THE THOUSAND DOLLAR HUNT: Colt Ryder is Back in Action!

by J. T. Brannan

  ‘You might already know,’ he began after the audience settled down, ‘but tonight’s hunt is special, both for the number and the status of the hunters. And maybe some other reasons too,’ he added with a knowing chuckle that was reciprocated by the Vanguard men.

  ‘That’s why we’ve got the ‘A-Team’ here, the people we can trust, and why the rest of the permanent park staff have been sent on an all-expenses paid trip to Vegas. And don’t worry,’ he added quickly, before the men could complain, ‘you’ll get to go too. Except you guys will be getting a whole weekend there.’ There were cheers and applause, and Hatfield eventually calmed it down and continued. ‘We simply cannot afford for things to go wrong, so pay attention. There have been rumors about some of our guests, and now I can confirm them.’

  He clicked the laptop on the lectern, and a picture of Ian Garner appeared on the large screen behind him. ‘Mr. Garner, we already know.’ He clicked another button, and the picture changed to show a forty-something woman in an army uniform, a colonel’s rank on her shoulder. ‘This is Colonel Yvette Williams, a friend of the general’s. A lifetime in the army, but she’s been in logistics all that time and she’s never used her weapon in anger. She wants to change that now, which is why she’s here.’

  Another click, and another image appeared; and this one I recognized. ‘Billy Johnson,’ Hatfield announced to stirrings of interest in the audience, ‘leading quarterback for the Denver Broncos. He’s been here before, and knows the score.’

  The next picture came up, a white guy in his fifties, balding head offset by an impeccably tailored suit. ‘Paul Gustafson,’ Hatfield said, ‘the governor of New Mexico.’ He smiled. ‘Now you know how the general got his license for this place.’

  I remembered Ortiz saying how he was going to appeal to the state government about the park, and started to feel a bit sorry for the man; he’d have more luck getting Kane to help him with his daily crossword puzzle.

  ‘Javier Hernandez,’ Hatfield said next, as a celebrity photo shot came up of an extremely handsome Latino, shoulder length hair bouncing off his muscular shoulders. There were sarcastic oohs and aahs from the gathered ex-soldiers. ‘One of the main stars of Days of Our Lives. Fed up with his luxury trailer, wants to get his hands dirty.’

  ‘And last but by no means least,’ he continued, clicking a button to show an incredibly beautiful blonde who couldn’t have been more than twenty, ‘we have Paige Lockhart, the number one country singer in the United States.’ The oohs and aahs were real now, mixed in with catcalls and whistles of appreciation. ‘Used to hunt on daddy’s ranch as a kid, now wants to get into the real thing. And get this – she’s a spokesperson for the WWF and the Nature Conservancy.’ There was much laughter at this irony, but the best I could manage was to fake a smile.

  ‘So there we have it gentlemen, a combined hunt featuring six very high-profile – perhaps egotistical, certainly demanding – clients, that we simply cannot afford to let down. Security will be at an all-time high, some of these people are targets for paparazzi and we can’t take the risk of this hunt being photographed or filmed. Some of Vanguard’s best counter-surveillance teams will be escorting these clients here, to make sure they’re not followed, and they’ll be brought in via the back gate so that our normal park customers don’t see them.

  ‘Gates and security fences will be manned at all times while the hunt is happening, to ensure that nobody gets in. Or out,’ he added with a wry smile, to the amusement and whispered comments of the Vanguard men. It confused me, but I forgot it as soon as Hatfield started talking again.

  ‘Each of our hunters will be accompanied by a three man team, two on close protection and one sniper on overwatch.’

  Eighteen men in total to help keep these half-dozen prima donna hunters safe, so that they could slaughter endangered animals and put more dollars in the good general’s coffers; the other dozen or so would be patrolling the grounds and manning the gates.

  Hatfield was right; the last thing anyone would want would be for these people to be caught in the act.

  But that was exactly what I intended to do, why I was still here; even without the computer files Talia had been trying to access, I was going to photograph and film these high-flyers shooting their lions and hippos, their leopards and their elephants.

