Watchers in the Woods

by William W. Johnstone

  “Well, well,” Norm said. “Would you just look at this, now.” He held out a bulky object wrapped in heavy canvas.

  “Let me see that thing,” Matt said, standing up.

  “What is it?” Jones asked.

  “A fancied-up and the smallest combat net radio I have ever seen.”

  “Thanks a lot, Matt,” Norm said. “You really cleared that up.”

  Matt smiled. “Burst transmission, boys. This looks a lot like the Plessey PTR-4300 the Australian army uses.”

  “Is he speaking English?” Norm said to Jones.

  “Beats the hell out of me, Norm.”

  Matt said, “See if there’s an additional string antenna in the other saddlebag, please.” He turned on the radio and lifted the handset to his ear, listening. He nodded as Norm showed him the wire antenna and began stringing it up. Matt punched in his backup’s frequency and got them on the first bump.

  “Jesus, Husky!” the voice exploded in his ear. “Where the hell have you been?”

  “Who are you, pal?” Matt replied. “I don’t recognize the voice.”

  “I’m Jaguar. We worked in Chile together.”

  “OK, go ahead, Jaguar. I’m a little paranoid.”

  “With damn good reason. Your other teams, both Agency and Bureau, were lined up with the breakaway tribe members. Two of them are now dead, and the others are being held in a safe place. The DCI had a heart attack and Manetti is running things until Richard gets back in the country. How is your situation?”

  “Grim. Listen, bring me up to date. I can punch in burst transmission and digital.”

  “Do so. We’ve got to keep a lid on this damn situation.”

  Matt punched in burst transmission and added digital encryption. “Go, Jaguar.”

  “The shit’s hit the fan all over. All agencies have been compromised. General Dawson reverted into some sort of animal and killed his wife. Chief of Staff Atkins killed him at his home and then confessed to Sugar Cube that he was a descendant of the tribe. The ranger battalion from Fort Lewis should be arriving in your sector any time.”

  “I’m no longer in that sector, Jaguar. Stand by and I’ll give you map coordinates. But there is no way the army is going to get choppers into this area in this heavy weather.” Matt gave him map coordinates and told him everything that had happened since he’d lost radio contact.

  “You want a team to converge on that old mining complex? I can find it on the map I’ve got.”

  “That’s affirmative. Advise them there may be civilians there. A remote possibility.”

  Jones and Norm raised their eyebrows at that.

  “We’ll be force-marching the rest of the night to get there. I’ll check in with you every hour on the hour. That’s when we’ll break for a rest.”

  “That’s ten-four, Husky. The next time you call in, I’ll have the ranger frequency for you so you can talk direct. Good luck.”

  Matt cut off the radio to conserve the batteries, since he did not know how much time was already on them.

  “What’s this about civilians?” Norm asked.

  “That woman I extracted the information from . . . I just now made sense out of something she said before she died. I think Nick took those people away from the area of the tribe. That woman said something about the tribe being sealed off and not going anywhere. I just have a hunch we’ll find our people at that mining complex.”

  “Who takes the point?” Norm asked, worry in his voice.

  “I do,” Matt said. “Let’s go.”

  8

  Because the press had started their usual indignant honking and squawking about not having full knowledge of everything that went on in the White House, the President had called the Mexican, Russian, Canadian, and British ambassadors in and leveled with them.

  “You’ve been very lucky the press hasn’t picked up on it,” the Canadian said.

  “But they will,” the Englishman added.

  “And put the American public into a panic,” the Russian concluded.

  “If we can get through the next twenty-four hours without that happening,” the President said, “I think we can lessen the impact of the story.”

  “This could be the most important scientific find in history,” the Mexican said.

  “Oh, quite,” the Englishman said.

  The Russian smiled. “It’s certainly going to send genealogists on a mad scramble.”

  * * *

  Matt, Norm, and Jones stood in the timber and watched a group of Sataws and breakaways pass not fifty yards from them. The rain, the wind, the darkness all combined to help conceal the trio. Matt stood by the packhorse, stroking the animal’s nose gently and praying to whatever god looks after special operations agents that the horse would not whinny and give them away.

