“And afterward we can see a can-can show.”
Lee punched Bill in the arm. “I heard London got his idea for ‘Call of the Wild’ right here.”
“Ouch. Frisky, aren’t you?” Bill rubbed his shoulder. “I hate to burst your bubble, but they moved London’s cabin from Henderson Creek to here.”
“Before you take your nap we could have a little fun.” Lee kissed him fully.
“Sure.”
Bill’s sleep was troubled. In his dreams, he and Lee held hands and listened to a recitation of Robert Service’s poetry. The morning sun crowned the light blue, August sky. The birds chirped in unison as the speaker took them back to the 1890’s. Then the spell was broken as he felt the barrel of a gun jammed into his back. “Make a move and you’re a dead man.” The voice sounded guttural.
Bill woke in a cold sweat and confusion. Lee pulled him to her, sensing his distress. “They’re close?”
“Yes.”
“How could they find us so quickly?”
“I don’t know.” Deep creases of a frown marred Bill’s face. “We look so young and two women crossed the border.”
“What makes them think they can come into Canada?”
“They’re insane with power.”
“I’ll say.”
“Maybe we should leave now and forget trying to win a stake at the tables. This way they’ll never find us.”
“We need money for a nest egg.”
“We can always live off the land.”
“I’m not ready to live like a trapper.”
“You’ll have one thing a trapper doesn’t—a wife.”
“I think we have time. Lately, my ability to sense things is coming back.”
Lee pursed her lips. “Let’s skip the gambling.”
“We can leave after the recital at Service’s cabin.”
* * * *
Bill watched the roulette wheel spin and played with his stack of chips. A number on the wheel would flash through his mind, but then it wouldn’t turn up on the dealer’s spin. Twenty-one, it was another loser. He concentrated, but Lee’s hot breath on his neck and fragrant perfume kept his mind from focusing.
“Place your bets.” The dealer’s nametag said, “Darin.” He set the ball in motion.
The ball rattled along its way. This wasn’t working. He felt perspiration on his brow as he frowned. Bill had hoped his ESP had returned because of his dreams, but apparently he had been wrong. He drew a kerchief from his pocket and wiped his hands and forehead. The clicks and pops were followed by the ball landing on double zero. Then he sighed; twenty one and double zero were numbers he’d seen in his mind’s eye two spins ago. The number thirteen flashed before his eyes, but he bet twenty on fifteen. As the dealer spun the ball, he waited. As the ball rattled, popped and clicked, Bill squeezed Lee’s hand.
“Fifteen, we have a winner,” Darin chanted with pride and stacked a pile of chips on the table.
Bill pushed the chips to number six and waited. After the next two spins, he decided he’d try blackjack. Bill surveyed the gambling hall. It seemed right out of the old west. Even the dealers wore costumes from another era.
“Six, another winner!”
Lee squeezed his arm and he turned to see the pile had grown. She excitedly whispered into his ear, “You’ve done it. It looks as though you’ve got the system down.”
Nodding his head ever so slightly, he stacked the chips on number thirteen and whispered, “I can’t keep winning without drawing attention. Next, we’ll try blackjack.”
“Dice?”
“I don’t know the slightest thing about craps and that’s the way I want to keep it.”
“Thirteen’s the winner. Three straight wins. A new record for the week,” Darin announced as the crowd formed around them.
Bill and Lee collected their winnings and pushed their way through an expectant, grumbling crowd who wanted to see more wins.
“I’m quitting this game while I’m ahead.” Bill elbowed his way to freedom.
Though Bill had played blackjack before, he wasn’t sure of the rules. The last time he had been here, he had won over eight hundred dollars and it had taken two days of hard work. Bill picked a table with three other players. One of the players was a tall, buxom blonde woman with a crooked smile. A dark haired, heavy-set man, seated next to the woman, seemed out of place in his blue, tailored suit. He flashed a grimace as Bill took a stool. At the far corner of the table sat a gray-haired, craggy-faced individual, shabbily dressed in dungarees and a plaid shirt. The old-timer gazed down listlessly as he looked under his cards. The dealer was a young, tall, gaunt, black man who Bill guessed was in his thirties. The young man’s hands seemed a blur as he dealt. As Bill surveyed the cards on the table, he almost drew back in surprise. The cards face down on the table became translucent. Though he had been sensitive as a child, this was a new power. His perception of this game was different. He had an edge but needed more, to see cards to be dealt.
