“This is screwed up royally. Is there anything else I need to know?”
“We’re checking federal and state land ownership records to see if there is any other place they could hide. And we had a hit. This McNeal woman had a cabin in the bush, a few miles from the village. Best guess is he is hiding there.” Chapman clicked the advance button on the projector and a map popped up on the screen.
“Kincaid’s crafty, especially with Sable on his side. Are you sure he hasn’t headed for the border?”
“Checked and double-checked. Gamma Forces’ lookouts have the roads, rivers and mountain passes covered.”
“Then let’s go in and get him.”
“We’ll need Gamma Forces as a back up.”
“Bring them all out, dead or alive.”
“You can only bring out Kincaid.” Colonel Ramsey laid down his notepad. “And you can’t go into the village with Army forces.”
“Not only has my warrant been reissued,” Dean lied as he motioned for Ramsey to sit, “but we’re facing the prospect of the spread of a potentially deadly virus.”
“He’s right,” Chapman said. “The village is a problem. We have to do something.”
“I don’t like this one bit,” Ramsey said. “Nor will the troopers.”
“To hell with the troopers, we have the DIS,” Dean said. “You’ll help me continue the investigation?”
“We have to contain the virus,” Chapman said. “Besides, Kincaid violated his secrecy oath with the story in the Anchorage Tribune. He needs to be silenced permanently.”
“With one sweep of Gamma Force,” Dean said.
“My troops won’t help.” Ramsey stood and slammed his fist on the table.
“If I order them to, they will.”
“The CDC is set up to handle these situations.” Ramsey folded his arms.
“If the virus gets away from us the state of Alaska could be wiped out in a matter of days,” Dean said.
“What virus?” Ramsey laughed. “Kincaid seems to be virus free and walking around.”
“Must I remind you Kincaid’s clothes came up hot for the virus? A couple of clean-up team members from Dugway became infected and died within hours.” Dean turned to Chapman. “Your suggestion.”
“Hell, fly over the village with nerve gas and all Gamma has to do is clean up,” Chapman said. “A nice, neat package—end of problem.”
“My soldiers will not be involved in a massacre of U.S. citizens,” Ramsey growled.
“You won’t be. You’ll clean up,” Chapman said.
“I want no part of this. I remember Vietnam.” Ramsey’s face became purple. “I’ll not follow any unlawful order nor will my men.”
“Major Wheeler, place Colonel Ramsey under arrest.” Dean waved to two MPs to help. “You are now in charge.”
“House arrest, sir?”
“Place the colonel in solitary.”
A heavy silence loomed over the room as Major Wheeler opened the doors and ushered Ramsey out with an MP on each arm.
Dean scanned the room. “Does anyone wish to contest my authority?”
* * * *
“Walk with me to my office.” Dean moved out smartly. “The village of Kanashig must be isolated and destroyed.”
“There is no way around it,” Johnson agreed. “Still it doesn’t explain why Kincaid’s alive.”
“He could be a Typhoid Mary. Carrying the vector, but not succumbing to it.”
“Then everyone in the village should be dead or soon be dead. Maybe we should just let it happen.”
“Time is of the essence—the press will be there in hours, possibly sooner. So we have to hit the village, clean it up fast and leave no tracks.”
“What is your plan?” Wheeler asked.
“A chopper will spray with nerve gas and you clean up.”
“Where in the hell do you expect me to find any Sarin, Tabun, or Soman?”
“We’ve got something that’ll put those to shame. One milligram will kill a full-grown man in thirty seconds, and Arctic Warrior has barrels of the stuff. What do you think we use to shut down the project when things go awry, like it did last Friday?”
“In a matter of minutes, it’ll be over.” Johnson hustled to keep up as they passed tan walls smudged with black.
“Nothing in our inventory works that fast,” Major Wheeler said.
“It’s home grown.” Dean smiled as he entered his office.
“I’ll need aerial maps to follow the action. Command and control is essential,” Wheeler said.
“These will help. They’re military maps of the area.” Johnson pulled a sheaf of folded paper from his briefcase. “You can access aerial photographs from the state archives on the Internet.”
