by Gordon Ryan
“Yes, sir,” he replied, leaving the cabin.
Shaw pulled a stool out from under a rickety table and sat down facing Dan, who was standing with his back up against the far wall of the hut. Dahlgren entered and sat on the edge of an old, wooden bunk bed.
“Lose your companion, Mr. Rawlings?”
Dan maintained a blank stare, holding Shaw’s eyes. “Companion?”
“Rawlings,” Shaw said, spitting on the floor of the cabin, “save the tap dance for someone else. Where’s the girl?” he demanded.
“You must mean Agent Bentley,” Dan replied. Glancing casually at his watch, Dan looked again at Shaw. “By now, she’s probably back at her office in San Francisco.”
Shaw smiled. “Right! Beam me up, Scotty. Is that it, Rawlings? You expect me to believe that?”
Dan shrugged his shoulders. “Believe what you will, Shaw. If she’s not there yet, she’s at least well on the way. Look, we can save each other a lot of time. We saw your men at Stevenson’s cabin and when we made a run for it, I left her out on the highway, intending to hide until your men passed. I then took the fire trail back over the mountain to lead them off. By now, she will have flagged down a passing car and made it into the city, or at least to a police station.”
Shaw remained expressionless, evaluating this bit of information.
“We might as well all hike back down to our vehicles and go home,” Dan said, pushing his luck. “There’s nothing I have that you want, Shaw.”
Shaw slowly shook his head side to side, a sneer forming on his face. “Rawlings, you just don’t get it, do you? We’re at war. And you’re not even one of the enemy—entitled to POW treatment under the Geneva Convention. You’re a Californian and a member of our legislature—a traitor, as I see it.”
Dan remained silent, trying to evaluate Shaw’s mood. If he decided Dan had outwitted him and gotten Nicole away, it might serve only to infuriate Shaw, who seemed quite content to take his victories where he could find them. Sgt. Krueger reentered the room and whispered something to Shaw, who stood, kicking the stool over. Krueger handed Shaw a cellular phone, and Shaw stepped out through the door.
* * *
Shaw’s earlier report to Wolff, that they had Agent Bentley caught in a trap, had brought explicit instructions: Get the disks, kill her, and dispose of her body.
Wolff’s anger at the news that Bentley hadn’t been found, though Rawlings had, brought a change of instructions: “Hold him until daylight, and then we’ll move him. Leave two men with him and check out Bentley’s place. She is, after all, a woman. She might have gone home to get cleaned up and change clothes. Follow those orders, Shaw. Stay in touch, and don’t go off half-cocked!”
Shaw tried to convince Wolff to let him dispose of Rawlings, but Wolff was adamant.
“Not yet. I’ll tell you when.”
* * *
As Shaw reentered the cabin, Dan and Roger Dahlgren were involved in a silent staring contest. Shaw whispered something to Krueger, who stepped outside again, and Shaw resumed his seat facing Dan.
“You really don’t get it, do you, Rawlings? I’m surprised, because your own book has some parallels.”
Dan broke eye contact with Dahlgren and looked toward Shaw.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Shaw continued, “I’ve read the newest hot novel, just to see what makes you tick. You’ve chosen the wrong side this time, and put a blemish on your family’s history.”
“And does the history of the brigade take lightly to murder?” Dan asked.
“Murder?” Shaw once again shook his head. “Rawlings, you’re denser than I thought. Try to get it through your thick skull. It’s war! That changes everything. What you call murder is execution—of traitors who stand in the way of victory. Idiots like you, who haven’t the courage to know where to stand, how to read the future,” he said, allowing the thought to sink in. “But that’s okay. You and Nathan Hale’s buddy, Benjamin Rumsey, are gonna have something in common. I hadn’t thought of the garrote until I read your book—the British had a lot of experience dealing with traitors, and the garrote was the perfect answer. We’ll give that proper consideration in your case—but you’re both gonna have unmarked graves and just disappear. ‘An ignominious end,’ isn’t it?” Shaw said, quoting Voices in My Blood.
Dan looked into Shaw’s eyes and saw only pleasure. He could see that Shaw relished the idea of putting fear into a man.
