“He admitted it. Without even sounding as if he were sorry.” Shadoe felt the tears building again. “He said she deserved it.”
Jill nodded, and her mouth was set in a grim line. “This is going to sound very cold, Shadoe, but hear me out. I know this is causing you personal pain, but you had to find out about Hank. Trust me, it’s better now than later. And this could have a beneficial effect on the coalition.”
Shadoe wiped her tears with a tissue. “What are you talking about?”
“It won’t hurt to have WSTU on our side in the fight. The television can sway a lot of public opinion, and I believe Harry Code isn’t immune to media attention. I’ve spoken with Mr. Code, and he can be reasonable.” Jill got up and started pacing. “I don’t want you to think I don’t care that you’ve been hurt. I do. If there was something I could do to Hank, I’d do it. But maybe this is even better.” She swung around to face Shadoe. “Let’s call that woman.”
Shadoe looked beyond Jill to the television. Another reporter was doing a clip of a traffic accident. The scene shifted to the newsroom, and Kathy Lemon was on the air.
“We have an update from Lakota County.”
At her words, Jill swung around also.
“Earlier today, Harry Code with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, issued a press release. Federal arrest warrants have been issued for agent Hank Emrich. Emrich is charged with destruction of federal property and sabotage. He is believed to be in the national wilderness in or near Lakota County. He is considered armed and dangerous.” A picture of Hank flashed up on the inset screen beside Kathy’s head. “Citizens are urged to use extreme caution. If Emrich is sighted, a report should be made to the Lakota County sheriffs office. Do not try to apprehend this man. He is armed and dangerous.”
The camera focused back in on Kathy. “Now we’ll turn to the weather. What about it, Rob? More perfect spring?”
“No, Kathy, there’s a storm brewing.”
Shadoe tuned out the weather. She stared blankly at the screen before she looked up at Jill. As she watched, her friend went to the telephone book and began to look up the number for the station.
“As soon as she gets off the air, let’s call her. You two have a lot in common, and it couldn’t hurt the ranchers’ cause.”
“I don’t know, Jill.” Shadoe had absolutely no heart to talk with Kathy Lemon, particularly about Hank.
“Well, I do know. Strike while the iron is hot, as my mother used to say. This is some of the best ammunition we’ve had. We could call an emergency meeting of the coalition, but I’m sure everyone will agree with me.” She wrote the number on a pad.
“I don’t think this is such a good idea.”
Jill rounded on her. “You’ve got to quit protecting Hank. He isn’t the man you thought he was. He’s come back here out of some crazy sense of revenge, and unless we stop him, we’re going to have those wolves slaughtering our livestock.”
Shadoe was still unconvinced.
“You’re the only one who can do this, Shadoe. If you don’t do it for your horses, do it for the rest of us. We can’t afford to lose this fight. You can find a job in the city again, but most of us can’t. We’re ranchers, and we have as much right to survive as the wolves.”
Shadoe picked up the cocoa, which was only lukewarm. She didn’t drink it but she held the cup in her chilled hands. Maybe it was for the best. Jill was right, she was being totally selfish. Once again, she was putting what she wanted before the needs of others. “Okay.”
“Listen, Shadoe, with a little extra push, we might be able to get those wolves loaded up and back in Canada where they belong. This is the best thing for us, and for the wolves. Do you want to see them caught one by one in leg traps, or poisoned and shot?”
The very idea made Shadoe queasy. Somewhere along the way, they’d become less of an enemy, less the terrifying killers that she’d once viewed them as. Something of Hank’s attitude toward them had rubbed off on her-his and her father’s. It was the dreams. And the big silver wolf that seemed to linger just on the edge of her consciousness. What had Hank named him? Thor? That was it. It was the way Hank spoke of him, as if he were more than a wolf.
“Okay, the news is over.” Jill extended the phone to her. “Call.”