Wheeler unfolded a map and straightened it across an empty table. “This is great.” Wheeler ran his index finger down a line marked Main Street. “The way the houses are lined up, two Black Hawks have to make one pass and in three to four minutes everyone’s dead.”
“Pure simplicity,” Dean said.
“My men’ll get chemical protective suits?” Wheeler asked.
“As a precaution, but this stuff totally dissipates after it has done its job—less than ten minutes,” Johnson said.
“Good as the neutron bomb.” Dean sat in his executive chair, looking at his monitors. The screens were still blank. Then he turned back to Johnson and Wheeler.
“When can I see the Black Hawks?” Wheeler folded the maps and placed them in the cargo pocket of his battle dress uniform.
“They’ll be ready by tomorrow morning,” Johnson said.
“Let’s do this today,” Wheeler said.
“Sorry, they’re out of Fort Wainwright.”
“Get them now.”
“They’re out on field maneuvers.”
“Then let’s hit them at first light,” Wheeler said.
“Yes, catch them in their beds.” Dean sat in his executive chair and spun around once. At times, it felt as though it was his throne.
Wheeler came to attention and saluted. “Permission to leave.”
“Carry on.” Dean returned the salute casually.
Wheeler turned an about face, then asked over his shoulder, “What if troopers get in the way?”
“Eliminate them.”
Chapter 25
It was late in the evening and Sable felt exhausted. He scooped a handful of cold water from the sink and slapped it on his face. The second and third handfuls, he poured over his head and let run through his hair. Then he reached for a towel and patted his face. God, he looked like hell. Dark circles ringed his eyes and he sported a couple days’ growth of beard. How long since he’d slept?
Thuds on the bathroom door broke his concentration—what little he still had left. “Can I have the key for the cruiser?” Sable recognized Thomas’ voice. “The tests on Nelson are back.”
“Well, let’s see them.” Sable stepped to the door, dug deep into his pockets, and handed him the key.
“You look like shit.” Thomas slid the keys into his pocket. “Go home, get some sleep.”
“It’s safer here.” Sable rolled his shoulders to loosen his ever-tightening muscles. “I’ll catch a catnap on the sofa.”
“When did you last eat?”
Sable searched his foggy mind. “A day and—”
“I left some fat pills at the coffee bar. Take as many as you like.”
“Okay, I will.”
“I’ll bring breakfast back with me and force it down your throat if necessary.”
“All right, I’ll at least have a donut.”
“See you do. Will be back in twenty.”
“If you pick up breakfast make sure it’s not—”
“Food’s food. So don’t complain.” Thomas pushed the door to the outside office open with his cane, and was gone.
Sable entered the break room and looked from the pile of donuts to the comfortable worn and frayed brown couch. The couch won. He slid into the dee
p cushions and felt them wrap around him as he laid his head on the armrest. As he shifted to become more comfortable, Sable heard an explosion; the shockwave rattled the wall, windows, and dishes in the room. He was instantly awake, racing for the door, his mind now a fine razor’s edge.
The car—not Thomas. God, not Thomas, he prayed.
When Sable burst out the door, he saw his cruiser aflame a couple hundred feet up the gravel road near the highway.
Sable dashed down the steps toward the car. Out of nowhere, Masters grabbed him. “He’s dead. There’s nothing you can do.”
But—” Sable tried to pull away. Another explosion shattered the calm and a ball of flames shot into the air. The rear of the cruiser lifted several feet in the air.
“He’s dead.”
“This is Dean’s work.” Sable slumped against Masters’ shoulder.
“He’ll pay for this. Dean and Chapman are dead men.”
“No, let’s not stoop to their level, let’s do this legal.” Sable stood and squared his shoulders. It felt as if a large, invisible hand was strangling his throat, while the fire mesmerized his eyes. Thomas was more than a coworker; he was a dear friend who had taken a bullet intended for him. God, he wanted to kill Dean, but it would lower himself to Dean’s level. “Let’s find Cindy Dean’s body and put these assholes away for good.”
