“Well, I was driving down Old Gulch Road after visiting my brother-in-law who’s in the hospital up at Salmon…” Jim stroked his mustache.
“Yeah.” The tickle of anticipation filtered through Frank’s bloodstream. Maybe he wouldn’t have to organize his paperclips for thrills this afternoon after all.
“I noticed a lot of smoke up ’round the east ridge.”
“Smoke, huh? Campfire?”
Jim shrugged. “Maybe once, but it’s bigger than that now.”
Frank straightened and lifted one eyebrow. “You don’t say.”
“Hard to say how many acres might be burning, but dry as we’ve been, that fire’s sure to spread fast.”
Frank’s pulse kicked up. “How close is it to the road? Any buildings nearby? Do we need to evacuate folks from town?”
Jim slapped him on the shoulder. “You are bored, aren’t you? Naw, town’s in no danger. It’s miles away. Near Rafferty Creek.”
“Damn,” Frank grumbled and moved to sit on the edge of his desk. He picked up the phone and dialed the chief of the volunteer fire department. “Don’t suppose the town elders would let me run a practice evacuation just for fun, do you?”
While Frank waited for someone to answer his call, he glanced down and realized he’d sat on his sandwich.
“Aw hell,” he grumbled and tossed his pancaked lunch in the trash.
Jim rocked back on his boot heels, chortling.
“’Lo?” a male voice came over the line.
“Hey, Rod, Frank Billows here. Got a job for the fire department out near Rafferty Creek.”
Jim waved his hands and shook his head.
Frank scowled. “Hang on a minute, Rod.” He pressed the phone to his chest. “What?”
“No disrespect to our volunteer boys, but this fire’s up on the mountain. Way up. No access I know of, ’cept maybe some old logging roads. Not sure there’s much Rod and his fellas can do.”
“Huh. I see.” Frank shifted his position on the desk and raised the phone to his ear. “Rod, you got the number for N.I.F.C. down in Boise? Jim seems to think we need to call in the big dogs for this one.”
He scribbled the number down that the fire chief gave him for the federal agency that monitored wildfire incidents and pressed the switch hook with his thumb. The National Interagency Fire Center referred him to the regional coordination center. Moments later he was talking with the Eastern Great Basin Coordination Center about the dispatch of a smokejumper crew.
Frank nodded and grinned to Jim as he left the office. The sheriff’s day had just become considerably more interesting.
Jackson grimaced as the van bounced over a particularly deep rut, jarring his sore shoulder. The narrow dirt track they traversed was hardly worthy to be called a road.
Even after a full day of interrogation, he still hadn’t satisfied all of his captors’ demands. Finally, Vince had been assigned to drive Rick and Jackson down the mountain and back to his laboratory at Hemmer Biochemical in Missoula to retrieve files, computer logs and—God forgive him—samples of Stabilzon.
Jackson had been forced to leave Emily at the cabin with Cara, Kenny and the swarthy-looking Montego. Rick’s repeated use of the term insurance and leverage in reference to Emily chilled Jackson to the marrow. He’d do whatever it took to save Emily. Even surrender his work on Stabilzon.
Jackson stared numbly out the window, trying not to think of the traitorous act he was committing to save his daughter. Around them, towering ponderosa pines and red alders canopied their path and crowded the woods as far as he could see. Mile after bumpy mile, the van lurched over ruts and meandered through dense forest on its way down the mountain.
Every mile took him farther from Emily, and every mile sharpened his awareness of how remote the mercenaries’ cabin hideout was.
“Is that smoke?” Rick rode beside Jackson in the backseat and leaned forward to peer out the windshield at thin wisps of gray that curled through the air.
Vince cracked his window and sniffed. “Smells like it.”
Rick frowned. “Where’s it coming from? The engine?”
“Naw.” Vince shook his head. “Van’s fine. It must be from a campfire ahead.”
“Campers? Up here?” Rick settled back in the seat, his brow furrowed. He tapped his fingers on the pistol that lay in his lap. “We can’t take the chance of anyone seeing the van or finding the cabin. If you see any campers, take care of them.”
