by Al Lamanda
Peck went inside to make a fire. Hardly anything remained of the table. He smashed up the legs, put them into the woodstove, and balled up some of the newspapers. He heated another can of beef stew and ate it on the bed.
As he picked at the stew, Peck glanced at a newspaper on the floor. It was the first time he actually took the time to look any of them. There was a headline, SOX DEFEAT YANKEES THE CURSE IS LIFTED.
Peck stared at the headline. The can of beef stew slipped from his hands. Peck reached for the newspaper. It was yellow with age and brittle. He looked at the date of the story. September of 2004.
Peck tossed the newspaper aside and reached for several others. BUSH WINS A SECOND TERM, another headline read. ELECTIONS SUCCESSFUL IN IRAQ, a third quoted.
The newspaper fell to the floor as the room began spinning around inside his head. He tried to steady himself against the wall, but his legs turned to rubber and the room spun around him faster and faster until he slumped to the floor and blacked out.
Peck stirred and slowly awoke on the dusty floor of the cabin. Without his watch, he had no way of knowing how long he lay on the floor, but he judged he had been out for more than an hour by the embers in the woodstove. He stood up cautiously on unsteady legs, picked up the bourbon bottle from the bed and took a good, long drink.
Deb Robertson’s house looked cold and uninviting from Peck’s vantage point in the woods. It appeared to be unguarded, forgotten. He left the snowmobile in the woods, walked to the garage, and opened the door. There were two five-gallon gas cans on the floor next to her truck.
Peck returned to the snowmobile and drove it into the garage. He refilled the tank, then strapped the second five-gallon can to the back seat with rope his found on a workbench.
He was about to leave when he noticed the connecting door to the house. He tried the door and it was unlocked. Entering the living room, Peck made a quick search by flashlight and found nothing of any use. Reese and his men had done an excellent job of cleanup. He went to the kitchen without any idea of what he was searching for and rummaged the cabinets above and below the sink. There was nothing. If there was, he had overlooked it.
Peck went to the second floor to the master bedroom. The sheets and blankets were missing from the bed. Nothing remained of his encounter with Deb Robertson except the memory of their night together. He opened the walk-in closet and found it empty of all clothing.
Peck turned away, sat on the bed, and lit a cigarette. Reese must have had all of Deb’s clothing confiscated for testing, although he couldn’t see why. Whatever hair and fiber evidence to be found would come from the bed and rugs, not the clothing in the closet. As he mulled things around in his mind, Peck noticed a piece of tape hanging down from under the top shelf of the closet.
He stood up and walked to the closet, felt under the shelf and ripped the tape away from the wood. A plastic identification card was stuck to the tape. It was unlike any identification card he had ever seen. Deb’s photograph was on the left side of the card.
The name under her photograph was Julie A. McNamara. Embossed on the card was the title of a government agency, DEPARTMENT OF DEFENSE.
Peck stared at the card, at Deb’s face, trying to make some sense of it all. Then he stuck the card in his shirt pocket and quickly left the house.
The sun was settling behind the tree line as Peck steered the snowmobile over a frozen creek deep within the woods. He had been driving for hours, using the time to think and wait for nightfall. It would be dark in less than fifteen minutes. He drove up a steep hill to a ridge where he parked to smoke a cigarette. Below the ridge, a dirt road was visible. There was a noise and he crouched to watch as a convoy of six Army Jeeps passed along the dirt road.
As the last of the Jeeps moved from his view, Peck knew he had no place left to turn to for answers. Any information would not be forthcoming, of that he was sure. It was time, he decided, to bring the answers to him.
The wheels were in motion and there was no turning back. As Peck guided the snowmobile deeper into the woods, moonlight failed to penetrate the shrouded cover provided by the thicket of pine trees.
He slowed to a stop near a frozen stream and dismounted. The immediate area looked familiar. He was riding in circles. On your way to get answers, he told himself, you couldn’t even find your way out of the forest.
