by Roger Weston
The warm Hawaiian sun shining on them, saddles creaking, Melody in her riding helmet. She smiled at Frank with her innocent eyes. He felt such love for her that the rest of the world didn’t matter. They had each other and that was all he wanted. Her smile touched him with happiness. He wished the day would never end. He wished he could freeze that moment in time forever. She said, “Maybe when we’re old--”
The crack of gunfire-- The bullet grazed his cheek-- The world spun and he hit the ground hard. And then he saw Melody. “No,” Frank screamed. “No.”
His love was gone. He would never get her back because of the life he chose for them, because she trusted him. Now the moment was indeed frozen in time forever in his mind. There was no escaping that day, no escaping himself--either on Kiska, or the South Pole. He couldn’t hide from truth in the most remote corner of the earth.
His horse nickered. Hooves thumped on the ground. Frank looked over at Abby.
Kiska Volcano loomed like the shadow of a dark monstrosity in the still, cold, pre-dawn darkness. At the deadfall they turned inland and ground hitched the horses by the crater. Carrying a flashlight, Frank scaled the rock ramp and helped Abby down into the crater. Tendrils of steam curled out of the cave, and Frank noticed the sulfur smell. They followed the flashlight beam through the warm steam, their feet splashing in the millimeter-deep stream of water that ran down the cave floor. The sounds of water dripping from the ceiling echoed. Scattered gold artifacts glimmered under the light’s beam in the first chamber. Frank could tell that Abby was fascinated by the bones and skulls, but the turtle ship carving loomed ominous. She spent several minutes examining the petroglyph and some of the artifacts. Then Frank led the way down the lava tube.
Entering the treasure chamber was like having a recurring illusion. Artifacts and gold treasures rose in a glittering subterranean treasure mound that inspired silence. Frank fought fleeting impulses to keep it all for himself and his son.
“I always wondered how a moment like this would be.” Abby paused and took in the sight. “It’s better than I imagined. The ancient Koreans were absolute masters in metallurgy. One glance and I can tell you many of these pieces will rank among Korea’s finest antiquities. They’re as noble as anything excavated there.”
“What do you think the whole hoard is worth?”
Abby smiled. “Including the Japanese skeletons?”
“I think we can exclude them.”
“To make an estimate, we’d have to weigh everything, multiply total tonnage by the current market price of gold, and multiply our sum by ten for the adjusted value of rare artifacts. But I can tell you there’s a variation in the quality. I can spot several pieces that are worth no more than their weight in gold. Others are as good as the pieces you showed me last night. They’re worth a premium. I wish I could start photographing and cataloguing immediately.”
“After the storm, we’ll come back. What do you guess it all weighs?”
“Hard to tell by looking, but I suppose I could make a crude estimate.” She silently appraised the hoard, making calculations in her head. She picked up a few ceremonial objects and examined them carefully, intuitively gauging their mass. “Well, considering gold weighs twelve-hundred pounds per cubic foot and allowing for all the molding and crafting done in the foundry; also considering gold is a heavy metal, three times heavier than iron, they’d probably have to cast and hammer out two tons of gold to replace this collection including the crate in the passage. I’d say we’re looking at roughly $250 million dollars worth of gold artifacts.”
Frank stared at the treasure speechlessly. He looked over at Abby and sensed her amazement was as great as his. Finally he said, “With this storm coming in, we have to get back. I just want to dig into this mound and see if it’s concealing the half-ton golden turtle ship.” Frank moved some bones out of the way and then started moving relics. He put the objects aside quickly as he burrowed down into the hoard.
Abby stiffened. “Be gentle. After all, these are priceless artifacts, some of the great treasures of the world.”
“I’ll be more careful.” Burrowing down a couple feet into the treasure mound took only minutes.
“A half-ton turtle ship would be at least the size of a table,” Abby said. “It can’t be under there or you’d have already found it.”
Frank backed away from the hoard, carelessly stepping on and breaking a bone with a snap.
Abby cringed. “My colleagues would have a heart attack if they could see this.”