A prickle started at the back of Jackson’s neck. “What are you saying?”
Rick glanced across the seat. “Use your imagination, Doctor. Campers this far in the wild can meet with all forms of tragedy. Animal attacks. Falls off high peaks. Dehydration.” He shifted his gaze to Vince. “Make it look like an accident.”
A cold sweat beaded on Jackson’s scalp. Mother of God! These men showed no compunction over slaughtering innocents. What would they do to Emily if he didn’t give them what they wanted? Perhaps they’d only keep her alive until they had what they wanted—the Stabilzon, his research, his life.
And what choice did he have but to cooperate with these thugs? If Emily’s life weren’t in peril, he’d have more room to fight back, to resist. But how could he risk losing Em?
Jackson ground his teeth until his jaw ached, frustration a living thing clawing inside him. He needed more options. Alternatives, solutions.
He was a scientist, by God! He had to be able to find another way to work through this without giving in to the demands of terrorists.
“I don’t know, boss. It’s getting thicker. Too much smoke to be a campfire.” Vince craned his head and surveyed the small patch of sky visible through the treetops over the road.
While Rick evaluated the increasing smoke volume, Jackson inspected the interior of the van. He twisted, glancing behind him to the cargo hold, and found only camouflage tarpaulins covering something bulky. A rifle with a scope and the ropes that had bound Jackson throughout the past day of questioning lay at Rick’s feet. For the duration of the ride down the mountain, Rick allowed him to ride unfettered, the promise of a bullet in Jackson’s back before he ran twenty feet serving as the deterrent to an escape attempt.
“You’re thinking wildfire?” Rick asked Vince.
“Could be. Seems to be coming from the leeside of the mountain.” Vince dragged a hand through his short ruffled hair. “Jesus, if the winds shift, and it heads toward the cabin—”
Jackson stiffened and perked his ears to the men’s discussion. “If there’s a forest fire out there, we have to go back and get the others out. We can’t just leave them stranded!”
Rick met Vince’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Both men looked grave. Rick flipped open his cell phone and punched in a number. After a moment, he cursed and tossed the phone aside. “No damn signal this far out in the sticks.”
Jackson mentally grimaced. So much for his hope of snatching the phone and calling 9-1-1.
Ducking his head to look out the side window again, Rick muttered, “Keep driving.”
“Good God, man! You can’t—”
Rick wrapped his fingers around the gun on his lap and sent Jackson a stifling glare. “Can it, McKay. We’re not going back. Kenny’s got the other van to get them out if the fire makes it that far. But we’ve got to get through now before the road is blocked. There is no other way off the mountain. Unless you’d like to walk?”
The van jostled over another hard bump, and something in the back rattled. Jackson glanced into the cargo hold again and found the tarp had slipped off the corner of a stack of assault weapons and missile launchers. Though Jackson couldn’t specifically identify the artillery riding behind him, he had no doubt about the firepower. Rick and Vince were prepared for almost anything.
Hell! They could blast their way into Hemmer, take what they wanted. And he was the Judas leading these killers to their prey, offering Hemmer and hundreds of employees and security guards up for slaughter.
Self-disgust soured i
n his gut and roiled inside him. He had to think of something before it was too late. Had to think of an escape. Had to get back to the cabin for Emily before—
He didn’t allow himself to finish the thought. Nothing could happen to Emily. Nothing!
Hold on, baby. We’ll be all right, he thought, hoping Emily could sense his determination to keep her safe.
Jackson again turned to his window and stared out at the maze of trees without really seeing anything. His brain scrambled for a plan.
As the van rumbled farther down the rutted path, the smoke grew denser, and the anxiety kinking Jackson’s gut torqued tighter. Still he had nothing. No ideas. No plan.
The van rounded a rocky ridge, and Vince slowed to a stop, pointing down the road. “Holy shit! Rick, look.”
Rick and Jackson both leaned toward the front seat and peered out the front window. Jackson squinted to see through the swirl of black smoke.
