The Distant Echo of a Bright Sunny Day

by Patrick O'Brien

  “I think we oughta get going,” Heidi said. She had waited for Rick to run out of steam and for everyone else to say his or her part. Now, as far as she was concerned, the issue was settled. “It’s late and we’ve wasted time. Either we’re going to do this, or we’re not.”

  Rick set the pan of beans off to the side. He stood up.

  “Peewee, you got your gear?”

  “That’s affirmative.”

  “Heidi, can you shoulder that rifle okay for three miles?”

  “I brought it this far, Rick. I think I can carry it the rest of the way.”

  “Just keep switching shoulders if you get tired. Anybody else comin’?”

  Jody stood up. She wore a padded down jacket and her black beret, and her long brown hair hung loosely onto her shoulders and down her back. The M1 rifle Rick had provided hung from her shoulder; she held it in place by its leather sling.

  “Just lead the way, Rick.”

  “Carlos, you’re comin’, right?”

  Carlos got up from a small boulder he had rolled into place earlier to sit on and held up as a victory symbol the two-thousand-dollar lever action rifle he had purchased not long before. Its barrel band and brass receiver glinted in the firelight like burnished gold.

  “This baby gets its baptism of fire tonight, amigos!” he proclaimed. “It’s gonna fire the shot that’s gonna be heard around the world!”

  Peewee tapped the leather case he had earlier entrusted to Carlos and said, “That one’s already been claimed, amigo! And I got it right here. But I’ll let ya take second place.”

  “You’re on, brother! We’ll see who gets a bull’s-eye!”

  “Bad pun, Carlos.” Heidi laughed. Now that they were actually getting underway, right along with most of the others, she was happy.

  Rick looked inquiringly at Mike and Tony. He’d pegged them both as far back as Cleveland for a couple of docile pretenders, more apt than not to go along with the majority, but he wanted them to feel they were making their own decision.

  Mike took Rick’s glance as his cue.

  “What are we waiting for?” he said gamely. He’d worn a herring-bone tweed sports jacket over a crewneck sweater and a pair of Doc Marten high-tops. He had also brought along his leather driving gloves and a wool scarf. He had purchased a U.S. Army-issue .30 caliber carbine from a pawn shop, but hadn’t yet fired it.

  Tony got up and stood next to Mike.

  “You can count me, too,” he said rather dramatically. He had his camera bag slung across his chest and had zipped the front of his hooded windbreaker up to his neck. The lens in his black horn-rimmed glasses reflected the light from the fire, as did the diamond stud in his left ear.

  Rick turned to Ralph and Misty.

  “I’d say we’ve pretty well gone over it, Ralph…answered all your questions. Unless you and Misty wanna stay here and tend the fire?”

  “No, I believe it’s all been settled,” Ralph said. “We’re part of this team, Misty and I, and that’s why we’re here.”

  “Good man, Ralph. You ever had any luck with that .06?”

  Ralph smiled sheepishly.

  “I’ve never actually fired it,” he said. “And it belongs to a colleague. But I believe I can handle it.”

  “You bet! You’ll do just fine.”

  The winnowing process had come down to Mitch. But, rising up from his place next to the fire, he didn’t give Rick the chance to ask the question.

  “Does anyone seriously think that any of us would back out at this point? Come on—none of us came all this way just to chicken out at the end. We’ve all had our dark night of the soul here, but, in the end, we’re all gonna do what we came to do. Right? So, let’s go. Like Heidi said, we’re wasting time. And we’re waiting for you to lead the way, Rick. Hopefully, you can get us out there and back without getting us lost.”

  “If you get lost, I get lost. And I don’t get lost.”

  “Well, our life is in your hands then—lead the way.”

  48

  About the same time Mitch decided to head in a southwesterly direction from the table rock, Bill Hammerstein and Tom McCullers were meeting with Rick and Peewee in Art Jimson’s dining room. Art and another man, Billy Bigbones, were just finishing their business, and the discussion involving the five principals hadn’t yet started.

