That jackknife was what he was thinking about now, sitting at the table with the gunman and Joe Ferguson and listening to the last of the thunderstorm receding into the distance. He was thinking about his knife and how easily it would cut the duct tape that was binding Ferguson’s wrists. Ferguson had been shot in the arm and had been bleeding slow but steady as the overnight hours passed, but the arm wasn’t broken and he’d kept working his wrists against the duct tape when Marconi’s man wasn’t paying attention. Nash wasn’t sure how effective Ferguson’s efforts were, but he did know the odds of escape were against them.
What would happen if Marconi died? Would Marconi’s men just shoot Ferguson and then force him to fly them out in the chopper? The minutes dragged like hours as dawn approached. The storm passed, the winds died, the rain stopped and a thick oppressive silence filled the cabin, broken only by the intermittent thrashing and moaning of the man on the bunk and the slow drip of Ferguson’s blood onto the cabin floor. Nash sat as unmoving as Ferguson, both reluctant to draw attention to themselves, both hoping for a chance to escape. Marconi’s three men had been sharing occasional sips from a flask but none showed any signs of falling asleep. As dawn crept closer, both captives knew their time was running out.
The gunman seated at the table suddenly jerked upright, raising his pistol.
“Listen,” he said, his eyes darting around. “Did you hear that?”
“Bear, probably,” Nash responded in his laconic voice. “There’s a big boar grizzly that hangs out on this mountain. Killed one of Jessie Weaver’s mares a year or so back. Grizzlies move around a lot in spring. Probably smells the blood and he’s looking for a good meal.”
The gunman glanced nervously to where Marconi lay, with the other two men seated in chairs beside the bunk. “He dead yet?”
“No, I’m not dead yet, you dumb bastard,” Marconi choked out, surprising all of them. “Get that chopper fired up. We have to get out of here before daylight. Help me up, you fools, and get Ferguson in there first. I want to be the one to push him out when we’re airborne. If it’s the last thing I ever do, I want to watch him die.”
While the two goons assisted Marconi, the gunman at the table pushed out of his chair and stood. “I hear something,” he repeated. “It’s not thunder. Something big, coming toward the cabin.”
“Better go see if it’s that big grizzly,” Nash suggested. “Fire a few shots—you might be able to scare him off long enough so’s we can make it to the chopper without being eaten alive.” As the gunman moved toward the door, Nash reached into his pocket, slipped out his jackknife, flipped open the blade and caught Joe’s eye. Joe read the message loud and clear.
It’s now or never.
* * *
DANI WAS COLD. Steam rose from her horse’s lathered shoulders and flanks. She felt the rapid spring of his rib cage between her calves as the mustang regained his breath after the steep climb. He was quiet at the moment, but she had a feeling the calm wouldn’t last. As soon as he recovered, he’d be wondering where his friends went and wanting to catch up. She unlaced the wool blanket from the back of the saddle, unrolled it and tied two of the ends around her shoulders, making a cape that she arranged over the horse’s rump, so that they both might benefit from its warmth.
The muted thunder of the running buffalo was fading. She wondered how far Badger and Charlie had already traveled. It was still murky dark but there was a glow in the eastern sky. Morning was near.
Her horse snorted and tossed his head while taking two quick steps sideways. “Easy,” she soothed. “Whoa now, easy.” But the brush of the wool blanket against his flank as he moved was enough to make him snort again in alarm and jump around in a big circle. “Easy, boy, whoa,” she soothed as she held the reins in one hand and attempted to untie the tight knot in the blanket with the other. The mustang was about to explode, but Dani couldn’t get the knot undone and didn’t dare try to pull the blanket off over her head. Should she dismount?
“Whoa, easy...” she repeated, giving up on the knot and grabbing the reins in both hands, pulling him in a big circle. He halted abruptly, threw his head back, drew a huge lungful of air and shrieked at the top of his lungs. It was a full-voiced scream of panic at being left behind by his equine companions. In spite of Dani’s tight death grip on the reins he took off like he’d been catapulted from the back of an aircraft carrier, moving in the direction Charlie and Badger had gone. In three great lunges he was traveling at warp speed, his hoofbeats sounding like machine gun fire as he sprinted down the meadow at a full gallop.
