Alaskan Wolf

by Linda O. Johnston

  So—could he distract these three by setting them against one another? Unlikely, as between father and daughter. And daughter and possible lover Lemon.

  Emil Charteris against Andy Lemon? Maybe. Emil wielded a mean ulu. But he wasn’t waving it around now. Instead, he’d retreated into the kitchen area and stood by the sink.

  Patrick wished he knew more about the rest of this cabin. There was a closed door to their right. It must lead at least to a bathroom. A bedroom, too? Most likely, since there was no bed in here.

  His backpack remained near the door where they’d come in.

  He ached to get this group under his control by unleashing his wildest self, but that might be impossible.

  Still, he’d test things.

  “So being a piano playing in Nowhere, Alaska, acts like a chick magnet, Andy?” he asked casually. “I used to plunk out a few tunes on the keyboard. Maybe I should try it. Especially when being a loser in hand-to-hand combat doesn’t matter.”

  “Shut up.” Andy had pulled a battered chair from beneath a small table near the kitchen and planted himself in it, massaging his wrist. He was leaving it to Carrie and Emil, using their smaller handgun to control their captives, including Jeremy.

  “Well, with all those women after you at Fiske’s, and I see now that married lady Carrie’s among them—I’m impressed.”

  “I said—” Andy began, scraping his chair against the floor as he stood.

  “I know what you’re trying to do, Patrick,” Carrie said, “and it won’t work. You don’t know anything about how things are between… Andy and me. Or about what Jeremy thinks about it. Or anything else. So just keep your mouth shut.”

  Patrick caught Mariah’s gaze. She, too, seemed to tell him to stay quiet. He shot her a brief, grim smile that she didn’t mirror.

  “You’re right,” he said to Carrie. “But I assume Andy’s just a fling to you.” Interesting, that she had hesitated on Andy’s name. Why? “That’s obviously all you are to him, judging by the way ladies are all over him at Fiske’s when you’re not around. I’m jealous. I want lessons.”

  “You’re making a lot of noise for a man whose life’s in danger,” Emil said. “Why don’t you just keep your mouth closed?”

  “And here I assumed you’d want your daughter to know the truth about her lover.”

  Emil waved the ulu. “He’s not her—”

  “Keep quiet!” Andy shouted, propelling himself from the chair toward them. His fist connected with Patrick’s jaw.

  Fortunately, the guy’s punch was as wimpy as his appearance so it didn’t hurt much, but Patrick used the opportunity to grab the guy, turn him and twist an arm around his throat.

  But Carrie pressed the pistol to the side of Mariah’s skull. “Let him go, you bastard,” she hissed, “or I’ll shoot her.”

  Damn. If she’d threatened Patrick that way, it wouldn’t matter much. Oh, yeah, there’d be some pain, but he could only be killed by silver bullets and he doubted that was the composition of their ammo. But she had threatened Mariah instead.

  Patrick released Andy, stepped back. The piano player knelt on the floor, holding his neck and choking.

  “Austin, darling, are you all right?” Carrie whispered, kneeling beside him without directing the firearm away from Patrick.

  “Fine,” the guy gasped. “Now, shoot him.”

  She seemed to consider this, and glared at Patrick. He held up his hands in surrender, half hoping she’d try. He could pretend to be mortally wounded, then catch them off guard. But if she shot him, she might also shoot Mariah.

  He still needed to take control of the situation. And to achieve that, he might need to act like a regular human being.

  He tried to put on a scared, submissive look. Carrie seemed a bit crazed—crazed enough to kill what she assumed was a normal unarmed man in cold blood?

  Apparently not. Patrick felt a modicum of relief as she said, “I can’t just kill him that way, but we’ll take care of him later. Out on the ice, like we talked about.”

  “You’re too soft,” Andy yelled, then started coughing again.

  Patrick took the opportunity to sit back on the couch beside Mariah, to demonstrate his compliance—however unwilling.

  And as Carrie bent over the choking piano player again, the gun wavering in a way that made Patrick damned nervous about Mariah’s safety, he realized what he’d just heard.

