by Rick Boyer
There was silence. The men looked at each other, then at me. Summers sighed and shrugged his shoulders, glowering in my direction.
"Doc's right," he said simply. From the guy I least expected. But Roantis shook his head.
"Okay," said Roantis, "except for one thing. Bringing in the heat like that. If they crowd Royce, he might kill her. I'm pretty sure Jusuelo would. Also, how much of a chance will the deputies have against that bunch? Huh? You tell me, Doc. Freddie says you just missed getting blown away by a booby trap, right? Ha! They go after Royce and Jusuelo, they'll get chewed up. I don't care how many choppers and dogs they got. And a lot of people are going to die."
"Then what do we do?" asked Kaunitz.
Roantis lighted a Camel and thought for a few seconds.
"First, we bring the kid in here and find out all we can. Exact numbers and locations. We'll use the maps and decide how to go after them. We can go in quicker and softer than any police team, Doc. Believe me. We know how to do it."
Kaunitz and Summers nodded.
"Okay," he continued. "Then we take the kid to town and leave him somewhere where he'll be found in twelve hours or so, to give us a head start —"
"Yeah, and then he'll tell the heat where to find us," said Summers. "Ain't no good."
"No," said Kaunitz, "I'm not so sure he will. He'll spill to us because he's afraid we'll kill him. But why tell the law?"
"Don't kid yourself They could make him spill," said Summers, whose experience with the police on Chicago's South Side I could very well imagine.
"How about this?" I said. "We take the kid into the police and tell them just what happened. Then we go back to Asheville and wait till they release Daisy. When she's back safe, let the law go after them."
"Nah," said Freddie. "The law will start after them right away, and Royce will get wind of it. Then they won't release Daisy, or they might even hurt her. You're right about one thing, Doc: so far they haven't hurt anyone. But the law goes after them, that will change."
"We'll tell Penland to wait until we get her back."
"He won't do it," said Roantis. "The law's not trained to wait. They'll rush into the bush, get chewed up, and a lot of people will get hurt. Guarantee it. Now here's the drill: we truss the kid up somewhere so he'll be found the next day, and then we move in on them fast, before Royce even knows what's up."
All the Ducks thought this was the best plan. I thought it stunk. Problem was, so did every other plan we could think of. So we got the kid inside in front of the maps and pumped him good. Twice he hesitated. The first time, Summers popped him in the face again. The second time, Kaunitz took him out into the woods. He brought the kid back shortly; the boy was shaking and ashen-faced. I don't know what Kaunitz said or did to him out there, and I still don't want to know, but the poor boy would've turned in his own mother.
We learned that Jusuelo was the drugrunner, not Royce, although Bill was going along with it to supply his own voracious habit and to finance a community of survivalists in the mountains along the North Carolina-Tennessee border. Though fed up with the military, Royce was, according to his young cousin, set on establishing his own little wilderness outpost. In a cave and two abandoned mines, he'd set up living quarters, tool sheds, a field hospital, a training camp, and vast storage facilities for food, arms and ammunition, crude agricultural equipment, and off-road vehicles and fuel. He had done this in less than a year with the help of soldier friends, relatives like young Darryl, and mostly young drifters from the small mountain towns who didn't want to spend the rest of their lives pumping out children and debts, working at gas stations and hardscrabble clay farms, or moving down off the mountain to work in the mill. About ten or twelve men were actually out there now, at least half of whom were also hiding from the law. The kid pointed out their location on the map. Daisy was in the mine, but they moved her often. She wasn't hurt or sick, not that he could tell.
"Now why?" asked Roantis as he helped the kid to his feet. "Why's he doing all this? What does he want?"
The kid wasn't sure. He suspected that Royce wanted to set up an armed and fortified haven to survive the nuclear war he was certain was coming and to hold sway over his little kingdom, where nobody would ever abandon or betray him again. Ever.
"It sounds to me as if Bill still isn't out of the woods," I said.
"What do you mean?" asked Desmond.
"I mean he's still feeling persecuted. I suppose he was stable enough to be released . . . but I'd say he's far from well. And the drugs—I'm guessing he's on heroin, or maybe coke and speed—aren't helping either. Maybe if we could convince him that we're really his friends . . ."
