Hunted

by William W. Johnstone

  “That’s pure crap and you know it!” Rick yelled. “The whole damn country knows that Craig Hamilton is one hundred percent antigun (that was about to change). Don’t you ever watch the news?”

  “Little girl!” Alberta exploded, drawing herself up to her full five feet, two inches. “Screw you . . . you sexist, chauvinistic big bag of shit!”

  Max backhanded the woman, striking her on the side of the jaw and sending her sprawling on the wet ground. Bad mistake on Max’s part. Alberta bounced to her feet, blood leaking from a cut inside her mouth, and planted her right hiking boot right in the big man’s balls. Max hit the ground, howling and puking, both hands holding his gonads.

  One of the rogue agents ran out and threw Alberta to the ground. Rick gave that agent a solid one-two, belly and jaw, knocking him on his butt, before the ranger was manhandled to the ground and both he and Alberta were shackled—with their own handcuffs.

  Max was helped to his feet—very carefully—and managed to moan, “Lock them in the storeroom, and make sure they’re locked in secure. We’ll deal with them later.”

  Alberta started kicking and screaming and struggling, managing to inflict no small degree of pain on several agents before she was popped on the head with a collapsible steel baton which ended the brief struggle.

  Rick kept his cool and his silence. But mentally, he was thinking some dark and dire thoughts about Max Vernon and the other rogue agents.

  Before Darry shape-shifted, he signaled Pete and Repeat to stay where they were and then watched as the pair of rangers were led into the house; Rick walking, Alberta being half dragged. Darry left the hybrids in the brush and silently made his way close to the rear of the ranger station. He’d been in the ranger station many times, and knew exactly where the storeroom was and what kind of lock secured the back door.

  Darry watched as the agents who had escorted the rangers into the storeroom returned to a still-moaning Max, now sitting in a chair on the front porch. He made certain it was the same agents who had taken the pair of rangers inside who returned to the porch; then he slipped around to the rear of the house.

  A guard had been stationed outside the rear door, and Darry took him out with one blow to the neck. It was not a killing blow, for Darry had no way of knowing if the man actually was a part of this cover-up gone sour, or just a man completely in the dark about what was actually taking place and just following orders.

  Just . . . following . . . orders.

  Blindly and without question.

  Darry certainly realized that a country could not function without some form of government, but he had never seen a government that did not—although the founders started out with good intentions—eventually become too large and too out of control, and turn on its citizens . . . just as the government of America had done. And Darry had nearly seven centuries of observing behind him. And many more centuries of doing the same ahead of him.

  A government that did not allow dissent was a dictatorship, and that was the status America was fast approaching.

  Had it been a dead-bolt lock, that would have proved difficult, but this was a regular door-knob lock, which Darry simply broke off. Darry was a deceptively powerful man, with large wrists and heavily muscled forearms and upper arms. His shoulders were padded with muscle.

  “Keys on my belt,” Rick whispered.

  “Later,” Darry told him. “Right now, let’s get clear of this place.”

  Alberta was still a bit addled, but able to walk, although somewhat unsteady on her feet. She looked down at the unconscious agent on the ground outside the storeroom. “Is he dead?”

  “No,” Darry told her. “But he’ll be asleep for some time. Come on, this way.”

  Darry led the rangers into the brush, and Pete and Repeat silently came to their paws and followed, the hybrids giving Alberta quite a shock when she spotted them. “Great God Almighty!” she blurted.

  “They won’t hurt you.” Darry removed the cuffs from the rangers and told them to keep the shackles; they might need them later. Then Darry and the rangers and the hybrids walked into the brush.

  “Where are we going?” Alberta asked.

  “To the FBI.”

  “Oh, wonderful,” she said sarcastically. “You are aware it was the FBI, along with people from BATF, DEA, and probably others, who tried to kill Craig Hamilton, bashed me on the noggin, and locked us up?”

  “There are a few rogue agents,” Darry said. “But the great majority of the others are solid and straight . . . if a bit misinformed about what constitutes a democracy.”

