Ashton stretched and left the desk to get himself another cup from the coffee maker. “Does it have anything to do with this case?”
“Yes, sir. She says it concerns the sheriff.”
The lieutenant sat back down and nodded. “All right, send her in.”
Olsen ushered a short, elderly woman into the office. She was casually dressed—white blouse, lavender slacks, and a dark violet sweater. She carried a black pocketbook that looked large enough to hold a bowling ball. “Are you the fella in charge?” she asked, looking him over thoroughly.
“Yes, ma’am, I’m Lieutenant Ashton. I’m heading the investigation.”
She didn’t seem impressed. “Where’s Joe Nickles? Shouldn’t he be here?”
“Captain Nickles is attending a law enforcement convention in Atlanta this weekend, but he has been notified of the situation here in Tucker’s Mill. He should be arriving sometime this afternoon. Until then, is there anything I can do for you?”
“My name is Mable Compton,” said the old woman. “I’m a good friend of Gartrell Mayo and Rowdy Hawkens, and I just came over to find out what you are doing about finding them.”
“Well so far, Miss Compton, we haven’t had time to do much of anything,” admitted Ashton. “We’ve had our hands full with that godawful mess over at the tavern. I only have eight men under my command at this time and they’ve been busy sorting things out at Rebel’s Roost. A couple of my men have searched the general area around the tavern for Mayo and Hawkens, but they haven’t discovered any sign of them yet.”
“That’s because they’re looking in the wrong place,” said Miss Mable.
“And where would you have them look?”
“Pale Dove Mountain. That’s where they’re likely to be.”
Ashton regarded her wearily. “And why do you think that, ma’am? I know there’s been some trouble up there recently, but we haven’t found anything at the crime scene to suggest any connection with Pale Dove Mountain.”
“Then you’re as blind as a damned bat!” proclaimed Miss Mable. “Don’t you think the killings at the Roost look an awful lot like the slaughter of Anthony Stoogeone and his brothers? And what about all those disappearances on the mountain lately? I tell you, there’s something up there that’s responsible for all this ruckus.”
“And what would that be, Miss Compton?”
Miss Mable caught herself before she blurted out her true opinion on the subject. If she started spouting nonsense about the Dark’Un, they would figure her to be a senile old biddy, and that wouldn’t get her the results she was seeking. “I don’t rightly know. But somebody up there is at the root of all these killings and disappearances. That’s why I think you oughta send some troopers up there to look around.”
“Like I said before, I’m extremely short-handed here. I couldn’t possibly spare the manpower right now. Besides, I personally don’t have the authority to launch a full-scale search of Pale Dove Mountain. But I assure you, Miss Compton, I’ll certainly take up the matter with Captain Nickles when he arrives.”
Miss Mable sat there studying the man for a long moment. Then she stood up and offered a warm smile. “Well, I do appreciate you taking the time to talk to me, Lieutenant Ashton.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Ashton. “And try not to worry. We’ve found no evidence that either Mayo or Hawkens are victims of foul play. It is a mystery, but one that I’m sure we’ll be able to clear up during the course of the day.”
“Well, I’ll let you get back to your work,” said Miss Mable. “Oh, do you mind if I use the restroom for a moment?”
“No, go right ahead.”
“Thank you.” Miss Mable left the office and crossed the squad room to a rear hallway. She acted as though she was heading for the single bathroom at the end of the corridor, but stopped next to a side door when she saw that none of the other troopers were looking her way. She quickly produced a ring of spare keys she had found in Gart’s bedroom earlier that morning. She tried several keys before finding the one that fit the lock. Then she ducked inside and closed the door of the evidence room behind her.
Miss Mable’s encounter with Frank Ashton had put an itch of suspicion in her mind. It had started when his eyes had narrowed a bit at the mention of Pale Dove Mountain, as if she had brought up something that he already had on his mind. His denials of having the men or authority to launch a search only strengthened her mistrust of the lieutenant. Maybe it was just her imagination, but she had an uneasy feeling that Ashton was somehow in cahoots with Eco-Plenty, just like Baldwin and Jergens. Whether he was involved with the corporation or not, Ashton seemed reluctant to check out Pale Dove Mountain, at least until Nickles arrived from Atlanta. And that didn’t suit Miss Mable one bit.