"I don't know, Doc," said Roantis. "I'm thinking it's too late for that. And if it's true he's still a little nuts, I sure want to get Daisy out of there. Quick."
We packed up the rig and headed out. It was three hours into night now; time to set the kid free, the way we'd planned. Roantis had a couple of pairs of thumbcuffs with him. These are miniature handcuffs that fit over the thumbs. They're so small you can fit several of them in your pocket. We rolled into town and cruised around, looking for a likely spot to leave Royce's cousin. Finally Kaunitz spotted a big playground with a jungle gym in the center. Nobody was there, and the field was dark. We pulled over and doused the lights.
"I'll take him over," said Kaunitz. "After all, I caught him in the first place."
"Don't you want any help?" I asked.
"No. Besides, the more of us that go, the greater the chance we'll be seen. Lieutenant, you got the note?"
Roantis handed Kaunitz the scrap of paper with his message on it, which said:
To Mssrs. Penland and Hunnicutt:
This man was trying to snipe at us in the mountains near Beech Creek. We are returning him to you unharmed, as you requested. As soon as we have more information, we'll let you know.
Sincerely,
Liatis Roantis, Professional Soldier
Kaunitz folded the note twice and taped it to the back of the kid's neck, where he couldn't pull it off and where nobody would miss it. Then Kaunitz took the pair of thumbcuffs and hustled the kid out of the car and down to the jungle gym in the center of the dark field. The kid didn't say boo; he was probably glad as hell we'd spared him and were letting him go. We saw the two dim figures down there, but only when they moved. Kaunitz was back in a flash, saying he had fastened the kid's hands around a corner pole and gagged him with the bandanna again so he couldn't yell for help. This meant he wouldn't be found until the next morning, which would give us the head start we needed. On our way to find another base camp, Kaunitz said he wanted us to drop him off at the airfield.
"I'll just be up about forty minutes," he said. "I really want to go over the area in the dark. See if I can see any lights."
"C'mon Freddie," said Roantis. "What are your chances of seeing anything?"
"Almost nil. But we've got to do it. Anything at all that'll help."
"How 'bout a spotter? Mike, you want to go too?"
Summers nodded. But Kaunitz said no, he'd go alone.
"I'm going to be doing some hairy stuff. Treetop-level stuff, maybe, in these mountains. I'll go up alone."
And he did. He zoomed off into the wild black yonder and was gone. While he was up, we decided to move the camper rig to a new location. We also decided to leave it before dawn, carrying gear for two nights in the bush. Thirty-five minutes later, the little Mooney came back down and Kaunitz joined us in the truck; saying he had seen no lights. As we drove up the old logging roads, looking for a nighttime haven for our rig, I wondered if the others were thinking the same thing I was.
23
IN THE DEAD QUIET of the predawn darkness, I rolled out of my blankets onto the pine needle forest floor and listened. Faint snoring came from inside the camper, where Summers, Desmond, and Kaunitz were sleeping. The fire was down to a red glow. Roantis was squatting by the fire, dressed only in bush pants and a gray cutoff T-shirt. The blood vess
els in his arms stuck out like spaghetti. He was squinting into the faint red light, his Mongol eyes and droopy mustache making him look like a Vietnamese village chieftain. I crept close and he looked up. I put my linger to my lips and squatted next to him, enjoying the warmth of the tiny fire. The Indians are right: build a small fire and get close.
"What?" he asked in a barely audible whisper.
"What are you thinking?"
"About Daisy. I love her more than any person alive. If I have to die to get her safe, I will."
I nodded and waited.
"Can't sleep? Nervous?" he asked.
"Uh-huh. I'm thinking about Mary. How she'll feel if something happens to me."
"It won't. If things get that hot, we'll hold back and get more help. I've done this stuff all my life. Only reason I'm still here is because I'm not reckless."
"I'm also thinking of something else. I'm thinking about Freddie Kaunitz."
"Yeah?"
"I keep trying to put him out of my mind, Liatis, but he keeps popping back in. Remember how he took the kid out into the woods to question him, away from all of us? Why did he do that?"