  “I ken haul the rest of ’em for ya, if ya like, Art. It ain’t no trouble.”

  “That’s okay, Billy. I wanna leave a few of ’em out in plain sight. They gotta have something to shoot at.”

  Billy took off his cowboy hat and scratched his head. He was a cattleman himself, and every year packed off part of his own herd to the local rail head. He was also a hunter and usually managed to tag one or two bucks every year. He had no qualms about killing animals. It was his livelihood as well as a tradition passed on to him by his ancestors, one of whom had fought at the battle of Little Bighorn. But he was mystified by, and found despicable, anyone capable of killing a cow for anything other than market purposes. When Art asked him to spend a couple of days moving cattle to another part of the ranch, he was only too happy to oblige.

  “So, ya want me to wait until tomorrow, then, to start bringin’ ’em back?”

  “I’ll have to call ya on that, Billy. Might wanna wait another day, depending on what transpires around here. I don’t want too much goin’ on all at once. These FBI boys’ll probably be milling around for a while.”

  Billy rose up heavily from the dining room chair he was sitting in. “Well, call me when you need me, Art,” he said. “In the meantime, let them terrorists know what’s what. Goddamn fools, anyway.”

  He nodded at the four men sitting at the table and went out.

  Art joined the others at the table.

  “Gentlemen,” he said to Peewee and Rick, “I believe you two are gonna deliver me from a modern-day contagion. Is that right?”

  “We got ’em most of the way here already. We just gotta make sure their resolve don’t dissolve at the last minute. I think one or two of them have had sleepless nights about the act they are about to commit.”

  “It’d be nice if they all had sleepless nights. But I just wonder how you’re gonna get ’em all out here in the dark. I’ve been up to that area of the ranch on horseback…you can cross it easy enough during daylight, but I‘m not so sure at night, especially if ya never been out there.”

  “Peewee and I made it by looking at the map and taking a compass bearing. And we got good flashlights. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Yeah, me and Rick’ll get ’em here okay. No problem there. We just gotta worry about when they do get here. The way they tell it, ’bout the only time they’ve used a rifle was at a carnival shooting gallery. And I wouldn’t trust of any of them to really know what they’re gonna do at the moment of truth. I expect one or two of them to sit it out while the rest of us take on the responsibility. Even then, I’m not sure.”

  “Quite a crew ya got there. Sounds like they’ll be lucky if they don’t shoot each other.”

  Peewee laughed.

  “I’ve had similar thoughts,” he said. “Tell ya the truth, they make Boy Scouts look like Army Rangers. Myself, I’m gonna be off by myself just in case any of them get wild. I saw it happen in the service—some idiot stands up with a question, and before ya know it, he’s pointing his rifle everywhere but downrange. The drill sergeants go crazy—they’re all over the poor bastard.”

  “Speaking of rifles, what’re you boys gonna use?”

  Peewee smiled. Everyone had a specialty: this was his.

  “I got a sweet momma with me. It’s a bolt action rifle that fires a .50 caliber shell at twenty-eight hundred feet per second. I’ve mounted it with a ten-power Stevens Ultra telescopic sight. On a crystal clear day I can strike a match head at a thousand yards. And I can hit a man taking a piss right where it hurts most. With all due respect, at a hundred yards off, them few cows you got out there have about as much chance as a cooked pork
chop in a dog kennel.”

  “What about you, Rick?”

  “I’m not the gun fancier Peewee is. But what I’ve got is very adequate for the job. It’s a sniper rifle chambered for a .300 Winchester Magnum round. It’s got what you call an intensifier sight with infrared capabilities…with enough ambient light I can probably ring your doorbell from about three hundred yards out.”

  “Whoo-eee! You boys are loaded for bear! Remind me not to get in the way! But them other folks—they got BB guns?”

  The men all laughed.

  “It sounds like they may as well have,” Bill Hammerstein volunteered. “But we got ’em some surplus M1s that have been sitting around collecting dust since they were phased out years ago. And we got a box of fresh ammo for ’em. They can each start off with a brand-new bullet apiece.”