The dealer finished the current hand and stood on twenty. There were no winners. Lee nuzzled his shoulder as she watched him ante up. After the dealer dealt the cards, Bill, through his mind, saw his own down cards. Then he concentrated on the deck in the dealer’s hand and drew a blank.
Bill rotated his neck and shoulders and stretched. The dealer had twenty, and he had only two fives, one up and one down. When the dealer touched the top card, Bill saw it was an ace. Now he knew what was to be given out; the man had to touch the card.
“Card?” the dealer asked.
In roulette, as well, the dealer had to touch the ball. He nodded and the black man dealt him the card. As the card landed upright, he realized he had made a mistake. He hoped no one noticed he hadn’t glanced at his down card. He flipped his reserve card and the dealer chanted, “Twenty-one, a winner.” The dealer paid him and then began hitting the other player’s cards.
As the dealer dealt the cards, Bill followed each movement, reading each card. Bill had a face card showing, but without looking he knew he had twenty. Should he split and go double down? Lee nudged him as if to remind him to look at his down card. Forcing himself to look, Bill decided to play it conservative. The dealer had seventeen showing and drew a four. Twenty-one, the house had won. Round after round, Bill would either win or lose, but he won slightly more than he lost. To keep his pile of chips down and keep attention away from his winnings, every so often he had Lee get cash. He shook his head, yawned, and took a drink—his mind was becoming numb. He needed a break.
Bill looked over his shoulder and around the room. Someone watched him. Was it the house or Dean’s men? After each hand, he did a sweep of the room. Then, as he glanced over his shoulder, he focused on two well-dressed men with buzz cuts, intently watching Lee and him. As Bill made eye contact, they averted their eyes. They appeared they were interested in another game, but Bill knew better. The two were as out of place as Satanists at a church social.
Questions raced through his mind.
Are they from the project? How could Dean have found us so quickly?
Yet they should be looking for an older man and woman, not a honeymoon couple who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves. He didn’t sense anything out of the ordinary. His talent was new and unpredictable. If he could touch them, he might sense their intentions. Since they were close to the cashier’s cage, he decided to try. Shoving himself away from the table, he motioned for Lee to follow him and headed for the cage.
When he was near enough, Bill tripped and fell against the larger of the two men. Reaching out, he steadied himself against the man’s shoulder. With a British accent, he said, “Excuse me. Quite clumsy of me, old chap. I should watch where I am going.”
“No harm done.” The man glowered.
“Let me buy you a drink to replace it, eh?” Bill laid the accent on a little heavy.
“There’s no need. The glass was empty,” the man growled and pulled away from Bill’s hand.
“Maybe la
ter, then, old chap.” Bill headed toward the cashier’s cage.
“What happened? You deliberately tripped,” Lee whispered and moved next to him.
“I thought the project found us,” Bill said under his breath. “I tried to see if I could sense something. I drew a blank.”
“This soon? Unlikely,” Lee said, as they stepped to the cashier’s cage. “Just remember military and intelligence is a non sequitur.”
“Maybe I’m being too paranoid.” Bill flashed his pearlies.
As they stepped up to the counter and laid the chips down, the cashier asked, “How would you like it?”
“Fifties, please.” Bill pushed his chips across the counter.
As the cashier counted out the money, Bill turned and looked at the tables. “Let’s get to a higher stakes game.”
“Higher stakes?” Lee said under her breath. “Try five or seven card stud. Then you’ll know what’s on the table.”
After they left the cashier, they wandered around the room and Bill told her about his recent bouts with clairvoyance, brushing slot machines, sensing each, to see if they were ready to pay off. He stopped as he felt an electric shock from one of the machines. When he looked up, he saw the image of a red light flashing. He dropped a Loon in and pulled the handle. As doubles bars came to rest in each of the windows, the siren blared, lights flashed, and a stream of dollars tumbled into the tray and onto the floor.