Frank was still curious about the missing turtle ship, but anxiety about the storm was building within him. Even in the freezing cold he began to sweat. He’d pay for that on the way back.
“Come on,” Frank said. Leaving the chamber, he stopped and turned again to look at the cache. Abby stood next to him without saying anything.
Frank felt a breeze chilling the sweat on his neck. When sweat freezes, a man loses body heat. In extremes, that could be fatal. Conditions weren’t extreme yet, but soon would be. As he stood there hesitating, wind passed through the stillness and seeped down under his collar over rising goose bumps.
A breeze in the stillness.
He flashed his light abruptly against the cave wall. The breeze was coming from a shadowed nook to his left. The nook looked innocent enough. Except the wall at its back wasn’t solid and consistent like the lava tube. Broken lava rocks rose in a crumbled pile from floor to ceiling, giving the appearance of a cave-in. The breeze was coming through cracks in the pile.
Frank said, “I think we’ve just found a concealed passage that branches off from here. Looks like the passage was concealed with these lava rocks. There must be a hidden cave system.”
“Really?”
Frank nodded. “Come on, we’ve got a six hour ride ahead of us and we’ve got to get back before that storm hits. We’ll explore this later.” He strode out of the lava tube with Abby right behind him. He helped her out of the entrance crater and pulled the ground hitches. Abby mounted up, and Frank swung onto the saddle. “Let’s go. Ya!”
They rode long and hard, and the weather deteriorated with the hours. They were within a mile of the ranch when they heard the first gunshot.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Evening
The snow blew down thick in the rising blizzard. Frank drew rein and sat stone-still for a moment. Although they’d been riding in the snow for some time, he suddenly felt cold. Even from a mile away, he could tell the difference between an M-16 and an AK-47. There was no question that the report had come from an AK.
“What was that?” Abby said.
Frank quickly turned to her. “I want you to turn around and follow our tracks back to that animal shelter we passed a ways back. Wait for me there.” Then he gave her instructions on what to do if he didn’t return within two hours.
Realizing that Luke and Ingrid were all alone, Frank ran his horse toward Casa del Norte. As he approached the ranch house, he slowed the horse to a walk. He was hoping Brian had come around and shot a fox—or maybe even one of the dogs. And indeed, as he approached the house, he saw a dog sprawled and bloodstained. But it was Luke’s dog! The animal was harmless. And then the sight of a landing craft on the beach shocked him.
Steam whisked from the wound on Luke’s dead dog. And then came a scream from inside the house. Frank drew rein at the front door where he was looking down the hollow end of an AK-47.
“Get down,” the Korean said. “Get inside.”
Frank swung out of the saddle and walked inside out of the blowing snow. Ten Koreans were standing around the living room. In a glance, Frank sensed they had just arrived. Standing by Ingrid, Luke looked scared, but defiant. Tears streamed down Ingrid’s face. Her shirt was nearly torn from her chest. Brian Nash sat on the ground with smeared blood on his badly swollen face. As he looked at Frank, a flood of painful emotion filled his eyes.
Ingrid hurried to Frank and clung to him.
“They killed her,” Brian s
aid. “They killed Karen!”
Adrenaline and shock and rage surged through Frank’s nerves. When he spoke, he felt like he was listening to someone else speak, but the voice was his own. “Then they’ll kill me too if they know what’s good for them.”
With an AK-47 suddenly at his back, four Koreans closed on Frank to suppress him. Ingrid was roughly pushed away. The first punch Frank took in the stomach. Restrained, he absorbed a half-dozen more to the face and body. With his adrenaline level, he could have hurt all four Koreans, but restrained himself for fear of immediate consequences to the others.
When the punches stopped, a skeletal man with an emaciated face and dark bags under his eyes walked in front of Frank carrying an AK. Ingrid was crying. Luke looked scared. Contempt swept over Brian’s bleeding face. The man spoke in English.
“Tell me now. Where’s the gold?”