HANK DREWM close to the Stag’s Horn encampment at dusk. Using the failing light, he settled into a camp and waited for the darkness. The wind had picked up considerably, and he knew it was going to be a bitter night. The normal reds and golds of the sunset had been swallowed by a building mass of gray clouds on the western horizon. After finding the best shelter he could for the horse, Hank ate dried beef and watched the storm roll toward him. If it rained, he might leave traceable prints behind. That was the drawback. The asset was that a storm would cover the noise of him setting the wolves free. The animals were bound to be upset by his actions. He could only hope they were eager enough for freedom to run long and hard away from the campsite. And that Thor would be there to lead the way.
But he had no control over Thor or the weather, and he was determined to set the wolves free. It was now or never.
By seven o’clock, the cloud was totally black. There was no trace of moon or stars. The wind sang through the fir trees, whispering, moaning, promising a wild night. Hank made sure Winston was tethered and set out on foot
He carried his knife and the rifle he’d borrowed from Shadoe. He had to be fast and ready for anything. The area was familiar to him—there wasn’t much of it he hadn’t tramped over during his youth. This knowledge stood him in good stead as he drew ever closer to the wolves. He’d decided on a northern approach, coming in on top of the pens. The camp was south of the wolves, and the terrain on the western side was treacherous. He could negotiate the rocks, but it would take so much longer. Time was his enemy now.
Would there be guards? He had originally posted them, but none of the agents had felt they were really necessary. They had groused and complained about the extra duty. Perhaps with Harry in charge, the wolves’ guards had been discontinued. He could only hope that was true.
He caught the first glimpse of the metal cages and the supply tent about thirty yards from them. That was the tent where Doc Adams had nursed the poisoned wolf back to health. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
Hiding some twenty yards from the wolves, Hank settled down for a long, long wait. He watched the wolves, aware that they were on to his presence. They lifted their ears and whined, pacing in their pens and cages as they looked, one then another, in his direction. This was the way it had to be. He wanted them to become used to him before he made a move. Still, he found that he was holding his breath.
At half past eleven, the guard walked past the pens, a perfunctory check before he went back in the tent to light and laughter, the sound of other men inside. With the wind rising, Hank couldn’t tell who they were by their voices. A small part of him didn’t want to know, for surely these men would be in trouble in the morning when the wolves were discovered gone.
He went first to the pen of the pregnant female. She was due any day. She needed to find a den and have the litter. As he watched her move about the pen, Hank smiled. Doc Adams had worked wonders with her. She was fit-and eager to be free. He could read it in every line of her body. Her mate was beside her, watching Hank while the female looked beyond him, to the mountains.
“You’re first.” Hank used the keys he had to the locks.
Harry Code had taken his guns, but he hadn’t bothered to steal the keys. There was no reason not to do it the easy way since he knew the release would be blamed on him. The keys would cinch the circumstantial evidence, but so be it.
He’d inserted the key in the lock when the tent flap opened.
“I’ll just check on her boys, then I’m going home.”
Hank dove to the ground and then scrabbled to the safety of the rocks. If he hadn’t recognized the guards, he had no trouble figuring out that the short rotund figure that approached was Doc Adams, on his
way to check on the pregnant female wolf.
Hank cursed his luck. Now he’d have to wait until the next guard check. He didn’t want the release in any way blamed on Doc.
Chapter Fifteen
An hour had passed, and the storm had settled in. The wind whipped the trees back and forth with such force that Hank felt that those anchored in the harsh face of the rock might be uprooted. Now the weather had developed into a serious threat. There was no rain yet, but the wind smelled of it, cold and wintery. He pulled his hat lower and crouched behind a rock. The weather worked both for and against him.
Even the sporadic attempts to guard the wolves had been abandoned with the coming of the storm. Two agents had come out after Doc left and made sure the pens were securely covered and that the wolves were not exposed to the elements. Then they had zipped the flaps of the tents and hunkered down for the duration of the storm. Their attitude seemed to be that no one in his right mind would approach Stag’s Horn in such heavy winds. They were probably right.