  Carrie had called the punk on the ground “Austin.”

  He had heard that name recently.

  And suddenly everything that had been happening around Great Glaciers National Park seemed to make sense. His nonscientific investigation might be about to succeed even better than Alpha Force had initially anticipated. Assuming he could end this standoff.

  How the hell could he do that?

  Well, one step at a time. He needed to confirm his suspicions first.

  Mariah stiffened as Patrick whispered into her ear. “I’m going to buy us a little time. And things are about to get interesting.”

  What was he talking about? How could he—

  “So, Austin,” he said, “why don’t you explain why you’ve been blowing up some of your own mines down in the lower forty-eight? I’m really curious.”

  Austin? Mines? Mariah knew Patrick hadn’t been frightened into madness, but this sounded awfully strange.

  Andy Lemon was again seated at the scarred table across the room. But as he stopped coughing and glared at Patrick, he was definitely no longer the pale, meek piano player Mariah had seen so often at Fiske’s. His shoulders pulled back, his jaw jutted and his formerly pale complexion turned almost florid.

  “Who the hell are you talking to, dog-man?”

  Mariah blinked. Could he possibly know what Patrick really was?

  “I’m talking to you, Austin DeLisio,” Patrick replied. “And you know I work at the dogsled ranch? I didn’t think someone as exalted as you would even take notice of someone lowly like me. I’m flattered. But you’ve been spending a lot of time around here lately under an alias and playing the piano, despite all the chaos going on at your mines. Does that mean you’re aiming your sights in a different direction?”

  Andy—Austin?—stood and swaggered toward Patrick, who didn’t move. Andy now had the pistol, which he had taken from Carrie, and he wagged it back and forth as he approached.

  Mariah wished she could get to her purse, which Carrie had taken. She wanted her cell phone, to call for help. Plus, she’d love to secretly take pictures of what was going on, and a digital recording. Harold would love that.

  And if nothing else, it could be evidence of what had happened here, if Patrick and she weren’t around to tell anyone.

  But that was not likely to happen.

  “I want to know who you really are, Worley,” Austin said, confronting Patrick.

  “You’ve got me pegged. I’m Patrick Worley, musher. And how’m I doing about nailing you? You’re Austin DeLisio, owner of a bunch of mines and head of an association of major mine owners. But why are you hiding out here—so it won’t look like you’re involved with the chaos your peons are causing in the mines in the lower forty-eight? And what are you doing that makes the glaciers fall apart?”

  “You think you’re so smart?” Whoever he was, the man sneered. “I’ve had you checked out. You’re nobody, dumped from the military with a dishonorable discharge and barely able to make a living here as a…or is all of this just a cover?” His last words came out as if he’d suddenly experienced a revelation. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re still associated with the military or some damned government group, and you’re here to find out about the glaciers.” The man pointed the gun right at Patrick’s face. “And I made it easy for you, didn’t I, damn it?”

  “Easy? I don’t think so. It’s taken me longer than I’d hoped to figure out this much. And tell me one more thing—why did you kill my buddy Shaun Bethune?”

  Austin’s fury was almost tangible. Mariah was certain now that
Patrick had identified the man correctly, although she still didn’t understand a lot of their exchange. His gun hand trembled as if it was a separate entity from the rest of him, unsure whether to shoot or strike Patrick where he was most vulnerable.

  “You want details, you government SOB? I’ll give you details.”

  “What the hell is he talking about?” Emil yelled at the same time, dashing from the kitchen area.

  “Nothing, Dad. Stay out of this.” Carrie grabbed her father by the arm and attempted to pull him to the other side of the room, but Emil wouldn’t budge. “Austin, please keep calm. And quiet. You don’t need to tell them anything.”

  “Oh, but I want to.” His grin was suddenly huge and evil, not at all the nerdy little smile of the bespectacled guy playing the piano. “First thing, you’re right. I took care of your buddy Shaun since he was not only too nosy, but he was too smart. He was asking a lot of pointed questions around the bar. Sounded like he was already starting to equate the mousy, invisible little piano player with who I really am. Had to take his computer, too, just in case the information was stored there.”