  And there was no way the evidence was going to the police, or to any local or state government; it was going straight to the media. And if it turned out that the mainstream media was also complicit, then there were plenty of independent online avenues to pursue.

  The images would get out to the public one way or another, and the six rich hunters would be ruined along with Badrock and his park, maybe Vanguard security too.

  There were plenty of high-definition recording devices in the armory, optics designed to capture the thrill of the hunt – or record police or military actions to ensure complicity with the rules of engagement. I would just have to ‘borrow’ some of them when I was there later sorting things out for our guests.

  Even without Talia and those computer files, one way or another, Badrock was going down.

  ‘There’s been a change of plan,’ Badrock announced with a smile, catching hold of me outside the conference room. ‘I need someone with me for the meet and greet, and most of the men here are hardly the type you want as your shop window if you know what I mean.’

  Damn. I’d hoped to have an extended afternoon at the armory to give me a chance to pilfer some of those recording goodies. I wondered if Badrock suspected something; if Talia had been caught, had she told him that it was my idea?

  But I’d go with the flow; I’d still have a chance to get a camera when I drew my own weapon later that night. It would be harder, packed as the place would be with Vanguard men, but I could still manage it if I tried.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Badrock said – picking up on my discomfiture, if not the reason for it, ‘Miles will see to it that our guests are suitably armed and briefed. They’ll go and see him after having a cocktail or two with us.’

  ‘Sounds nice,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, it will be,’ Badrock enthused. ‘Now go and get changed. I’ve had a lounge suit put in your room for you, should fit you just fine.’

  A lounge suit? Badrock was really pulling out all the stops to impress these people. I tried to remember the last time I’d worn a suit, or tied a tie, and couldn’t do it. Was it back in the Rangers? Or maybe even before that?

  But an order was an order. ‘Yes sir,’ I said. ‘When and where?’

  ‘The bar at my house,’ he replied. ‘Our first guest is arriving within the hour, so shall we say thirteen thirty?’

  I checked my watch, saw that it was quarter to twelve. ‘Yes sir,’ I said again. ‘I’ll see you there.’

  ‘Excellent,’ the general said. ‘And remember – we want to make a good impression. We’re counting on you.’

  The cocktail meet and greet was a pain in the ass.

  In addition to me and the general, there was Groban – who from the looks he gave me hadn’t quite forgiven me for holding the knife to his throat – and a couple of other senior park personnel, along with half a dozen of the better turned out Vanguard boys. All ex-officers I assumed, from the cut of their suits and the way they drank their champagne with their pinkies sticking out.

  Everyone played their role well, kissing ass in exactly the right way to make the clients think they were the real deal. I tried but didn’t do a very good job of it; the people there didn’t impress me, and it was hard to pretend.

  It was the country singer first, and the officer boys were literally drooling over the girl; and then over the course of the afternoon, the remaining clients arrived, each one more egotistical, more overbearing, and more full of themselves than the one before. And as each new one came in, another was taken out to get their weapons and equipment sorted, until finally there was nobody left but the troops.

  The strangest thing about the session was the fact that – desp
ite my refusal to kowtow and bow down to them – they all spent most of their time with me. I was the first one the general introduced, and the one they always drifted back to after doing the rounds. As for why, I wasn’t sure. Were they like animals, drawn to the people who didn’t make a fuss over them, the ones that seemed more inherently stable, a feeling they could only pick up on subconsciously?

  Or was it something else altogether? Something . . . worse?

  The whole situation seemed odd – it was almost like I was being paraded in front of them, for their entertainment. I felt like I was part of a dinner menu, and the guests were hungry.

  ‘Good job everyone,’ the general said, taking me away from my thoughts. ‘We’ve got time now to sort out our own personal weapons and equipment, have a bite to eat, then we’re meeting up at the main rendezvous point once the park has been cleared at eighteen hundred. Got it?’

  We all agreed, and drifted off to sort out our business.