No one in the tents would hear Hank at the pens, but the loud noise of the storm also worked against him. He couldn’t hear the approach of anyone else. He could be caught red-handed, in the act, if his luck was running against him. He could only hope the earlier sight of the moon-cloud and the appearance of Thor were indications that his luck was changing for the better.
The wind was damp with the promise of rain. It was only fifteen minutes away, at most, he calculated. It was now or never. He eased to his feet and gave the circulation a chance to return to his aching legs. The keys to the pens were in his pockets, and he brought them out along with a tiny flashlight. He was as ready as he’d ever be.
Easing from rock to rock, he moved toward the cage of the pregnant wolf. He’d made a circuit of the pens, checking all of the wolves to be sure they were fit to go before he released the first one. There would be no second chance to set them free if any weren’t ready to go tonight. During the long wait, he’d established a list-the pregnant female and her mate; the six females, then the seven males. He could only pray they would decide to run for the wilderness instead of coming after him. The release wasn’t exactly supposed to be done by a single person, a cage at a time. If the wolves decided to attack, he’d be dead before the guards could even get out of the tent to check on the noise. If they heard anything at all above the howl of the storm.
Hank was twenty feet from the pregnant female’s cage when she saw him. Her nose went up in the air, and some signal passed among the wolves. They turned in the direction where Hank hid. Normally too shy to meet a human’s gaze, they stared at him with a predatory hunger.
Hank watched their behavior and felt a surge of hope. They had not been humanized by the capture. Man was still the deadliest of predators to them. They sniffed the wind and grew restless, alert.
“Easy, easy,” Hank said more to himself than to the wolves as he shifted from behind the rock toward the cage. There was no cover here. He was in the wide open if anyone happened by.
Just as he made it to the cage the tent flap opened and a shaft of warm yellow light fell into the night. For the second time that night, he dove to the ground and rolled, holding himself perfectly still in the thick shadows. Not ten feet away, the wolves growled a warning. The storm and Hank’s unexpected behavior were making them anxious.
In the open flap, a slender man stood, talking. “Hank went to a lot of trouble for those wolves. The least we can do is check them.” Jim Larson stepped out of the tent flap. He was so bundled up that Hank almost didn’t recognize him. Someone in the tent called something out, and Jim turned and answered. “I think Code’s a jackass, and I’ll tell him to his face. Putting out a warrant for Hank. That’s absurd. He was a loner but he wasn’t a criminal.”
There was an answer from the tent, but Hank couldn’t make it out. He felt a warm regard for Jim. He’d never expected the biologist to take his side, but it was gratifying to know that someone hadn’t branded him a criminal.
Jim started toward the pens with a flashlight. He stopped and cast the light in on the wolves. Sensing their anxiety, he watched them closer. “It’s only a storm,” he told them. He moved the light so he could see all the cages. The illumination lingered a moment on Thor’s empty cage as if Jim were speculating on what might have happened to the large male.
Moving slowly, he started toward Hank.
Hank was torn between lying perfectly still or making a dash for the rocks. If Jim turned the light on him, he’d be completely exposed. If he moved he might draw Jim’s attention. No matter how Jim sympathized with him, he couldn’t ask the biologist to risk his career by keeping quiet.
Hank was about to make a break for the rocks when there was the sharp report of a rifle. Uncertain where the shot had come from, he ducked instinctively. There was a second report and rock chips from the ground stung his face.
“Hey!” Jim Larson’s cry was one of alarm, disbelief.
There was a third shot, and to Hank’s horror, Jim clutched his chest. He staggered forward three steps, then dropped to his knees with a low cry.
Not twenty feet from where Hank lay, Jim fell to the ground as the flap of the tent opened and one of the other agents called out into the night.
“Jim? Are you okay?”
Only the wind answered.
“Jim, where are you?”
Hank held his breath. He crawled to Jim Lawson and pressed his fingers into the carotid artery. He was dead. Hank couldn’t see clearly, but the stickiness on Jim’s chest indicated he had been hit in the heart. Knowing the killer was still out in the night-probably with a nightscopeHank backed away from Jim and the cages, back to the relative safety of some rocks.
