Recon

by David McCaleb

  She raised an eyebrow. “When you getting your company truck back?”

  “Tomorrow. It’s just in for service. I didn’t screw anything up.”

  Andi snickered. “Ain’t had no elk hit you lately?”

  Lam smiled, covering his embarrassment by scratching an unshaven chin. He’d run into a ditch last summer in a company pickup, having too much fun on these curves. In a panic, he’d lied and said an elk had jumped out of the brush and slammed into the side. Believable, sure—since it had been rut season. But pangs of guilt for the untruth still plagued him. He hadn’t mustered the fortitude to confess it to his super.

  Andi pointed ahead. “Watch out for the hiker.”

  A man in blue parka and black jeans waved from ahead. White tennis shoes? What was this tourist thinking? So many of these damn flatlanders drive up to Manitou Springs thinking to hike Pikes Peak. Fourteen thousand feet, moron! If you can’t breathe near the base at seven thousand, you’ll wish you were dead at the top. Many depend too much on GPS, can’t even read a map, end up getting lost, dehydrated, and end up like this dumb city slicker thumbing a ride back to civilization.

  Lam snorted. “Should just let the idiot figure it out himself.”

  “Might not be his fault. One of his friends could be lost or hurt.” Sympathy… Andi was such an enigma. A woman in a man’s job. But she’d held up better than most apprentices of either gender. A little pear shaped, but nimble as a donkey and just as strong. Once, she’d hoisted one end of a five-hundred-pound gearbox off his leg. Lam had strung it up with a block and tackle and was lying beneath it, like an idiot, draining the thick sulfur-scented gear oil. If she hadn’t seen the strap about to give way and kicked a four-by-four beneath the metal casing, he wouldn’t be walking now.

  Lam lifted his foot from the accelerator. “I’ll see what the guy wants.”

  The man stepped down, back from the built-up road bed into dry buffalo grass. Some sort of Chinaman, or maybe Japanese, thought Lam. Hell, they all looked the same.

  The hiker smiled, beaming perfect white teeth. Probably had his dentist brighten them before the vacation. “Thank you so much for stopping.”

  Funny. No Chink accent. Lam squinted, studying the man. No backpack. No water bottle. As the hiker drew deep breaths, steam rose from his shoulders, quickly swallowed by the moisture-hungry air. “What you want?” asked Lam.

  “So sorry. Have you seen anyone else on your drive?”

  What kind of question was that? “Err. Nope…nobody. But that’s not unusual. You lost?”

  “Maybe. I’m looking for my party. A woman, a man, and their daughter.”

  “They lost, or you?”

  “Both, maybe. She’s blond and tall. He’s about my height with red hair and red beard. His daughter, maybe ten, blond pigtails, blue jacket like mine.”

  “Nobody includes them.”

  “I see. Can I ride with you? Maybe we’ll spot them. Where are you going?”

  “Sorry buddy, but we’re headed to work.” Lam lifted his foot from the brake and the truck rolled slowly forward. The hiker kept up, walking next to the window.

  Andi leaned forward in her seat, still rubbing her back. “You OK? Need water? Can we call someone for you? Police, maybe?”

  “No, no.” the hiker said, white teeth gleaming. “I…I can pay you.”

  Lam frowned. “Not interested, buddy. We’ll be headed back out at the end of the day. It’s early. If your party don’t show up, wait here and we’ll be back by. Take you to town then.”

  “But I really need to find them now.”

  “And I really need to make a living. Sorry.” Lam offered his most condescending smile. “Enjoy the day. It’s too early to worry. There’re worse places in the world to be.” The road leveled, and the truck rolled faster.

  The hiker jogged to keep up. “Here, take my money. I’ll pay you a thousand dollars just to drive me around a few hours.”

  Lam blinked and stood on the brake. A thousand dollars would get him that new 5.38 gear set installed. He’d have the most tricked-out rock crawler in the club. At least the best still used as a daily driver. He could motor this guy around for the morning, then do a short punch list in the afternoon. The skipped equipment would keep just fine till next week. He could do the long list then. “Lam’s Taxi, at your service.”

  Andi scowled. “Lam.”

  “We’re being Good Samaritans. That’s what my pastor said was the right thing to do.”