“Gotta leave you for awhile, Mr. Rawlings,” Shaw said, standing up. “But Captain Dahlgren and one of the brigade troopers will keep you company. Come sunup—that is, if you’re still around to see sunup—we’ll meet again. Be a good boy, Mr. Rawlings, and the troops will treat you fair. Act up, and I may not have the pleasure of using a modern-day garrote.”
Dan continued his silence as Shaw spoke again with Krueger, who had reentered the cabin with two men. He then turned to face Dahlgren.
“Bind him, Captain, and stay alert—one inside, one outside. Trade off if the weather gets worse,” Shaw ordered. “We’ll be back at first light. One more thing, Captain Dahlgren,” Shaw said, zipping up his fatigue jacket and looking intently at Dan. “If anyone other than us appears …” He hesitated, a slow grin spreading across his face as he watched Dahlgren tying Dan to the chair, his arms twisted behind his back. “… kill him, and then hightail it over the mountain.”
* * *
Nicole dropped flat as she heard approaching voices. This time, however, she had no rocky cleft in which to hide. She had slowly begun a descent toward the cabin, determined that Dan would not be tortured if she could do anything about it. As he had described his plan to her, and she could see the determination in his face, she found no reason to describe the condition of the skinheads the FBI now knew had been bludgeoned to death by members of the brigade, or the viciousness with which they had assaulted and murdered Ann Macintosh. These men were ruthless, capable of great cruelty, and she didn’t believe they would necessarily wait for orders from higher up before deciding what to do with Dan.
She hadn’t expected the men to return so quickly, however, and she was caught out in the open with only trees and bushes to hide behind. The weather was on her side—unless, of course, another lightning bolt illuminated the area. Hugging the earth, Nicole held her breath as three men passed within twenty yards without spotting her position. She lay still for several minutes after the final sounds of their movements died in the darkness, after which she resumed her cautious descent toward the cabin.
Through the darkness, she eventually crept close enough to see the dim glare from the lantern through the cabin window. The rain had stopped, and moonlight breaking through the clouds gave her an occasional glimpse of the cabin itself. But her opportunity came when the outside guard, in defiance of all military procedure, lit a cigarette, raising the night goggles to his forehead before he did so. Nicole watched silently for over an hour as a plan formed in her mind, hindered only by not knowing how many men were in the cabin. It was clear there was only the one guard outside, but there could be more inside. She only heard three or four voices when she was up on the hillside, so if three had passed on their way out, it seemed reasonable to assume that probably one, but not more than two, were in the cabin.
She checked her pistol and put it in the outer pocket of her jacket before rising to intentionally stumble the rest of the way down the hill, making as much noise as possible. She closed to within twenty yards before the guard heard her approach. He raised his rifle and challenged her in the darkness.
“Who’s there? Just hold it,” he shouted.
“Can you please help me?” Nicole pleaded. “I’m lost, and I can’t find my way back to the car.” She kept approaching, trying to appear befuddled and exhausted. “Oh, thank goodness I found you. I thought I was going to die up here on this blasted mountain.”
“Get your hands up, lady! Just hold it steady.”
Nicole stumbled forward, falling to the ground a couple of feet from the
guard, breathing hard and pretending to cry. “I’m so tired and wet. Please, can you help me?”
“Get up, lady, and move toward that door,” he said, nudging her with his rifle.
Nicole acted frightened by the rifle and half-crawled, rising to her feet only as she approached the door. The guard reached around her and opened the door, shoving her through the entrance, where she fell forward to her knees.
Dahlgren jumped to his feet. “What the … who’s this, Frank?”
“Dunno. Probably the broad we was chasing. She’s lost, or so she says. Maybe we should call the commander.”
“Keep her covered,” Dahlgren said, removing a cellular phone from his jacket pocket. He pressed a speed dial button and almost immediately began to speak. “We got the female FBI agent … I don’t know. She just stumbled into the cabin … Okay, about twenty minutes.” Dahlgren hung up the phone. “Looks like your demise is closer than you thought, Rawlings,” he said, stepping toward the end of the bunk.
