“The hell you say!” Bobcat Blake said. “Did the bastards give you a reason why they were bracing you?”
“Not a clue,” Nick replied. “They were just arrogant and rude as hell.”
“Give me that H&K,” Ike Dover said, holding his hand out for the 9mm submachine gun taken from a dead federal agent. “Nobody runs me out of a place.”
“You guys serious about this?” Mike asked. “You’re blowing off a lot of money—not to mention risking your lives and a long prison term.” He nor any of the others mentioned the dead agents, for they simply didn’t care about them.
Mess With The Best And Die Like The Rest was their philosophy.
“Fuck it!” Joel Bass said. “I don’t like federal turds waving guns in the faces of my friends.”
John Webb said, “Let’s go pick up some more weapons. We’re going to need them if we’re planning on starting a war with the feds.”
Miles Burrell nodded his head in agreement.
“Oh, hell with it, then!” Mike said. “Count me in. Finding a good war nowadays is getting harder and harder anyway.”
* * *
“We have any press in on this?” Max Vernon was asked by a man from the Justice Department who had just flown in from Washington.
“Not a peep, sir.”
The official stared hard at Max. “I find all of this very hard to believe.”
“It’s the truth, sir. Every word of it. Look.” He walked over to a camp table that had been set up and lifted the edge of a poncho. “Three keys, sir. Three keys of high-grade cocaine. We found these in Stormy’s camp, tucked away in her things. We found what was left of a laboratory in a shed behind the cabin belonging to a Jody Hinds. He burned the lab during the shoot-out.” A shed had been burned, but Jody hadn’t set it on fire. “We’re sure that Agent John Santo was killed by another member of this dope ring. A hippie-type name of Kevin Carmouche and two of his friends. We’ve got his place surrounded and will move against him tomorrow.”
“Who is this Darry Ransom person?”
“We’re not sure. He may be the go-between.”
“Any idea who ambushed those agents and blinded Ron?”
“Friends of the hippies running this dope operation, we’re sure. We don’t know if they’re still in the valley, or managed to slip out. We think they’re still in the area.”
“God, this is touchy, Max. Real touchy. Ms. Knight is a big-time TV journalist. There isn’t a blemish on her anywhere. Even in college she was known as unapproachable when it came to drugs. And Ki Nichols is the same. Highly respected camera-person; won lots of industry awards.”
“They’re dopers and worse, sir.”
“Worse?”
“They were fraternizing with a known and very dangerous survivalist group. We have pictures of her laughing and big time buddy-buddying with Sam Parish. She was the guest of honor at the cookout when we arrived and they opened fire on us.”
The official nodded his understanding. “Max, we don’t want another screw-up like Waco. We can’t stand the heat. No play on words intended.”
“I understand, sir. There will be no mistakes on this one. We’ve got them cold. We have the evidence that will stand up in court.”
“How many civilian dead so far?”
“Eleven.”
The official winced at that. “Any kids?”
“No, sir.”
“Thank God for small favors.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ve got to get back to Washington. Max, you’re in charge. I don’t want any screw-ups. You understand?”
“I understand.”
“I want this operation neatly wrapped up with a nice big pretty bow on top. The evidence looks good. Wrap it up, Max.”
“Consider it done, sir.”
* * *
When Darry was certain the two women were sound asleep and not likely to awaken until their bodies had been refreshed by rest, he stepped outside of the cave and became his Other. He padded silently down the ridge until he smelled man-scent. He stood for a moment, staring and smelling the night. He walked on silent paws to stand a few yards from the sleeping George Eagle Dancer. He sensed this man was not a federal agent. His manner of dress and hair style was all wrong, and he wasn’t pretty enough to be a fed. This man was a warrior, a hunter of men. But Darry sensed that this man was no enemy of his.
If he had been, Darry could have easily killed him with one crushing snap from powerful jaws. Darry did not like to kill, and seldom did in his Other form; only a few times in this century. But sometimes it was necessary.