He leaned against the seat of the snowmobile and lit a cigarette. He could reverse direction and follow his own tracks back to the ridge where he spotted the jeeps. If he followed the road the jeeps traveled on, he………
Peck heard the sudden noise of another snowmobile. It was close. The sound came from due west of where he sat. He listened closely and the sound appeared to be heading away from him.
Peck bolted off the snowmobile and turned to face the direction of the noise. The Army or National Guard or whatever the hell they were would not send one man to look for him. Either it was another resident out for a joyride and at the price of a snowmobile, not many in town could afford one, or the man in the ski mask.
Peck mounted the snowmobile, started the engine and took off due west. He raced for one mile, then slowed to a stop and shut the engine off. The other snowmobile echoed in the distance. From the sound of its engine, it was traveling at maximum speed.
Peck started the engine and continued on his course. Another mile and he came to an unmarked, dirt road. He shut the engine down to listen. There was only silence. Either the other snowmobile had changed direction and its sound was heading away from him, or it had shut down and parked.
Peck started his engine and slowly glided across the dirt road. When he reached the other side, Peck steered the snowmobile to the left and used its powerful headlight to check for houses. There were none and he reversed direction. Straining his eyesight, Peck could make out the faint outline of a home about a thousand yards up the road.
Peck gunned the engine and raced toward the home. As he neared it, he could see the home was a one story, Tudor style building. Light was not visible from anywhere inside the home. Its chimney appeared cold and uninviting.
Peck slowed the snowmobile to a crawl. Maybe he was mistaken in his assumption the stalker was out prowling. He could be chasing some kid who borrowed dad’s machine for a midnight joyride.
As Peck slowly approached the Tudor style home, he passed a massive oak tree and the man in the ski mask leapt from behind it and struck Peck in the forehead with a large hunk of tree branch.
Peck fell from the snowmobile to the hard snow. The snowmobile skidded out and struck the oak tree, barely missing his attacker. As Peck shook off the blow to his head, the man in the ski mask ran toward his snowmobile parked behind the oak tree.
Peck jumped up, raced toward his attacker, and reached him just as he was pulling a rifle from a side holster on the snowmobile. Peck hit the man high and together they spilled over the snowmobile, crashed to the snow on the other side, and broke apart.
The man in the ski mask jumped up first and reached for the rifle that had fallen several feet away from them. Peck rolled over, jumped and hit the man on the legs. The man kicked Peck in the face with a heavy boot and shook Peck loose. The man in the ski mask grabbed the rifle by its stock. Peck reached for his revolver, but it lay ten feet away in the snow. Having no choice, Peck charged the man in the ski mask again and took him down by the legs. They rolled, kicking and punching each other until they hit the base of the oak tree and came to an abrupt stop.
Peck got up first and as the man in the ski mask rose up, Peck punched him in the stomach and he doubled over. Peck hit him with a right uppercut to straighten him out, then clubbed him with several, unanswered blows to the face.
The man in the ski mask hit the oak tree and slowly slumped to the ground. Peck was about to reach for the mask when the sudden noise of Army jeeps on the road froze him in his tracks. Headlights were suddenly upon him, blinding him.
Someone shouted, “There. I see him.”
Peck looked around for his revolver, p
icked it up and ran to his snowmobile. As he raced away into the woods, shots rang out. There was no way to tell if the shots were meant for him or the man in the ski mask, not without turning around and he was not about to do that.
“Don’t you move,” someone else shouted, and Peck assumed the order was aimed at the man in the ski mask. Again, Peck was not about to turn around to find out.
NINE
Reese, six of his men, McCoy and Kranston occupied the main hall of the logging camp. Kranston’s face and demeanor showed his disapproval at the present set of circumstances. He chewed several sticks of gum at once, which meant his annoyance level was at an all time high.
A fire crackled in the stone fireplace while a generator hummed in the background and provided power for the lights. For many long seconds, the only sound in the room was the fire crackling and Kranston’s gum chewing.
Then the door opened and two of Reese’s men escorted Linda Boyce into the hall. She could barely walk and they shouldered most of her weight as they helped her sit on the sofa.
