Primeval egt-5

by David L. Golemon

  Jack looked at the agent after nodding at Ryan to get the aircraft preflighted. "We have a friend here and I think he even speaks Canadian."

  Punchy wanted to laugh, but he figured Jack was only trying to make a point.

  "Then, Colonel, we tried." The agent held out his hand. "Good luck, and I hope you get what it is you are going after."

  Collins looked at the hand in front of him, and then shook it.

  "Oh, this is very touching, but we may want to think about getting the hell out of here, Colonel. The L.A. police may not be so cooperative," Farbeaux said as he waved for Mendenhall to bring the supplies down, as he turned to assist. "In case you have forgotten, we left two of their brethren tied up at the Chavez house."

  Jack closed his eyes in frustration. He had forgotten.

  "Don't concern yourself, they were found an hour after you left the house," the FBI agent said. "Colonel, I'll give you two hours; after that, I have to tell them you're heading north," he said releasing Jack's hand. Then he smiled, "I believe I overheard north of Toronto if I'm not mistaken."

  This time Jack did return the smile, "Yes, Toronto."

  Ten minutes later, the FBI agents held flashlights at the bridge that was four hundred feet in front of the idling Grumman. The plane was filled to the brim with men and equipment. Sarah was squeezed into a seat that included two backpacks, one rifle, and Farbeaux. Every time she looked around, she saw that crooked smile of the Frenchman and the bobbing up and down of his brows.

  "Don't worry, my little Sarah, you may only have to bear my advances for a very few moments, I don't expect this antique to get off the ground — I don't think she was made to carry this much of a load."

  "Thanks, Henri. Between you or the bridge, either way, this is going to suck."

  Ryan, with Jack sitting in the copilot's seat next to him, reached up to the overhead console and jammed both throttles all the way to their stops.

  "When I say so, Colonel, you pull back on that wheel as far as possible and as hard as you can," Ryan said over the noise of the roaring engines as he released the brakes.

  Jack looked very uncomfortable taking the three-quarter steering wheel of the Grumman. He touched it gingerly at first, then grabbed on tightly. "Is it supposed to vibrate this much?" he asked, his eyes wide open and staring at the fast-approaching bridge and the agents holding their flashlights.

  "How in the hell should I know, Colonel? I've only flown a propeller-driven trainer three times in my life!" he shouted and then roared with laughter as he pulled back on the wheel, "Now Colonel, Now!"

  The seaplane bounced once, scattering the agents before it. Then it bounced again.

  One of Alice Hamilton's contributions to the upgrade of the old seaplane was to incorporate a flight computer that not only projected a holographic image of the approaching bridge, but also carried the voice trait of the Europa computer back at the Event Group complex. It was she who started warning Ryan of the encroaching danger straight ahead.

  "Warning, obstacle detected. Warning, max weight overload. Warning, obstacle detected in aircraft path. Divert! Divert! Divert!" said the sexy female voice just as the Grumman bounced hard off the concrete.

  "Are you going to hop over the damn bridge?" Collins asked loudly.

  Finally, the nose of the Grumman lifted free of the riverbed and rose. "Come on, old girl, fly, damn it, fly!" Ryan screamed while everyone in the back of the plane prayed and waited for the sudden impact that would tell them the bridge was old, but built well.

  The Grumman climbed and as it barely screamed over the railing of the overpass, they felt the impact of the rear wheel as it slammed into one of the old streetlamps that lined the bridge. The glass and steel and the seaplanes wheel careened off onto the pavement of the bridge, causing several cars to spin out to avoid the flying debris. Then the seaplane suddenly took a nosedive back into the river, but Ryan quickly compensated with full flaps, pumping furiously at the old hydraulic system. Finally, the plane rose into the night sky, flying barely above the power lines and over houses. Ryan relaxed when he felt the centerline of the plane level off and the weight factor lessen as the Grumman rose. He slowly started to pump the flap handle once more.