  And the nagging feeling that something was desperately wrong followed me all the way.

  Chapter Eight

  The feeling lasted right up to eighteen hundred, six o’clock at a site a couple of hundred yards from the front gate.

  I had the SCAR back, a secondary thermal recording sight hidden in my sleeve, a standard daytime mini-camera attached covertly to the front of my combat webbing. Even now – when light conditions were good, before the sun went down – it was filming, recording the famous faces around me.

  It had been hard to smuggle the units out under the combined scrutiny of Hatfield, the armorer, and a couple of dozen Vanguard men who were also drawing weapons, but I’d managed it; it was all about distraction and sleight of hand, as any pickpocket will tell you.

  The excitement on those faces was palpable, those of the soldiers rather more resigned, perhaps even bored.

  Something about the situation bothered me, and I could feel the hackles rising on Kane as he stood next to me, but I decided it could wait as Badrock started to address the sizable crowd.

  ‘Friends,’ he said, arms open, ‘thank you for being here this evening, on what I hope will perhaps be our park’s most memorable hunt thus far.’

  There were whoops and calls from the crowd, which died down with a wave of Badrock’s hand.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘tonight is when hunting becomes real.’

  At this, a commotion erupted from the side of the crowd, and I watched as six men were marched into the open area where Badrock stood. Cheers rang out, but again the general silenced them with his hand.

  I recognized the men as workers from the park, four of them Mexican. I wondered if the other two came from backgrounds like Benjamin Hooker, homeless and with nobody to miss them, nobody to ask questions, and finally things started to fall into place and I was horrified that it had taken so long to do so.

  I think perhaps I had suspected, but had erased the thoughts, too diabolical to even consider.

  But there they were – six park workers, handcuffed I could see now, one for each of the hunters. And then I realized what was wrong with the clients, what had been bothering me, what I had picked up on that had made Kane react to my own subconscious reaction.

  The weapons the clients were holding were not game rifles – there were no big-bore elephant-killers here.

  Just man-stoppers, each and every one perfect for hunting human game.

  The fear on the faces of the handcuffed workers indicated that they’d worked out the same thing.

  One of them tried to run, but was brought down by a blow to the back of their head from Hatfield’s rifle butt, much to the amusement of the crowd.

  The graveyard at the old chapel flashed before my eyes, the body of Ben Hooker and so many more – all killed by hunting parties like this.

  There had been no ‘accidents’ here.

  ‘Yes,’ Badrock said, ‘tonight you will get an opportunity afforded to very few. Very few. The chance to hunt man, to kill another human being. Without fear of prison, without moral judgement. Just the thrill of the chase, the ecstasy of the hunt. And I will tell you this,’ he continued with a gleam in his eye, ‘once you get a taste for it, you will thirst for nothing else.’

  The general turned to me then, eyebrows raised. ‘Does this shock you?’ he asked.

  I had no idea what to do, the emotions raging through my body uncontrollably, the fear on the faces of the handcuffed men heartbreaking, and contrasting totally to the mask of evil covering the faces of the baying crowd.

  I hefted the weight of my rifle, wondering for a split second if I could kill them all.

  But I knew that almost every single person around me was also armed, and I wouldn’t stand a chance.

  But could I stand by and let this happen?

  I breathed out slowly; if I reacted incorrectly now, I was sure to die. I would have a better chance in the field.

  ‘No,’ I said eventually, ‘not really. I’d suspected as much.’

  ‘And you have no problem with this?’ the general probed.

  ‘Why would I? You know my background, you know what I’ve done. A human life isn’t much, in the overall scheme of things.’

  ‘Ah,’ the general said, nodding his head to one of the guards nearby, ‘but what about this human life?’

  A second later I could hear the screams of a girl.

  Talia.

  The soldier reappeared, dragging the general’s bound daughter behind him and throwing her at her father’s feet, where she collapsed, tears blinding her.

  ‘Son of a bitch!’ I yelled before I could stop myself, raising the SCAR reflexively.