“Geronimo!” Dani cried out impulsively, inadvertently naming the mustang in that one wild moment, then she leaned over his withers, pressing herself against his neck, holding on tight to the reins and hoping he didn’t fall or they’d both be killed. Luther’s red-and-black-striped blanket floated out behind them like a pennant, the landscape blurred past and the wind stung tears from her eyes and tore the breath from her lungs. “Hang on, Joe!” she cried into the mustang’s flattened-back ears as she herself hung on for dear life, hoping beyond all hope that Joe was still alive.
* * *
THE GUNMAN HAD just stepped out of the cabin when he heard the terrible, unearthly scream from across the meadow and stopped dead in his tracks, peering nervously into the murky light. He took three quick steps, jumped off the end of the porch and rounded the corner of the cabin to look toward the source of the sounds, pistol at the ready. Whatever was coming toward him was starting to shake the ground. He was scanning for a target when something struck him hard in the neck. He staggered, whirled around and slapped his hand to the side of his neck, tearing out a very large dart. He flung it to the ground with a high-pitched scream as panicked as the one he’d just heard in the distance, then turned and plunged back toward the cabin. He charged up the last three steps and kicked the door inward just as two men charged out.
* * *
INSIDE THE CABIN, all hell had broken loose. The men trying to help Marconi outside abandoned him when both prisoners jumped up simultaneously from the table and bolted for the door. Nash slashed the tape binding Ferguson’s wrists and at the same moment jerked the cabin door inward just as it was kicked from outside. A bullet whipped past Joe’s head from behind and hit the incoming gunman just as Nash tackled him. They fell together, blocking the doorway in a tangled heap. Joe spun and charged Marconi’s man before he could fire again, hoping to give Nash time to escape. He rammed him hard enough to knock him down, but the second gunman gave him a sharp rap with the butt of his weapon that sent Joe crashing to the floor. He lay stunned, fighting for breath and thinking all was lost until he heard the whine of a helicopter engine starting up.
“You idiots!” he heard Marconi rage. “Where’s my gun? Put it in my hand, give it to me! Stop the pilot! He can’t leave without us!”
* * *
ROON SWIFTLY FED another dart into the air gun and slid the barrel up over the log, squinting through the sites. The first man had barely made it back to the cabin when the door opened inward and another man bolted out and collided with him just as a shot rang out. Both men fell but the second man got up and sprinted toward the chopper, gaining the safety of it before Roon could squeeze off a shot. Was it the pilot? He didn’t know. The man on the porch was rolling around, holding his shoulder and cursing. He’d dropped the pistol, and Roon knew he was feeling the combined effects of the tranquilizer and the bullet. Roon heard the chopper’s engine starting up. Another gunman burst out the cabin door at a dead run and Roon aimed and squeezed the trigger. This time the dart hit lower in the body. The man broke stride, pulled the dart out and flung it aside with a wild cry, then fired his pistol blindly into the woods before seemingly realizing that the man in the chopper was about to leave without him. He continued toward it and tried to open the side door.
“Stop!” the gunman shouted. “Shut it down or I’ll s
hoot!”
Roon ejected the air cartridge and fed a third dart into the rifle. The sedative wasn’t going to work fast enough. The chopper pilot was about to get plugged, but just as the gunman raised the pistol and moved to the front of the chopper, the buffalo came. The ground trembled beneath the pounding of their sharp black hooves and their mighty weight as they approached. The gunman dove beneath the chopper as the small herd swerved past the cabin and kept going toward the old Native American trace that led to the upper range.
Now what? All Roon could do was wait, and hope that tranquilizer worked fast.
* * *
BADGER CAUGHT UP with Jimmy just as the buffalo passed the cabin. Jimmy was about to dart from the cover of the woods and run to where he knew Roon was hiding behind the blow down along the creek. He gripped a bow in one hand and had a quiver of arrows slung over a shoulder. When he spotted Badger he looked relieved.