“All right if I play with these?” Lee scooped some of the winnings into her bucket.
“Sure. Try your luck while I go back to roulette, where the odds are thirty-five to one.”
Later in their motel room, Bill lay exhausted on the bed as Lee counted their winnings and bounced on the edge of the mattress with glee. “We made a haul tonight.”
Bill mumbled something and began to snore.
Lee said to herself, “I guess the honeymoon’s over.”
* * * *
Bill and Lee slowly strolled south along 8th Avenue to Robert Service’s cabin. Lee shivered, zipping her jacket. “It feels like fall and the sun is shining—maybe a storm’s coming.”
Bill smiled. “A real Alaskan shouldn’t feel cold in August.”
“Well, I can’t help the feeling.”
“Well, here we are,” Bill said as they stopped in front of the cabin. A chill ran up his back. He tried not to dwell on it, but he knew it wasn’t from the cold.
“It’s kind of small, isn’t it?”
“People were a lot smaller then. Wait until you see Jack London’s cabin. It’s even smaller.”
A young, bearded man emerged from the cabin dressed in a cutaway suit from the Gold Rush era.
“I hope he recites ‘The Spell of the Yukon,’” Bill said. “It’s my favorite.”
The actor stepped out on to a neatly trimmed lawn and recited the “Cremation of Sam McGee.” As he spun the rhyme, he enraptured the crowd.
Bill felt hard metal shoved into his back. “Make one move and you’re a dead man,” the guttural voice cautioned.
Bill froze and his legs seemed rubbery. How many were there? Why hadn’t he paid attention to his dream? He looked over his shoulder and saw the glint of another gun which held Lee at bay. Letting his shoulders relax in what appeared to be submission, Bill slid his feet shoulder width apart and lifted himself on the balls of his feet. “What do you want us to do?”
“Turn around slowly and head to the street.”
Bill shrugged, turned, and walked with Lee to the street. Bill winked at Lee and she nodded. As they cleared the crowd, Bill exploded like a coiled spring. He spun counterclockwise, blocked his assailant’s gun hand and grabbed the wrist and broke it. Dropping into ready stance, he pulled the man off balance. The gun fired and Bill felt the bullet tear into his side. He fought not to fold in response to the searing pain. Bill drove his fist through the man’s jaw. “Kiaii.”
A snap from the breaking jaw pierced the air and the man folded like a rag doll. His partner moved the gun toward Bill, but he threw a sidekick to the other man’s gun and knocked it from his hand. Lee glided in and threw the man over her hip and to the ground. Bending to one knee, she drove her fist into the man’s windpipe, then leapt back and waited.
Bill fell to one knee and clutched his side. The crowd first rumbled and then squeezed toward them. Bill picked up the gun by the guard, and handed it to the tall, lanky man standing close by. “Cover these desperados, while we run and get the Mounties.” Bill forced the pain from his voice.
As the crowd moved in, Bill pulled Lee with him. Once they were free, they trotted down the street.
“Really, the Mounties? Can’t anything go right?”
“I’m not.” As Bill turned left down Mission Street, he panted heavily and clutched his side harder. “They’re probably on their way.” He stumbled to one knee.
“You’re hit. You okay?” Lee helped him stand.
Bill felt the perspiration trickle from his forehead and onto his face. Blood oozed out from under his hand. Trying not to alarm Lee, he mustered his self-discipline. He fought to keep the pain from of his voice. “Only a minor flesh wound.”
“With the blood on your shirt, you call it minor,” Lee said. “You need to see a doctor.”
“We can’t afford to be caught, even by the Mounties.” Bill’s breath became shorter as they turned north on 5th. “Haven’t you heard of extradition?” Bill slowed to a brisk walk. In the distance, police sirens pulsated.
