Hunted

by William W. Johnstone

  Craig embraced first Stormy, then Ki. When he put his arms around Ki, she slipped the canister containing the damning film into his jacket pocket. Then they pulled apart and grinned at each other.

  Buckskin had observed the switch and smiled, thinking these newspeople were a devious bunch.

  “No film, no interviews,” Will Augello warned Craig.

  “Fine,” the reporter said. “No problem. My main concern is Stormy and Ki.”

  “As you can see, they are both well.”

  “Are they under arrest?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Chopper is on its way with Hank and Carol,” an agent called.

  “Get ready to strobe them in. Daylight is fading fast.”

  “Right, sir.”

  “Can you guide me out of here in the dark?” Craig asked Buckskin. “Without both of us getting shot?”

  The old man smiled. “You best ride back in that helicopter. If that’s all right with the feds.”

  “I’m sure that will be fine. Mr. Jennings, I would advise against you riding back in the dark. There are agents out there who might mistake you for . . .” Augello paused, searching his mind for the right word. Enemy? So far, he hadn’t been able to discern any clear-cut enemy, except for that unknown band of paramilitary people who kept popping up and killing for no reason.

  “The enemy, son?” Buckskin asked. “Out here, the only enemy we have is the goddamn federal government. Anybody takes a shot at me this night is gonna be in for a grim surprise.” He looked at Craig. “You drop by and see me ’fore you leave. You’re always welcome at my place.” He looked at Will Augello. “You federal fuckers ain’t.” He winked at Craig. “See you, boy.” Then the old man was gone.

  “Damned old turd,” one Bureau man muttered.

  “Chopper five minutes away,” the agent handling the radio called. “They’ve got a doctor on board.”

  The chopper landed, and Hank Wallace and Carol Murphy stepped down with a doctor. Moments later, the chopper lifted off, with Jack Speed, Kathy Owens, Craig Hamilton, and the schoolteacher.

  Back at the ranger station, which had been turned into a command post, Max Vernon was well aware that Hank and Carol had boarded a chopper for someplace. He was in charge of this op, but he knew better than to question or interfere in any way with IAD. Max was arrogant, ambitious, and rather short-sighted in many areas of judgement, but he wasn’t stupid. One of his men, who, like Max, was up to his ass in this cover-up, had listened to the radio transmissions from Agent Augello. He walked up to Max and whispered to him.

  Max nodded his understanding. “You can bet Ki Nichols slipped that film to Hamilton. You get some men and be there when that chopper lands, and you get that film. Any way you can. Understood?”

  The agent nodded and moved off into the gathering darkness.

  Rick Battle and Alberta Follette had returned to the station, and Al had observed the exchange. “Come on,” she said to Rick. “Something weird is about to happen.”

  “Something weird has been happening around here for days,” Rick responded. But he dutifully followed her.

  * * *

  Hank was tape-recording everything. “And this film, Miss Nichols, you have it with you?”

  “No.”

  “You’ve hidden it?”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

  Hank Wallace was an excellent interrogator, skilled in picking up on the slightest nuance. He sensed instantly that the film was gone, probably with Craig Hamilton. He cut his eyes to Carol, and she made a circling motion with her index finger, imitating the main rotor of a chopper.

  “Miss Nichols,” Hank said, “I really wish you had not given that film to your friend. You just may have placed him in very grave danger.”

  Ki was shaken at that remark. Even though she knew the IAD man was only guessing, she instantly realized the truth behind his words. She cut her eyes to Stormy.

  Stormy said, “Inspector, we don’t know who is involved in this government . . . well, screw-up, but that film is our only hope of showing why it happened. For all we knew, know, you may very well be involved in trying to cover up this . . . mess. We had to get that canister out.”

  “I understand,” Hank said. “And I can assure you that neither Special Agent Murphy nor I are involved in any cover-up. If this government has rogue agents in its employ, we intend to find them and either recommend dismissing them and/or bring charges against them.” He cut his eyes to Darry. “You do get around, don’t you, Mr. Ransom?”

  “I know the area,” was Darry’s response.