“Where do you think we should look? There are thousands of miles of wilderness around the project.”
“She’s buried near the project and on state land.”
“Why?”
“Dean doesn’t want to face a federal rap. That carries the death penalty.” Sable’s mind seemed a blank. There was something he had to remember.
“A GPS will help keep track of the search progress.”
“Thanks. That’s it! A GPS. Dean had one in the hovercraft. Now, we’ve got the son-of-a-bitch!” Sable’s mind focused on the dash of Dean’s hovercraft.
“You okay, Sable?”
“I remember Dean had one on the Gemini.” Sable proceeded to bring Masters up-to-date. “And his is special. It logs the course into memory and I think it even has a printer.”
“Then let’s do a ‘midnight requisition’.”
“Thought you’d never ask. But first I think we should pay a visit to Kanashig.” The flames roared, still engulfing the sedan and the smell of gasoline burned his eyes. In the distance, he heard the pulsating siren of the town’s fire engine. When the volunteer firemen arrived, they controlled the car’s fire.
Sable headed back to his office and began the tedious task of notifying Thomas’ wife and filling out reports.
Chapter 26
Sable and Masters drove into Kanashig through one of the back roads. Dean’s men were watching the main road. In a countermove, Masters had brought in additional State Troopers to shadow the Army’s movements. As they approached the Kanashig Tribal Council Lodge, they heard a loud rumble of voices rise and fall from it. Masters handed Sable a protective mask. “You’d better put this on in case.”
As they started toward a spotlight illuminating the entrance, Sable scrutinized the kū-tī-ga—totem poles—that stood on each side of the double doors. A hierarchy of colorful carved figures of jēlch—raven, chūts—bear, gūtsch—wolf, chichtsch—frog, and tschāk—eagle—told of the tribe’s lineage. As they entered the council chamber, two Army National Guard soldiers nodded. “Good evening, Xhoots’een, Sergeant Masters.”
Sable returned the nods. Both Sable and Master took up a place near the back of the meeting.
As Sable surveyed the room, he saw the nervousness of the villagers as they milled around. Some had black hair while others were turning to varying stages of white. He found it strange the Tlingits looked as though they were barely out of their teens. Was this a symptom of the virus Bill had brought to the village? In front of the room, at the dais, Sable recognized Chief Harry Greybettle who went by his Indian name Kukākínok—Flying Squirrel. He slammed his carved power staff down several times, trying to stop the pandemonium. “Come to order. Order, order, I’ll have order,” he shouted over the din, thumping the staff.
The chief waited, surveying the head table, the audience, and the walls. Tribal artifacts hung neatly around the room— masks in the image of chūts—bear, tschāk—eagle, and gūtsch—wolf—from ritual and sacred ceremonies. Other talismans, from eras gone by such as hand-carved ssăke—bow, ŭútsā-gá—painted ceremonial oar, tschunēt—arrows, lances, schenagóje—axe, uónda—armor, chlíta—knives with carved wooden hilts, and chūts tschüchanat—dagger with bear’s head, were placed on the walls, giving a sense of tribal history and heritage. On the walls behind the dais and council table were dschénu—ceremonial dance blankets—one red and one green, each bordered with white fringe depicting symbolic portraits of chūts and tschāk. He cleared his voice. It seemed the whole village was here at the meeting. “Will the meeting come to order?”
Kukākínok slammed the staff again and the roar lowered to a murmur. “You may consider Dr. William Kincaid to be our savior, but that remains to be seen.”
“So far, the virus has cured diseases and brought youth,” a voice came from the back.
“We should attempt to spread this as fast as possible.” A tall, thin white-haired man raised his hand.
“I and the other members of the council are still not sure what the side effects are.” Kukākínok paused. “The chair recognizes Jeremiah.”
“We must protect Kincaid. He’s only helped our people. Some of us have been li-xeitl—blessed—with the ability to foresee the future and with the mantle of youth. Other miracles have happened. The blind can see and the deaf can now hear. Only our children have not changed. This is a blessing, not a curse. It’s our destiny.”