"Freddie knows how to make people talk."
"Uh-huh. But I was thinking something else. Just suppose for a second, suppose he knew the kid. Suppose he's in on this thing with Royce and knew the kid beforehand. So we capture him, without hurting him, and take him back to camp. Kaunitz takes the kid out alone and says, answer my questions like you're scared shitless and we'll set you free. Okay, the kid answers the questions. But maybe he gives us the wrong answers."
"Hell Doc, you could suppose anything. Suppose Summers is in with Royce? So what?"
"We both know Mike never had the time, mobility, or motive to be in it. Kaunitz has all three—and an airplane he can land anywhere. And believe me, Liatis, he does need the money. I visited his ranch and overheard some private conversation. I know. Okay, next point: Kaunitz insisted on taking the kid down to the playground alone. Who was there to see him cuff the kid around the jungle gym pole? Nobody. What if he didn't cuff the kid and told him to scoot after waiting ten minutes? Then the kid could make his way back to Royce's camp and tell him we're on our way."
"You're driving yourself nuts, Doc. Sure, a lot of things could happen, but usually they don't. Besides, Royce already knows we're on our way—he just doesn't know how fast. He took Daisy for a bargaining chip, thinking it would give him power to keep us away for a while. I bet he's already sorry he did it. Listen Doc, what I'm counting on is this: we get out there twelve hours before he thinks we can, slip under his guard half a day early."
"Okay, the final thing: Kaunitz's solo night flight over Royce's position. He refused to have anyone go with him. Know why?"
He thought for only a second before answering.
"Radio. You're thinking he radioed Royce from the plane."
"How powerful is the Mooney's radio?"
"Very. Much more reach than those backpackers we got. Yeah, he could've done that. What would he say?"
"What do you think? Tell Royce about the kid, about us. Our strengths and weaknesses. What to expect. The works. I'm thinking there's a king-size surprise waiting for us out there. And it'll be no fun."
Roantis thought hard, smoked half a cigarette, before answering.
"Nah. I just don't think Freddie's a traitor, Doc. The Ducks were close. We hadda be. Freddie's solid. I can't say that for Jesus Jusuelo, though. He always had a mean streak, and some hatred for Anglos, too. He's fierce, yeah, but not solid. Royce . . . Well, he's had his problems. But I'd say Fred's as solid as they come. As solid as you."
Somehow, his opinion of me did not cheer me up. Yeah, Doc, admit it: you're scared. You bet I am. That wired coffee can and the kid's sniper rifle had me going. Jesus Jusuelo, blood in his dark eyes, riding that little flatcar on the mountaintop spur—he had me going too. I would have about as much chance against a guy like that as that poor pilot lying in intensive care at Vance Memorial. To top it off I still had grave doubts about Kaunitz. I crawled back into the bedroll and stared up at the dark shadows of the big tree limbs overhead. Then I looked at Roantis again, squatting in the red glow of the fire like a Stone Age hunter or shaman priest. What crude gods were being summoned, what atavistic powers invoked?
* * *
A little after five, Tommy Desmond poked me awake. It was pitch black out under the trees; two hours until sunrise. We had coffee and sweet rolls, locked the rig, slung on our packs, and walked out. By the time we left the rig, there was barely enough light to see where you were going if you looked at the ground directly ahead of you. It was cold; our breath came in great clouds. Roantis led the way, heading for the railroad spur he wanted to follow. He reasoned that if they used the track, they wouldn't wire it. We headed up a different way from our initial approach, having guessed that we could make contact with the spur much sooner than previously. We did, but it was a hell of a climb, and it was sunup when we finally came to the old logging spur.
Walking on that level right of way, with no undergrowth or dense cover to hide booby traps, made me feel much better. We walked 60 feet apart, which meant that with five of us, we were strung out over 240 feet. We walked at a good clip, making no noise, for miles and miles. Men walking with rifles, I thought. Some things remain unchanged through history. From Ethan Allen and his Green Mountain Boys, to the Swamp Fox, the Gray Ghost, to Darby's Rangers, the Chindits, the SAS in Africa, to the Vietcong and the LRRP teams like the Daisy Ducks: you cannot stop men walking with rifles, no matter how many men, ships, guns, and jets you have.
