Even the Ranger.
*~*~*
Come morning, though Brannon watched each one closely, none of the group seemed surprised that Cait was unharmed. James remained surly, which seemed the norm now, especially when Patti insisted on sitting as far away from him as possible. As for Cait, you’d never know she’d come face to fang with a poisonous snake. The lady was a very cool customer.
The morning also brought more e-mails. Brannon made a quick read through them, fired back a few questions, then turned off his phone. With the drizzling rain, his solar charger wasn’t going to work so he needed to conserve the battery.
Cait had juggled the configuration in the canoes. He was still her partner, and that pleased him, though he wasn’t sure why. Susan and Patti were paired now, which put Bill and James together: Cait’s attempt to diffuse the tension between the couple. The younger man hadn’t been pleased, but he made the shift with a minimum of bitching. Brannon knew a hothead when he saw one and James fit the bill. He was first on Brannon’s suspect list for the snake incident. According to Sanjay, the kid’s initial background check had come back clean, other than a DWI conviction a year before.
Keith Rockwell was indeed a photojournalist, more known for gritty inner-city work than nature photography. Nothing on his blog or other online interactions tagged him as being part of the sovereign-citizen movement. He was going through a nasty divorce, which had no doubt fueled his anti-female rant of the night before.
Bill Adams’s last book had been about the Mexican drug cartels. Like Rockwell, he had no interactions with anti-government groups. That left Susan Driscoll and Preston Taylor. Sanjay had run into a dead end when it came to the secretary, at least so far, and he was still trying to obtain her rental car record. She’d continued to chatter about this and that, but had grown quieter as the trip had progressed. Was her earlier behavior because of nerves, or was something else at play?
Brannon suspected that Preston was his likely contact, what with his political leanings and his inside access to the tour. But if he was Brannon’s contact, why hadn’t he taken him aside and told him that?
Cait’s cell phone rang and she set her oar aside and answered the call. “Hey. How’s it going?” He saw her tense, and then she half turned and looked back at him. “Okay. I got that.” She slowly turned away, but something in her demeanor had changed. “How soon?” Cait listened for a time, gave whoever it was a thank-you, then put aside her phone.
“Trouble?”
“Yeah.” She picked up her oar and began moving the canoe forward. He joined in, matching her increased rhythm.
Whatever that call had been about, it had unnerved her. He suspected it had something to do with him.
Chapter Ten
Cait kept her eyes on the tannin-stained water and the azure sky in front of them. They were deeper into the swamp now, an area lush with slash pines, pond cypresses, and water lilies. Birds were more abundant, and she caught sight of a goldfinch and then a woodpecker in the air above them. Keith’s camera shutter clicked repeatedly.
Kia’s call had delivered double bad news: The weather forecasters predicted a line of heavy thunderstorms were headed their way out of Alabama. Lightning storms in the middle of nowhere were never good, but if Cait could keep the others on schedule, they’d be at the campground before it hit, just barely.
The other news had been even more disturbing: FBI agents had visited Kia and Mike at the hospital. They’d wanted to know if a particular man was on this tour, someone who’d been involved in an armored-car robbery, and who was associated with one of the militias. That man was Brannon Hardegree.
As Cait paddled, she tried to reconcile the image of the Army Ranger with the man the FBI sought. Was it possible? Her mind said it was; not all vets stayed on the straight and narrow. Yet, for some reason, her heart said Hardegree had too much honor to steal, to join up with some armed crazies.
Since when do I trust my heart?
If he was a criminal, what was he doing out here? Stashing his loot? His rucksack was big enough to hold the money, and he was never without it. He even carried it with him when he went to the head.
Maybe Hardegree planned to vanish into the swamp. In that case, let the FBI come after him, if they were foolish enough to take on a seasoned warrior in the wilderness. She sure wouldn’t want that mission. Her knife was good for close combat, but that wasn’t going to happen in a canoe, and her gun was in her rucksack, which was behind her.
