Shortly after the Chevy had rolled up, an SUV appeared and followed the same track towards the mill. He was startled to see a man and a woman wearing FBI jackets emerge from the vehicle. Kane found himself silently bemused by their misguided direct approach. He would have expected them to demonstrate similar methods to those of the two warriors, taking a more oblique route. Perhaps the federal agents had become seduced by what they believed to be true, as opposed to taking the more sceptical, and therefore more circumspect, path.
The chaotic action that followed took place quickly and seemingly randomly at first. The dynamics of that changed the moment the warriors became involved. The grenades launched over the concrete building into the area devoid of structures were unexpected, but Kane guessed they were intended as a diversion aimed at drawing attention to the centre of the plot, whilst the men gained entry from the rear of the building. Shortly afterwards, the unmistakable sound of automatic gunfire and the sight of men running from the building left Kane in no doubt.
This changed things. He knew for certain now that the sawmill had to be the place in which Jackson was being held. Kane’s respect for the two warriors did not allow him to contemplate the Englishmen not achieving their objective in rescuing the man. Though confident in his own abilities, Kane was devoid of ego. He believed that if the warriors emerged from the battle with their prize, then Jackson was lost to him.
Kane cursed into the gentle breeze, pulled out his cell and made a call he did not wish to make.
31
As I stepped across the threshold I heard rapid bursts of automatic gunfire. I knew that had to be Terry already engaging the enemy. I ducked my head left and right. Other than a now torn and shattered stud framework of wood and broken plasterboard at the far end to my left, the remainder of the building was a single, cavernous room.
A handful of prison-style bunk beds lay scattered across the dusty concrete floor, the olive-green spray job over the metal now chipped and pitted, sagging mattresses limp, torn, and patterned with little islands of stains. In the far corner to my right sat two figures. Both were hooded and wearing only boxer shorts, each sitting on their own wooden three-legged stool. Their hands and ankles were bound with thick cord, but the pair thrashed around on their seats, and in hearing their muffled cries of alarm and terror, I knew they had to be gagged beneath their hoods. Over on the far side of what I now realised had been a block of sleeping quarters, Terry was crouching over a prostrate figure wearing a leather jacket and blue denims.
I inched my way closer, all the while staring down the barrel of the M-16 and ready to go. Terry turned his head, raised a clenched hand once more. ‘Four men,’ he said. ‘Two inside, two just outside. I put one down, the other got out but I think I winged him.’
I could still hear gunfire, so I assumed that the three remaining opponents were busy fending off an assault from the far end of the site as well. They were now caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place. I glanced back at the men sitting in the corner. The room we were in was huge, with only empty space where doors and windows used to be, but still it reeked with the acrid combined odour of fear, sweat, urine, vomit, and excrement. The only thing missing was the coppery stench of blood, which I took to be a positive thing.
‘What about them?’ I said to Terry.
‘Cut them free. Tell them to head back over the ridge and find the Jeep. We’ll catch them up. I want to snatch up at least one of those blokes outside and find out what the fuck is going on.’
‘You don’t want to cut and run?’
‘No. We do that we free Vern for today, but we’ll never know if or when he’ll be safe in the future.’
I nodded. It was the right move, not that he needed my approval. Terry stood upright and headed towards the doorway. He fired off a couple of bursts as he moved. I ran across to the writhing figures in the corner.
‘Take it easy,’ I called out as I approached. ‘We’re here to help.’
I yanked off the hoods. The pair blinked hard at the intrusion of light into their dark world. I recognised Vern Jackson immediately.
‘You Bruce Kelper?’ I said to the other one, wrestling with his gag. He nodded as he spat and used his tongue to clear his mouth and moisten his lips.
After repeating my actions on Vern and cutting their bonds free of their hands and ankles, I took a knee right in front of them. As more gunfire announced itself outside the building, both men jerked and ducked instinctively.
‘Listen to me,’ I said, my voice flat and even. ‘We came looking for you, Vern. We have you both now, and you are safe. Tell me, is your clothing anywhere nearby?’