  “Who are you?” Alberta persisted.

  “You wouldn’t believe him if he told you,” Rick said.

  “No more talking,” Darry said. “Save your wind and follow me.”

  Alberta smiled. “Strong silent type.”

  * * *

  “The FBI did what?” the news chief roared. Due to the time difference, Craig had reached the man at his home.

  “Placed me under guard and then, when I broke and ran, shot at me,” he repeated, cutting the retelling down a bit.

  “I’m talking to our legal department as soon as we hang up, Craig. This is a goddamn outrage.”

  “It’s just a few rogue agents, I’m thinking. So don’t start condemning the whole Bureau. Hell, I’ve got a Bureau man with me now.”

  “You what?”

  “Yeah. He smelled a rat and wanted away from the stink.”

  “Now, you listen to me, Craig. Here’s what I want you to do . . .”

  * * *

  Lew Waters awakened to a faint buzzing sound. The first thing he thought of was a rattlesnake. Then he listened more intently and dismissed the snake thought. It sounded like ... well, someone snoring!

  What he was hearing was the very loud snoring of the exhausted Jody Hinds. He shook his buddies awake. “Listen,” he whispered. “Tell me what that sound is.”

  They listened. Jay whispered, “That’s somebody snoring.”

  “Jesus,” Pete said. “They must be camped right on top of us.” Then he frowned and was silent for a moment. He shook his head. “No. Just one man.”

  “One man?” Lew questioned.

  “Think about it. If it was more than one man, somebody would have shushed that guy by now.”

  The other men gave that some quick thought and agreed.

  “So . . . ?” Jay questioned.

  “Let’s ease over there and see what we’ve got,” Pete said.

  “Hell, why not?” Lew whispered.

  Lightning was beginning to dance across the sky now, as a raging storm was only minutes away from unleashing its fury upon this small part of the embattled wilderness area. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

  Army, Navy, and Air Force crawled out of the ravine and split up, moving silently toward the exhausted Jody Hinds. Jody, back in his military days, had been known as The Bull. He was a man who possessed enormous upper body strength and used to enjoy wrestling two or three men at a time, almost always winning. Jody was not a man to trifle with, as Army, Navy, and Air Force were about to discover.

  “Now!” Pete said, and threw himself on the sleeping form lying in a small depression under some branches. “Whoa!” Pete hollered, as he came sailing back out, a good three feet off the ground. He landed on his butt with such force he saw twinkling stars and heard little birdies singing for a few seconds.

  Lew grabbed hold of Jody’s legs and suddenly knew how it must feel to grab hold of the world’s largest and strongest boa constrictor . . . and try to maintain that grip.

  Jody gave Lt. Commander Gilmore a shot to the jaw with one huge fist that almost put the navy man out for the duration.

  After several minutes, with both sides in this mini-conflict doing a lot of cussing, slugging, biting, kicking, and hollering, the military intelligence officers finally managed to get Jody’s hands secured behind his back, tied with Jody’s belt, and the big man’s legs tied with a long piece of tent rope that Jay had brought
along.

  “Goddamn federal murderers!” Jody gasped out the words. “Sorry-assed, no-good, murdering cock-suckers!”

  Lightning cut the darkness for a second, and Pete Cooper blurted, “The Bull!”

  Jody’s gaze shifted, and he stared at the man for a moment, reason overpowering his madness. “Lieutenant Cooper?”

  “You know this ape?” Jay asked, rubbing his aching jaw.

  “Yeah. He was in my outfit. Sure. Jody Hinds. I didn’t put it all together until just now.”

  “Christ, would you look at the weapons this guy’s been carrying around,” Lew Waters said, opening two large duffle bags and staring in disbelief. The duffles were so heavy an ordinary man would have had difficulty just picking them up, much less carrying them around.

  “We’re not your enemies, Bull,” Pete said. “We’ve been ducking and dodging bullets for several days.”