Chapter 39
In the back seat, Dean felt uneasy. A siren nearby drew his attention and he quickly surveyed the area for police vehicles. Had Ramsey’s men overplayed their hand? They weren’t at the appointed meeting place at the edge of town. Kincaid and McNeal were supposed to be in custody. Ramsey, at the wheel, pulled the car onto Front Street, slowing the car to scan the faces of the pedestrians. They wound their way up and down each street. In a matter of minutes, Ramsey had covered most of the town.
Finally, as they turned down Eighth Street, Dean saw ambulances and police cars lining the street ahead. Several cars were backed up and the police waved them on one by one. A large crowd had gathered around the ambulance. Ramsey stopped the car and told one of his men to find out what had happened.
As the soldier slid back into the seat, he said, “Sir, we have a problem.”
“What do you mean?” Dean asked.
The soldier ignored Dean. “Kincaid and the woman took out our men.”
Colonel Ramsey clenched his hands and twisted the rubber on the steering wheel. “How badly are they hurt?”
“One’s in police custody and the other is in bad shape. Kincaid shattered his jaw.”
“Once we capture Kincaid and his girlfriend, we’ll come back and spring our men. Do you have any idea where they went?”
“A bystander told me they went to get the RCMP.”
“Well, they’re running. My guess is they’re headed south.”
“Then we’re following?” Dean asked.
“Call the others and give them the description of the Taurus wagon.”
“ROGER,” the soldier said and began talking into the radio.
“Why south?” Dean asked.
Ramsey looked in the rearview mirror at Dean. “There’s only one way out of town.”
“Team Charlie’s on their way.”
“They’re in a vise between my Whitehorse team and us.”
“How far are we behind them?” Dean realized he was at the mercy of Ramsey and his men; he didn’t like it.
“Fifteen to twenty minutes,” the soldier said.
“Fasten your seat belts. We’re going to do combat driving,” Ramsey said as he put the car in gear and stepped on the accelerator. “Depending on road conditions, we’ll catch ’em in an hour.”
* * * *
Bill looked at the speedometer and watched the indicator rock off the stud—ninety five M.P.H. He held his breath and clutched his side. Behind the wheel, Lee’s face was set in grim determination as
the station wagon shimmied and shook. They needed more speed, but on the rough road, the vehicle would lose stability if they pushed it. He looked out the window as the beautiful, lush, green trees clipped by, but he couldn’t enjoy the scenery. He became completely lost in his thoughts. Why hadn’t he listened to his dream? He had let love and a false sense of security blind him. The pain throbbing in his side kept him from thinking clearly and he looked at Lee. It was his fault for bringing her into this.
Lee felt his gaze and turned quickly to look over at Bill and then back to the road. “Are you okay? It looks like you’ve lost blood.”
“It’s only a minor flesh wound—a little painful, but nothing to worry about.”
Chapter 40
As Sable paced his office, it somehow seemed smaller than it was. Masters leaned back in Sable’s chair and almost tipped over. “Calm down, Sable.”
At the end of one iteration of pacing the floor, Sable flicked the intercom button. “Have they found Dean?”
“He’s in Canada. He and three others crossed the border this morning at the Top of the World checkpoint,” Beth said.
“How in the hell did our men miss them?” Masters asked in the background.
“Get Akin. Have him get the RCMP to hold Dean.” Sable hit the desk with the eraser tip of his pencil. “And work on Dean’s extradition.”
“Anything else?”
“Get plane tickets for Masters and myself to Whitehorse and reserve a rental car. I want to be in Dawson to see Dean’s face when they apprehend him.”
* * * *
Johnson studied the monitors, overseeing the last touches of repair: labs decontaminated, the bodies cremated, and walls repainted. Everything was in order. While he surveyed the work, the SECDEF yelled over the speakerphone. Johnson had to lower the volume twice while bringing the man up-to-date. Every new piece of information Johnson reported was met with an angry barrage.
When Johnson had finished, the SECDEF said, “I’m appointing you acting director until a new one can be found.”
“Thank you, I’m honored.”
“Destroy Dean’s records. Then find him and eliminate the embarrassment.”
Dark Project Page 16