Kranston inspected her face and eyes, rolling back her eyelids. If aware of what was happening to her, Linda didn’t protest. “She’s a fucking basket case. Tom, I thought you said she……..”
“She isn’t that bad, Ed,” McCoy commented. “We can bring her around.”
“Bring her around? From what, comatose to unconscious?” Kranston glared at McCoy, and then shifted his attention to Reese. “An army of men and you’ve lost him.”
“We haven’t lost him, Ed,” Reese said. “We just haven’t found him yet.”
“Explain to me the difference so maybe I can understand that idiotic line of reasoning,” Kranston snapped.
“We’re doing all…”
“Shut up,” Kranston scolded Reese. “My give a damn is broken when it comes to your excuses. I expect more from the world’s largest intelligence agency than failure and bullshit excuses for failure.”
Reese held his tongue and glared at Kranston.
“What, nothing to say?” Kranston said.
“I have eighteen, two man teams out right now looking for him. It’s a big town, Ed.” Reese said.
“It is a big town, Ed,” Kranston said, mocking Reese. “And the last time I looked, there was a big fence around it.”
“Ed, what do we do about her?” McCoy said and pointed a finger at Linda.
Kranston stood over Linda and checked her eyes. “She’s too far gone to do anything with her here. We need to relocate her to the lab. Maybe we can save her there.”
McCoy nodded. “We’ll do it in the morning.”
Kranston nodded to McCoy, and then looked at Reese. “And I’ll expect Peck in custody by morning. Is that clear?”
“Yes,” Reese said, subserviently.
“Otherwise, don’t bother coming back,” Kranston said. He turned and walked toward the front door. “Doctor McCoy and I will be in my private lab. Call us there the moment you have found Peck. And if I hear of anymore shooting, somebody’s ass will be on my trophy wall. Understood?”
Silently, Reese nodded to Kranston.
Kranston and McCoy exited the main hall and walked toward Kranston’s late model Ford sedan. As Kranston reached for the car door handle, Peck emerged from the shadows and struck him across the bridge of the nose with his revolver. As Kranston fell to the snow, Peck quickly aimed the revolver at McCoy.
“Move, Tom,” Peck said. “Do it.”
McCoy backed away from the car and raised his hands. he glanced down at Kranston and saw a pool of blood in the snow.
Kranston moaned as he worked his way to his knees. Blood poured from his nose into his mouth and he spit out his gum. Peck looked at him. “Nice to see you again, Ed. We have some catching up to do.”
Peck looked at McCoy. “Help him up.”
McCoy came around the other side of the Ford and lifted Kranston to his feet. Kranston wiped blood on the sleeve of his jacket.
“Dave… we’ve been looking for you,” Kranston said.
“Really,” Peck said. “Mind telling me what for?”
“He’s hurt, Dave,” McCoy said. “We need to get him inside.”
“Where Reese and his men are waiting for me,” Peck said.
“No need to go inside for that, we’re right here,” Reese said from behind Peck.
Peck turned around. Reese and his six men were on the front steps of the main hall. They held rifles at the ready. Reese aimed a semi automatic pistol at Peck.
“The guns aren’t necessary,” Kranston said.
Peck grabbed Kranston from behind and shoved the barrel of his revolver against Kranston’s throat. “Yes they are,” Peck said.
“Lower your weapons,” Kranston ordered Reese.
“So he can blow your head off,” Reese said.
“You idiot, he isn’t worth spit to us unless he’s alive,” Kranston said.
Peck pressed the revolver into Kranston’s flesh. “I’d do as he says, Reese. I have been somewhat jumpy these days. The gun might go off by accident. Boom, it’s a mess.”
Reese and Peck entered into a stare down. Finally, Reese lowered his pistol and nodded to his men. They lowered their rifles.
“Toss them in the snow,” Peck said.
Reese tossed his pistol. His men threw the rifles into a snowdrift aside the porch.
“Handguns, too,” Peck said. “And that backup weapon you keep on your ankle, Reese. I spotted that the first day.”
They did as ordered and Peck lowered his revolver to the square of Kranston’s back. “So, Ed,” Peck said. “What am I worth dead?”