  "Where to, Colonel?" Ryan asked as he finally got the nerve to take a hand from the wheel and wipe his sweating brow.

  "We'll refuel at the mouth of the Columbia River in Oregon, and then we'll push into Vancouver, and just pray the Canadian authorities don't shoot us down. We're not on speaking terms like we are with the FBI."

  "Amen to that."

  Collins finally made his own body relax as Ryan made his turn north over the Port of Los Angeles. He swallowed and finally spared a thought for his sister, praying she was still alive.

  "Hang on, baby girl, just hang on a little bit longer," Jack mumbled to himself as he stared at his reflection in the side window.

  The few members of the Event Group had made it out of the first phase of a mission that for the first time had no plan at all, other than to search — and in the case of Jack Collins, to destroy, if that search failed.

  60 MILES SOUTHEAST OF DEASE LAKE,

  BRITISH COLUMBIA (THE UPPER STIKINE RIVER BASIN)

  Lynn Simpson had to hand it to the two Russians and their small army of employees and guides. They had arranged everything from food and rest stops to refueling areas on the long and arduous helicopter ride from the town of Wrangell, just below the Tongass National Forest in Alaska, to the Stikine River, sixty miles south of Dease Lake, British Columbia. Lynn was surprised that Sagli and Deonovich had been so free with the information about the expedition they were on. She guessed they figured she wouldn't be coming back with them at any rate, so why not allow her full access to their immediate plans.

  The four brand-new Sikorsky helicopters skirted the river as low as the trees would allow. They had almost run headlong into a small Bell Ranger of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police an hour before, but the expert pilots on the Russian payroll had avoided them nicely by dipping below the small range of mountains that flanked the Stikine. The helicopters were loaded with men and equipment that had been waiting for them in Seattle, undoubtedly the staging point for every murderous operation since they killed Serta, the lumber magnate a week earlier.

  As Lynn watched the Stikine Mountain Range looming before them, she was approached by a man who had been introduced to her as the expedition's doctor: Leonovshki something or other — she couldn't keep all of the names straight, which told her she wasn't doing her job right. If she got out of this mess she had every intention of bringing every one of these bastards to justice. The doctor unceremoniously grabbed her hand and started to unwrap the bandage that covered the area where her index finger used to be. He looked it over, poked the inflamed skin around the wound once or twice, and then grunted his satisfaction. He rewrapped the amputation with a fresh wrapping and then rummaged in his black bag and brought out a syringe.

  "Antibiotics," he said as he leaned forward.

  "Why bother? I mean, it's not like they're going to let me go after they find what they want."

  "I do as I am told, young lady. What my employers plans are, do not concern me; just what they are paying me."

  "Spoken like a true mercenary."

  The doctor gestured for her to stand up and lower her denim pants that had been supplied to her a day ago. She did, not exposing as much as the young doctor would have liked. He punched the needle home. As she looked around, several of the other killers for hire were admiring the upper portion of her ass.

  "In the end, aren't we all just mercenaries? Even you with your agency masters?"

  Lynn wasn't about to get into a philosophical debate with the doctor, so she just buttoned her pants and then sat down, staring at the others until they turned away. The doctor reached up and pulled down a plastic bag and handed it to her.

  "I believe this should be about your size. The days are still warm here, but the nights can get cold."

  L
ynn opened the clear bag and pulled out an expensive, bright yellow down jacket. She looked back at the doctor and frowned.

  "This would make for a good target in the woods."

  The doctor ignored the comment and walked away, using the tied-down equipment to steady himself as the helicopter rose and dove over the trees below.

  Lynn placed the jacket beside her and watched as the large helicopter started to descend after smoothing out. They were near some sort of small settlement that looked almost deserted. She spied a few small fishing boats, not more than fifteen feet in length as the helicopter she was riding in circled the settlement. The pilot finally sat the transport down in a small clearing about three hundred yards from the thick forest that lined the base of the mountains. As she watched, the other helicopters did the same, spacing themselves far apart as their wheels touched down on the rocky soil.