If they knew what I had in mind, they’d lock me up for sure, she thought as she went to a tall steel cabinet at the far side of the little room. She found the right key and unlocked it. On the second shelf lay two tagged items. One was Stoogeone’s .357 revolver, while the other was the MAC-10 machine pistol. She quickly stashed both firearms into the depths of her massive purse. She found ammunition for the guns in a separate drawer and took it also. Then she relocked the cabinet and left the evidence room without anyone ever knowing that she had been there.
She made it past the state troopers and out of the building unnoticed. Checking her watch, she found it was nearing nine o’clock. She didn’t go back to the boardinghouse, but went directly to Tucker’s Market instead, where she knew the others were waiting.
“Well, what did the man in charge have to say?” asked Jenny as the old woman walked through the entrance of the general store.
“Nothing much,” said Miss Mable. “He claims he can’t start a search for Gart and Rowdy until Captain Nickles gets here, but I ain’t convinced. I kinda think he’s part of the big conspiracy.”
“You think he might be on Eco-Plenty’s payroll?” asked Glen incredulously. “The state police? You can’t be serious, Miss Mable.”
The elderly landlady frowned. “Hell, Glen, I don’t know who to trust anymore. I used to think I was a fine judge of character, but since this business with Eco-Plenty began, I don’t know who’s kosher and who’s not these days. But I’m pretty sure that Gart and Rowdy are up there somewhere on Pale Dove Mountain…and I’m aiming to go up there and find them!”
“I don’t think that would be a very good idea,” Jenny told her. “I think it would be better if you waited and talked to Captain Nickles about your suspicions.”
“I’m through with waiting around! I’ve been up all night long, walking the floor over that old coot of a sheriff, and I can’t stand the thought of him being out there in the woods somewhere, maybe injured or even dead, for all I know.”
“You can’t go up there all by yourself, Miss Mable,” Glen told her.
“I don’t intend on doing it alone,” she smiled. “Ya’ll are going with me.”
“Now just hold on there. You’ve got to look at this sensibly. It’s a good bet that whoever did the killing at Rebel’s Roost is hiding on Pale Dove Mountain. What if you happen to cross paths with that murderer while you’re up there?”
“Then I’ll just have to use this,” she said, pulling the MAC-10 from her purse. She slapped the long magazine into the pistol and snapped back the bolt, working a round into the breech.
“Where did you get that?” asked Jenny.
“I snuck it out of the evidence room at the county jail. I figured we might need some extra firepower.” She took the Magnum and its cartridges from the pocketbook and laid them on the counter in front of Glen.
The storekeeper shook his head at the landlady’s stubbornness. “Come on, Miss Mable, you’ve got to get this crazy notion out of your head. Pale Dove Mountain is a mighty big piece of land. You don’t even know where to start looking.”
“No,” came a quiet voice from the rear of the store. “But we do.”
Glen, Jenny, and Miss Mable turned startled eyes on the
speaker. It was the pale duplicate of Lance LaBlanc. Around him stood his entourage of albino beauties. Only two of the women were fully clothed and they were uncanny mirror images of Jenny and Alice McCray.
Miss Mable approached the tall man in the white pajamas, her desperation overpowering her fear of the strange creatures. “You know where Rowdy and Gart are?” she asked him.
“I do not know the whereabouts of the one called Rowdy,” said LaBlanc. “But the sheriff is in our care. We can take you to him.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere!” said Miss Mable. She eyed the pale leader with a mixture of concern and suspicion. “But what happened to him? Is he hurt?”
“He was betrayed by the one called Peck,” the albino told her. “The deputy and some others ambushed the sheriff and injured him badly. He managed to escape into one of our caves and we took care of him. We stopped his bleeding, but he still needs medical attention as soon as possible.”
Jenny’s eyes suddenly brightened with realization. “So the massacre at the tavern last night…it was done out of retaliation?”
