First Deadly Conspiracy Box Set

by Roger Stelljes

  “When they open that door, do we come charging out?” Hisle asked. “It might be our only shot.”

  Flanagan held up his bound hands. “It’s our two to their four, and they all have guns. If we rush them, they’ll just shoot us.”

  “So we just let them kill us?”

  “I don’t know,” the chief replied. “I don’t like sitting back, going down without a fight. But there’s one thing to keep in mind. If we try something, they might not release Shannon and Carrie.”

  “You think they will release them?”

  “I have my doubts. But that’s our only play at this point.”

  Hisle snorted and shook his head. “So to save the girls, we bite the bullet.”

  “You lawyers are always good for the gallows humor,” the chief replied.

  The boat came to a stop, and the two men shared a look. Whatever was to happen was going to happen soon.

  “Well then,” Hisle said, “I guess this is the end of the line. A hell of a way to go, eh Charlie?” Lyman stuck out his hand, a wry smile on his face.

  The chief grasped his hand and shook it. “It’s always been a pleasure, Lyman.”

  • • • • •

  Smith picked his way through the channel, but it was harder to maneuver in the dimming light. He beached prematurely, approximately one hundred feet from the shoreline. “Shit,” he said.

  “Ah don’t worry about it, we just gotta walk a little farther,” Dean said. The Muellers both climbed over the sides to secure the boat and then sloshed to the shore. They started a fire on the beach to help create the camping illusion. The fire started and the boat secure, Dean and David climbed back aboard, and joined Smith and Monica down in the cabin.

  Smith took his .45 off the table and nodded for Dean and David to do the same. “They might try to rush us,” Smith whispered and then nodded to Monica.

  She undid the lock to the bathroom and yanked the door open. Flanagan and Hisle remained seated in the bathroom. Smith waved them out with the .45. Flanagan exited first, grimacing as he slid off the vanity. Hisle followed, lifting himself off the toilet seat. Neither man said a word. The lead kidnapper looked to David, who started up the companionway steps. “Follow him up the steps,” Smith ordered.

  • • • • •

  Mac stayed as far to the west side of the river as he could and cruised past the mouth of the cove that Brown’s boat had entered. He could see the large boat slowly working its way into the channel. Not wanting to draw attention, at least not yet, Mac continued a half mile farther north, passing beneath the hulking steel train bridge. Then he turned around and idled a few minutes in the river. Mac, Lich, Fornier, and the Stillwater chief all slipped on their vests and checked their weapons. Mac had his Sig-Sauer, Lich his Smith. Fornier and the Stillwater chief each had their sidearm. Fornier slid a new clip into hers.

  “You always like a big gun?” Lich asked, cracking jokes even now.

  “Yours isn’t big enough for me, I’m sure,” was the tart reply, and only Mac saw her smile. “You think these guys will throw down?” she asked Mac.

  “I can’t believe they wouldn’t,” Mac answered. “They’ve come this far. They’re not going to stop without a fight.”

  Everyone was locked and loaded. Mac started south, “Riles, are you in position?”

  “Copy, Mac, we’re just west of you.”

  Mac slammed down the throttle and raced back under the bridge, angling the bow to the left, toward the river’s east side. Everyone crouched down behind him and braced themselves. Five hundred yards from the mouth of the channel into the little bay, Mac gave the order.

  “Now! Now! Now!”

  • • • • •

  Struggling through the knee-deep water, Smith pushed toward the shoreline with Flanagan in tow, followed by Monica and Hisle. The two Muellers were further back, still in waist-high water. The kidnappers each had a gun in hand and a nylon bag of ransom money over their shoulders.

  The fireworks show had started in Stillwater, accompanied by the occasional smaller blast from campsites south of their position. Then there was a different thumping sound.

  Smith looked up.

  The chopper dropped out of nowhere, painting them with a blinding light.

  “Get to shore! Get to shore!” Smith yelled, firing up at the chopper.

  • • • • •

  “Mac, veer right, veer right. They’re all out of the boat to the left side of the cove!” Riles screamed. “The chief and Hisle are second and fourth from the front!”