Now Sable had a better idea of the scope of the problem. The Army, not Dean, would take extreme measures to contain the spread of the virus or stop news of the situation from becoming public.
“But it doesn’t mean we have to protect Kincaid at the expense of our lives,” a voice from the center of the crowd said.
“Kāg—Lynx,” Kukākínok recognized him.
“We have no choice. If we don’t do something now, Kanashig will be another Wounded Knee,” Kāg said.
“Have you been smoking something?” Emmett David stood, his long, white hair bouncing from side to side as he turned his head.
“Nothing changes, it’ll be like the massacres in the 1800’s with the soldiers and the one in the 1970’s with the FBI. The Army brings its war to our doorstep,” Kāg said. “Tléil ák’ ayeehèen áx yoox’atángee—if you don’t believe my words believe my message. Armed soldiers will attack our village!”
“Why are they doing this?” another asked.
“Because they are blind and ignorant, like the archaeologists who want to dig in our ancient burial grounds. The soldiers want Kincaid and will destroy anyone who gets in their way,” Kāg said.
“But why not leave? If they can’t find us, they can’t hurt us,” said a voice in the crowd.
“They blockaded the highways in the guise of a chemical spill and their spies are watching us now,” Kāg said.
A hush fell over the assembly.
Kāg continued, “Look, our brothers and sisters in the lower forty-eight left their lands and were tracked down and massacred. Not only did they lose their lands but, also their lives. Even today, corporations try to steal Indian land there and here. We’re forced to make a stand.”
“The state troopers or the press can stop this.” Lance Arnold, his white hair tied up in a ponytail, stood and looked directly at Sable and Masters.
Voices came from different parts of the room, one after another. “Our phone lines are down and all radio communications are being jammed.”
Sable raised his hand. “You all know my uncle, Chlawūch-tschāk, the Taku ícht’a. I would like to say something.”
“Yes, your uncle Chlawūch-tschāk has been a friend to Kanashig—the chair recognizes Xhoots
’een.” Kukākínok waved Sable forward.
He cleared his throat and the speakers gave out a high-pitched squeal. He adjusted the volume. “Brothers, sisters of Kanashig, there is no reason for anyone to die. You need to leave the village for a few days until things settle down. With the help of the State Troopers and the National Guard, I’m sure the Army leaders will see the error of their ways.”
“We have tried to reason with the Army. We’ve sent emissaries, but each time they’ve been captured and held in the stockades,” Chief Kukākínok said. “Can you get them back unharmed?”
“It may take time, but I’m sure we will get these men out.”
“Enough talking,” Kāg said. “Let’s ku-li-gaaw—fight—back.”
“The ku-li-gaaw is not with the Army but with a few who have gone awry.” Chief Kukākínok stood, spread his arms, and motioned for silence. “One at a time—please!”
“If we have to ku-li-gaaw, then so be it,” several of the men said almost simultaneously.
Sable raised his hand and motioned for silence. “If you fight, many of you, your brothers, sisters, and children will be killed.
“I agree with Xhoots’een.” Jim Worker stood up at the head table. “During the cover of darkness, we can evacuate the village and avoid a conflict. The Kanashig Guard unit can cover us.”
Dressed in camouflage fatigues, Captain Smith Maroak of the Alaska National Guard stood at a loose parade rest. He tried to restrain his anger. “I agree. It would be too dangerous to remain here.”
“We need to notify the press,” Worker said.
“How do we do this?”
“Send someone downriver to Tok. After the newspapers have been notified, the Army will be afraid to act.”
“We don’t have the time,” Captain Maroak said.
Raising his hands above his head to form a ‘V’, the shaman stood and turned in a circle. “My brothers and sisters, since the coming of the fever, my powers have greatly increased.”
As a murmur rolled through the crowd, Dan-e-wåk dropped his hands and looked around. “There are many paths to the future and I’ve walked each. If we stay, the soldiers will load our bodies on trucks after the ‘rain of death’—”
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