There was a commotion inside the tent, and Hank knew that his opportunity with the wolves was over for the night. In a moment federal agents would be all over the area. One of the team had been murdered. Why? By whom?
Was it possible the bullet had been intended for Hank?
The mystery man Hank had been pursuing all over the wilderness was still at large. Had he turned the tables and followed Hank? It was possible.
Hank cursed his own lack of awareness. He’d been so caught up with Shadoe that he’d let his mind slip off the facts. And now Jim Larson, a good man dedicated to preserving the wilderness, was dead.
Hiding behind the rocks, he watched as two men dashed out of the tent, guns at the ready. He didn’t recognize either of them in their burly jackets, but he thought they were Fred Barnes and Sam Lindell. They eased away from the tent, backs together as they protected each other from possible attack, unaware that Jim was dead not thirty yards away from them.
Hank’s first impulsewas to shout a warning. Instead, he inched backward, further into the wilderness and the night. A light rain had begun to fall. He couldn’t afford to be caught now. There was nothing he could do for Jim. Not even to catch his killer. The gunshot had come out of the storm, and he hadn’t seen a thing. The real danger was that the sniper was still out there, possibly drawing a bead on the other two men.
Hank picked up a rock and threw it in the direction of Jim’s body. The men whirled, guns pointed, and the beam of their flashlights searched the ground in front of them. Hank tossed another rock.
The lights followed the sound of the rock, skimming the ground until they stopped on Jim’s body. Hank heard the men exclaim and hurry forward, and he knew he’d done all he could to protect them. He had to get away before a search party was organized.
He glanced at the wolves. He’d have to make another attempt—and soon.
“Ms. Lemon, this is Jill Amberly, from Athens.” Jill lifted one eyebrow at Shadoe as she held the phone to her ear. “That’s right, you spoke with me when you were looking for Shadoe Deerman.” She nodded. “Well, I’m glad it worked out for you.” She shrugged helplessly at Shadoe. “Well, she’s right here, and she’d like to speak with you.”
Before Shadoe could escape, Jill thrust the phone in her hand.
/> “Ms. Deerman, I didn’t expect to talk with you,” Kathy Lemon said in her cool, effortless voice.
“It’s something of a surprise to me, too. I didn’t expect to see you anchoring the news in Montana.”
“Thanks to your friend.” Kathy laughed. “It turned out to be the opportunity of a lifetime. I can’t believe anything good ever came out of Hank Emrich, but it seems that in trying to warn you about him I found myself the perfect job.”
“Karma, perhaps,” Shadoe said, hoping she didn’t sound as fake as she felt.
“Whatever you want to call it, I’m grateful. I might even be willing to give Hank a thank you.”
Shadoe felt something twist in the vicinity of her heart. “Oh, really. I would have thought you wouldn’t care to be close enough to him to speak with him.”
“I meant when he was arrested and in custody. Did you hear our story tonight? We had an exclusive. Straight from Harry Code’s desk to our audience.”
“I heard.” Shadoe took no joy in Hank’s predicament. Whatever he was, he cared about those animals. She was beginning to be very sorry she’d ever let Jill put the telephone in her hand.
“It’s going to do my heart good.” Kathy Lemon’s voice turned brisk. “Well, what can I do for you, Ms. Deerman?”
“We’re having a meeting of the Lakota County Ranchers Coalition tomorrow evening. I was wondering if you, or someone from WSTU, might care to cover it. We’re going to have a guest environmentalist who believes the wolves cannot survive in the United States without preying on livestock herds. We’d like to get our facts before the people.”
“Excellent. Just a minute and let me get some directions.”
Shadoe held a thumbs-up to Jill, who clapped silently with excitement.
“I’ve been meaning to take a look at that area out there,” Kathy said. “I hear with this wolf scare there’s some real bargains in real estate.”
Midnight Prey Page 19