  “I had one of them in Vietnam. Damn good rifle. But what time did you say the cavalry’s gonna get here?”

  Bill looked at his watch.

  “They oughta be landing any minute, Art. In fact, I think I hear them now…”

  Bill got up from the table and walked into the living room. He went over to the front window and peered out.

  “Yep…flying in right now…just about on time.”

  The other men came into the living room and stood alongside Bill. Art pulled back the curtain, and they all looked out at the yard.

  A helicopter, coming in low to the ground, flew as far as the parking lot, just the other side of the flagpole, and settled onto a patch of dirt and gravel. Bill and the others all went to the front door and out onto the porch. As each of four individuals descended the cargo bay, unloaded a duffel bag apiece, and, hunching over, came running toward the house, the five men on the porch went down to meet them. The helicopter pilot, seeing that everyone had safely disembarked, revved his engine and lifted off. A moment later he had sallied off to the south, over a ridge top, and out of sight.

  After Bill made introductions, Art led everyone inside.

  “The best seats in the house are usually reserved for my guests,” he said to the newcomers, motioning toward two living room couches and a couple of leather easy chairs. “So make yourselves comfortable. I sent my wife, Lila, over to her mother’s for a couple of days until this is over, but I can make a pretty fair pot of coffee and cook up some grub when the time comes. Just let me know your pleasure.”

  With coffee served up and out of the way a short time later, Art brought a chair in from the dining room and sat down by the fireplace. He had poured fresh coffee for himself, and as he sat there sipping it, he joined the conversation: “So you boys are gonna get the job done, is that right?”

  “We’ll work in teams of two,” one of the SWAT team members confirmed. “We’ll cover each of their flanks, and Bill and Tom here will take up a position somewhere to the rear. We’ve got plenty of firepower if we need it, but our main weapon otherwise is a bullhorn. We’ll use it to get their attention. If that doesn’t do it, we’ll fire warning shots. But I don’t expect it’ll come to that point.”

  “That’s right,” Bill said. “I expect they’ll come along meekly enough. At least, that’s what Rick and Peewee here seem to think. That right, Rick?”

  “That’s how I got it figured. Ain’t none of them heroes.”

  “Hell,” Peewee scoffed, “they’re really nothin’ but a bunch of wannabes. Only trouble is, they don’t know yet what they wanna be. They’re still in the formative stages, if you know what I mean. Still stuck between wanting to go big time and afraid to cut loose.”

  “Well, whether they wanna be or not, they’ve hit the big time now,” Tom said. “They’re officially on the government’s domestic terrorist hit list. In short order, they’re gonna learn the difference between being dilettantes and the genuine article.”

  “Tom’s exactly right there,” Bill agreed. “Some of the earlier stuff they got into amounted to vandalism and malicious mischief. They were sort of borderline before, but not anymore. Now they’ve definitely crossed into a dark zone.”

  “How ya gonna try ’em?” Art asked. “As criminals or terrorists?”

  “That’s outta our territory, Art. All we gotta do is bag ’em an’ tag ’em. After that, they’re somebody else’s problem.”

  Rick stood up.

  “Peewee and me better start back,” he said. “It won’t look good if we’re gone too long. But we’d like a word with you and Tom, Bill, before we go. Can we step out on the porch?”

  “Sure, Rick. What’s up?”

  “It’s about our agreement…”

  Bill and Tom glanced at each other.

  “What about our agreement, Rick? I thought we were squared away on that?” Bill said, sounding annoyed.

  “Just need to clear up a couple of things.”

  “Okay.”

  Tom and Bill both got up and excused themselves. Rick and Peewee shook hands with the others and said they were glad to have met them. Rick told Art that he’d make sure everything went down smooth, that he’d keep the damage to a minimum.

  “Yeah, well, don’t let your buddy get carried away with that Barrett,” Art said, giving Peewee a wink. “I don’t want the neighbors to think there’s a war goin’ on out here. Two or three well-placed shots oughta do the trick.”