  The next instant all I could see were stars, as someone gave me the same medicine as Hatfield had given the handcuffed worker, a blow right behind the ear with the heavy butt of a rifle.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Kane reacting, jaws open wide; then his body spasm in pain as he was hit by a Taser on full blast, two other men rushing forward, hooking the nooses of their catching poles over the poor animal’s neck and drawing them tight.

  Kane whimpered, weak from the shock of the Taser, and the men held him still, pinned to the ground with their poles, keeping well away from him.

  My rifle was taken away from me and I was dragged to my feet, a man on each side of me.

  ‘Yes,’ Badrock said, ‘we caught my little daughter here trying to hack into our systems. With some persuasion, she told us that you’d asked her to.’ I didn’t want to know what persuasion they’d used, but I didn’t blame the girl for talking one bit. Why had I asked her to help me? I’d sealed her fate forever.

  ‘Now why would you want her to do that?’ Badrock continued. ‘A man I’d been good to, a man I’d given a nice, well-paid job to?’

  I didn’t respond, just stared at the general with hate in my eyes.

  ‘Anyway,’ he carried on nonchalantly, ‘she’s useless to me now. I can’t possibly trust her again. So it’s goodbye sweetheart, I’m afraid,’ he said, looking down on her with mock pity. ‘It’s time for you to play the piper.’

  ‘Son of a bitch,’ I breathed, eyes still focused with hate on the general.

  ‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘Perhaps. But I haven’t even touched on what makes tonight so special, why these people are paying five million each to be here.’ He smiled at me. ‘They’re here for you, my friend. The ultimate game. They’ve come here to see if they can be the one to bring down the Thousand Dollar Man.’

  Chapter Nine

  I saw the hungry, sadistic smiles on the faces of the hunters, the smug satisfaction of the Vanguard men, and felt a chill go through my very bones.

  Badrock smiled. ‘You thought I wouldn’t find out?’ he asked, before shaking his head slowly. ‘I was always going to find out, you know. Always. And we’ve been having a bit of fun with you, to be honest. The little cocktail party this afternoon was to whet our guests’ appetites, so they could get to see the main prize.’

  The general looked the other handcuffed men up an
d down with a touch of disdain. ‘Oh, they have these men to hunt too of course. Her as well,’ he added as he kicked his daughter with a booted foot. ‘But I really don’t think any of them are going to present too many problems for our guests here, do you?’ He laughed. ‘But you? You’re a different story altogether.’

  He turned to the gathered crowd. ‘The main event tonight,’ he announced, ‘is Colt Ryder, an ex-Ranger, an elite soldier who saw action as part of a specialist recon team in Iraq and Afghanistan. Winner of the Silver Star, the Purple Heart no less than three times, and the Medal of Honor for his valor in combat. Now known by the nom de guerre ‘the thousand dollar man’, a do-gooder private eye slash bounty hunter slash mercenary who wanders the country helping people sort out their problems, for a thousand dollars a time. This is a man trained in camouflage, concealment, living off the land, silent killing techniques, advanced armed and unarmed combat, demolitions, the list goes on. A man that now kills for money, a man who is very good at it. He is not your ordinary prey. He is a legend, a myth, perhaps not a man at all but something altogether more valuable.

  ‘And so one of each of your five million dollar contributions will go to park funds, to help our conservation program.’ There were subdued laughs and chuckles from the crowd, although it might well have been true. ‘That buys each of you one of the park workers. You’ll each be assigned a territory, and each territory will have one of the workers released into it for you to hunt. But at the same time,’ he added gleefully, ‘the thousand dollar man here will be on the loose, somewhere inside the park. A trained killer, an elite soldier, a man who knows the park layout and can use it against you. A hard target if ever there was one. And so the man – or woman – who bags Colt Ryder will win the rest of the money, a total of twenty-four million, as well as getting the right to hang his handsome head from your wall.’

  There was animated conversation among the hunters and the Vanguard men, as they looked me over like the piece of meat they expected me to soon be.