Frank met his stare. That worthless cadaver killed Karen Nash. Frank’s breath hissed through his teeth; his chest rose and fell. He tasted blood in his mouth from his bleeding lips. He began to shake from tension in every muscle intensified by suppressing his rage. He thought of the kind of scum that killed his own wife years ago.
One of the Koreans said something to him, calling him Chull-su. The man glared at Frank.
“Where’s the gold?”
Frank said nothing.
Chull-su lifted the butt of the AK-47 as if to slam the weapon into Frank’s head. “Tell me now.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Frank said. If he told them the location, the Koreans would kill them.
Chull-su turned his gun around and pointed the barrel at Frank’s forehead. “I’m not playing,” he said.
“Who are you? Why are you here?” Frank said
Chull-su slapped him. “You think I’m playing games?” he yelled. “You want to die, you decadent pig?” His yelling gave way to violent hacking and coughing. Everyone in the room stood by as Chull-su coughed. In between coughs, he darted baneful glances at Frank. Finally, he caught his breath for a moment.
“Get them out,” he screamed at his men. “Lock them in the barn with the other animals--” His voice gave way to more uncontrolled hacking. “Call Mok Don for instructions.”
The other Koreans roughly tugged Brian, Ingrid, and Luke up. All three, along with Frank, were hustled out the door into the fanning snow squall. Luke and Ingrid weren’t wearing coats, and the temperature was near zero. Four Koreans escorted Frank and the others to the barn and locked them in the tack room. The solid door slammed shut behind them, and the Koreans bolted it from outside with a hefty exterior bolt lock.
Ingrid was fighting back tears. Frank took her in his arms and stared at Brian over her shoulder. Frank wanted to say something to Brian but couldn’t. He didn’t have the guts. He looked away, then turned back to him. “I’m sorry,” Frank said, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry.”
Brian sniffled hard. He took a deep hard breath. There were tears in his eyes as he spoke. “They raped her. Clay heard the gunshot then took off.”
Frank winced. He helped Ingrid to sit down, then walked over to the window and looked out. Two Koreans were pushing off from the beach in a landing craft. Snow was driving down almost horizontally. Wind was starting to howl. Frank put his hand on Luke’s shoulder.
Ingrid wiped her eyes with her sleeve. She turned to Frank. “Where’s Abby?”
“Hiding nearby.” He turned away. Karen’s death was his fault. His carelessness got her killed. Not only had he gotten his own wife killed, but now Brian’s. He would’ve welcomed death at that moment. A rod of heavy blackness ran through him like poison. He put his hand on his forehead. He grimaced and pinned his eyes shut tight. His attempt to earn forgiveness seemed hateful at that moment in time. He was already in Hell. He opened his eyes and returned his gaze to the beach. The landing craft was racing out around the point and heading up Opelia Harbor Channel; the Pinisha was probably anchored offshore beyond the mouth.
He had to stay calm. Like a machine. No emotion. Just think and act.
He turned and looked the room over. He walked to the closet and opened it. Numerous heavy old woolen sweaters and shirts hung there as well as windproof trousers and parkas. He pulled a woolen sweater out of the closet and gave it to Ingrid. He removed more clothes which he handed to Luke and Brian. A large, walnut storage chest lay in the corner of the room by the wall. Frank opened it. The chest was filled with old cold-weather clothes including thermal underwear, woolen socks, scarves, woolen balaclavas, woolen mittens, hoods, Caribou Sorels and mukluks. He pocketed a couple of small snow garments and turned to the others.
“Go through the chest, find what you can to stay warm. Dress for blizzard conditions and dress loosely.”
Brian and Ingrid glanced questioningly at Frank then followed his order. Frank handed a sweater to Luke. “Put it on.”
Frank was already warmly dressed from his morning ride. He looked at the wall dividing the tack room from the work room. At waist height the wall was lined with saddle racks. Blankets were thrown over the saddles. Apparently the Koreans hadn’t looked the room over carefully. Frank grabbed a roll of duct tape off the shelf.
“Don’t make any noise,” he said. “Just wait here. Get dressed. Quickly.”