Darry let him sleep and moved on through the night, running effortlessly and soundlessly. He scented blood and moved in that direction. He stood on the crest of a small slope and looked down at the two FBI agents who had visited his cabin, Jack Speed and Kathy Owens. The man had been wounded in the shoulder. But by whom?
He did not know.
Darry moved on, running for several hours, circling the area. He found the sleeping mercenaries and a dozen or so camps of federal people—the smell of nervous sweat and fear and indecision was strong there. He found several camps of Sam Parish’s people—the smell of sweat and hate was strong there.
Darry went to his cabin and knew instantly someone had been there. A rifle was gone. He picked up the scent and loped over to the river bluffs and looked down. A family unit was sleeping on the flats. He scented out where his rifle was hidden and left it.
Everywhere he’d been that night stank of trouble. It hung in the night air like a strong poison.
Tragedy everywhere, Darry thought, as he began the run back to the cave.
* * *
Max Vernon learned early the next morning that he’d lost two more agents during the night. Someone had slipped up on them while they slept and cut their throats with a very sharp and a very large knife. Boot prints showed the man to be big, about two hundred pounds. The cabins of Kevin Carmouche and his family and friends were surrounded by dozens of agents, and they could not have broken out to do this. Max just thought Kevin and his friends were trapped. Even a rabbit had more than one hole, and Kevin had had more than twenty years to dig his.
“Jody Hinds,” a man said.
“Yeah,” Max grunted. “Jody Hinds. Did we get anything back from Records on this guy?”
“Air Force Commandos, among other things,” Max was informed. “Silver Star in ’Nam. The guy is good.” He did not add what many of the agents already knew: Jody Hinds was clean, he’d never even received so much as a traffic ticket in his life, and he certainly didn’t do drugs.
“The son of a bitch is not ‘good,’ Johnson,” Max snapped at the man. “He’s killed federal agents.”
“We started it,” another agent muttered, being very careful that Max Vernon did not overhear his comment. He wished desperately that he could find a way out of this ever-growing mess. But he was in too deep for that. Just too goddamned deep to get out of it.
* * *
Most of the now several hundred agents in the area had been helicoptered in. The people in the tiny surrounding towns (and they were miles away from the hunt area) knew absolutely nothing about the massive manhunt going on. When Rick Battle returned from the north, having found the missing young couple, he was astonished to find the road leading to his station closed and blocked and guarded by federal agents. He had a hell of time just getting past them. Then he found his station being used as a command post.
“What the hell is going on?” Rick demanded.
“You don’t have a need to know,” he was bluntly informed. “Pack up a few things and go find a motel to live in until this is over.”
Rick kept his cool . . . barely. “I will find out what is going on,” he said tersely. “One way or the other. This is my station, this is my area and you don’t have the authority to order me out. You might be able to get it. But until you do, I stay.”
“Mr. Battle,” another man said, stepping in to defuse the anger-building situation. “I j
ust got here a few hours ago. So I really don’t know all the particulars of this operation. But I’ll tell you what I do know.”
Rick had not noticed a man and a woman, both neatly dressed in civilian clothing, standing off to one side. The man was a senior inspector and the woman an experienced special agent from the FBI. They were from the FBI’s Internal Affairs Division. And as far as they were concerned, this whole operation was stinking to high heaven. They sensed something was very wrong. Now they just had to prove it.
The newly arrived man talked, Rick listened, and by the time the federal man had finished, Rick was flabbergasted. “You’re not serious!” he finally found his voice. “Don’t you think I know the people who live in my district? I’ve had them all checked out. Every one of them. They’re clean. They’re good folks. You killed Linda Hinds? Jesus Christ! Have you lost your minds? There is no cocaine lab around here. I’ve been to Jody’s place dozens of times. I’ve been in that shed. I was there about two weeks ago. He tans hides and does taxidermy work out there.”
