the view from his new section. His emotions were in direct conflict with his reason. His reason told him he'd been betrayed, but his emotion told him the man he'd served for so many years was still his leader, still God's representative on earth, still worthy of his loyalty.

  34

  Recovery

  There'd been no argument from either Justin or the girls about his need to stay in Whitehorse General Hospital until he mended from his ordeal. All knew he'd come close to death, and all knew he needed constant care for as long as it took him to regain his strength.

  The twins stayed with him. They were hospitalized for a few days to make sure the narcotics used on them hadn't done any permanent damage, and after that, they bunked in a spare room down the hall from Justin.

  Aunt Ruby came from Juneau with her husband Carl, and they both listened with amazement at the tales the young people shared. Carl, who was a novelist of some reputation, said that if he'd written about such adventures his publisher would have asked him for major revisions.

  Ruby's brother Rex and his wife Martha flew in from Fairbanks to renew their rejoicing at the interns' survival. "We tried this reconciliation once before," said Rex, "when they found you on the Yuktapah—but you kids couldn't stay out of trouble. Can we make this one permanent?"

  "We'll try," said Justin.

  They then discussed the future and the bear-management program.

  "It'll go on," said Martha. "Not at the south end of Glacier Lake, but somewhere, and we'll be a part of it."

  "All of us?" asked Janie.

  "You bet," said Rex.

  Justin was quiet for a moment and then asked, "What about our sows and their spring cubs?"

  "Martha and I will go in and have a look while you're recovering," said Rex. "Maybe we can do some reuniting."

  "Two of our sows are dead," said Justin, "but maybe Big Bertha and Umbriago are out there foraging. Little Bertha could join them."

  "We'll see," said Martha.

  The Mounties were in and out of Justin's hospital room for the next two weeks for two different reasons. First to check on the boy who had become the mascot of the marine division, and second to gather information for the court cases of those in Canada who were responsible for his plight.

  The Mounties also spent a great deal of time interviewing the girls regarding their ordeal at the hands of Canadian citizens.

  The five-hundred-pound gorilla in the room was, of course, the United States connection—Alaska and Montana. And the Mounties tried their best to coordinate with U.S. authorities; but there were roadblocks springing up.

  Idaho Joe continued to deny everything, claiming the teenagers were sincere in their accusations, but deluded by the trauma they'd undergone in the wilderness.

  And to add to the difficulties, the Whitehorse Temple members were confessing, but refusing to implicate the Prophet. They claimed to have acted entirely on their own without any imput at all from Deer Lodge, Montana. It was ludicrous, but hard to disprove. And it was beginning to look as if J.J. Flack might rise above the consequences of his actions.

  Justin had indeed suffered a major concussion, and his doctors told him that though he was young and strong and had healed well, it was likely there was some degree of permanent damage. They couldn't tell him how this damage would manifest itself or if it ever would, but they felt it necessary to forewarn him concerning future episodes he would not otherwise understand.

  He nodded gravely and asked the doctors in the presence of Rachel and Janie, "Will I be able to play the caribou head drums?"

  "Well, sure."

  "Oh, good—I've never been able to play them before."

  35

  The Search for Justice

  Even though Rachel and Janie gave a fairly good description of Bo and Charlie Bradshaw (confirmed by the cargo pilots), the weasel-like kidnappers disappeared into the Missoula underworld. Their names were not on any database, and on reflection the pilots had no reason to believe that Bo and Charlie had given their real names.

  The Yukon pharmacists confessed to their own deeds and to the deeds of the Bradshaw brothers; but Paul and Timothy steadfastly refused to mention the Prophet—and that refusal extended to Idaho Joe. If they admitted any knowledge of the fat criminal, they'd have to explain how they came by that knowledge. Their crimes, they contended, were entirely self-directed and motivated by overzealousness on their part toward a wrongly imprisoned man of God.

  The investigators eventually gave up the search for Bo and Charlie, figuring it wouldn't be long before such men came to a poor end of their own accord.

  The Temple elders at Deer Lodge (including Seth Lemon) were close-mouthed, even after their recent separation from their leader, and it was becoming apparent to the authorities they could expect no help from that quarter.

  J.J. Flack was reinvigorated. He had engineered (through his attorney) the continued reluctance of Idaho Joe to admit to a conspiracy. The promised bonus had been tripled and the fee to Joe's Fairbanks attorney doubled. All Joe had to do was keep his mouth shut.

  It amused J.J. Fl
ack that his adversaries felt so victorious about confiscating three of his hidden bank accounts. He had plenty more—squirreled away in Switzerland, the Caymans, Bermuda, the Bahamas, and even in Singapore and Austria. His father and grandfather had been hiding money for three quarters of a century and it had all come to him. Money was not a problem and never would be.

  Idaho Joe was a problem. If he should talk he could foul up everything, tie Flack to the original conspiracy, give the Montana Attorney General the victory he presumptuously thought he'd already won. Joe must remain silent, must be convinced his best chance lay in denying everything. He was on the right track so far, but if he changed direction, all would be lost.

  The Air Canada Boeing 767 left Erik Nielsen in Whitehorse at 8:30 a.m. on a cloudless day heading for Fairbanks International. The teenagers were returning for a hearing called by the judge concerning Idaho Joe's upcoming trial. Joe's attorney had filed a motion for dismissal based on a lack of evidence, and Justin and the girls were scheduled to testify.

  Justin's doctors believed his departure from Whitehorse General Hospital was somewhat early, but they gave their okay provided he promised to restrict his physical activity and engage in no head-butting contests with Bighorn sheep.

  Since their previous trip in the Hawker Siddeley cargo hold hadn't lent itself to sightseeing, they made it a point to enjoy the view this time around. As the jet headed northwest they moved from one side of the aircraft to the other to take in all they could. To the south loomed Mount Logan, Canada's tallest peak; to the southwest Alaska's Wrangell Mountains; and to the north the upper Yuktapah River near its source where it began to build up power for its flow to its confluence with the Yukon.

  "Our river," said Janie.

  "Not quite yet," Rachel said. "We never got up this far."