  Lynn didn't move and was soon approached by Dmitri Sagli. He was wearing expensive hiking boots, denim jeans, and a bright red shirt. He looked ridiculously like a lumberjack of old. He even had suspenders on. She couldn't help but smile, although she hid it behind her hand.

  "We are at the Wahachapee Fishing Camp. It is small and is populated by Tlingit Indians. If you make one attempt at either escape, or to relay your predicament to the locals, we will not only shoot you, but everyone here, children included. Do you understand?"

  "I've understood you since you first opened your foul mouth in Virginia."

  "Then you do understand — it won't be us killing these people, but you." Sagli turned and made his way to the lowering stairs as his ten men started unloading the supplies and equipment.

  Lynn shook her head and then grabbed the coat she had been given and followed Sagli out of the helicopter. As she stepped onto the rocky soil, she was amazed at the raw beauty of the area. With the mountains behind and in front of them and the river coursing through the center, the spot was an ideal location for nature lovers. However, as she saw that the area was void of people, her enthusiasm quickly diminished.

  A hundred yards to her front, she saw Deonovich and Sagli speaking together in hushed tones, not once sparing her a look. As her eyes scanned the area, she saw what looked like a small general store, perhaps there to sell bait to the local Indian population. Next to the three-story market, there was a large icehouse and its chilling tower. A small warehouse was at its base and several of the local men were standing on the dock, watching the newcomers as they unloaded. The men were of various ages: some had the long hair of the young native, while other older men wore their hair short. Their skin was copper toned from living and working in the open and, like all fishermen, had the honest look of laborers. She saw an old woman coming from the river carrying two baskets filled with fish — the heavy Indian woman looked her way and then quickly in the direction of the two Russians. It was as if she didn't even notice all of the equipment being off loaded from the four helicopters.

  Good for you, Lynn thought to herself, the less curious these locals are, the more likely they will survive the murderous group that was invading their tranquil home.

  "Sikorsky S-76s — four of them — now these are some fishermen that know how to travel."

  Lynn was startled as the voice came from behind her. She turned and saw a young woman, maybe sixteen years old, as she placed a hand on the sleek light blue side of the tail boom of the helicopter she had ridden in. Lynn looked back at Sagli and Deonovich, but they were busy supervising the unloading of their equipment. She turned back to face the pretty girl in the dark green overalls and the black shirt. Lynn could see the twin braids that coursed down her back and she had a face as bright as sunshine, setting off her raven black hair. She was surprised to see a Caucasian girl among so many native Canadians.

  "I see you know your aircraft," Lynn said as she approached the young girl.

  "Sure, we see a lot of nice and very expensive things here; you know, rich doctors and such when they hire out for fishing and hunting guides. I also attend college at Washington State, so I do have an idea how the rest of the world lives and plays." The girl saw the confusion her statement caused the stranger. "I was homeschooled by my grandmother and then I started college early. It wasn't as tough as people make out."

  Lynn smiled and then looked around her, surprised at the emptiness of the fishing camp.

  "I didn't mean to be condescending, you just didn't look like a student… I mean… uh, hell, I don't know what I mean."

  The girl removed her hand from the aluminum skin of the Sikorsky and looked at Lynn, examining her.

  "You don't look like you're much of a fisherman or hunter."

  "Touche," Lynn said with a smile as she saw the girls eyes shift from her to the large group of men placing crates and bags along the shore of the river. When she looked back at Lynn, the girl had a curious look on her face, and then it vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

  "So, do your parents operate this settlement?"

  "My parents are dead. I live with my grandmother, and yes, this is all hers, everything from a mile up the mountains to the water that flows in the river — bought and paid for many years ago. My family buys fish from the few groups of Tlingit Indians left in this area. We freeze them and sell them down south in Vancouver and Juneau."