  Mac could hear the gunfire as he buried the throttle. “A hundred yards, we’re coming in the right side,” he yelled. “Hang on. It’s gonna be rough!”

  Mac ducked his head down just over the steering wheel. The boat planed on top of the water, the prop just under the surface as he exploded into the cove beneath the chopper. Brown’s boat bobbed forty-five degrees to the left. The Simon Says hit a sandbar just beneath the surface, skipping into the air. “Hold on!” Mac yelled as the boat bucked left and hit the water hard, mowing down one of the Mueller brothers just short of shore.

  Mac pulled back on the throttle and pulled the wheel to the right just before the boat skidded hard into the shoreline, throwing everyone hard forward. The boat listed hard to the right, creating cover. Mac threw himself over the port side and scrambled to the bow as Lich and the Stillwater chief jumped out and worked their way to the stern of the boat. Fornier was right on Mac’s hip.

  At the bow, Mac saw Brown moving to the right.

  • • • • •

  “Dean! Dean!” David wailed at his brother’s limp, floating corpse.

  “Come on! Come on!” Smith yelled. Already on shore, he opened fire on the boat, trying to cover. He glanced right. Hisle and Flanagan were forty feet back in the water, hands still bound, but high-stepping toward the cigarette boat. Smith had pivoted slightly right to fire at Flanagan when his own body jerked hard to the left. He fell to the ground, a searing pain in his left upper arm.

  • • • • •

  Mac’s second shot hit Brown. He pushed himself under the bow and looked left. The chief and Hisle were running right at him. “Come on! Come on!” Mac yelled. He saw Monica nearly ashore, directly behind Flanagan and Hisle, firing. One shot caught Lyman in the back of his right leg, sending him face-first into the water.

  Mac rolled once to his right and emptied his clip. One shot hit the woman in her right shoulder, knocking her back and exposing her whole body. Another shot hit her torso and blew her backward into the water. The chief stumbled past him, under the bow and to the cover of the other side of the boat.

  “Go, Mac, I’ve got you covered,” Fornier yelled, firing.

  Mac fished Lyman out of the water and dragged him the last twenty feet to the safety of the boat. Mac heard Lich yell, “He’s down! He’s down! They’re all down!”

  The whole thing was over in less than twenty seconds.

  “Mac!” the chief yelled. “The girls, we don’t know where the girls are.”

  “Relax, Chief,” Mac replied with a broad small smile on his face as he leaned back against the boat. “We have them.”

  “But…” the chief was astonished. “How? Boyo,” the chief started smiling, grabbing Mac by the scruff of his neck. “How in the hell did you do it?”

  “I’ll tell you later,” Mac answered and then called Riles. “Pat?”

  “Mac, everyone all right?”

  “Yeah. Lyman’s hit in the back of his right leg. We’re going to need to get him out of here,” Mac reported. He pulled out a heavy-duty Swiss Army knife and cut the chief’s and Lyman’s hands loose. Then Mac rolled Lyman onto his stomach and cut his pant leg away to get a look at the wound. The hole was on the outside of the right thigh.

  “How bad?” Lyman grunted, grimacing in pain.

  “I’ve seen worse,” Mac answered as Lich handed him a hankie and he applied pressure. “We should get a tourniquet on this,” Mac said as he
started to loosen his belt. “There should be a first aid kit in the boat,” he said to Fornier. “It’s down in the companionway. There should be towels down there as well, grab them.”

  Fornier climbed into the boat.

  “You’ve got help coming, be there any minute,” Riles reported and then said, “Wait a minute…” and then there was a pause. “Mac!”

  “What?” Mac answered, tightening his belt around Hisle’s upper thigh.

  “I don’t see Brown.”

  “What?”

  “Brown. I don’t see him. He went down by the woods, but now he’s gone.”

  Chapter Forty

  “Game. Set. Match.”

  Mac crawled to the bow and peered around it. Smith Brown was indeed gone. He must have gone into the woods.

  “I guess we’re not done yet.”

  “What?” Lich asked. “I thought you hit him.”