Damn.
“Caitlyn?” he said. “What’s going on?”
She half turned, hoping her eyes didn’t betray her. “We got some heavy weather coming in. As long as we make the island, we’re in good shape.”
His eyes rose to the sky. “I wondered about that. But that shouldn’t have surprised you, because I’m guessing you know the swamp’s weather patterns. So what else is going on?”
“Just that.”
“Try again,” he said, his voice harder now.
Maybe being honest was the best way. “Some reason the FBI is looking for you?”
Hardegree didn’t even blink. “Yes, there is a reason they’re after me. I’m guessing you know why.”
“Yeah, I do,” she muttered. “What are you doing out here?”
“I have my reasons. I swear, I’m not a threat to anyone on this tour. Well, not unless someone gets in my face.”
She frowned back at him. “I don’t care what you’ve done, but you try to hurt any of these guys, the FBI will only have to worry about body retrieval, you understand?”
His eyes locked on hers, and then he issued a terse nod.
“Then we know where we stand.” It took every bit of her courage to turn her back on him and keep paddling. All he had to do was reach into his rucksack, draw a weapon, and put a round into the back of her head. Then he could easily pick off the others. He had the cold-blooded skills to do just that. Sweat broke out on her forehead, and she forced herself to keep her focus on the water and the sky. All she could do was pray that the man behind her would do the same.
Dammit to hell. Brannon had wondered when his luck would run out, and now it had. Apparently, Bettis had rolled over on him. All they’d had to do was deprive him of his high, and he’d come apart like a cheap toy. He couldn’t imagine that the FBI would send a team after him out here. Or would they? One consolation in the shitty news: Cait’s stunned surprise meant she probably wasn’t his contact, unless she hadn’t received her orders from Ellers yet. That didn’t mean she’d hold to her agreement, wouldn’t take him down the first time she had a chance. Because that’s exactly what he would do in her shoes.
The light rain had cleared off and the sun was out, a brief respite before the big storm. When they stopped for a quick lunch on a small island, Cait delivered the news about the incoming weather. The general response was groans and anxious looks at the blue sky, as if it was suddenly going to rain hailstones and toads.
“We can’t go back to the tour headquarters?” Bill asked.
“Too far away. I need you folks to push hard so we can get there ahead of it. We need time to get the tents up and secured. There’s likely to be some wind.”
“What if it reaches us before then?” Susan asked, her eyes on Brannon as she spoke.
“As soon as we hear thunder, we head for shore,” Cait replied.
“If that happens, I’ll explain how to keep from being hit by lightning,” Preston added.
“Okay, let’s get moving, people.”
They broke out their rain gear and loaded up. Brannon made sure to take the bow position, his way of saying he was trusting her, at least for the present. Cait gave him a strange look, then climbed in the back of the canoe. He noted her rucksack was at her feet, and he had no doubt there was a loaded firearm inside. This time, he pushed hard, moving at a faster speed. To his surprise, the others were almost ke
eping up. Apparently, the notion of being caught on open water during a thunderstorm was a serious incentive.
Brannon made sure his solar charger was soaking up a charge, trickling it into the phone, which was currently on. The instant he’d checked his messages during the lunch break, he’d received Sanjay’s warning about the FBI getting too close for comfort. If they arrested him before he got inside the militia, all of this was a waste of time—and his future would go up in smoke.
“Why’d you do it?” Cait asked from the back of the boat. Fortunately, they were at least five canoe lengths ahead of the others so none of them could hear her.
“Didn’t have a choice,” he said without turning around. “Needed to prove I could be trusted.”
“That’s the weirdest-ass excuse I’ve ever heard.”
He had to agree, but it was the truth.
There was a huff of disgust. “Like a dick-measuring contest, except you’re facing prison. What? Ten Years?”
“In Florida it’s thirty because I used a firearm.”