  "I'm sorry about your parents."

  The girl smiled. "Why would you be sorry? I never knew them, my mother died giving birth to me and my father was killed a few years after that. I'm afraid all I have are pictures." Her smile broadened. "Would you like to see them?"

  Lynn couldn't resist, she liked the young girl immediately. She knew she could be no more than sixteen years old, but she said she was in college already. That would made her something special in Lynn's mind. Plus, her smile was infectious.

  "Yes I would," she said quickly. "I would also like to meet the grandmother of a girl smart enough to attend college at such a young age." Lynn watched for a reaction, as maybe there was some way she could get the message through to these people not to interfere with their new visitors. She didn't trust the word of Sagli not to hurt and kill to get what it was they came for — or to cover up that fact.

  "My name is Marla Petrovich."

  "I'm Lynn. Nice to meet you, Marla."

  As Lynn turned to follow the girl, she could not help but notice the attention Marla paid to the lined-up supplies and equipment. It was if she were examining the reasoning behind some of the more exotic of it. Her eyes lingered the longest on four large tarp-covered pieces. To the girl's credit, she kept quiet as she bounded past Sagli and Deonovich.

  Sagli watched Lynn and the girl for a moment, and then said a last word to Deonovich and then he followed Lynn and the girl as they walked toward the small two-story store, his eyes never leaving the two women.

  Sagli's large partner watched as the three disappeared into the wooden-framed store. At that moment a breeze sprang up and moved the rotors of the four helicopters. Deonovich turned away from the dust that the wind had kicked up, and as he did, he thought he heard the far-off sound of a tree falling. When he looked up after the sudden wind had died down, he stared as far as he could across the river. It seemed as if something had moved there, but the darkness of the woods and the long shadows the giant trees cast made seeing anything impossible. As he turned away, he suddenly knew what the feeling was that he had when looking across the fast-moving river — he felt he was being watched.

  * * *

  As Lynn went through the old door, she was amazed to see that the store was far more modern than she ever would have suspected from the old wooden structure from the outside. There were new advertisements for Coors, Molson, Moosehead, and Budweiser brands of beers. There were up-to-date displays of all brands of fishing equipment and even had a rental counter for those items. The floor was not made out of wood, but was a bright and shiny linoleum that was beige in color. The shelves were clean and dusted and full of canned goods, and even had a quaint sign hanging from the ceiling that said AIR TIGH
TS. The store even had a dairy department that carried fresh milk and eggs.

  "Well, this is it, the last stop of humanity before reaching the wilds of the Stikine," Marla said as she gestured for Lynn to follow her around the large counter situated at the right of the aisles.

  Lynn felt Sagli step into the store and eye his surroundings with suspicion. He allowed himself to relax when he saw there were no apparent customers inside the large store. Lynn could see that he adjusted something under his open coat, obviously warning her that he was armed.

  "I have most of my pictures upstairs, but there are a few which Grandmother keeps here. We call it our ghost wall." Marla smiled as she pointed at an old black-and-white picture of two people. One was a large blond man and the other was a smallish woman who had obvious Indian blood in her, and was beautiful. The large man, at least six foot four or five, had his arm around the small woman who was a good foot and a half shorter than the man. "These are my parents; Grandmother says that my mom was actually pregnant with me when this was taken."

  "Your mother was a beautiful woman," Lynn said turning and smiling at the obviously proud girl.

  "What did your father do for a living — run this store?" Sagli asked as he stepped up to the counter and removed his pair of work gloves.

  "Her father was a guide. No man in the world knew this area better than my Eric; he was raised along the Stikine and never left her waters."

  Lynn and Sagli both turned to see an old woman come out of a back room wiping her hands on a dish towel. She eyed the strangers with an arched brow. She was dressed in a large pair of denim pants and wore a bright red-and-black wool shirt. Her hair was pulled back into a bun and she looked spry for a woman in her early eighties.