  The three men stood for five minutes more after their hunters vanished into the timber. They had a broad flat plain to cross and none of them were at all anxious to move out.

  “We’ve got it to do,” Matt whispered. “Let’s do it while the rain is still heavy.”

  They moved out in single file, feeling more exposed than ever. They crossed the plain without incident and entered the timberline, moving up the slope. Matt led the way up, wanting more altitude before they stopped to string the antenna and contact Jaguar.

  They stopped to catch their breath and Matt bumped his CIA contact.

  “There is a major storm developing in your area, Husky,” Jaguar told him. “High winds and heavy rains. I’m probably not telling you anything you don’t already know firsthand. The choppers have been grounded. There are several SEAL teams in place and one Ranger platoon in place near your old sector. The rest of the operation has been called off until the weather calms down. I’ll give you the frequencies so you can talk to them directly.”

  Matt set the frequencies; they would now be available to him on command.

  “Husky, that 24-volt battery pack should last you through this operation if you don’t lay on it too much.”

  “That’s ten-four. What is the situation on the outside?”

  “We’ve kept the press out of it.”

  “That’s a damn miracle.”

  “I’ve pinpointed the mining complex. Give me your present location as close as you can, and stand by.”

  The men had been going full tilt for hours, and they were near exhaustion. They badly needed rest.

  “Husky, you’re three miles from the old complex,” Jaguar told him. “There is a SEAL team at a landing strip about ten miles north of the complex. You want me to get them moving? They’ve got some rough country to traverse. ”

  “That’s ten-four, Jaguar. We’ll move out now, get the complex in visual, and then try to get a few hours’ rest before we hit it. An hour before dawn, I’ll give them a bump.”

  “If they’re close enough to try a rescue, Husky, I’m pretty sure they’d want you people to stand down and let them take it.”

  “They are certainly welcome to do just that, Jaguar. Husky out.” He turned to Norm and Jones. “We’re three miles from the complex. Let’s get closer and then try to catch some rest.”

  * * *

  “I ain’t seen nothin’ over yonder,” Ely bitched. “I don’t think them folks is there a-tall.”

  “Me, neither,” Marwood said. “I don’t see why we have to stay out here in the damn rain freezin’ our asses off.”

  “’Cause Monroe told us to,” Woody said. “That’s why.”

  “Fuck Monroe,” Darnell piped up. “Let’s take that place now. I got to shit somethin’ awful, and I don’t wanna hang my ass over no damn log in this weather.”

  “OK, OK,” Woody said. “I’ll contact Monroe.”

  “I’m in-clined to agree,” Monroe said. “Okay. Let’s take the place. Move out. Just be careful, and don’t shoot none of that pussy in yonder.”

  The remnants of the CWA moved out, unaware that they were being observed from the timber. Brown-yellow eyes watched them unblinking as the
y made their way toward the ramshackle buildings. A Sataw turned to Cathy. He pointed a clawed finger at his chest, pointed at the buildings, and shook his head.

  Cathy nodded her understanding. She told him in sign language that he and his kind should stand watch, and she and her bunch would see to the mining complex.

  The Sataw agreed and vanished back into the gloom of the timber.

  Matt and Norm and Jones were less than a half mile away, trying to get some rest before dawn.

  The men of the Navy SEAL team were pushing themselves hard, setting a grueling pace, coming down from the north, while the men in the ranger platoon were pushing just as hard, coming up from the south. On the previous afternoon, the young men of the rangers had inspected the carnage on the flats, seen what was left of the CWA men, and taken pictures of the slaughter and of the crude stockade the campers had built.

  The rain continued to drench the land, coming down in thick, silver sheets. The wind picked up, howling like a thousand demons over the mountains and through the passes and valleys.

  Jim Bob laid the stock of his AK-47 against the back of Dennis’s head and the lawyer went down, unconscious. Judd swung his weapon and busted Wade in the forehead just as the man was turning around to check out the slight noise behind him. Had he not slipped, causing the blow to be only a glancing one, the stock would have crushed his head.

  Wade was trussed up and laid on the floor beside Dennis. Judd rubbed his crotch and grinned at Jim Bob, pointing downward, where they believed the women to be hiding in the tunnels.