During the phone call, Nicole had surveyed the room. Dan was seated, hands tied behind his back, his feet bound to a chair behind the table. The single inside man, whom she’d instantly recognized as Roger Dahlgren, stood across the room. She clumsily rose to her feet, appearing to lose her balance in the process, falling up against the guard who had let her in. In a series of swift movements, she kneed him in the groin and delivered a hard karate chop to the back of the neck as he bent over. Dahlgren dropped the phone and reached for his rifle, beginning to swing it toward Dan. At the sight of Nicole’s pistol, he pointed his rifle back toward her, but Nicole’s reflexes were quicker, and she aimed her weapon directly at him while he fumbled with the rifle’s safety.
“FBI! Drop it!” she shouted, her voice now strong and decisive. “I said, drop it!”
In what seemed like slow motion, he continued to shift his aim, attempting to release the safety and prepare his rifle for action, but her shot, as unerring as on her previous encounter in the Wells Fargo Bank, entered Dahlgren’s brain. Their shots were nearly simultaneous, but Nicole’s was the most telling, rendering Woodland’s city manager dead before he hit the ground. His shot, not as controlled, entered Nicole’s chest, and the impact of his .243-caliber deer rifle slammed her backward toward the cabin door. Stunned by the impact of the bullet and fearful of losing consciousness before she could release Dan, Nicole crawled toward his chair.
* * *
“In my right jacket pocket, Nicole. I’ve got a knife.”
Nicole reached into his pocket, extracted the knife, and succeeded in cutting the plastic tie that held Dan’s hands and the rope binding his legs to the chair. With his hands and legs free, Dan grabbed Nicole and laid her down on the floor, opening her jacket. He examined the wound, then he stood and quickly stepped to Dahlgren’s body, ferreting through his pockets for a package of plastic ties he’d seen earlier. He bound the hands of the guard Nicole had knocked unconscious. Then he ripped the guard’s shirt with his pocket knife and folded the cloth into a bandage, which he applied as a compress to Nicole’s wound.
Her breathing became labored, much as she had pretended when she had entered the cabin, and she closed her eyes, grimacing against the pain.
“I thought you were going to wait for the cavalry,” Dan mumbled, sick with fear about the severity of the wound, now visible as he opened Nicole’s shirt. She didn’t respond.
He glanced at his watch. It was nearly 4:00 a.m. Still over two hours until daylight, and likely not soon enough to ensure Nicole would get the attention she needed before it was too late. He had to assume that Dahlgren had reached Shaw and that the small party of brigade troopers were on their way back to the cabin. He figured he had fifteen minutes, twenty at best.
Dan smoothed Nicole’s hair away from her face, then as gently as he could, he picked her up and laid her on a torn mattress on top of the small wooden bunk. Returning to Dahlgren’s inert form, Dan retrieved the cellular phone. Pulling his own wallet from his hip pocket, Dan found his on-call list and dialed General Del Valle’s emergency number. The switchboard patched him through.
“Sir, this is Captain Rawlings. I’ve got a difficult situation here, sir, and I—”
“Captain, I’m airborne already with three helicopters and a platoon of troops. We’re passing over the King’s stadium in Natomas at the moment, probably about thirty minutes out from your location. I’ve already been in touch with Colonel Connor, and he filled me in. Just give me your coordinates if you can. What’s your sitrep? Colonel Connor said you have flares and a GPS. Is that right?”
“Yes, sir. We’re holed up in a small wooden cabin. One dead brigade member and one tied up and unconscious. I have a seriously wounded FBI agent with me. She’ll need immediate attention. Thirty minutes is—”
“Son, we’ll be there as quickly as we can, and I’ve got medics aboard. I’ll notify the hospital, and they’ll be standing by. Send up your flares and guide us in. Are you in any further danger from other militia troops?”
“Yes, sir. Captain Dahlgren made a phone call to tell them to return. They’ve been gone only about fifteen minutes, so they’ll be back anytime. There are three of them in the returning group.”
“Do you have any weapons?”
