"See, it's all in the way you prioritize things."
PART TWO
THE VALLY OF CHULIMANTAN
6
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
With maps of British Columbia and Alaska tacked to every piece of exposed wall inside of the small hotel room, Collins, Alexander, and Farbeaux compared the description of an area along the Stikine River taken from L. T. Lattimer's letter home on the back of the last page of the Petrov journal.
"I don't know Jack, how many times has the Stikine changed its course, even if only by feet after a hundred years?" Punchy asked. "I think if I returned to Ottawa, I may be able to get a better handle on this. Someone in our interior department may have something to offer.
Jack stepped back from the large map and looked at Alexander. "You know better than anyone that if we went to any branch of any government with this, not only would we be arrested, they would fill those areas with so many Mounties and bureaucratic red tape, Lynn would surely be killed."
"Damn. Sorry, Jack, maybe I need some sleep."
Jack nodded and then looked at his old friend. "We'll have time to rest on our way up to your backyard."
Farbeaux sat at the small table and sipped a large cup of coffee, grimacing at the horrible taste. He turned the pages of the Petrov journal easily, and even as he did he felt the brittleness of the paper.
"Beside the description of the overhanging bluffs and medium-size plateau our Colonel Petrov describes at his last encampment, the exactness of the area leaves much to be desired. Too much has changed."
Jack looked back and saw the Frenchman as he thumbed through the pages. "Lattimer used the journal to discover his gold deposit. Does it say anything about where that strike was made in the papers and letters?"
Farbeaux closed the old diary and then picked up the plastic-covered letter still etched on the last page of the journal. He shook his head and then handed Jack the pile. "I see no reference about his find anywhere, other than he found a wonderful strike."
Jack shook his head. He was beginning to think they would stand a better chance just making their way up to the Stikine and hoping for the best. He figured the Russians couldn't be that inconspicuous in that wilderness area. He became frustrated and slapped the page in his hand against the table, and then sat. He knew he was fooling himself: The Stikine was only the most dense and nearly unexplored region in North America. It could be like finding a needle in the proverbial haystack. In frustration, he started reading Lattimer's announcement again about his find and declaration.
"Why was a Russian colonel even in that part of the world? How could anyone get that lost, especially a trained army officer? And just who in the hell are these 'children' he keeps mentioning?" Alexander asked. "It makes me think this whole book may have been written by a madman. Or, have you even considered the fact that this whole thing is a hoax?"
"I guess we'll ask Sarah what Doc Ellenshaw has to say about it," Collins said as he rubbed his eyes.
Farbeaux was beginning to agree with the Canadian CSIS man. "I believe the man may have been a deserter from the Russian army, after all, they were going through political turmoil at the time, if I remember right it was a little thing called the Russian revolution."
"But run to Alaska, get lost, bury some wagons full of gold, then disappear."
Jack looked at Alexander and then slowly shuffled through the papers again. As he did, he finally found the notation he was looking for. He smiled and then laid the papers down.
"Son of a bitch, it was right there the whole time, and we boy geniuses missed it."
Farbeaux just raised his right eyebrow and took another sip of the bitter coffee. Punchy Alexander turned away from the large maps to look at Jack.
"What did we miss?"
"Here," Jack said as he slid the journal across the table and pointed to the second to the last page. It was notes jotted down by Lattimer. "He said he finally had his strike, hallelujah, he said it was right in front of him the whole time, under a bluff just where the diary said Petrov and his deserters made their last camp. At this site he came across strange-looking aluminum, a hundred yards of it."
"Strike, Jack, not gold-filled wagons, and just because he found a bunch of aluminum cans — I just don't see where any of that helps," Alexander said.
Farbeaux looked from the letter to Alexander who had joined them at the table. He then fixed Jack with his own penetrating eyes. "I think I see what you're saying, Colonel."
"Lattimer didn't find his strike, he found the diary and then he found at least one of the wagons of gold."
"Whoa, that's stretching things, Jack," Punchy said with a shake of his head.