  Jim Bob returned the profane grin and squeezed his crotch.

  Restless and very uncomfortable in his sleep, Matt said the hell with it and crawled out from underneath his soggy blankets. It was that gray time between the fading of night and the breaking of day. His eyes caught a fleeting shape at the edge of the timberline on the ridge behind the mining complex. He gently nudged the others awake with the toe of his boot.

  “We’re not alone,” he said, kneeling down slowly, not wishing to make any quick movement that would draw attention.

  “CWA people?” Norm asked, sitting up and lacing up his boots.

  “I don’t think so. They looked like breakaways to me.”

  “Matt?” Jones whispered, his voice just carrying over the hammering rain. “CWA men going in the rear of the big building with the conveyer tower.”

  Matt gently parted the thick brush on the hillside and chanced a look. He could just make out the single-file line of cammie-clad men moving through the rain and disappearing into the rear of the building.

  “I count eight,” he said. “How many in the bunch you saw, Jones?”

  “Six or seven.”

  Matt hurriedly set up his radio and punched up the SEAL team frequency. “This is Husky. I’m overlooking the mining complex. I’ve spotted CWA men entering the buildings and breakaways from the tribe on the ridges around it. How far are you from this position?”

  “About a mile. But it’s rough going, sir.”

  “Screaming from inside the complex, Matt!” Norm said. “It’s faint, but I heard it. Women screaming.”

  “The CWA have seized the complex,” Matt radioed. “The civilians are in there. We’re going in. We’ll have handkerchiefs tied around our upper left arms.”

  “Go, Husky!” The master chief petty officer turned to his team. “Out of the timber and down into that stream. We’re going to run this last mile and get those civilians and kids out of that box, and God damn it, we’re all going to make it. We’re going to have enemy on the banks and in front of us, so eyes alert. Let’s go!”

  The Navy SEALs left the timber and began running down the stream bank, seemingly oblivious to the heavy packs they were carrying; they were accustomed to running for miles on loose sandy beaches carrying impossibly heavy loads. Their weapons were also varied: some carried M-16s, others carried CAR-15s, Stoners, MP-5Ks, and M-14s.

  “Holy fuckin’ shit!” a SEAL hollered, waving those behind him to a halt. “What in the name of God is that?”

  The entire team stopped and stared. It was certainly understandable, even for these highly trained professional fighters. A huge Sataw, well over six feet tall, with a thick, hairy body and wearing only a loincloth, stood on a bluff, looking down at the men. They could make out the animal snout and the deep-set eyes in the huge head. It roared at them.

  “That’s got to be one of the Sataws we were briefed about,” a team member said.

  “Whatever it is,” the CPO panted the words. “That is one ugly motherfucker!”

  A young man dressed only in jeans and boots, carrying a rifle, jumped out of the timber to stand by the huge breakaway.

  “What the hell?” a SEAL said.

  The young man jerked the rifle to his shoulder and took aim at the CPO. A SEAL dropped the man with one shot from his M-14. The Sataw screamed his rage and raced down the bank.

  “I think he’s coming to kiss you, Chief,” a young SEAL said.

  “I been hard up in my day, but I ain’t never been that hard up.” He lifted his CAR and stopped the howling Sataw by putting a neat row of .223 slugs in the enraged Sataw’s chest. “Everybody rested?” he yelled, knowing there sure as hell was no need for noise discipline now.

  “Yeah!” came the shout.

  “Let’s go!”

  Each one of them looked at the dead Sataw as he ran past, and each inwardly shuddered ... not so much out of fear but at the idea of not knowing what manner of man or beast they were facing.

  The SEAL team raced on.

  “Well, now,” Ely said, pulling Sara close to him and running his free hand over her body. “Ain’t this the sweet one.”

  “You bastard!” Nancy hissed. “She’s only eleven years old!”

  “Oughta be tight, then,” Ely grinned.

  Sara kicked back with a boot and caught the man smack on the shin. He yelled in pain and released her. She ran to her mother.

  “You’ll hurt for that, little girlie,” Ely warned. “I’ll make you scream.”