  “I’m sure you do.” Hank’s reply was dry. He turned to Carol. “Get that chopper on the horn. Tell it to get back here and—”

  “Chopper just landed at the command post, sir,” Hank was told.

  “Damn!” the inspector said. His eyes widened as Ki pulled a short-barreled pump shotgun out of her duffle.

  That made the other agents a bit nervous.

  “Ah, Miss Nichols,” Hank said. “Would you please put that shotgun away?”

  “I was just going to unload it,” Ki said.

  “Why don’t you give it to Agent Norris, there?” Hank suggested.

  “Why, sure,” Ki said sweetly, and handed the shotgun to the agent. She did not mention anything about the .38 she had under her jacket.

  “Thank you, Miss Nichols,” Hank said, then turned to George Eagle Dancer. “Now, sir, if you would be so kind as to tell me your part in this . . . little drama.”

  George smiled and began speaking in Cheyenne.

  Darry ducked his head to hide a grin.

  Hank Wallace sighed and looked very pained.

  * * *

  Craig sensed trouble coming his way as half a dozen men began closing in on him seconds after he hopped out of the chopper. He circled the chopper, found himself in a small pocket of darkness and almost ran into Alberta and Rick. He took a chance that the rangers were not involved in any dirty business and slipped the canister of film into Alberta’s jacket pocket. “Don’t lose that, and don’t let the feds know you have it,” he whispered.

  “What?” Rick asked.

  “They’ll kill you for that film,” Craig whispered.

  “Hey, you!” The shout stopped the reporter and the rangers. “Reporter! Hold up. We want to talk to you.”

  Craig turned and smiled in the darkness. The main rotor blade had wound down and stopped its ticking. The night was silent. “Why, sure, boys. I want to interview some of you, too.”

  “No interviews,” he was told. “Come on.”

  Rick and Alberta pressed up tight against the body of the big chopper. The lights on the makeshift pad had been turned off, and neither felt they had been seen.

  Craig walked off toward the ranger station with the agents, chatting easily with the men.

  “You just might have the shortest career in the history of the service,” Rick whispered to Alberta. “Let’s see: interfering with a federal officers, withholding evidence... and I’m sure there are about a dozen more charges they could pin on you.”

  “So are you going to turn me in?” she asked with a grin.

  “Don’t insult me. Come on. We’ve got to get that film to a safe place.”

  “Where?”

  “Be quiet. I’m thinking.”

  A gentle rain began falling as the mist moved in, covering the land.

  * * *

  Ray and Karen Collier had seen the helicopter circle and land, then later, as the night closed in, watched as fires were built. They talked it over and made up their minds to take the family, hike over, and put an end to this nonsense.

  “Don’t be a fool!” Kevin told the man and wife.

  “It has to end,” the doctor said. “My son has killed a federal agent. You people were involved in a wild shoot-out where federal agents were killed. If we don’t turn ourselves in, we’re all going to be hunted down like rabid animals and destroyed. Don’t you see that?”

  “He’s
right,” Niki surprised her husband by saying. “There is no place left to hide, Kevin. And I don’t feel like running for the rest of my life. Those agents attacked us, not the other way around. A judge has to take that into consideration. Karen has said that her law firm will represent us. We’ve got to think about the young people, love.”

  “Mother is right, Dad,” Beth said. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

  Kevin looked at his friends in the very dim light that night allowed. Vince and Todd both nodded their heads in agreement as did the rest of the group. “All right,” Kevin said with a sigh. “Let’s go. Everybody get a flashlight. Just pray we don’t get shot.”

  The group started walking across the flats toward the camp of the federal officers.

  * * *

  “Look, goddammit!” Craig was rapidly losing what little temper he had left. “I’ve told you fifteen times, I don’t have any film. I don’t even know what in the hell you’re talking about.”

  “He must have given it to the guide,” Max said, speaking openly now, for he had no intention of letting Craig Hamilton leave this room alive. Max and the agents aligned with him had just stepped over a line from which there could be no retreat. “Alert all outposts that there is a man on horseback who is armed and dangerous. Blow him out of the saddle.”