About a half-mile down the narrow road, fire blazed in the trees and the thick undergrowth. Ten-foot flames engulfed both sides of the pocked dirt road and licked the ground. Burning debris littered the path, and glowing sparks danced in the swirling air. The road was impassable.
Snarling under his breath, Rick climbed out of the van for a better look. Through the open door, a wave of heat slammed into Jackson. Hot winds, stirred by the fire, blew sparks inside the vehicle.
Jackson’s gut tightened, thinking of the arsenal in the back of the van. One misdirected spark could be disastrous. Gritty wood smoke filled his lungs when he drew a breath to warn Rick about the flying sparks. He coughed and dragged the edge of his shirt over his nose.
Vince rounded the van and waved a hand toward the inferno. “We’ve gotta go back. No way we can make it through that,” he shouted over the roar of flames and crackling timber. “The heat alone will destroy the weapons, blowing us to kingdom come!”
Rick’s narrow-eyed, tight-lipped scowl clearly looked to pin blame for the roadblock on Vince. Hostility and frustration radiated from Rick like the searing heat blasting from the fire.
Jackson eased across the seat and slid out of the open side door. After sitting for hours, his leg muscles cramped when he climbed out to survey the fire for himself.
Spinning toward Jackson, Rick raised his gun and aimed. “Where are you going?”
Jackson lifted his hands slowly. “Nowhere. Just having a look at the fire.”
“Well, get back in the van. I have to figure out another way off this damn mountain.”
Jackson stalled, taking a moment to stretch his back, shaking the stiffness from his legs. Examining the turn of events from every angle.
Fire. A roadblock. If nothing else, he’d been given some time. But at what cost? Clearly the setback frayed Rick’s already thin patience.
“Get in!” Rick shouted and shoved the gun closer, as if confirming Jackson’s appraisal of his waning temper.
A deep rumble like thunder rose over the cacophony of blazing trees. All three men froze. Scanned the surroundings for the source of the growing rumble.
“Up there!” Vince pointed to the sky directly over the narrow road. A small, twin propeller plane swooped low over the tops of the trees then buzzed past.
“What the hell?” Vince continued shading his eyes and watching the sky. “He was low. Way low. What kind of fucking idiot flies that low in the mountains.” He choked and coughed on the thick smoke. “And near a forest fire?”
“Fire suppression crews,” Jackson said. “Aerial water drops maybe?” His pulse ticked as the glimmer of an idea took hold. Could he signal the pilot? Not likely. Not without Rick seeing.
Please, God, help! He had to get back to Emily…
“Think he saw the van?” Vince asked.
Rick jerked a steely glare toward his cohort. “Fuck! Let’s get moving!”
Again the rumble vibrated through the trees. The plane was making another pass.
Nerves thrumming, Jackson watched the aircraft swing past. Dropping something. Not water. People.
“Holy crap, Rick, someone jumped out!” Vince shifted his position to get a better look.
Reaching in the van, Rick grabbed the rifle and aimed at the sky. “Just like duck hunting.”
Jackson’s heart rose to his throat. In a split second, he made his decision.
Here was his chance. His escape. But not before he at least tried to spare the parachuter in Rick’s crosshair.
He plowed into Rick, a defensive lineman’s tackle. Rick stumbled backward, landing hard on his ass, and the rifle skittered to the leaves beside him.
“You sonofabitch!” Rick growled.
Jackson landed a swift kick in Rick’s jaw. While Rick swayed from the blow, Jackson lunged for the rifle.
Hearing the crunch of gravel behind him, Jackson spun to intercept Vince. He heaved the rifle around and crashed against the man’s head. Vince reeled backward. Fell.
Rick clambered to his feet, groping for his pistol.
And Jackson ran.
Chapter Three
Lauren Michaels careened toward the earth at ninety miles an hour. Freefalling. Spinning. Below her, the landscape twirled and tilted in a disorienting brown and green blur. She had no more than twenty seconds to live if she screwed up now.
Jump thousand.
Adrenaline buzzed through her veins. Acid bit her gut.
Despite the strap squeezing her chest, she dragged in a lungful of thin, smoke-tinged air. Think. Stay focused.