The three looked at him. He got down on his hands and knees and crawled under the blankets draped over the saddles. Behind the blankets, under the saddles, a big dog door was installed for Taiga, who occasionally bunked down in the tackroom. One room was too confining for the big dog. Crawling on his hands and knees, Frank passed through the dog door into the tool room, letting the door swing gently shut behind him. The tool room door had a window. Frank stood back and looked out. A Korean was guarding the tackroom door. It was the one who battered Ingrid in the house. Frank pulled away and shuddered with disgust.
He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths.
Be a machine. A machine.
Again he looked out the window. The Korean man guarding the tack room door had an AK-47 slung over his shoulder and was pacing back and forth trying to stay warm. As the man walked by the tool room door, Frank stepped out, grabbed him from behind, and twisted his neck sideways till he groaned a cry of distress.
“You speak English?” Frank said.
“Yes,” the man snarled through gritted teeth.
“Good,” Frank said beneath gale winds singing a dirge around the barn. “You ought to do your homework before you come on my ranch and start killing people. You know who I am?”
“No,” the man rasped.
“Well, you ought to since you’re killing my friends.” Frank slapped duct tape over his mouth and wrenched his arm until his right shoulder popped out of joint. The man cried out in pain, but the duct tape muffled his scream. Frank hammered him at the base of the neck, and he collapsed unconscious. Without letting the man fall to the ground, Frank dragged the body across the barn and dropped it in an empty horse stall, slipping off the AK-47 as he did so. He took a horse blanket from the nook between the stalls. Realizing that he’d lost his edge, he threw the blanket over the man and looked back. He stood there for a moment, hesitating. In the past he would not have hesitated to kill the man. Frank didn’t have to kill the man. He just hoped he didn’t live to regret his mercy. He closed the stall door.
His own horse, Cimeron, was in the next stall. They’d put him there without removing the saddle. Steam was rising from his back after the long ride across the island.
He walked to the barn door and looked out. The snow was blowing down so heavily he couldn’t see the house. He opened the door to the tackroom. Brian, Ingrid, and Luke looked at him wide-eyed.
Frank said, “We have to get out of here immediately. Ingrid get the horses saddled up. Luke, help her. Do it now!”
“Where’d you get the gun?” Brian said.
Frank glanced down at the AK-47. “They left a guard and I took care of him. They’ll kill us all if we don’t get out of here. Get
the horses saddled up.”
Ingrid nodded in submission and walked into the barn. Luke followed her, staring back at his father as she led him out. Brian stayed behind as he saw Frank doing the same.
“Give me the gun, Frank. I’m going back in there alone.”
“You’re coming with us.”
“Give me the gun!” There was a wild look in Brian’s eyes.
“You want to give them what they deserve?”
“Damn right I do.”
“Going back in there ain’t gonna do anything. You’d be lucky to kill two of them before they blew you away.”
“I don’t care. Give me the gun.”
“You come with us. I need your help or those dirtbags are gonna kill Luke and Ingrid and Abby, too. Is that what you want?”
Brian didn’t say anything.
“Once we get the others to a safe place, we can come back and then I don’t care what you do. I’ll help you. We’ll take out all of them.”
Brian stared at Frank, then slowly nodded. “Alright, what are we gonna do? Ride out through the Tablelands?”
“Way this storm is picking up, we’d never make it through Bluster Pass.”
Frank walked over to the window and looked out. Whiteness. Speeding swirling whiteness. He returned to Brian. “I think the Pinisha’s at the mouth of Opelia Harbor. Since I’ve no idea what’s waiting for us, I don’t want to try taking the Hector. Too risky. We could outmaneuver a large vessel in a surprise chase, but they’d probably spot us on radar coming up the channel. That or the ones in the house might find us missing and radio ahead. Either way, I don’t see us making it out of Opelia Channel. No, it’s risky, but we’ll take the windward route. We can go to the emergency bunker at the base of the volcano. But first I have to get Abby. And I have to get to the Hector. You take Ingrid and Luke and make your way towards Foggy Butte. Abby and I will catch up.”