"No, he tells us it was the mother lode, and it wasn't a deposit he found in the river right here." Jack pointed to the dates of the first notes in the upper right-hand corner. The pencil used was faded, but the date was clearly visible: July 22, 1968. "That is the date he wrote his relatives on the back page of the last entry of the journal. Now look here, the last thing he writes is the fact that he was sending Ellenshaw back with the journal and he would take the strike and head back when he had assistance from the local Indians to help load it."
"So?" Alexander asked.
"The date, old friend, on that last letter — July 23, 1968. Now, how can he have a strike, a find of any kind, and have it dug out of the ground, packed, and ready to go in one day, or even two, three, or four?"
"I'll be damned," Alexander said. "Yes, I would say, maybe he found it already smelted and put into coin, maybe American double eagles, just as…"
"The diary said," Jack and Henri finished for Punchy.
"Now that is what's called a gold strike," Alexander said smiling. Then the smile faded. "Still doesn't say where along the Stikine to look."
"I think it does," Henri said, shuffling through the letters. "Now, the map that was inside of the journal is worthless, no markings of any value. Except for this." Farbeaux pulled over the last page Jack was holding and then the map with Lattimer's little chicken scratches on its old face. "Here, he says he's sending Charlie Ellenshaw and the grad students back to the camp, and he figured they could find their way back in a matter of two days down river."
"Yes?" Punchy said, but Jack already pieced it together and so he stood and walked over to the map and looked.
"The wording, Mr. Alexander," Henri said. "He mentions the camp; obviously we thought he was saying it was the camp of the graduate students he was hired as guide for. Now, anywhere on the upper Stikine is many more days by boat back to civilization than just a mere two days, not two days journey, so it has to be another camp, perhaps—"
"A fishing camp," Jack said turning to face the two men. "The Tlingit Indian Fishing Camp to be exact." He jabbed a finger at a spot on the large map. "This Wahachapee settlement right here."
"Even if it isn't so, Colonel, I believe it is a good place to start looking," the Frenchman said as he stood, walked into the bathroom, and poured out his coffee. "If young Sarah brings back anything at all from your complex, Colonel, I pray it's real coffee, French roast if possible."
Jack didn't answer the remark, knowing Farbeaux was trying to take his mind off of Lynn if only for a moment. Instead, he just turned and looked at the map once more and studied the legend at the top and its wholly unintentional foreboding message: UNEXPLORED REGION — STIKINE ARCHIPELAGO WILDERNESS.
* * *
Two hours later, after Jack had just about worn a path in the dirty carpet from the hotel room's large window and back again to the map, Sarah finally returned from the complex at Nellis. She hugged Jack and through the tenseness of his body, she could tell he was chomping at the bit to get moving.
Jack slowly pushed Sarah away when he saw that standing between her back and the front of Will Mendenhall was none other than Charles Hindershot Ellenshaw III.
"Oh, no, this isn't for you, Doc, sorry," Jack said, eyeing Sarah and Mendenhall with a ferocious glare. "There's enough of us probab
ly going to jail over this."
Charlie, replete with a bright orange hunting vest and green pants and shirt, pushed his glasses back up on his nose and stared at Jack, not moving. He shuffled from one foot to the other.
"It was Niles. He insisted Charlie join our band of outlaws," Sarah said, stepping around Collins, and rolling her eyes at Alexander and Farbeaux.
"Uh… Colonel, I think I need to be with you on this trip. To help you get your sister back."
"Colonel, the doc here may have something you need to hear," Mendenhall said, still standing outside of the room, looking almost as nervous as Charlie.
Collins just stared at Will. His eyes told the young lieutenant everything he needed to know.
"Or not," Mendenhall said looking away. "Uh, we brought some supplies and a little equipment… I'll go check on it." Will bounded away and then down the stairs without looking back. He had decided to let Sarah battle the colonel on behalf of Ellenshaw.
"Jack, I think you better listen to what Charlie has to say — he knows about the area we're looking for, he can find it and recognize the spot."