  “You’re insane!” Craig said. “Crazy—all of you. You can’t possibly hope to get away with this. Come on, guys. Give it up. Jesus Christ, people, don’t dig yourselves in any deeper.”

  Craig had positioned himself against the rear wall, next to the back door, his back pressing against the panel of light switches. He could tell the door was not locked.

  Max looked at an agent he’d called Sonny. “You have the crack.”

  “In my pocket.”

  “I’ve got a cold gun,” another agent said.

  “Then you know what to do,” Max said.

  Craig plunged the small room into darkness, jerked open the door, and headed for the woods, running low and doing his best to move like a snake.

  * * *

  Jody Hinds had been so exhausted he had to rest. He’d curled up under some low-hanging branches and dropped off into a deep sleep, oblivious to the rain that fell around him and on him. He was about fifty yards from where Major Lew Waters, Lt. Commander Jay Gilmore, and Major Pete Cooper were resting, huddled under an overhang in a small ravine.

  * * *

  Johnny McBroon had seen the bobbing flashlight beams from his position on a low rise and walked down to join them, taking a chance that the group was not federal agents or any of Sam Parish’s bunch.

  “Hey, you people!” he called, after squatting down behind some bushes he’d almost fallen over in the rainy darkness. “Don’t shoot. I’m friendly. I just want to get out of this mess. Put your beams on me if you like. My hands are in the air. I’ve got a pistol in a holster.”

  “Come on out,” Kevin called. “And talk to us while you walk.”

  “My name is Johnny McBroon. I write under the name of Johnny Mack. I’m a wildlife photographer and writer. I’ve been ducking and dodging gunfire for what seems like a damned week.”

  “We do know the feeling,” Ray Collier said, as Johnny stepped up to join the group. He held out his hand. “I’m Doctor Ray Collier. We’re going to take a chance and turn ourselves in to that group of federal agents over there.” He pointed to the camp fires about a half mile away. “Hopefully, peacefully,” he added.

  “Turn yourselves in?” Johnny questioned. “What the hell have you done?”

  “It’s a very long story,” Karen said.

  “Well, we’d better start hollering at those feds now,” Johnny suggested. “I guess they’re not trigger-happy, or they’d already be shooting at us.”

  “You people out on the flats,” the bull-horn voice boomed through the rain. “Stand easy with your hands in the air. We’re federal agents. Don’t panic. We’re not going to shoot.”

  “I know that voice,” Johnny said, blowing his photographer story.

  “This is Inspector Henry Wallace from the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

  “Oh, shit!” Johnny said. “He used to be a legal attache at the embassy in Berlin.” Then Johnny grinned mischievously. “I heard he went IAD. This is going to be interesting.”

  “If you’re armed, sling your rifles and shotguns and keep your pistols in leather or in your pockets. Come on in.”

  “Jesus, Hank,” Special Agent Augello said. “Are you trying to get us all killed?”

  “I’m trying to keep everybody alive,” Hank replied. “You think if those were angry survivalists they’d be walking across an open area with flashlights burning?”

  “Hey, Hank!” the voice came out of the misty rain. “It’s Johnny Mack. What’s the matter, Hank? Did some of your Cabbage Patch Kids screw up on this op?”

  “Johnny McBroon,” Hank muttered. “The damn CIA is in on this. Who else is going to pop up?”

  “Cabbage Patch Kids?” a young Bureau man said. “I resent the hell out of that!”

  “Believe me, we’ve called them worse,” Carol said. “You know that man, Henry?”

  “From way back, Carol. I was le-gat at the embassy in Berlin. Johnny was active then. I heard he got into trouble—which he did almost daily—and resigned before they fired him. He’s probably doing contract work.”

  Johnny stepped into the light from the fires, both hands held up. “Evenin’, Hank. Some of your boys and girls screwed up big-time on this one. Al Reaux from NSA is dead. Somebody broke his neck.”

  “Goddammit!” Hank lost his religion and hurled his half-filled cup of coffee across the clearing. Then Carol stood astonished as Henry “Hank” Wallace did some of the fanciest cussing she’d heard in a long time.