“Roon’s behind that log up there by the creek—see him?” Jimmy said, loud enough for Badger to hear him over the chopper. “He shot two men with tranquilizer darts, the ones Jessie uses for the buffalo. One of them’s lying on the porch and the other’s under the chopper, but Joe’s still in the cabin and we don’t know how many more there are.”
“All right, son,” Badger said, squeezing the boy’s shoulder. “You stay right here, you hear me? Right here. You see any of the other boys, you keep them in the woods out of sight. Wait till I tell you it’s safe, and if you don’t hear me say that, don’t come out. Stay in the woods and make your way back to the ranch. Understand?” Jimmy nodded vigorously. “These are dangerous men. They’ll kill you just as quick as look at you. Don’t even think about trying to shoot them with one of your arrows.”
He left Jimmy crouched in the safety of the woods and skirted the edge of the clearing. When he was near Roon, the boy looked over his shoulder right at him. Badger made a down gesture with his hand and Roon nodded. Badger pointed to the cabin and then to his eyes. Roon nodded again. Watch the cabin. Stay put. Understood.
Badger moved cautiously past Roon’s hiding place and upstream about fifty yards, which put him slightly above the cabin and behind the chopper. He was trying to sneak up on the man crouching under the chopper. He had just hunkered down to get the drop on the guy when the cabin door opened and a third gunman bolted out.
* * *
WEAK AND DIZZY, still dazed by the blow to his head, Joe rolled over, pushed himself into a sitting position against the wall and found himself staring into the muzzle of Marconi’s pistol from just six feet away. Marconi was being braced up by his one remaining gunman, but it was a losing battle. His knees were buckling and the pistol in Marconi’s hands shook badly as he tried to aim it at Joe. He leaned one hand on the table and shrugged off his goon. “Get out there, you stupid bastard, and stop the chopper from leaving,” he snarled. When the gunman hastily departed, Marconi focused on Joe.
“I’ll see you dead before I die,” he vowed. “You’ve been a thorn in my side for years. Years! I would have knocked you off a long time ago but Alison begged me not to, not because she loved you, but because she said Ferg needed a legitimate father.” Marconi gripped the back of the chair with one hand, while the other struggled to keep the pistol pointed at Joe. “A legitimate father!” he repeated with an ugly laugh that turned into a cough that brought blood to his lips. “Alison said you knew about us. She told me the thought of the two of us being together drove you crazy. You couldn’t stand the fact that it was me she loved. That’s why nailing me became such an obsession with you, not because I broke all your stupid laws, but because I stole your woman long before you met and married her. Even if you had managed to bag me, it wouldn’t have changed the fact that you were never the one she wanted!”
For years, Joe had been trying to bring Marconi down for all the crimes he’d committed—heading up the drug cartel, the weapon smuggling and sex trafficking—but Marconi was right. None of that held a candle to the hatred Joe felt toward him for the affair he’d had with Alison. Joe could only stare at this deranged, wild-eyed, heinous criminal and wait for him to pull the trigger while the turbulent and loveless years of his marriage with Alison, from grandiose wedding day to ugly divorce, burned like wildfire through his mind. Adrenaline flowed through him. He wanted to kill Marconi so badly that he was starting to shake.
“You dumb Irish cop,” Marconi sneered. “She was my mole, Ferguson. Your wife was my mole! She told me everything the DEA was up to. Everything! All those years she was snitching on you, and you didn’t even know it!”
Joe struggled to focus his eyes and rally his strength. “If that’s true, if she was so loyal to you, then why’d you kill her?”
Marconi’s expression changed from blind fury to blank shock. He wove on his feet and the weight of the weapon in his hand pulled his arm down to his side. “What?”
“Alison died of a heroin overdose yesterday. I figured you had your goons kill her just to get to me.”
“You’re lying.” Marconi tried to raise the pistol but his hand was shaking too badly.
Marconi staggered back two steps and collapsed into a chair at the table. “You’re lying,” he repeated, stunned. “She was just with me in Mexico. I saw her four days ago.” The pistol clattered from his hand onto the tabletop. He was staring at the wall but wasn’t seeing it. “She was fine then. She told me where I could find you. She told me your sister was getting married, where she lived. We were going to meet back in Mexico once I took care of you...”