“Yes, sir. Two pistols, an M-16 with a couple of clips, and a hunting rifle.”
“That’s plenty. Mount a defense, Captain. We’re coming. We’ll make as much noise as we can as we get closer to scare them off, but you might have to hold the fort for a few minutes.”
“Understood, General. It’s Agent Bentley I’m worried about. She’s badly wounded and drifting in and out of consciousness.”
“Stay calm, Captain, we’re coming. The medics will stabilize her, and we’ll get her to the hospital immediately. Now turn your attention to a plan of defense. You’re well armed, in a defensive posture, and we’re close. Don’t wait until you hear us. In exactly ten minutes, launch your first flare, and every three to five minutes thereafter until you hear the choppers.”
“Yes, sir. Rawlings out.”
Dan checked Nicole again. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing was slow, but steady. He removed a mattress from the second bed and placed it over her, both to warm her and to protect her from any incoming rifle fire. He left just her face free to breathe. He slid the bed away from line of sight of the window, then removed the night vision goggles from the neck of the bound trooper and turned out the Coleman lantern, taking a position between the window and the bunk bed.
The cabin grew quiet, the hissing from the Coleman lantern dissipating until the only sound in the room was the shallow breathing of Special Agent Nicole Bentley. However labored, it was a comforting sound.
Watching out the window through the night vision goggles, Dan’s thoughts returned to his final moments with Susan as she had died in his arms on the ski slope. His love for Nicole had grown over the previous months, and he found himself in an identical position. Another woman he loved was in danger, and he was virtually helpless to get the medical attention she needed.
He checked his watch. Only three minutes had passed since he had ended his call with General Del Valle. No sign of activity was evident through the window, and he sat silently, contemplating the impending loss of another woman he loved—a woman who had just saved his life.
After several motionless moments, the greenish hue of ambient light captured through the lens of the night vision goggles played tricks with his mind, but the sudden appearance of two humanoid figures was unmistakable. Dan slid the old-fashioned window upward, the cool night air quickly replacing the warmth of the cabin. He watched as a third, then, to his surprise, a fourth figure made its way slowly down the hillside. He nearly dropped his rifle when the cell phone lying on the floor at his feet began to ring. He picked it up, the flashing blue tinted window identifying Shaw as the caller.
“Well, Commander Shaw. Welcome back. I’m sorry we can’t come out to meet you, but the Guard troops are busy setting up a p
erimeter around the cabin.”
No answer came immediately. “I don’t think so, Rawlings. If you and the lady want to live, come out with your hands up.”
“Sorry. We’re busy at the moment, playing gin rummy with the Command Sergeant Major and the battalion commander, and haven’t time to play war games. Please tell your troopers that we haven’t room for another hand in this game, so they should stop where they are and not come any closer. You carry on without us.” Dan pressed “end” and dropped the phone to the floor, resuming his observation of the moving silhouettes on the hillside, two of whom were closing slowly toward the cabin. Dan took careful aim and fired a single warning shot, watching as the two advancing figures quickly took cover behind available trees.
A quick fusillade of shots was loosed from the hillside, most hitting the outside walls of the cabin, and one breaking the glass of the upper window. Dan fired once with a more careful aim and caught a glimpse of a green human form rolling over in the brush. Glancing at his watch, he picked up the flare gun and a cartridge Nicole had placed inside her jacket, inserting the cartridge and aiming the flare gun out the window. He closed his eyes beneath the night vision goggles and fired the flare, the arc moving quickly into the night sky and bursting into a bright, slowly descending light.
A second round of shots impacted the cabin, and Dan returned fire, putting several three-round bursts into the area where he had seen the muzzle flashes. He heard the scream of someone hit by his fusillade, and the incoming rounds decreased. The silhouettes of two men moving back up the hillside convinced him that his defensive shots were giving Shaw second thoughts. In three minutes, Dan launched another flare and several moments later, heard the unmistakable sound of heavy-caliber automatic weapons coming over the cabin, followed shortly thereafter by the sound of helicopter blades. He picked up the cell phone and called General Del Valle’s number again. The general answered immediately.