  “You don’t get paid for being a Good Samaritan. It’s the other way around.”

  He shrugged. “So, I’m a work in progress.”

  The hiker nodded emphatically. “Thank you.” He ran to the tailgate, lifted a foot onto the bumper, and hoisted himself into the bed as nimbly as a gymnast. The guy stood, bracing an arm on the cab roof. Lam slid open the rear window and held a flat palm over his shoulder. “Payment up front.” No city boy was going to con him out of a free ride.

  “Oh…yes, of course,” came a murmur from the bed. Lam watched in the rearview as the hiker lifted the back of his parka, apparently reaching for a wallet. Only he seemed to be reaching too high, closer to his belt. Lam rested his foot on the accelerator. When the hiker brought his hand around, it was gripping a Glock with slim black silencer mounted to the muzzle.

  Lam dropped his foot fast. Instantly, the 401 blew an angry roar, and the tach bounced against the rev limiter. The front of the truck lifted, and the hiker stumbled backward, falling out over the tailgate. Flashes came from the upturned muzzle. His tires dug a trench as they spun, the truck whipping sideways, carving a doughnut in the middle of the road. “Damn it,” Lam muttered, steering to correct, trying to get forward motion. But the truck continued its useless circle. The hiker slammed onto the road, rolled to his feet, and raised the weapon again. Two more muzzle flashes, followed by two metal tom-tom drum raps on the cab. Then the driver side of the whirling truck slammed against the shooter. Massive rubber tire lugs grabbed and dragged him beneath their spinning fury, shooting him rearward with the rest of the orange dirt rooster tail. His limp body twisted flaccidly, landing in a stand of young aspen.

  Lam stomped the brake, and the truck jerked to a halt. The loping engine sounded like a panting dog. Thick auburn dust drifted all around, lit on the top by a thin cut of the rising sun now peeking over the mountain. For several seconds, he listened to the tinkling of gravel landing on the road and the dry slapping of leaves high in trees. Was the guy dead? Was he coming back after them? Lam glanced in the side-view. A red streak of blood was drawn like spilled motor oil across one section of the scooped trench. If the guy wasn’t dead, he would be soon enough.

  But, what about his friends? Were they Jap gangsters too? Lam scanned the woods around them. They could be hiding anywhere. In the rearview in the far distance a green shape ambled out onto the road, obscured by the floating dust-fog. It rose, seemed to stand upright, as if human.

  He pointed toward Dark Canyon. “Andi, which way should we go?”

  No answer. She was leaning out the open window, dust settling into a red streak running from her neck. Shit. He gassed the accelerator and steered toward the power plant. With his free hand he pulled her toward him. “Hold on, girl.” He could turn around and take her out of the forest himself. But what if that green person back there was the hiker’s friend, and armed? Anyhow, they were still at least forty minutes from any hospital, twenty minutes till his cell phone would even work. The old caretaker’s house had a radio for emergencies, though he’d never used it. He could call and maybe get a helicopter Life Flight to pick her up. He pounded the dash with a fist. What dumb luck that he hadn’t been able to drive the company truck today. It still had a CB radio.

  Andi slid toward the floor.

  “No, no,” he said, reaching for one arm. But he couldn’t lift her. He stood on the accelerator, screaming up hi
lls, drifting around corners like the racers in the Pikes Peak Hill Climb. He ducked his neck, chancing glances up the sides of the valley, hoping not to see anyone moving there.

  Damn it! Andi’s chest wasn’t moving. Could she be dead? But she wasn’t bleeding much. The cottage had a first aid kit.

  Just a few more miles. Nearing a sharp turn around a tall Engelmann spruce, he smashed the brake pedal and slid off the road, right into a thicket of young juniper. Blueberries small as buckshot rained in through the open window, covering his lap, falling down the back of his shirt. The resinous evergreen perfume mixed with hot oil and gasoline. “Damn,” he whispered. The tank might have been shot. The gas gauge only read half full. Hopefully it would leak slowly enough for him to still make it to the cottage.