“Yes,” frowned the pale man. “But we were not responsible. That was done by the Dark’Un.”
Miss Mable grinned. “Well, it looks like that fella ain’t half as bad as I first thought. Sure glad to know that Homer Peck got what was coming to him. I should’ve known he was tied in with Eco-Plenty, if anyone in town was.”
Glen had been silent since the abrupt arrival of LaBlanc and his followers, but now he spoke up. “So all this is for real? The old stories about the Dark’Un and the pale critters that can change into different forms…it’s really true?”
“Yes,” Jenny replied. “It’s unbelievable, but it’s true.” She walked over to LaBlanc. “I’m afraid I have some bad news about my offer to Eco-Plenty.”
“They refused,” said the albino with a sad smile. “We expected as much from them. Their greed runs much deeper than we first thought.”
“The gold is still in the trunk of my car…”
LaBlanc waved his hand absently. “Oh, you may keep that,” he said, as though he were talking about some insignificant object rather than a small fortune in gold.
“You’re pulling my leg,” said Jenny in disbelief.
“No, my brethren and I have no use whatsoever for the golden mineral. Keep it as a token of our appreciation. We know that you did your best in our behalf.”
Jenny was about to protest the generous gift, but realized to do so would be futile. This race of strange creatures actually had no need for gold or any other precious metal. To them, gold was no more valuable than rock or coal.
“The time for a peaceful answer is past,” said LaBlanc. “The Dark’Un foresaw the futility of our quest and, at this very moment, is preparing for battle. The massacre at the tavern will be the last straw for the intruders. They will attack soon. That is why you must move the sheriff to safety as swiftly as possible. It will not be long before Pale Dove Mountain is under siege.”
Miss Mable turned to Jenny and Glen. “Well, are you two with me now?”
“Sure,” said Jenny. “Maybe we can find Rowdy while we’re up there.”
Glen Tucker answered by loading the revolver and sticking it in his belt. “It’s all pretty damned strange to me, but I reckon I’ll tag along.”
Miss Mable looked around. “By the way, where are Alice and Dale?”
“They drove over to Mountain View to pick up some photos,” said Jenny. “I suggested that they take the trip, if only to get Alice’s mind off Rowdy for a while.”
“I noticed she was pretty fond of the guy,” said Mable. “And she’s gonna be mighty peeved when she gets back and discovers that we went looking for him without her.” She jotted a quick note on a grocery bag and left it on the front counter.
Once they had all gathered on the store porch and Glen had locked up, LaBlanc and the others stood in a close group. “We will lead you there,” he told them. Then, without warning, he and the others went through their incredible transformation, quickly reforming into a flock of pure white doves.
“Glory be!” gasped Miss Mable in amazement. “I wouldn’t believe it was happening if I wasn’t seeing it with my own two eyes.”
Glen only stood there and gaped silently. He thought of the photos of the dark dinosaurs that his son had supposedly taken on Pale Dove Mountain and knew that the subjects had, indeed, been for real, just as Alice McCray claimed.
The three piled into Glen’s four-wheel drive and watched through the windshield as the doves took flight and headed south for their destination. “I have a feeling this is gonna turn out to be one helluva strange day,” Glen told them. Then he pulled the Ramcharger onto the highway and roared out of town, alternating his attention between the road and the flock of albino creatures who served as their airborne guides.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Sounds like old Scarface is back,” said Jamal, looking up from the copy of Soldier of Fortune he had been thumbing through. The black man could hear the faint stutter of a helicopter approaching from the west. Soon, the rhythm of the blades grew louder and deeper in resonance, filling the outer compound with noise and swirling dust.
“I believe you are right,” replied Khiem. The Oriental rose from his chair at the conference table and collected the magazines he had let the others borrow during their morning of inactivity—the mercenary magazine from Jamal and the special ninja issue of Black Belt from Lopez. He rolled them up, along with the copy of Guns & Ammo he had been reading, and stuck them into the inner pocket of his flack vest.