  “My word!” Carol said.

  When Hank had calmed down, Johnny said, “You’ve got to call a cease-fire in this area, Hank. There are innocent people being killed, and there’ll be more if something isn’t done right now. There are Army, Navy, and Air Force Intel people dodging lead out there.”

  “What the hell does the military have to do with any of this?” Carol blurted.

  Johnny shrugged. “They were sent in to find a man. Just like I was.”

  “Well, we all know who that man is,” Hank said, looking around for Darry.

  But Darry had silently vanished into the night, Pete and Repeat with him.

  “Jesus Christ!” an agent blurted and pointed. “He was standing right there with his dogs five seconds ago.”

  George Eagle Dancer smiled.

  20

  The agents blasted the misty night with pistol fire, bringing the entire encampment of agents on the run, startling Alberta and Rick (who had hidden the canister in the barn, stayed in the barn darkness, and were engaged in some kissing and a little friendly groping when the mini-war started), but leaving Craig unscathed as the reporter serpentined through the timber.

  Once in the brush, Craig cut on the afterburners and headed for the road, the last place (he hoped) the rogue agents would think to look for him. He quickly reached the roadblock, the lights plainly visible from his position, and stayed in the timber paralleling the gravel road. He had quit smoking upon returning from his tours in Vietnam, years back, and was in excellent shape. He began jogging whenever the terrain and brush would allow it. Chuck’s place was not that far from the ranger station, and Chuck liked him and despised the federal government. More and more, Craig was understanding why so many people loathed the government and their high-handed, near dictatorial tactics.

  Then he heard footsteps behind him.

  Craig dropped to the earth and lay still, listening. What he heard shocked him.

  “Hey, Mr. Hamilton!” the stage whisper reached him. “I know you’re out there. I’m friendly. I’m a helicopter pilot who was befriended by some of those people Max Vernon is hunting. My chopper crashed and they helped me. Look, I believe this whole thing is a set-up, and I want away from it.
Okay?”

  Craig had to trust somebody. He raised up. “Okay, man. Come on and let’s talk.”

  “My name is John Ayers. We can talk later. Right now, let’s get the hell gone from here. I’ve still got some wind left. You seemed to have a definite location in mind, let’s go. You don’t want those guys lined up with Max to catch you . . . and I don’t want them to catch me with you.”

  * * *

  “What the hell do you mean the AG is out of pocket?” Hank Wallace yelled into the mike.

  “Just that. She left on vacation yesterday, by car, with some friends. I don’t know where in the hell she is. Backpacking in the Smoky Mountains, I think.”

  “Try to find her,” Hank said wearily. “And get hold of the deputy director for me. He’s got to call off Max Vernon and his two-legged dobermans. It’s out of control here, Jerry. Just out of control.”

  “I’ll do what I can, Hank.”

  “Do better than that, Jerry. Just get it done!”

  * * *

  Darry and Pete and Repeat loped effortlessly through the rainy, misty night, staying in the low places, the ravines, and using ancient wolf trails that were older than man. If they were spotted at all, it was only for a micro-second, and the watcher could not be certain his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him in the night; he only thought he saw dark, animal-like shadows flitting silently through the wet and gloomy mist.

  They covered the miles to the ranger station in an astonishingly short time, for wolves could run for incredibly long distances without stopping for rest, and if sensing danger or closing in for a kill, the average wolf could reach speeds of up to forty miles per hour.

  At the ranger station, the three bellied down in the brush and watched the goings-on, which seemed to be frantic.

  “Goddammit, find him!” Max yelled. “He’s got to be found and silenced.”

  “Have you lost your damn mind?” Rick Battle came charging up to Max, Alberta right behind him.

  “Shut up and stay out of the way,” Max warned the ranger. “You don’t have the whole picture here.”

  “The whole picture?” Alberta yelled. “The man is an internationally known reporter.”

  “I don’t give a damn who he is,” Max returned the shout. “He’s withholding evidence, aiding and abetting two fugitives from justice, and he just took a shot at one of my men. Now, little girl, you just shut your mouth and stay clear of this.”