“Are you an idiot? What the hell were you trying to prove?”
Her vehemence caught him off guard. Why would she care? Because I’m one of the band of brothers. It appeared that Cait’s loyalty to those who’d been in the military extended to him. Or was it something more?
He stopped paddling for a moment and turned to look at her. Her face was sweaty from the exercise, and she was burning holes in his back with her eyes. “I had a reason. Once this is over, I’ll tell you why.”
She gave a reluctant nod. “You really believe all that hardcore militia crap?”
He had no choice but to live the lie, even though he was fairly sure she wasn’t his contact. He’d been wrong before.
“Of course. It’ll be them against us one of these days, and I’m going to be on the right side for a change,” he replied.
“Stupid bastard,” she muttered.
Brannon turned back to the job at hand, feeling that ache in his gut again. Now she thought he was some loony anarchist, and that troubled him. This mission had become a total Charlie Foxtrot, and he still hadn’t met Ellers.
In the distance, the sky grew darker, seething cloud layers in dark blue and black. A rumble of thunder rolled out to meet them. Brannon instinctively picked up his pace. A quick look over his shoulder proved the others had done the same. Cait’s face was set, her mouth in a grim line. No way around it: They were facing two storms, one of Mother Nature’s doing, the other entirely manmade.
*~*~*
The wind began to kick up just as they neared the island where they were camping for the night. Working together, Cait and Brannon unloaded their boat, then pulled it far up on the shore. He attached the cover, the gusts making the task difficult.
Preston beached his canoe next to theirs. “I’ll help the others unload their gear. Can you check out the campsite, make sure it’s okay with the storm coming in?”
“Will do.” Cait pulled on her rucksack and picked up her tent.
“I’ll go with you,” Brannon offered.
They hiked through the wind and rain to the spot, which was about three hundred feet from the shoreline. Mercifully, the lightning wasn’t close by.
“Damn, this is one helluva storm,” she shouted over the wind.
“Yeah, but it’s not a sandstorm. That’s all that counts.”
She gave him a thumbs-up for that observation.
The campsite was about thirty by thirty, with a fire pit in the middle and rimmed by shrubs and hardwoods. Branches littered the ground and more joined them with each wind gust. Brannon and Cait shrugged out of their rucksacks, dropping them near the pit along with their tents and sleeping bags. As he helped her clear the ground of debris, he felt an itch roll over his back, that sense that he was in someone’s crosshairs. Cait straightened up and turned toward him, frowning as if she’d sensed the same thing. As she did, a red dot appeared and centered on her chest.
“Sniper!” he shouted, diving toward her.
They tumbled to the ground—the shot missing them—then scrambled toward the bushes, seeking cover. With his weapon in his ruck, it was their only choice. Brannon stumbled once, but kept going as more shots impacted the tree trunks around them. In the distance, there was more gunfire, and Patti’s screams.
They ducked behind a large bush. “I count one, maybe two,” he said.
She nodded. “More down by the water.”
“Seems so. You hit?”
“No. You?”
“Nope. Rangers move faster than Marines.”
“Your ass,” she replied, and that made him smile. They drew their knives in unison. “Let’s go hunting.”
As they headed back toward the campsite, Cait felt the adrenaline fueling her. Her eyesight grew keener, her muscles primed and ready for a fight. It was a response as old as mankind, and she accepted it for the gift it was. She knew Brannon did as well. She could see it on his face.
The rain grew heavier, which worked in their favor, cloaking their passage as they moved cautiously through the darkness. No more red dots, no more screams. Either the others were dead, or they were under armed guard. What the hell is this all about? Who would attack a swamp tour?
When they drew closer to the fire pit, Brannon signaled that she should circle around. Cait didn’t hesitate to follow the order. Once she was in position, they moved in. With every step, she expected the punch of a bullet, but none came their way.
Their gear seemed to be gone, all except his tent and sleeping bag.