  Mariah felt Patrick’s muscles clench beside her, and she grabbed his arm, keeping him from doing anything foolish—like rushing the man with the gun.

  “But I figured you out anyway, so you killed him for nothing, you bastard.” Patrick’s voice was low and menacing, and wordlessly promised retaliation.

  “Could be.” Austin didn’t sound particularly concerned. “At least no one saw me come in that night. Didn’t even pay attention to that barking dog I assume was yours. Probably barks all the time, right?”

  Patrick didn’t respond, so Austin continued, “Pretty smart, wasn’t I? I even cleaned up any trace of myself with some nice, powerful disinfectant I brought along so none of the dogs would be able to ID me by scent.”

  “Yeah, smart,” Patrick said so disparagingly that Mariah feared Austin would attack him.

  But the guy apparently enjoyed describing what he considered to be his brilliance. “Want to know the rest? I’d figured out a great way to corner the world’s market for copper and nickel. Other metals, too. Valuable stuff. Some can be sold to utility companies for conducting electricity, some to the government for use in ordnance, whatever. There’s already a shortage of lots of metals that are in abundance here, on the sea floor, hidden in manganese nodules. That’s pretty complicated, and I don’t want to take the time to explain it all to you, but, trust me. Those nodules are worth millions. Billions! I have to do a little blasting, sure, and that doesn’t sit well with those glaciers. Big as those suckers are, they’re fairly fragile, full of cracks these days. I didn’t cause that, so their coming apart isn’t really my fault. So, you happy now, Worley? You’ve got your answers.”

  “Yeah, I got my answers. You’re ruining your competitors by blowing up their mines, and extracting valuable minerals yourself by destroying what nature took millennia to form in this area. You’re one fine, upstanding citizen, DeLisio.”

  “Who cares, as long as I get away with it.” He grinned again. “Too bad you won’t be around to find out how easy it is for me to weep and wail over what’s happening to my friends, while I rake in all that money. In fact, we’ll work it out so you and your lady friend, here, get to view one of those glacier breaks firsthand—again—just before you’re tossed into the ice-cold water and drown. Assuming you’re not crushed on the way down, of course. So sad—this time. I know you helped her escape before, twice. I was watching all visitors up there on the glaciers during the daytime. Knew who was there and when. Why do you think the timing was so perfect?”

  Mariah squirmed. She’d gone through too many close calls like that to believe she would survive another one, especially now, when Austin was ready to kill them anyway. But what could Patrick and she do?

  She knew one thing she’d love to try. If she could somehow help Patrick shift into wolf form, he’d at least be able to run away, get help.

  Too late for her? Most likely. But it might save many more lives—and give Austin DeLisio and his apparent lover Carrie the possibility of being prosecuted for their crimes.

  But how could she do that?

  For one thing, she could keep Austin bragging and not acting. “I still don’t understand how you’ve been able to mine those—what are they?—undersea manganese nodules without detection. How do you get to them?”

  “Oh, now I’ve got the reporter curious?”

  Mariah didn’t attempt to correct him by reminding him that she was a nature writer now. Even so, she’d love to thrill her boss Harold and write a genuine tell-all news story about this—assuming they survived.

  “It’s like this, Mariah. The manganese nodules filled with all those sexy metals were formed by ancient volcanic eruptions. These volcanoes are dormant now, but I cause my own nonvolcanic eruptions by blowing up the ocean floor. The explosions are noisy, and I mask them as much as I can by broadcasting other decoy sounds, like orca calls. I’m sure that excited a nature enthusiast like you, didn’t it?”

  “And you used the submersible Emil leased to do that?” She aimed a glance at the glaciologist. Emil was clearly enraged, but Carrie kept him still, near the far side of the room, by hanging on to his arm.

  “Well, sure. In fact, that’s why I told Carrie to have him rent one. He thought his darling daughter was just getting even more enthused about his work here and offering helpful suggestions.” By now, DeLisio looked almost relaxed, his legs crossed as he leaned against the kitchen table, the gun no longer aimed directly at Patrick or her.