“Nothing,” Kranston said.
“What’s that mean, Ed? Huh?” Peck shoved hard against Kranston’s back and he nearly fell over.
McCoy said, “It means you cost the US government one billion dollars, you Goddamn idiot.”
Peck spun Kranston around and looked him in the eye. “What the hell is he talking about, Ed? What?”
“It’s very uncomfortable out here in the cold, Dave,” Kranston said.
“You want uncomfortable, I’ll pull the trigger,” Peck said.
“Okay, but can we talk inside? I’m freezing.”
Peck looked at Reese. “Get inside with your backs against the wall. Do it.”
Reese looked at Kranston who nodded.
“Don’t look at him, I’m the one with the gun,” Peck said.
“Smart move, giving him real bullets,” Reese said.
“How long do you think it would have taken him to figure out he had blanks?” Kranston said.
Reese glared at Peck as he turned and led his men inside the hall where they stood with their backs against the far wall opposite the front door.
“Now you,” Peck said to McCoy.
McCoy entered the hall and stood next to Reese.
“Our turn,” Peck said and dug the revolver into Kranston’s back. They entered the hall and Peck shoved Kranston onto the sofa. Peck stepped back and looked around the hall. “There, we’re all together again. Just like a staff meeting. Should we discuss next year’s budget? I could use a new deputy. My current one is broken.”
“So is my nose,” Kranston said.
“I don’t care,” Peck said.
“Well I do,” McCoy said.
Peck looked at McCoy. “Move and I’ll shoot you, Tom. Or is that your name.”
Kranston said, “David, I need to ask…”
“I’ll ask the questions,” Peck said.
“So ask one.”
With his left hand, Peck removed the identification card he found at Deb Robertson’s house. He held it up to Kranston. “Why is Deb Robertson, Julie McNamara? Can you explain that to me, Ed?”
Kranston looked at the Identification card. “Julie McNamara is, or was her real name,” he said. Deb Robertson was an alias.”
“Why did she need a fake name, Ed?” Peck said.
“It’s…complicated.” Kranston dug out his gum and placed a stick into his mo
uth.
“Simplify it.”
“That isn’t as easy as it sounds.”
“Simplify it even more.”
Reese suddenly moved off the wall. “For Christ’s sake, Ed. How much more of this bullshit are we going to take?”
“Shut up,” Kranston said, turning to look at Reese.
Peck looked at Reese. “Yeah, shut up.”
“When this is over,” Reese said.
Peck smacked Kranston across the bridge of his already broken nose. Kranston doubled over and nearly fell from the sofa.
“What the fuck did you do that for?” McCoy said.
“Every time he misbehaves,” Peck said, and nodded to Reese. “Ed gets another one.”
“He’s bleeding like a stuck pig, for God’s sake,” McCoy said. “You want answers; but he can’t give them to you if he’s unconscious.”
“Fix him up,” Peck said. He looked at Reese. “Anybody else moves, he won’t move again.”
McCoy rushed to Kranston’s side and sat him up on the sofa. “Jesus Christ, Dave. Is this necessary?” McCoy said.
Peck looked at Reese. “Tell him to behave and it won’t be.”
“I need a towel and water,” McCoy said.
Peck nodded to Reese with the revolver. “Get it and only it.”
Reese moved to an ice-filled cooler against the wall, removed a bottle of water, and brought it to McCoy.
“There’s a towel in the bathroom. Okay if I get it?” Reese said.
“No.” Peck aimed the revolver at McCoy. “You get it.”
McCoy backed away to the bathroom where he found a towel on a rack.
Peck looked at Reese. “Your feet stuck?”
Reese stepped backward and returned to the wall. McCoy brought the towel to the sofa, poured water on it and wiped blood from Kranston’s face.
“He’s going to need stitches,” McCoy said.
“Later,” Peck said. “Now Ed, explain to me how a homicide investigation turns into the CIA hunting the sheriff?”
“Not hunting, looking for,” Kranston said.
“Explain to me the difference.” Peck looked past McCoy at a coffee pot that rested on the woodstove. “Is it hot?”