“Mr. Battle,” the fed said. “Just calm down, sir.”
“Calm down?” Rick shouted. “Calm down’s ass! You raided his place and killed his wife, his sister-in-law, and her boyfriend and you want me to fucking calm down!”
The inspector and the special agent exchanged glances.
Rick caught his breath and was off again. “You’re going to raid the cabins of Kevin Carmouche and his friends? Why? They haven’t done anything. They’ve been here for years and done nothing but good all the while. They’ve gone on search-and-rescue missions, they’ve fought forest fires, and never asked for a dime for doing it. Stormy and her camera-person are here to do a story. They interviewed me; they interviewed Darry Ransom. They’re not involved in any dope ring. There is no dope ring around here. I knew Sam Parish and his bunch were under loose surveillance, but hell, they haven’t done anything either, except hold some rather weird views. I don’t believe they opened fire on you people. But it might have been the other way around.”
Again, the inspector and the special agent exchanged glances.
“What the hell are you implying, Ranger?”
“You figure it out,” Rick told him, then spun around and walked off to his living quarters.
Inspector Henry “Hank” Wallace and Special Agent Carol Murphy left to change clothes. They had a lot of work to do. Out in the field.
* * *
“Hank Wallace is here,” Max Vernon was informed.
“Damn!” Max said. “Is that bitch Carol with him?”
“Yes.”
“They smell something. Attack that goddamn hippie commune. Do it right now.”
“Yes, sir.”
* * *
By now there were over four hundred federal agents involved, very nearly a mob. Over a hundred agents from several federal agencies attacked the cabins at the old hippie commune. That proved to be a very costly mistake. A dozen agents went down, dead or seriously wounded, in the first fifteen seconds of the attack. Kevin had told Vince and Todd that the agents would be in protective gear. So the men and their wives and kids all went for head shots. Living in the wilderness, and having to rely on game for much of their food, all were expert shots, as the agents tragically discovered almost immediately. To compound the tragedy, more than half of the agents now involved were under the impression this was a legitimate operation, and had no idea it was a government foul-up and attempted cover-up and that they were attacking innocent men and women and kids.
After the first attack was thrown back, the men sent their wives and kids out the back, using tunnels they’d dug years before, back when the peace and love and hippie movement was heavily infiltrated with government agents looking for members of the SDS or the Weathermen. But the reports detailing the construction plans of communes had long since been destroyed after the movement died out years back.
“We’ll hold our fire while you get your wounded out of there!” Kevin shouted from his cabin. “Go on, do it. We won’t fire on you if you won’t fire on us.”
“What the hell?” a federal marshal muttered to a friend. “That doesn’t sound like hard-core drug dealers to me.”
“Something’s very strange about all this,” a Bureau man said to a buddy who was with the BATF.
“It stinks,” the Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms man replied. “I have not seen one word of intel on these people. And I have to say that Max Vernon is unstable.”
“I agree. But you didn’t hear that from me.”
“Then how in the hell did he get where he is?”
The Bureau man grunted. “Luck and ass-kissing.”
“You believe that crap about Stormy Knight and her cameraman?”
“No. And it’s camera-person.”
The BATF man grinned. “Right.” His grin faded. “Then what are we doing here?”
The team leader of this unit of the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team looked over at the two men. “What are you guys suggesting?”
“It’s a set-up, a fuck-up, and a cover-up,” his colleague said bluntly.
The TL gave that some thought. Then he shook his head. “No way. We wouldn’t fuck up that bad. We’re under orders to shoot to kill.”
“Yeah,” the special agent said drily. “Just takin’ orders. And how many times have you heard that?”
* * *
Jack Speed and Kathy Owens knew what they should do, but didn’t know how to go about doing it. They quickly realized they were caught up smack in the middle of a free-fire zone. They didn’t know code words or passwords and had no safe way of learning them. During the shooting, the wounding, the frantic crawling and the dragging of Kathy, then tumbling down into the ravine, they had lost their ID folders and radios.