  Could she do anything to give Patrick the time and space he needed?

  “You bastard!” Emil said. “And Carrie—I don’t believe he talked you into all this.” He tried to yank his arm away from his daughter, but she held on.

  “You just don’t understand, Dad. Austin and I—well, he’s really special. You’ll see, once you get to know him.”

  “And you know him? I mean really know him? You’re married, Carrie, and Jeremy’s a good man. How could you do this to him—let alone fooling me this way? That damned little submarine hasn’t been of much use to me at all, and now I learn exactly why you talked me into it. This is terrible, Carrie. I don’t understand, but at least I can make things right, even if I can’t talk some sense into you. Can I?” Emil’s stricken face, already even more drawn than normal, lightened just a little.

  “You still don’t get it, Dad.” Carrie’s voice sounded sad. “This is for the future—ours and our country’s. You’ll see.”

  Patrick snorted. “So you’ve deluded yourself into thinking there’s some patriotism involved here? Get real, Carrie.”

  “Oh, she is,” Austin said. “It’s her father who’s out of sync with reality. But he’ll get it soon. Right, Emil?”

  The chill in Austin’s voice caused Emil to look toward him and grow pale. “Are you threatening me?” he asked softly.

  “Smart man,” Austin said.

  “What are you talking about?” Carrie demanded. “You won’t hurt my father, will you, Austin?”

  “Of course not, darling,” he responded. But there was nothing convincing in his tone, even as he put an arm out. Carrie left her father’s side in response to the invitation, and Austin pulled her close. But now Emil, too, was a potential target, if Austin decided to start pulling the trigger on his gun.

  Mariah glanced at Patrick. He understood, too. But would this latest threat mean they could recruit Emil, and possibly his daughter, to help them out of this mess?

  Or did it just give Austin more impetus to kill Patrick and her right away to relieve himself of the further complication they presented?

  She needed to act. Fast.

  And was pleased as an idea began to germinate.

  Chapter 15

  Patrick’s fingers twitched as his hands felt permanently set into fists—useless appendages for the moment. He couldn’t get close enough to slug DeLisio without putting Mariah in danger of being shot
.

  He glanced longingly across the room toward where his backpack still lay abandoned near the door. They’d gone through it already, found his 9 mm semiautomatic and his cell phone, but hadn’t extracted anything else. Mustn’t have figured there was anything important left. If only…

  A sound came from beside him. He looked over to find Mariah gasping for breath. “Patrick. I’m feeling awful. I need my medicine. In your bag… Please hurry, or I’m going to be sick.”

  “What’s wrong with her?” DeLisio growled.

  “She’s had some kind of rare stomach ailment,” Patrick improvised. He knew what Mariah was doing. Could she pull it off—and get them what they needed to resolve this situation the right way? “I don’t know the name, but it’s sometimes aggravated by her nerves. If she doesn’t get her medicine, she’ll throw up all over the place. Not a pretty sight.” Too weird. He knew it. And too bizarre for a smart guy to believe. But it was the best he could come up with in an instant.

  And in support of what he’d said, Mariah started gagging beside him. Smart.

  “Look, let me get her medicine from my bag. You got a glass of water? And is the bathroom through there?” He pointed toward the door where he’d assumed there could be another bedroom.

  “Stay there!” DeLisio ordered.

  “Oh, come on, Austin,” Carrie said, her expression full of disgust. “I don’t want to see her puke all over. Or smell it, even if you make them clean it. I’ll keep an eye on them.”

  “Fine. Here, take this.” He handed her a familiar pistol: Patrick’s semiautomatic. In some ways a good thing. Patrick was certain his ammo didn’t include silver bullets—although he still doubted that the other firearm had any, either.

  But they’d have to act fast. And carefully, to ensure that Mariah didn’t get hurt. He hurried across the room, grabbed his knapsack and felt it from the outside to confirm they hadn’t taken out any necessities when he was distracted. No, there were the bottle and the light.