Collins finally gave in and stepped aside. "Alright, Doc, you have two minutes to convince me you're worth the weight we have to compensate for on the plane."
Hindershot smiled meekly and stepped into the room. He nodded at Punchy, who only stared at the crazed white-haired professor. Then Charlie saw Farbeaux and stopped dead in his tracks.
"That's right, Professor, strange circumstances call for strange bedfellows," Henri said with a nod of his head. "If I remember right, you're the monster man, correct?"
"I am a crypto zoologist, yes"
"I would have thought you would have had quite enough of your very strange profession down in the Amazon, Doctor," Farbeaux said as he stood and slapped the tall thin man on the back.
"Alright, you can tell your story on the way to the plane," Jack said as he gathered the maps that were pinned to the wall. "If it isn't a good one, you'll have to describe the area as best you can and then hitchhike back to Nellis and tell the director, thanks but no thanks. Am I clear on that, Doc?" Collins said as he quickly folded the maps and shot Ellenshaw another withering look.
"Yes, uh, yes, Colonel, very clear."
"Well, we few, we desperate few, we band of brothers," Henri looked at Sarah and smiled and half bowed, "and sister, shall we head north, and not stop until we fall off the edge of the world."
It was only Charlie that smiled as the others were already leaving. "Actually, I think we only fall off the map, Colonel Farbeaux."
Henri raised his right brow as he gestured for Ellenshaw to go out before him.
"That, my dear Professor Ellenshaw, is just the thing that scares me."
TWO HOURS LATER
Everett and Ryan had been standing beside the seaplane for what seemed to them half the night and now they were only two hours away from dawn.
Everett would glance at his watch and then look up and around the steep incline that held the trickle of water at bay in the L.A. River. The chain-link fence surrounding the river was high, and stopped all but the racers and drug dealers from venturing into the basin. Carl was getting an old and reliable feeling at the back of his neck.
Ryan walked around the right wing float of the Grumman and bent over to check the main landing gear. The tire pressure on that side was low, but there was nothing he could do about it. He remained in his position and acted as if he were checking other areas of the large wheel.
"Captain, I have the feeling we are—"
"Being watched," Everett finished for him. "Stay where you're at for a minute; keep a low silhouette."
Up until this point in time, the large Grumman seaplane had only drawn casual lookers, and they had been lucky thus far that none of them had called the police to ask why there was an antique plane sitting under a bridge in the L.A. River. Everett thanked the heavens that everyone in L.A. kept to themselves: If it didn't affect them, it was none of their business. But now the naval captain was beginning to wonder if their luck had run out.
Against the streetlights from above the river, Everett finally spied the watchers: at least two men, but he knew there were more. He shook his head as he recognized the windbreakers favored by the FBI field offices. To them, he thought, that was plainclothes.
"We have feds to the left and probably more behind us," he said to Ryan. "Okay, Lieutenant, it's Acting 101 time. I want you to laugh and then go around to the stairs and climb inside; I'll walk to the tail section. When you hear the word, fire this damn thing up."
"Okay, but what about the colonel. Shouldn't we—"
"Gentlemen, this is the FBI. Please stand clear of the aircraft."
Everett closed his eyes, knowing he had been snuck up on from behind.
Two agents came from the dark at the back of the plane. They had weapons drawn and pointed at both he and Ryan. He felt one of the agents remove his Berretta nine-millimeter from the back of his waistband. The other waited for Ryan to straighten up before attempting to take his.
"Your record is indicative of a good sailor, Captain Everett, I would expect you to come quietly. Then we'll take Colonel Collins and the rest when they arrive."
"Look, you know what we're doing; why don't you just turn around and leave," Everett said as he felt the agent's hand checking him for other weapons.
"We're following orders, Captain. If we could let you go, we would. The president says you'll be stepping on a lot of toes, so for now you have to step aside and let our office and the Canadian authorities handle this."