  “I’ll hit ’em dead-center,” Peewee said. “One bullet apiece.”

  “That’d be fine, Peewee,” Bill said. “But just remember, your role is to encourage others to give up. We don’t want this to get out of hand. Once everything is under control, we’ll do the rest. I don’t want you taking any more shots than necessary.”

  “I’m copacetic on that, boss.”

  “Good.”

  The four men stepped out onto the porch, and Bill closed the door behind them.

  “Now what the fuck is this all about?” he demanded. “You got some new terms or somethin’?”

  “How you gonna handle it afterwards?” Rick looked up at him. “I mean, you’ll probably book us right along with the rest of them. But how soon afterwards are ya gonna cut us loose? We didn’t talk about that, and I personally don’t relish the idea of spending any more time locked up than I have to. And I don’t think Peewee does, either.”

  “Yeah, that’d interfere too much with my drinking schedule.”

  “What’s your best educated guess…either one of you?”

  “You need us for state’s evidence, I guess,” Rick replied. “But we’re not gonna go anywhere. We’ll hang around until it’s all over. It’s the others you want, anyway. It’s their organization. Peewee isn’t even involved, and I’ve kept my part of the bargain. I’ve done everything you asked.”

  Furrowing his brow, Bill appeared to give it some thought. After a moment, “As long as we can trust you to show up in court and testify, we’ll cut you loose right after everybody’s been separated. I don’t see that’d be a problem at all. Do you, Tom?”

  Tom put his hand on Peewee’s shoulder and, looking from one man to the other, said, “You both just gotta promise to be good, especially you, Peewee. I know you gotta streak in ya…”

  Peewee chuckled the frothy, beer-coated chuckle of the tavern habitué relishing a good joke. The waggish response implied a sort of paternalistic tolerance and understanding of his shortcomings, and had the effect of disarming any doubts he had had up until then.

  “I’m always good.” He grinned. “But from now on, I’ll be a regular model citizen. I might even start to vote.”

  “That’s the kind of thing we like to hear,” Bill said, picking up on Tom’s patter. “Maybe you’ve learned a lesson or two here…the main one being, don’t get us on your ass.”

  “I hear ya there, boss.”

  “Good. Now get the fuck outta here and show us that you can get the job done so we can all go home.”

  Rick looked at his watch.

  “Look for us between about seven-thirty, eight o’clock…Watch for the flashlights.”

  “We’ll be waitin’ for ya.�
��

  49

  “Just stay behind me and Peewee,” Rick said as they started out. “In some places, the ground slopes a bit and you might take a tumble.”

  “And watch for them prairie dog holes,” Peewee said. “I almost stepped in one earlier.”

  “How do you see prairie dog holes at night?” Tony asked querulously. Already, less than a hundred yards into it, he had stumbled twice, both times catching himself with a quick step forward. He had tried using his flashlight, but discovered at the last minute that the batteries were dead. As best he could, he stayed behind Mike, using the light from Mike’s flashlight to see his way over the terrain.

  “Ya telling me you didn’t bring any carrots as a backup?”

  “Carrots? What do carrots have to do with it?”

  “Good for your night vision. My dad used to work in the mines…every day, at the beginning of his shift, they’d hand him a carrot. Never failed—he could walk around in the dark and not bump into anything.”

  “I’m sure.”

  Peewee laughed aloud. He’d been happy ever since talking to the two FBI agents, back at the ranch, and now he and Rick were practically home free. Within the next couple of hours it would all be over, and they could start the winding-down process. He felt like a weight had been lifted, and that garrulous quality that he sometimes experienced when he was at the top of his game, full of confidence, began to emerge.

  “Ditto, when I was in sniper training,” he continued, ignoring Tony’s skepticism. “They used to feed us carrots every night for dinner. Got so goddamn tired of carrots that I stopped watching Bugs Bunny cartoons—and they were my favorite!”

  “You expect us to believe that?”

  “Scouts honor—I wouldn’t lie to ya.”

  “Shit.”