Lopez sighed, took a last drag from his cigarette, and ground it under the tread of his combat boot. He followed his camouflaged comrades to the open doorway of the converted barn and watched as the helicopter lit delicately in the center of the compound, next to the other Hueys and Bells. The first to emerge was their commander, Frag Hendrix. He was followed by two others.
“Hey, who are the gringos?” Lopez asked his buddies. Jamal and Khiem merely shrugged. They watched as the pair climbed out of the back of the helicopter. One was a tall, tanned man with blond hair. He looked as if he was more prepared for a leisurely day of golf than a military assault—decked out in light slacks, a sport shirt, and expensive sunglasses. They saw that he had a holstered Walther PPK/S clipped to his belt. The second fellow was short and wiry, dressed in jeans and a navy windbreaker. As the draft from the chopper blew at his jacket, they saw that he carried a Browning automatic in a holster beneath his armpit. The last one to leave the aircraft was the pilot, Skeeter Newland, a lanky, abrasive Texan whose main claim to fame was his expertise as a combat flyer, as well as an amazingly detailed tattoo of the battle of the Alamo that decorated his narrow chest from nipple to nipple.
The soldiers stood in the open doorway and nodded respectfully as Frag entered the makeshift headquarters. They could tell when their commander was in a foul mood; the scar tissue on his features was oddly pale, while the opposite side of his face was red with emotion, more than likely anger, considering the presence of the two civilians who tagged along. When they had all gathered around the conference table, Frag introduced them. “Men, this is Jackson Dellhart, the one who is paying for this particular operation, and his junior officer, Vincent Russ.” He then turned to Dellhart and indicated each of his own men. “These are my squad leaders—Desmond Jamal from Rhodesia, Nguyen Khiem from Cambodia, and Miguel Lopez from Nicaragua.”
“Quite a diversified group,’ said Dellhart.
“They’re all good men,” Frag assured him. “I recruited them during my various tours in the globe’s hot spots. Each is an expert in guerrilla warfare and, like most soldiers that grow up in oppressive environments, were weaned on violence and conflict. I’m very privileged to have them under my command.”
“Yeah, they’re pretty good old boys,” said Skeeter, cutting himself a chaw of tobacco and poking it into the pouch of his jaw. “Even if they are a nigger, a gook, and a wetback.”
&nbs
p; All three reacted as one, drawing their knives at the Texan’s snide remark. Skeeter soon found three well-honed blades hovering dangerously close to his throat: Lopez’s machete, Khiem’s Japanese tanto, and Jamal’s wickedly curved Gurkha. “Hey, boys, I was just kidding,” said Skeeter, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing precariously amid the collection of cutlery. “Ya’ll know what a big-mouthed redneck I am. Can’t help it really. I was just raised that way.”
“We have things to discuss,” Frag told them. “If you feel the need to slice up this old string bean, save it until after the operation is completed.”
The three detected the hard edge in their commander’s voice and reluctantly put their knives away. They ignored the lanky pilot and focused their attention on Hendrix, watching as he unfurled a large map and secured the corners to the table top with tape.
“This is a detailed aerial map that Skeeter reconned for us a few days ago,” explained the colonel. “It shows the surface terrain of Pale Dove Mountain—forests, streams, exposed rock formations, and so on.” He regarded Dellhart. “I worked up a feasible strike plan last night, if you would care to listen to it.”
“I’m all ears,” smiled Dellhart, leaning forward to study the map more closely.
“I would have preferred launching a night assault, but since you are so impatient, we will accommodate you and attack in broad daylight. It’s probably a better idea anyway, since the strength of the enemy is unknown and the intimate details of the mountain’s terrain are unfamiliar to my men. I propose that we leave here at precisely eleven-forty this morning, which should give us sufficient time to reach the objective by twelve o’clock noon. We will avoid the populated areas of Mountain View and Tucker’s Mill, arriving from the southern end of Peremont County. Since the state police are mainly clustered in Tucker’s Mill, they shouldn’t even be aware of our strike on Pale Dove Mountain until it’s over and done with. Our greatest chance for a success depends on discretion. We should confine ourselves to small arms fire and avoid using the heavy artillery.”
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