“We’re fucked!” Kathy said.
Jack smiled through the burning pain in his wounded shoulder. “This is no time to be thinking of sex, Kathy.”
Three men suddenly appeared at the top of the knoll. “Freeze, goddamn you!” one shouted. “We’re federal agents.”
“So are we,” Jack said.
“Sure,” another man said, unable to see how Jack and Kathy were dressed due to the shadows where they lay. “And Santa Claus humps reindeer. Get your hands up.”
Kathy raised both her hands, and Jack held up his one good arm.
“Both hands, goddammit!”
“I can’t. I’ve been wounded. Look, I’ve got my wallet right here. I have ID.” Jack stuck his hand inside his jumpsuit, and the third man on the knoll shot him.
Screaming her rage, Kathy pulled iron and emptied a full clip into the men, killing two and wounding the third. He dropped his M-16 and went staggering off, holding his bleeding neck.
Kathy turned to Jack. But his face was covered with blood, and she could not find a pulse. She cussed and then scrambled up the hill, retrieving the M-16 and a magazine pouch from a dead agent. She picked up a handy-talkie, only to find that one of her bullets had shattered the transceiver.
“You stupid, cowboy, hot-dog, trigger-happy sons of bitches!” she cussed the dead men. Then, fighting back tears, she started trailing the man who had killed her partner.
* * *
A team of federal agents spotted the mercenaries moving across a meadow and, believing they were part of Sam Parish’s bunch, opened fire on them.
Al Jenkins went down, a bullet taking him in the center of his forehead.
The mercenaries suddenly vanished in the tall grass and brush, and the killing stalk began. The federal officers would lose.
13
“We stay right here,” Darry told the women, after hearing gunfire coming from all directions. “I have a hunch that the worst is yet to come.”
“I just wish I knew what was going on?” Stormy bitched.
“The both of you are wanted for questioning about drug trafficking and subversion,” Darry informed the women.
Stormy and Ki sat on the cave floor, on their bedrolls, and stared at him in utter disbe
lief. Stormy found her voice first. “You have got to be kidding!” she exploded, waving her hands in the air.
Darry shook his head. “No. I heard some agents talking last night.”
“You went out there last night?” Ki questioned.
Darry smiled. “Yes.”
Stormy read the smile accurately. “But not in human form.” It was not a question.
“You have a very vivid imagination, Stormy,” Darry said, not losing his smile.
“What about this drug crap?” Ki said, anger in her voice. “And subversion? That’s nonsense.”
“Sure it is. But they’ve got three keys of cocaine to back up their story. They found it in your camp.”
“They found shit!” Stormy practically shouted the words. “I’ve never used dope in my life. I don’t even like to take a pill for headaches.”
“Oh, you don’t have to convince me. I believe you.” Again, that odd grin. “But now, ladies, you can share a sensation with me. Tell me: how does it feel to be hunted like an animal?”
* * *
Sam Parish had taken transceivers from the dead agents in his camp and passed them around. He and his people could now listen to everything that was going on and stay one step ahead of the feds.
Sam Parish had talked about someday overthrowing the government of the United States. But like so many of his ilk, all that had been so much hot air. However, the government did take those types of remarks quite seriously and had sent a man in to infiltrate the Citizen’s Defense League. Sam had never quite trusted the infiltrator and had not told him about the cache of weapons the CDL had used in their escape. The infiltrator had feigned being shot when the attack started and was now (after having his butt chewed on by Max Vernon during a debriefing) once more a part of the agent team searching for the CDL.
But he wouldn’t be for long, and neither would the men and women with him. The agents had made the mistake of attacking Nick Sharp and his mercenary team, and they now found themselves encircled by the highly experienced group; and the noose was slowly tightening.
Max Vernon was about to lose another team of agents.
* * *
“You were attacked by men claiming to be federal officers?” Henry Wallace asked Dr. Ray Collier.
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