  Nick and Dan had been at the far end of the tunnel, near the mountain, and they were not aware of anything being wrong.

  “Where’s the guide?” Monroe asked.

  “He left us,” Susan said, doing some quick thinking. “Going for help.”

  “She’s lying,” Judd said. “The number of saddles back yonder don’t match up with the number of people in here. They’s two missin’.”

  “Easy or hard, lady,” Monroe warned Susan. “Marwood yonder’s got him a dick that’d put a horse to shame. You and that foxy-lookin’ girl there,” he stared at Traci, “kinda favor. You wanna see Marwood prong her?”

  “No, I don’t,” Susan told him.

  “Then where’s the other two that belongs to them saddles back yonder?”

  “They’re in the tunnels somewhere,” she told him. “I don’t know where, and that’s the truth. They told us to stay here. They said that while you won’t get lost in the tunnels, it’s easy to get confused in them and it might take you an hour to find your way back.”

  “That’s the gospel truth, Monroe,” Jim Bob said. “We both know that.”

  Monroe nodded. “Git all our shit outta here and up top. We’ll blow the tunnels to seal them.”

  “I wanna see the titties on that one!” Marwood said, leering at Polly. “I want me some brown sugar!”

  Polly met his eyes without backing down. She sensed that Marwood was not playing with a full deck. When the man brazenly unbuttoned his trousers and exposed himself, she knew he had to be low on brains. God had shorted him mentally and turned it into cock.

  Nancy had turned Sara’s head away from the sight.

  “You like this, baby?” Marwood said, hefting his penis.

  “It ain’t the size of the boat,” Polly told him. “It’s the motion of the ocean.”

  The men of the CWA laughed at the expression on Marwood’s face. Marwood was awful proud of his pecker, and it hurt his feelings t
o have someone say something bad about it. He stuck it back in his pants, buttoned up, and said, “Git your uppity ass upstairs, bitch.”

  “You don’t talk to my mother like that!” Johnny yelled, and rushed the man, ramming his head into Marwood’s stomach and driving the breath from him.

  Seymour stepped forward and slugged the boy, knocking him to the floor unconscious, blood leaking from his mouth where he’d bitten his tongue.

  “You sorry son of a bitch!” Frank said. “Why don’t you fight me if you think you’re so goddamn tough?”

  Seymour laughed at him. “I think we’ll slow-kill you, bigmouth. See how well you stand pain.”

  Marwood had caught his breath and was shoving Polly up the stairs, cussing her, goosing her in the butt with the muzzle of his AK-47, and telling her of all the things he was going to do to her. “I’m gonna fuck your ass, bitch, just to hear you squall. And I’m gonna do it in front of your kids. What do you think about that?”

  “I think you’re an ignorant redneck white-trash lowlife goddamn son-of-a-bitch!” Polly told him.

  “Oh, boy!” Jim Bob hollered. “You got you a feisty one, Marwood.”

  “She ain’t gonna be when I’m done with her!” Marwood hollered over his shoulder.

  “You’re going to kill us, aren’t you?” Tom asked Monroe.

  “That’s right, pretty boy. We shore are.”

  “Maybe there’s another way.”

  “You better tell it to me quick, ’cause we ain’t got much time.”

  “I know Emmett Trumball personally. My law firm has represented him several times. I contribute money to the CWA. Check that out. I’m Tom Dalton.”

  Susan was looking at him with something between horror and disgust in her eyes. She was wondering how a woman could make such a terrible mistake in choosing a husband.

  “Walk over yonder,” Monroe said, pointing with the muzzle of his rifle. “I know your name for a fact. Wouldn’t do to kill you. Mister Trumball wouldn’t like that a-tall. Stand right there. Which woman here is yourn?”

  Peyton turned at the creaking of a board behind him and lived just long enough to feel the white-hot, searing pain of Matt’s knife rip into his belly and tear upward until the blade nicked his heart. Matt lowered the twitching body to the dusty floor, wiped his blade clean on Peyton’s jacket, and sheathed the bloody knife. He motioned Norm and Jones forward. The three men froze as they heard Marwood cussing Polly as he prodded her up the dusty and rotten stairs.