"My friend, since you've read my file, you surely must have read about the man that is in charge here. Do you think this situation will stand?" Carl asked as he finally turned and saw for the first time that the FBI agent was young, possibly too young.
"Our bosses don't like sending us out blind, Captain. We know enough about Colonel Collins that this entire basin is surrounded by fifteen other agents.
Everett looked around. He saw passing headlights on the old bridges in front of them and in back. The one they were under was quiet for the moment, and he suspected there was at least one team of agents up there.
Ryan came out from under the undercarriage with his hands up. He shrugged his shoulders in the false light of the streetlamps above them. "Captain, it's your duty to tell these guys; if you won't, I will."
The agent holding Everett at arm's length looked at Ryan over the large SEAL's shoulders, but refrained from asking what Ryan was talking about.
"Tell us what?" asked the second agent leading Ryan to the front of the plane.
"Listen," Everett said, lowering his hands, and then raising his brows as if to ask if it was alright. The agent nodded but stepped as far back as he could to keep out of range of Carl's long legs and arms. "I'm a nice guy, hell, I know you're only doing your jobs; even Ryan there has his moments of clarity, but the man we work for, he's, well, how do I put this?"
"A prick when mad," Ryan finished for him.
"Thank you, Mr. Ryan. You see, it's not just me, Colonel Collins has his mind set on something and—"
There was a thud and a grunt from above them on the bridge. Then there was a clatter of metal and the sound of something sliding down the steep slope of concrete.
"Never mind," Everett said. "Too late."
The first agent frowned and then relaxed, he still looked around nervously, but then he cowboyed up and tried looking confident.
"Nice try," he said as he reached for his radio. "Two and three, this is one, sit-rep."
There was only static. The agent looked a little different than he had just a second before. "Units two and three, sit-rep," he said just a little too loud, telling Everett and Ryan that he was becoming more than just a little concerned. Carl just grimaced mockingly and shrugged. The agent brought his own weapon up and made sure Everett knew he was covered. Carl just shook his head. That was when they heard footsteps, a lot of them. As they watched, three groups of men were sl
ipping and sliding down the concrete slopes of the river. They were followed by others, and one group had what looked like a white long-haired scarecrow of a man who fell on his butt, but popped right up and kept following the others.
The agent couldn't help it; he turned when he saw the three long parades of men coming down from above. At that moment, Everett easily reached out and took the agent by the wrist and simply twisted the gun from his hand. Ryan wasn't as adept at disarming a man as the captain — he raised his boot into the air, stomped on the agent's right toe, and clipped him on the neck, freeing the gun with Ryan catching it, juggling it and then finally securing the weapon.
"Are we clear down there, Mr. Everett?" a voice called from the dark.
"Clear, Colonel," Everett called out as he ejected the ammunition clip from the nine-millimeter and then the chambered round, he eased the gun back into the agents hand. Jason Ryan did the same.
Finally, out of the darkness marched eight FBI agents, looking mad and very frustrated. One of the men looked at the man Carl had just disarmed and shook his head.
"They were on us before we knew anyone was there."
"You should have remembered your training from Quantico far better than you did," Jack said as he stepped up from behind the agents. "There is no such thing as a secure perimeter in an open civilian area." Collins looked at the agent in charge. "Your men became too complacent with passersby; they were more concerned about being seen than securing any hostiles" — he leaned into the agent—"we, sir, are the hostiles."
Farbeaux, standing next to Sarah and Ellenshaw and still covering three of the agents himself, smiled and knew Collins was the most worthy opponent he had ever come across. It took Jack only moments to smell the ambush as they passed by the bridge, and only another few seconds to figure the plan of taking the agents without anyone getting hurt.
"Colonel, I told them after reading your unclassified army file that we didn't have enough men, but you know how Washington can be." The agent in charge looked down at his feet, and then he shrugged and looked at Collins once more. "Well, you have us, but as one former soldier to another, I'll ask you to reconsider and let others handle this situation. Give over the information you have and let us go after the Russians; we have friends up there."
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