Look thousand.
Waves of heat rolled up to greet her from the conflagration below. Thirty-foot flames reached skyward from the head of the fire like wicked, writhing hands waiting to snatch her from the air. The whip of wind streaming past roared in her ears.
The eighty-five pounds of dead weight strapped to her body pulled her toward the flaming trees. She forced training to the forefront.
Reach thousand.
Lauren grabbed the green ring near her left shoulder with her right hand.
Wait thousand.
Anticipation danced along every synapse.
Pull!
With a firm yank, she drew her arm across her chest and flung it outward. A hard jerk at her shoulders snapped her upright. Lauren squeezed her eyes shut. Prayed.
Looking up, she watched the billow of white and orange splay overhead. Thank God.
The team was fanatical about checking chutes, but the off chance existed…
She craned her head until she spotted Boomer, her jump partner, drifting along to her left. Below them, she located the first stick of jumpers. Riley’s and Birdman’s rectangular canopies drifted smoothly toward earth. As Lauren sailed down, she scanned the ground for the tiny clearing that was her target.
“Over there! Top of that ridge!” Boomer shouted in the loud, deep voice that was the source of his nickname.
Lauren gave him a thumbs up. Jump spot in sight.
God, she loved her job!
Suddenly her view of the burning forest began turning dizzily. Something was wrong.
Lauren tugged on her left toggle to correct her spin. Once stabilized, she cocked her head back to check her chute again.
Dread slammed her stomach. A suspension cord had wrapped around the corner of her canopy and hung up. A tension knot.
“Damn it!” She grabbed the suspension line with both hands and jerked hard, working to free it. No luck. Another tug.
She started spiraling again and had to release the tangled line in order to pull her toggle. But she continued twirling, losing precious seconds.
“Mike! Cut away!” Boomer shouted.
Still whirling like a human fire devil as the earth rushed toward her, Lauren gave up her toggles and yanked again on the hung line. “Come on, you sorry sonofa—!”
“Mike!” She heard an uncharacteristic note of panic in Boomer’s voice.
Lauren knew she had to be close to five hundred feet. The point of no return. Cut away or face death. Below five hundred feet, the reserv
e chute wouldn’t have time to deploy for a safe landing speed. Not to mention how far she’d, no doubt, drifted off course.
One more hard tug. Nothing.
With the dense and unforgiving treetops getting closer by the second, she had no choice. She jerked the cutaway clutch. Again the tug of a canopy filling jerked her harness, this time from her chest.
“Shit, woman! You ’bout gave me a heart attack!” Boomer yelled.
“Piece of cake!”
Boomer laughed. “You’re a wild woman, Mike!”
She allowed herself a quick cleansing breath then started her checks. Canopy. Airspace. Toggles.
The jump spot was too far to the left now, and the treetops too close to clear. Damn. So much for her perfect record.
As she dropped into the forest, sharp branches jabbed at her and snagged her canopy. A veil of dark green pine boughs obscured her view. She heard the snap and tear as her canopy settled in the branches of a black spruce, suspending her forty feet in the air. She groaned. Boomer was sure to give her hell about this.
Her two-way radio sputtered, and from the plane, their spotter called. “Jump 49, Michaels. You okay?”
She fumbled for her radio and put it to her lips. “I’m in a frigging tree, but I’m okay. I’ll let you know when I’m on the ground.”
“How’s the view from up there, Mike?” Boomer said over the radio.
“Bite me, Boom,” she radioed back.
Even without the radio, she could hear Boomer’s answering hoot of laughter. She grinned and shook her head as she secured her radio and assessed her situation.
Checking her risers, she discovered her plight wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Without wasting any more time, she started working through the letdown procedure. Rope in leg pocket. Feed through D-rings. Tie off to tight riser.
She paused to make sure she had no lines or straps around her neck then released her cutaway clutch and rappelled to the forest floor.
“Jump 49, Michaels,” the spotter called over the radio. The rumble of the Twin Otter aircraft filtered through the transmission.
Under Fire Page 3