“Shit,” he muttered, shaking his head. “They took my rucksack.”
“They get the money?” she asked. He stared at her now. “Come on, I’m not stupid. You’ve been carrying your ruck around like a lover the entire tour.”
He gave a grim nod and they set off for the shoreline, each step deliberate, though the storm reduced the need to be stealthy. She reached the shore before him and squatted down, allowing her eyes to adjust between the lightning strikes. In the distance, thunder boomed as the storm swept toward the east. A Jon boat sat offshore with two occupants, rocking on the waves. One was in a park ranger’s uniform, the other in camo. The one in camo raised his AK-47 and sprayed the line of canoes, blowing holes in the fiberglass.
Once the shooting ceased, the ranger called out, “What about Hardegree and the woman?”
“Dead. Get moving. We’re done here.”
The boat headed away from shore and then disappeared in the rain. Cait swore under her breath. At least there were no bodies on the shoreline, which meant the others were alive. Why take them? And what did this have to do with Hardegree?
As he rose slowly from his hiding place, she walked across the open ground to join him.
“I got the reg number off the boat,” Brannon said solemnly. “If we get to a phone, I’ll call it in.”
“To who? The FBI? I bet they’d love to talk to you right now.”
“I have . . . resources,” he said.
He was playing games with her and it made her angry. Rather than get into an argument, which most likely wouldn’t gain her any information, Cait jammed her knife back into the sheath. Though she knew it was a wasted effort, she checked the canoes. They were history.
“Why destroy these if they thought we were dead?” she asked, rising to her feet.
Brannon didn’t answer, staring at the dark water like he could see to the other side of the planet. “One of the tangos was wearing a park ranger’s uniform,” he said quietly. “How hard is it to get one of those?”
“You can probably buy them online somewhere. Or kill a ranger to get one.”
“That’s a cheery thought.”
Scouting the area, Cait spied her rucksack, tossed near a stump, grateful they hadn’t taken it. Some of its contents lay in the mud. Digging inside, she knew what would be
missing. “They took my phone and my weapon,” she said, repacking her wet clothes.
“Same with me,” Brannon announced as he rifled through his ruck where it’d been dumped near the shoreline. “They were in a hurry and didn’t get all the money.” He held up a plastic bag. “They missed this one.”
“How much is that?”
“Ten thousand.”
Cait blinked. “How much was there to start with?”
“Fifty.”
She whistled under her breath. “Who says armed robbery doesn’t pay off?”
Before Brannon could reply, the wind picked up again as another squall line advanced toward them.
“Let’s get camped for the night. We’ll work on our options in the morning,” he said.
She nodded, shouldering her rucksack, knowing there was nothing they could do for the others at the moment. Nevertheless, she expected some answers from the former Ranger, and if she didn’t like them, he was about to learn just how unforgiving a Marine could be.
Chapter Eleven
Susan held onto Patti’s trembling hand as the boat traveled over the open water, her visibility cut by the cold rain. The boats had come out of nowhere, like modern-day Orcs raiding a village in a Lord of the Rings movie. Except these were heavily armed men who’d made it clear they’d kill anyone who didn’t do what they said.
She and the others had been ordered to load all their personal gear into one of the boats, and then they’d been parceled out into the remaining ones. Susan had kept the girl with her, fearing their kidnappers had more in mind than just abduction.
“Why’d they take us hostage?” Patti whispered, shivering.
“I don’t know.”
This kidnapping hadn’t been on the spur of the moment; it’d been too well executed. Which meant this trip was unlikely to have a happy ending. Especially if they went through her backpack, where they’d find her driver’s license was issued to Susan Driscoll, not Townsend, because she’d used her mother’s maiden name to register for the tour to help maintain her cover story. That, in itself, wasn’t a big deal, nor the fact she’d used a rental car. Having them find her FBI badge would be.
Killing Game (Veritas Book 2) Page 8