  Jody started mumbling incoherently and slobbering. He tried to bite Pete.

  “He’s crazy as a road lizard,” Jay said. “Completely around the bend.”

  “I have a question,” Lew said. “Now that we have him, what in the hell are we going to do with him?”

  “Bring him along with us,” the voice sprang out of the rain and windswept darkness.

  21

  “It’s all coming apart, Max,” one of the agents who was very reluctantly aligned with him said. “Not only are the reporter and the rangers gone, but so is John Ayers.”

  Max Vernon stood silent, waiting for the man to finish.

  “You know damn well they’ll polygraph us. When we fail it, and we will, IAD will never give up.”

  “All because of a bunch of hippie trash and hermits,” another agent said bitterly.

  That agent had conveniently put out of his mind that he had been a part of attacking Sam Parish’s bunch, who, at the time, had been unarmed. That agent forgot that others just like him had attacked the peaceful cabin of Jody Hinds and killed his wife and her sister and her sister’s boyfriend. That agent forgot that Kevin Carmouche and the other families they attacked had broken no laws, unless defending oneself was against the law. That agent, and the others like him, either could not or would not understand that this was big government gone completely out of control. There had never been a proper symmetry of checks and balances within the enforcement agencies of the federal government. Now that imbalance was coming home to roost.

  “There is a way out of this,” Max said, thinking fast. Then he laid it out, slowly and carefully.

  “Oh, Jesus Christ, Max!” an agent said, after Max had detailed his plan. “No. No, man. No.”

  “It’s either that or prison,” Max replied. “And you know what will happen to us in prison.”

  There were some forty hard-core agents left who had been part of the original bunch who attacked the survivalist camp and the homes of the hippies and Jody Hinds. The others who had taken part in those triple travesties of justice were either dead, killed by the mercenaries or by Jody Hinds (who had been quite busy doing just that), or they had bowed out and joined teams in the field, after vowing to keep their silence.

  “We’ve got Stingers,” another agent spoke up.

  “How the hell did we get Stingers?” he was asked.

  “They’re mine,” the agent said. “Never mind how I got them. We can bring down Hank’s chopper with one, and that will be that. Goodbye Hank and Bitch Carol. Blame the shoot-down on Sam Parish’s bunch.”

  “Good, good!” Max said. “I like that.”

  “At the same time the chopper goes bang, we hit what’s left of the camp and take out Augello and his people,” Marty Stewart said. “We know that spic and those in his team are solidly behind Hank Wallace.”

  “Right,” Max said. “Good. Now let’s work it out.”

  * * *

  “Coming in!” Darry called to the camp. “I’ve got a crowd with me.”

  It was after midnight; the rain had ceased, but the night was as black as sin from the low-hanging clouds that covered the area.

  Fires were built up and fresh coffee brewed. The entire camp was up, listening to Rick Battle and Alberta Follette tell their stories.

  “Incredible,” Hank said, when the rangers had finished recounting the events.

  “We hadn’t done nothing,” Jody said, slipping out of his madness into a moment of lucidity. “Nothing. I haven’t used dope since ’Nam. I sure as hell don’t grow none nor manufacture any. I don’t think I’ve broken a law in years. I don’t poach. The federal cock-suckers just opened fire. They shot my wife in the face. Blew her brains all over the wall.” Jody started howling like a wild animal, thrashing around on the ground, snarling and gnashing his teeth, kicking and fighting his bonds.

  “Inspector,” the agent handling the radio called. “Jack Speed, Kathy Owens, and the schoolteacher are now in the hospital. Jack and the teacher are in the operating rooms now. Kathy was given a sedative and is resting comfortably.”

  “That’s good,” Hank said.

  “But something is really fouled up, Inspector,” he said a few minutes later. “I can’t get through. I think we’re being jammed.”

  “Jammed?” Carol asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. And the dish is missing. I can’t bounce off satellite.”

  “I want a head count right now!” Special Agent Augello said. “Sound off.”

  One man was missing.