  “I did, damn it. I put him down. But now the fucker’s gone,” Mac answered. “Riles, paint the woods with the search light.”

  The chopper turned its nose toward the woods on the other side of the clearing. “Riles, do you see anything?”

  “Negative, Mac. We see nothing.”

  Mac already decided his next move as he slipped a new clip into his Sig-Sauer.

  “We’re all going,” Lich said, knowing his partner, grabbing additional shells for the shotgun out of his pocket, and pushing them in. Fornier checked her Glock 17 and the Stillwater chief his smaller Glock 9.

  “Give me a gun,” the chief ordered. “I’m going with you.”

  “You sure you’re up to it?” Lich asked.

  “Fuck you. Give me your piece of shit backup piece,” the chief ordered.

  “This?” Lich asked as he pulled up his pant leg to show an old Smith & Wesson six-shooter. The chief grabbed it from the ankle holster, popped open the cylinder, and checked it and then snapped his right wrist, which pulled the cylinder back in place.

  “What about Hisle?” Fornier asked.

  “I’m fine,” the lawyer answered, looking at his leg. “Help will be here soon enough. You go catch that bastard.”

  Mac didn’t need to be told twice. He looked toward the group, “Ready?” Everyone nodded. Mac grabbed the radio. “Riles, we’re heading in.”

  “Mac, wait ten seconds and you’ll have help from the Wisconsin side, the St. Croix County sheriff. His name is Kolls.” Mac looked back to his left, and three boats pulled into the small cove. The first one in the water was the sheriff himself. He was quickly followed by a crew of deputies. All had vests on and their weapons drawn.

  Mac immediately went to the sheriff. “Sheriff Kolls, we have one on the move in the woods to the north. He was hit, left shoulder I think, and is injured.”

  Kolls smiled and pointed to the cliffs. “Not to worry son. There’s no way out of here except through us or if he wants to swim.” The sheriff then looked to the rest of the men. “I want us in a line, moving straight north. Let’s flush him out.”

  “The man’s name is Smith Brown. He is armed and dangerous,” Mac added. “He has a .45 and will use it. He just threw down on us.”

  “So be careful,” the sheriff added.

  The group moved into the woods in a line. Mac took the chief and moved to the far right of the skirmish line, working their way to the cliffs. Five minutes and one hundred yards into the woods, Mac started to wonder. “Chief, did you overhear anything from these guys as to what they were going to do after, you know…”

  “They capped us,” the chief answered, a wry smile on his face. “They didn’t share anything with us if that’s what you’re asking. I assumed they would cap us and then take the boat back out.”

  “Right,” Mac answered, moving forward. The brush was getting thicker, with logs and branches strewn on the ground. Despite the flashlight in the chief’s hand and others close by, the woods were getting darker and darker. Mac had trouble seeing more than a few feet in front. He stepped onto a large log and jumped off and hit a tree in front of him.

  “Ow. Shit that hurts.”

  He banged into a thorny tree branch that dug into his left thigh. Looking down he could see blood coming through a hole ripped in his khakis.

  “Let me see,” the chief said, bending down to look at the leg, putting his flashlight on the hole. “Hmmm. That’s a nasty gash you’ve got there, boyo.”

  Sheriff Kolls approached and inspected the thigh. “Stitches for sure. There’s a first aid kit back in the boats. You should go get that taken care of.”

  “I want to finish this,” Mac protested.

  Kolls shook his head. “We’ve got this. It’s just a matter of time, trust me.”

  Mac and the chief hung back as Kolls and the rest of the skirmish line moved forward.

  “It felt like a knife going into my leg,” Mac said, flexing his leg.

  “I imagine it did.”

  The two slowly walked back toward the campsite and boats.

  “It’s hard to maneuver in here with no light, these trees, logs, and bushes all around,” Mac said. “I can’t imagine Brown doing it, wounded in the shoulder, that black… bag… over… his… holy shit. How did I miss that?”

  “Miss what?”

  “I must be really tired.”

  “Miss what, boyo? Spit it out.”