Vern pointed to the tattered partition at the opposite end of the building. ‘In there, I think. Close by the sleeping bags and other supplies they gave us.’
‘Okay, good. Now, you both need to get down there, put on as much as you can as quickly as you can.’ I pointed over at the back door through which Terry and I had entered. ‘Then you head out that way. You go straight up the ridge and back down the other side. Move around the hillside back towards the road. Before you get to it you’ll spot a silver Jeep. Vern, Chelsea is waiting for you inside. Go now. We won’t be more than a couple of minutes behind you.’
The pair nodded as if one. Then Vern widened his eyes and said to me, ‘Who are you? Who sent you?’
‘Your uncle sent me. Now go, and wait for us where I told you to. Don’t even think about running off. It’s cold, it’s snowing, and there’s only mile after mile of desert waiting for you out there. Believe me, we’re your only way out of here alive.’
I turned as they stood and started running across the concrete floor. I was cold, so I could only imagine how they must feel. Their pale bodies were almost blue in tone. I made my way across to the doorway to the front. It was all still going off outside. I peeked around the corner and saw Terry squatting behind a stack of rotten lumber. A couple of yards further out lay the motionless figure of a large man lying flat on his face. Blood bubbled from a jagged wound in his neck, pooling quickly around the head. I came low out of the doorway and hurried across to Terry’s position. A single shot came my way but it slammed harmlessly against the concrete wall a couple of yards high and wide. As I scrambled for shelter I caught a glimpse of a man wearing a dark blue sweater clasping a pistol in front of his face. I stopped dead and got off a triple-tap, at least one of which found its target as the man first dropped his weapon and then, knees buckling, staggered backwards and stumbled to the ground.
‘Don’t know where the other one is,’ Terry said as I joined him behind the protective barrier of dark old bricks of wood four inches thick. ‘I’m not sure if anyone knows who or what they are shooting at out there, but I don’t want to leave things as they are.’
From the corner of my eye I spotted a fleeting movement. It vanished swiftly behind the corner of the brick-built storage area. ‘Cover me and wait for me,’ I said. I did not stop to listen for a response.
I flew out from behind the lumber as fast as my legs would carry me. No one shot at me this time as I pounded my feet on the snow-covered soil and hurled myself into the red wall of the building. Pausing only to take a couple of breaths, I skirted along the side and peeked around the corner. About thirty yards away, a man in a dark suit was running towards the wide-open mouth of the mill. As I saw him I heard a shot, followed by another couple of rapid bursts. They sounded distant, and I got the impression none of them were aimed at either me or the figure I was chasing. I ran on in the ungainly manner resulting from carrying my automatic rifle in both hands across my chest.
It was not a pretty shuffle, but it was effective. Clumps of snow flew up in the wake of my boots as I scuttled forward, my eyes barely straying from my prey.
The suited man blew through an open doorway and disappeared into the darkness of the mill’s wooden guts. Moments later I did the same. There was only way to go and that was up a flight of wretched-looking stairs with several treads missing. It lo
oked for all the world as if a sneeze might bring them down, but the man ahead of me must have used them so I did not stop to think twice.
I charged upwards and on the landing above stopped to recce my surroundings. Above the sound of my own heavy breathing I heard the clattering of fast, heavy footsteps racing over floorboards away to my left. The internal walls were inconsistent and many boards were missing, but through the gaps I could see the man fleeing ahead of me. I powered on after him, sucking air into my lungs, grateful for all the fitness training I had done back in Scotland.
I sped past an opening which led onto the long and broken dry log flume we had spotted earlier. I could still hear the thudding of leather shoes on wood, but I ducked my head out to peer along at the framework jutting out of the mill like a jagged finger pointing the way home. I pulled back inside and continued on the way I had been heading. Slamming through another opening where I presumed a door had once stood, I could see we had entered another part of the building. The floor sloped upwards in a long tunnel until another opening led me out onto a massive square platform which was enclosed only on two sides, with no roof whatsoever.