  He turned the wheel toward the road and dropped the pedal again. Another five minutes and he was skidding to a halt, next to a small pond formed by the damming of Sheep Creek. He leaped from the cab and opened the passenger door, cradling Andi’s head. He lifted her under her shoulders and dragged her out. Her favorite brown cowboy boots, the ones trimmed in turquoise stitching, flopped to the earth. A small pool of blood dribbled down the rocker panel.

  He laid her on the dusty ground, pressed two fingers to her jugular, and bent an ear to her mouth. No pulse. He sighted down her chest—it didn’t rise. “What the hell,” he whispered. The thin smear of blood on her neck looked to be only from an abrasion. He put a hand at her nape and tilted her head back, pinched her nose, and cupped his mouth over hers, tasting mint. He blew two breaths, then went to work pressing palms rhythmically against her sternum. In CPR class he’d been taught to keep elbows straight to avoid fatigue. He remembered how one instructor had said he’d done the exercise for an hour before paramedics arrived, but it saved his patient’s life.

  Two more breaths, then back to compressions.

  His lower back started to ache. He glanced down the road. Caloric waves rose from the hood of the truck, making pines in the distance waver as in a mirage. He certainly hadn’t made a quiet escape. How long till the hiker’s friends caught up with him? Or did killers like him have friends at all? Maybe he was a solo act. But no backpack, which meant he must have had a base camp, which meant there were others. And the way sound traveled in the mountains, anyone within five miles had heard Lam’s ruckus.

  Two more breaths. An ant riding a swell of crimson slowly washed from beneath Andi. He checked her pulse and breathing again. Still nothing. “Come on,” he growled. He rolled her on her side, and the back of her green tank top was soaked through with blood. He ripped open her shirt, and more of the liquid oozed from two holes atop her bra strap. Shit. The compressions were just pumping her dry.

  Another quick pulse check. It was then he felt the chill of death rising on her skin.

  He struggled up and turned toward the lake. Held up both arms and tensed his chest, preparing to scream. Instead he sealed his lips, eyes searching the far side. His gaze came to rest once again where the dusty road bent out of sight around a stand of brown bristlecone, killed three years ago by pine beetles. If the hiker did have friends, they’d be coming from that direction.

  He ran for the whitewashed cottage, then slid to a halt. No. He couldn’t leave Andi on the ground like that, alone. He yanked at the chrome handle of his tailgate, and the door dropped. He lifted shaking hands in front of his face, willing them to still, but the effort only produced a chill between his shoulder blades. He gripped her beneath her arms again and hoisted her halfway onto the gate. Then hopped up, pulled her the rest of the way in, and propped her head upright. It leaned against a brick, straight brown hair flowing over it like muddy water. She’d like that view, he thought. To be able to stare at the pale blue sky. She had always studied it, remarking on how clear it was at altitude. Describing what shapes she saw in the clouds.

  At least he’d been able to kill the bastard who got her. Even though he’d done so by accident, it still somewhat leveled the score. Andi would’ve been proud of that, as competitive as she was. He already missed her gruff presence. Though he’d always enjoyed the predatory solitude of a hunt, now he understood why elk ran in herds. But he didn’t intend to become a prey animal now. He turned his gaze away from her still body. The clear, empty sky washed over the lake, its chill breath stirring ripples upon the surface, blowing cold upon his face, filling the valley with a sense of dread.

  He crossed both arms over her belly, then slammed the gate shut. The metallic crack echoed like a gunshot from across the lake, and he hunched low. He hunted elk not far from here every fall. Slowly, cautiously, like game catching a scent, he glanced again toward the dead bristlecone pines.

  Still nothing.

  But that was the direction from which they would come. He had no idea who, or how many. Just that it would be soon.

  Chapter 8

  FIDO

  Red leaned to the side and, with one hand, slowly lifted his stiff injured leg, dried blood still sticky between his fingers. A rock gave way under his foot, and his full weight jarred down upon it. An electric arc shot from ass to heel as the muscles locked in pain. He wiped cold beads from his forehead, squeezed from pores by agony and exertion. Reaching out, he touched the rising hill. His hand pierced through a warm crust of pine needles and pressed upon cool dirt. His skin prickled as if it had been asleep. He shook a dozen black ants carrying plump, white larvae from his arm.