  “Chief, they had the bags of money with them, right?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “They weren’t going back to the boats.”

  The chief got it. “They had a different out.”

  “Yes, they did, you know what Monica Reynolds bought at that hardware store in Wyoming?”

  “What?”

  “An extension ladder. An extremely long extension ladder,” Mac answered, already moving back toward the camp site. “I’m betting Brown went up. They had that extension ladder. It’s probably not far from the campsite.”

  With their flashlights lighting the way, Mac and the chief picked their way back toward the campsite. Fifty feet short, Mac’s light flashed across it. He stopped and moved closer and there it was: a streak of blood at shoulder level. Mac moved his light further left and noted two more streaks of blood. The chief saw them as well.

  Mac pushed that direction. It was fifty or so feet to the base of the cliff. He looked up.

  “Look there, boyo,” the chief said, pointing to the right into the soft sand at the base of the cliff. “Those prints look fresh.”

  “That they do. He doubled back on us,” Mac answered already making his way back south, toward the camp. He went twenty feet or so and the prints turned left into a narrow crevice, perhaps ten feet wide, which carved its way deep into the cliff face. Mac and the chief, weapons drawn, slowly moved into the crevice, which curved slowly to the left. Fifty feet in, they found the extension ladder. Fully extended, the ladder reached nearly thirty feet up to a ledge.

  “Cover me,” Mac said as he stuffed his Sig in his pants and climbed the ladder, his left thigh burning with each bend of his leg and push up off a ladder step. At the top, Mac saw a narrow path that weaved its way further up into the cliffs. Mac waved the chief up.

  Once the chief reached the top, Mac radioed Riley.

  “Riles, do you copy?”

  “Go, Mac.”

  “Brown doubled back. I’ve just climbed an extension ladder and I’m on a ledge some thirty or forty feet up into the cliff. You won’t be able to see me. The chief and I are going to work our way up to the top. Get up top with the chopper, see if you can see Brown. He’s either out or will be coming out up there somewhere. Also, radio the sheriff and clue him in. Brown must have a vehicle waiting up there. We’re going to need ground troops and vehicles up there.”

  “Copy, Mac.”

  • • • • •

  Brown had managed to put the duffel bag of money over his right shoulder and let the strap run diagonally across his body so that the bulk of the bag rested on his left hip. Nonetheless, it was a struggle to make his way up with only o
ne arm. The pain shot through his left shoulder with every step up the narrow path. The shoulder would require attention soon. The wound was a through and through. He had a handkerchief stuffed in the front wound but he could feel the blood seeping into his shirt from the exit wound in the back.

  He could hear the sound of the chopper flying overhead. He looked up and saw the search light sweeping up toward the top. The police must have realized he doubled back on them. He needed to get to the top.

  He was at an optional point in the path. There was straight ahead or a steeper and narrower path to the left. David and Dean had gone straight ahead two days ago while he and Monica had gone left. Either way would get him to the top of the cliff and to the waiting pickup truck. The left path was longer but offered more cover at the top as the path exited into the dense woods. To the right, the path was shorter but the opening at the top was exposed and he would have to run some twenty or thirty yards to reach the cover of the trees.

  • • • • •

  Mac took the point, with the chief following. Every so often, along the narrow cliff walls, Mac noted a blood smear.

  “You must have hit him good,” the chief said. “He’s draining a lot of blood.”

  Mac and the chief approached a fork in the path. They both knelt down and each scanned with their flashlights. There were footprints in either direction.

  “Riles, have you seen anything at the top?” Mac asked.

  “Negative, Mac. Nothing yet.”

  “How about a vehicle? Truck? Car? Anything?”

  “Negative. There’s a small clearing up here but the woods are really dense, Mac. We’ve swept them, but we can’t really see down to the bottom in most places. Brown could be going through there, and I don’t think we could see him.”

  Mac looked to the chief. “Are you alright with splitting up?”

  “Yes,” the chief answered.

  “Okay, I’m betting he went straight,” Mac said. “That looks flatter and that would be easier with his shoulder and carrying that bag. Besides, my Sig is better than that antique you’re carrying.”