It was also empty.
Snow continued to fall hurriedly, which made the boards beneath my feet more perilous. About to head across to an opening on the far side, I caught a flash of something in my right peripheral vision. I glanced down and across, and there was the man I had been chasing. He had ducked beneath the platform and was now descending the external wall using the crossbeams to stand on as he levered himself down. I raced after him, but as I neared the centre of the floor I felt something shift beneath my weight and in a horrendously loud crack of snapping timber the boards gave way and I plunged straight through them.
The fall felt timeless, like Alice tumbling down her rabbit hole. In reality it lasted little more than a second, but I was conscious of an exhilarating weightlessness. It felt like flying rather than plummeting, as if I, rather than gravity, was in control of my descent. That notion was soon made disproved when I hit the floorboards beneath the hole I had created with a heavy thump that forced the air from my lungs. My head bounced twice on a solid floorboard, which groaned and creaked and gave a little under my back. I was staring straight up as the snow cascaded down upon me, together with a spray of dust that had erupted like a mushroom cloud when I came to rest.
I gasped and sucked in some more air. My head swam, and for a few seconds I felt as if I had been drawn into one of those cartoons Terry and I had mentioned, stars fluttering around me like an ever-circling constellation. Sharp pain like the wound from a blade spread out across my shoulders and deep in the pit of my back. The floorboards on the ground floor were clearly more solid and sprung than those which had collapsed beneath my feet, and hitting them that hard was sending shockwaves through my entire nervous system and cramping my muscles in fierce spasms.
Only when my head cleared was I aware of a vague shape, tall and thin, seeming to emit an incandescent glow in the pale light that cast itself from the dull sky above and through the seams in the exterior walls around me. The indistinct figure moved closer, soaking up the meagre daylight as it drew closer. I blinked away some double vision, and immediately wished I had not bothered.
The man I had been chasing stood over me. He looked down into my eyes for a moment, and then raised a gun and pointed it straight at my forehead. I saw his trigger finger twitch and start to stroke the metal. I flashed back to the moment in the swimming pool, and knew I could not get that lucky again.
When it came, the gunfire was shockingly loud. I stared up at the man, wondering if he had missed me deliberately or if he was simply the worst shot in the entire world. Something warm and wet dripped down on me. I felt it splash against my face. And then the narrow figure fell backwards, hit the floor with a rippling clatter, and was still.
‘Goddamnit!’ someone said in a harsh, guttural tone. I heard the anguish but did not recognise the voice. I raised myself up on my elbows and turned my head to look behind me. There in the shadows, blinking rapidly in the snowfall, tears spilling from his eyes, stood the county sheriff. Crozier removed his white Stetson hat, hung his head so far down that his chin touched his chest, and allowed the gun to slip from his grasp and fall to the floor where it bounced and skittered away on the dull wooden surface.
Pain pulling at me and threatening to cramp my muscles tighter still, I sat up all the way, managing to clamber unsteadily to my feet. I stepped across to the man I had chased and who had been about to kill me. I kicked his gun away, but did not need to check for a pulse. His wide-eyed, vacant expression, shredded hole above his left cheek, and the pool of blood spreading out from beneath his head, told its own story. I turned and looked at the sheriff. He was slapping his hat against his thigh and shaking his head back and forth, cursing beneath his breath.
‘Nineteen years,’ he muttered without looking up. ‘Nineteen goddamned years. All for nothing.’
I had no idea what he was talking about. I had no idea how he had come to be there. I was just so happy to see him. ‘Thank you,’ I said, my chest heaving and my head still reeling a little. ‘You saved my life.’
Right then I heard the scrape of a boot, and twisted my head to face the direction the sound had come from. Terry was making his way over to us, eyes surveying the scene before him. ‘What happened here?’ he asked.
I looked up at the gaping maw in what had been my floor but was now my ceiling. ‘I came through there. The bloke I was chasing got the drop on me. Sheriff Crozier here dropped him instead.’