  Lifting his gaze to the crest of the short ridge ahead, he watched Penny scramble a few yards before him. Though the trek had been generally downhill, ridges like this one gave occasion to curse. Each step had become an exercise of willpower. So he reminded himself of previous hells passed through. Several ops where contingencies had not favored his team, pushing their physical endurance further than he could’ve imagined. But he’d never caught a bullet in the ass before. He hugged the pistol holstered beneath his arm to reassure himself. He could still protect his daughter should they run across the wet team again.

  Her thin legs were beginning to wobble with fatigue. The thought of a violent ending to her life chilled his neck even as it hardened his resolve. They’d have to kill him first. However, Mandarin had seemed intent on chasing Lori, not Red. Maybe no one was hunting him at all. But he had to protect her.

  He grabbed a forked branch from the ground, then swung it against a trunk, snapping the soft wood to the right length for a crutch.

  “You OK, Daddy?” whispered Penny, a few meters ahead. The knees of her jeans were smeared with clay. One of her red pigtail clips had broken apart an hour ago. Dirt rimmed her fingernails as she crawled on all fours up the hill.

  “Yeah,” he grunted. Though every stride burned his glute like a welding torch. He took a step with the new crutch. It gouged the earthen blanket. Shit. The tip would leave a trail, so he tossed it aside. “FIDO,” he muttered.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Forget it. Drive on.” He wasn’t going to tell her the crude version. Even here, several thousand feet lower than the summit, air was still thin and his leg had begun to refuse commands. Missteps like the one he’d just taken meant a painful cramp for several minutes. “Now’s a good time to stop,” he said. “Remember what I told you?”

  She turned, brushed off a gray rock sticking from the needle carpet, and plopped her bottom upon it, as if declaring it her own. Then dusted her hands, smearing off the heaviest of the filth. A deep breath, and she closed her eyes. “Stop, look, and listen.”

  “Just like before you cross a street.”

  “I’ve been looking, but all I see are stupid trees. What am I supposed to listen for?”

  The pain in Red’s leg gradually eased till he could draw it up. Instead of a rock, he lowered himself onto soft dirt, lying on his side, so his wounded butt cheek didn’t touch the ground. He relaxed his neck with a grunt, staring through crooked pine limbs to deep blue sky. He spat out a green wad of
aspen leaves, the mild painkiller looking like cooked spinach. “You listen for everything. One night in mountain training, they made us memorize a map, then blindfolded us. We had to try to go two klicks to our objective without our eyes.”

  “Could you do it?”

  “No. My team was half a klick off. But it taught me how much we ignore sounds. What do you hear?”

  She kept her eyes closed, nose wrinkled. Finally, a smile. She pointed. “Birds. An airplane. Something crunching on leaves over there. Wind rocking the trees, like they’re fighting.”

  He nodded. “Good. But even more important than that, listen for something that doesn’t fit.”

  A pause. “Sirens.” She opened her eyes and stood.

  “Better. I can barely hear them over the breeze. Now, for the look part.” Red stifled a groan as he grabbed the trunk of a pine sapling, lifting himself. “See that tree at the top of this ridge? Wait till I get up there, but I want you to climb it.”

  She frowned, the playful pouty one she learned from her mother. “Mommy says not to climb trees.”

  He smiled. For a former field agent based in London, Lori was an overly conservative parent. “I don’t think Mama will mind if you climb just once,” he said. “I’ll watch you. I know you’ve got arms like Spider-Man. Once you’re up there, don’t yell down what you see. Understand? You’ll be up in a tree, which makes you easier to spot, so move slowly. Only step on big branches. Don’t make noise. Get up there, look around, take a picture of it in your mind, then come down and describe it to me.”

  He stretched his leg out straight, feeling as if a bee stinger the size of a KA-BAR was still seated in his glute. Another couple minutes of walking up the ridge on all fours, and he leaned against the thick-crusted trunk. Cereal-sized flakes of bark rubbed onto his shoulder. He cupped his hands, and Penny set one fuchsia Nike into it, ready to scale up.

  He lifted her pants leg to reveal black socks. Her jacket was unzipped, green long-sleeve T-shirt beneath. “Take off your shoes. You could see those things from orbit. And strip off your jacket.”