Joe heard a soft scraping noise on the cabin roof and kept his eyes on Marconi. “She’s dead, Marconi. And it wasn’t just me she snitched on. I learned a lot about you, too. How do you think I managed to crash your little party and shoot you full of holes?”
This was a lie. Alison had left him long before that fateful night.
“Alison would never betray me.”
“No? Then how did the feds know where you were hiding out in Mexico?”
“You’re a liar!” Marconi lunged to his feet, grabbing for the pistol. Joe pushed off the wall and staggered upright, reaching deep inside of himself for the strength to defeat his hated foe. He knew the odds were against him, but as he launched himself at Marconi, he felt no fear.
He was going to die fighting.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
BADGER SAW THE third gunman bolt down the cabin steps and head for the chopper at a dead run. He stepped out from behind the chopper and raised his rifle. “Hold it right there!” he shouted over the whine of the engine and the thumping of the chopper blades, trying to keep his eyes on both men at once. “Drop the gun or I’ll shoot!”
The gunman under the chopper heard him, rolled over and fumbled for his pistol at the same time the third gunman skidded to a stop, still holding his weapon. Badger stepped away from the helicopter in a manner that allowed him to keep both men in his sights, and at that moment the chopper lifted off the ground. It rose quickly, wasting no time, and took off toward the pass, barely skimming the treetops. The gunman under the chopper was having trouble finding his pistol and Badger stepped forward to kick it away, but his hip gave out and he stumbled, going down hard on one knee. The other gunman made his move, crouching and bringing his weapon to bear on Badger, but before he could pull the trigger he jumped forward with a loud squall, looking behind him in disbelief.
“I’ve been shot!” he cried out in horror. “I’ve been shot! There’s an arrow sticking in my ass!”
“There’ll be another one right quick if you don’t do as I say,” Badger growled, struggling to his feet. “Drop the gun, mister.” He thumbed the hammer of his rifle back. It made a nice loud sound, clicking into position. The gunman froze, then let his pistol fall to the ground. “Kick it away from you. That’s right. Now lie down on the ground, facedown, arms out. Do it. Now!” Badger wondered if his voice sounded as old as his years,
and guessed it probably did, but the man didn’t hesitate. He carefully laid himself facedown, arrow sticking out of his ass.
Charlie was working his way up to the cabin from the other side where the lean-to for the horses was attached. Badger waited until he saw the silhouette of Charlie’s battered Stetson moving above the roofline of the cabin. He held his breath, glad he wasn’t the one trying to step soft and silent on that cabin roof. He and Charlie were too old to be creeping around like scouts, but thanks to the loud altercation coming from within the cabin, Charlie pulled it off. Badger watched as Charlie dropped two ignited sulfur sticks down the chimney and lofted his jacket over the top of the metal stovepipe, effectively stopping the flow of the acrid smoke up the chimney. Then Charlie’s hat disappeared from sight.
It didn’t take long at all for the sulfurous fumes to back up inside the small cabin. There was coughing from inside and Badger heard Charlie’s gravelly voice shout from the far side of the cabin, “We got you surrounded. Come out now with your hands in the air and nobody’ll get kilt!”
* * *
WHEN THE SULFUR fumes started to fill the air, Joe was locked in a death grip with Marconi, struggling for control of the pistol Marconi held. The Mob boss was weakening, but so was Joe. Neither man spoke. Their energy and efforts were focused solely on the destruction of the other. The table and chairs had been overturned in their violent struggles, and Joe tripped over a chair and shoved Marconi hard against the cabin wall, in more of an off-balance stagger than an intentional body block. His grip was slipping on Marconi’s bloody wrist and they were both breathing raggedly. Joe had done a lot of street fighting as a kid and he knew every dirty trick in the book, but so did Marconi. When Marconi pivoted away from the wall, together they staggered over another overturned chair and collapsed to the floor. Marconi landed on top, driving the breath from Joe’s struggling lungs.
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