Terry nodded. His eyes met mine and I felt the relief flow between us. ‘Sheriff,’ he said, rifle slung carefully between his arms. ‘Before we get into explaining all this, you need to know a few things. My friend and I have been tracking down a young man who went missing in Nevada. Turns out he was with two other people. We have them, all three. I can take you to them, but it’s a bit of a steep climb up and over the ridge and then a fair walk around to where we’re parked up. If you feel the need, you can come with us. I’ll understand why. But we are not the bad guys here, and I’m happy to meet you back up on the road at the entrance to the mill. I have to tell you, though, other than this man you killed and several others who were holding the men we were looking for, there are five others unaccounted for. Two of them are thugs from Reno, two others arrived here in a black SUV – one of whom I think was a woman – and somewhere out there I think a Native American man is watching and waiting. I don’t know their roles in this, but my guess is we’re all after the same thing.’
Crozier took a few deep breaths, replaced his hat as if he considered it unworthy of his position to discuss lawful matters without wearing it, and looked between us for a couple of seconds. He took a step, stooped to pick up his pistol and holstered it with a look of both disgust and embarrassment on his face.
‘I know all of them,’ he said, his voice low and bitter. ‘The two hoodlums are also hunting one of the men you apparently rescued here today, and that’s Vern Jackson. The two in the SUV are FBI. Those four got involved in their own exchange of gunfire, though you probably know better than me what set all that off. As for the Native American, I know who he works for and I have a fair idea that he is also on the trail of Mr Jackson. I can’t speak as to why. Now, I don’t rightly know what triggered this whole hurricane of unlawfulness, but I aim to talk with Mr Jackson in order to find that out.’
‘Sheriff,’ I said, wincing as I stretched out the muscles in my back and shoulders. ‘We came to New Mexico to find Vern. We found him. If he’s done anything wrong, then what becomes of him, lawfully and legally, well that’s your territory. We simply needed to locate him and make sure he was safe. He is now, and he will be when we hand him over to you.’
Crozier nodded. Hooked both hands into his belt. ‘All right, then. I need to check on those two agents out there. Meet me up at the entrance.’
‘Thank you for trusting us. But you need to be aware that we think friends of th
ese men will be here shortly, looking to collect them and return them to Roswell for the evening.’
‘Okay. You see them first, you’ll stop them from driving down here?’
‘We will.’
‘Then if I reach the entrance first, I’ll do the same.’
I nodded at Terry and we turned to leave. I could see the sheriff was in a mild state of shock, and although I wanted to express more of my gratitude to him for having saved my life, I knew time was trickling away for all of us here. Without another word we made our way back across the site, maintaining vigilance all the while. We had cleared our targets, and now we were aware that two of the unexpected arrivals were friendlies, but for all we knew both Barclay and Garcia, as well as our follower, were still out there somewhere. I had neither the time nor the inclination to detour in order to see who had lived and who had died, and as Terry marched ahead of me without mentioning anything, it was my guess that he was equally uninterested.
For the first time I caught sight of the some of the damage caused by the six grenades I had launched. The small craters they had produced were still smouldering, with a couple of small fires flickering nearby. But one of the first two blasts had caused a smaller wooden structure to catch light, and it was now blazing and crackling and spitting, belching thick black smoke, flames spearing out towards its closest neighbour. I worried that the whole place might go up. I felt bad that a local landmark might be razed to the ground by my actions.
As I rounded the central concrete building, Terry was waiting for me, and I saw that the grey SUV was still in place. On my way back it had briefly crossed my mind that Vern and Bruce, once they had found their clothes, might also have located the car keys and driven away whilst Terry and I were otherwise engaged. Either the keys had not been there, or the pair had simply done as they were told. Terry and I sped past the vehicle, and dug our heels in as we trudged back up the hillside. I was still feeling the effects of the fall through the floorboards, but I shook it off. Whatever aches and pains I was feeling right now were so much better than taking the bullet that had been coming my way.
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