  “Interesting,” Hank mused softly. “Max planted one of his people in your team, Will.”

  “Looks like it.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Max’s game is over. We’ve got a chopper coming in to take us out at first light.”

  “Don’t get on it,” Darry spoke. “This Max person has got to be getting desperate by now. And choppers are easy to bring down.”

  “That is something to think about,” Carol said.

  “Yes,” Hank agreed. “Unfortunately.”

  “Break camp and move out,” Darry suggested. “I damn sure intend to clear out of here. Build up the fires and pretend as if we’re all going to sleep. Then one by one, ease out of camp. I know a place.”

  “I’m going to blow the lid right off of this atrocity,” Stormy said. “You are witnessing a changed person.”

  “It’s about time,” Ki said with a smile.

  * * *

  As with so many hastily conceived cover-ups, by dawn, Max found himself with thirty-five people who would stick by him. An hour later, that number was down to twenty-five as the major networks broke the story and the American people sat at the breakfast nooks and in their dens over coffee and listened to the stunning news that several federal government enforcement agencies had attacked and killed and wounded innocent people and then tried to cover it up. They watched and listened as Craig Hamilton told of being roughed up and shot at. They took in his bruised face where Max and others had hammered on him. By noon, the damning film of the attack on the survivalist camp was on the air, followed by Dr. Ray Collier, Karen Collier, Kevin Carmouche, and his family and friends. Then came Rangers Battle and Follette, telling of being roughed up and locked up by federal agents. Then the schoolteacher had her bitter comments to make in front of the cameras, and certain individuals in Washington cringed at her statements.

  Then the cameras showed the shot-up cabins of Kevin and Todd and Vince and Jody, and you could almost hear the groans coming from in and around the nation’s capital.

  On through the day and into the night it went, and things were so jumbled and confused in that area of the Idaho wilderness, with outposts and roadblocks being very quickly brought down and the agents vanishing like smoke, Sam Parish and his followers were forgotten until it was too late. Parish and the remaining mercenaries slipped out. Max Vernon found himself facing about two dozen different felony counts, and he and fifteen of his rogue agents slipped away into the night, all of them now wanted fugitives and all heavily armed.

  Stormy looked around for Darry; but she really didn’t expect to find him, an
d she was not disappointed. At dawn, she went back to his cabin. The cabin felt deserted. She knew that Darry and Pete and Repeat were gone.

  “Damn!” she said.

  Back at the ranger station, she asked Rick, “Do you think he’ll be back?”

  “Who?” Rick asked innocently.

  “Darry Ransom. Dammit, Rick! You know who I mean.”

  “I never heard of him,” the ranger said.

  * * *

  Miles north of the Salmon River, Darry sat with George Eagle Dancer at a rest stop. Pete and Repeat had been fed, watered, and were now back inside the camper shell on Darry’s pickup truck, safely out of sight.

  “What are you going to do now, George?” Darry asked.

  “Lay low for a time. But I am through with war. I have saved many thousands of dollars over the bloody years... more than enough to see me through to the grave. But you, now, that is quite another matter. You realize that Max Vernon and the other agents who went along with his scheme will be seeking revenge, as will Sam Parish and probably those men I came into the area with. And don’t forget Robert Roche; he will never give up his hunt for you.”

  Darry smiled. “I’ve been chased for seven centuries, George. I wouldn’t know how to act if somebody wasn’t after me.”

  “When will it ever end, my friend?”

  Darry sighed. “I don’t know. Someday, surely.”

  “We have been listening to the news on radio, and watching the television at night in our motel rooms; it’s very strange that your name has not been mentioned.”

  “Stormy will never give up her hunt for me. That is a very determined woman. But there are other, stranger things about this. The government is remaining silent about any charges other than those placed against Max Vernon and his hard-core bunch. And I don’t understand that. Big government is almost always very vindictive. Something is going on. I just don’t know what.”

  * * *

  “Cutting through all the BS,” Dr. Ray Collier said bluntly, “you want a deal, is that it?”