I hoped Royce and his mountain men wouldn't stop us. We had a good field of vision off to our sides and some tree cover overhead because the tall poplars and pines had grown back, leaning in like a canopy. We walked with Roantis leading, followed by Summers, Desmond, me, and Kaunitz bringing up the rear. We changed now and then, but always with an experienced man at each end and Desmond and Adams in the middle. It was Roantis's plan to move ahead quickly, making more headway than Royce would expect and placing us inside his defensive perimeter. This sounded like a great idea as long as it hadn't occurred to Royce as well.
At eleven o'clock, the woods thinned out and we had a better view of the high, narrow plateau we were walking on. Below us, the ground fell away a great depth to a broad river valley to the south. To the north, it descended in a series of rolling hills. The railroad spur turned softly to the right, continuing westward across the spine of the plateau. Then it crossed the deep river valley in a descending swoop of track that went over the water on an ancient metal trestle bridge and disappeared into the woods again in a lazy curve of track on the other side of the valley.
The terrain here was rugged and steep, with many outcrops of bare rock, sheer vertical cliffs, and castle-like promontories overlooking wide vistas. It reminded me of the rugged country of Auvergne, in central France. It was the perfect place for a wilderness stronghold.
Creeping up to the edge of the woods, we lay on our stomachs, holding binoculars braced by our elbows on the ground, glassing the valley below us. It was the valley of Yellow Creek, and from our spot on the mountaintop to the opposite summit was a distance of a mile, maybe more. And a few miles beyond that was the Tennessee state line. If what the kid, Darryl Royce, had told us was true, Royce's wilderness retreat was on the mountaintop across the river. We glassed the entire area, looking for any movement, reflection, or signs of human presence. We saw none.
"Well lieutenant?" said Kaunitz, who was now sitting upright, his back against a tree. "I think I see something below that bare rock just below the ridge over there. What do you say?"
We directed our search to a shiny white patch of bare marble that protruded through the trees near the opposite summit. For half a minute, I couldn't see anything. Then I noticed faint movement on the hillside below it, a black upright line that moved. From a mile away, a man walking against the rock. When viewing distant people through lenses, it's hard to see them
actually move. What you notice, as in watching the sun set or a flower open, are distinct stages of the occurrence but not the actual process. I saw the tiny dark streak change position from one end of the white patch of rock to the other. Then it was gone, obscured by the trees.
"Hey," whispered Desmond, "look above that rock. Oh my Jesus!"
Right away, I saw four men up there on the ledge. Two had glasses and were using them. Roantis had all of us go to earth a little deeper. He also said we would do no glassing of the far, mountain after noon, when the sun's rays would be pointed toward us. As it was, there was no chance of a reflection giving us away. Not yet. I switched back to the base of the white patch of rock, looking for the lone walker again. I finally spotted him making his way much farther to the right, which was in the general direction of the track. I figured they must have some sort of supply depot there. But where was the mine tunnel the kid had mentioned? So far, the kid's description of the place fit. And I could guess there were plenty of men up on that cliffside and summit. So how were the five of us going to unseat them?
I crawled back into the bush, wiped off my brow, and replaced my wide hat. All my muscles ached. Not just my legs, but my back, my arms, even my neck. I took a pinch of snuff and it gave me a lift. I was getting hooked on the stuff. Maybe I should try leaf or plug next. Roantis and Kaunitz were poring over the map, running fingers down slopes and up ridges, murmuring.
"Who's tired?" asked Kaunitz.
"I am," I said. "And I ache all over too."
"Then unroll your pack and sleep. We're not going to move until after dark."
I did, and Desmond joined me. Summers opened ration cans, and Kaunitz pumped up the little primus stove and boiled water for coffee. It was just like the boy scouts, and I was getting a warm, homey feeling until Roantis dug into his pack and pulled out that paper wand dripping talcum powder. He laid the cylinder on the ground, took a tiny plastic bag, and shook more powder on it, then rubbed it carefully over the paper.
"She's drying out real nice," he said to Kaunitz. "Now I just got to decide where to use her."
