Escape from the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  Although money was the unifying factor, the founder of Die Kontrollgruppe understood the power of organization. For that reason, Die Kontrollgruppe was similar in structure to the many social and militia organizations that had sprung into existence over the last few years. Die Kontrollgruppe had a leader, a mysterious figure known only as the Gruppe Kommandant. No one had ever seen the man, whom they referred to as the GK, not even Doyle, Cain, Burkett, or Lynch. They had been recruited by the GK through a series of faxes and e-mails, and now received all their instructions in that same way.

  In personal messages, the GK would sometimes share a significant piece of information with only one of them, informing that person not to tell the others, while at the same time telling that person that the others also had specific, unshared information. In this way the GK kept members of the second level of leadership dependent upon each other, thus assuring their cooperation and preventing any one of them from getting enough power to attempt to take control.

  The Gruppe Kommandant understood the power and psychology of symbolism. Thus, Die Kontrollgruppe had its own symbols and flags. The flag that hung from the pole out front had many replicas inside, including those prominently displayed throughout the large, open room of the Die Kontrollgruppe headquarters building.

  The soldiers themselves were part of the symbolism, for they wore black uniforms with armbands that were miniature reproductions of the flag. Each soldier held rank as assigned by the Gruppe Kommandant, and their shares in Die Kontrollgruppe’s plunder, which was significant, were based upon a percentage computed in accordance with their rank.

  Cletus Doyle, Miner Cain, Glen Burkett, and Tamara Lynch were colonels. Only the Gruppe Kommandant outranked the four colonels.

  Doyle, Cain, and Burkett were sitting in leather chairs in front of the fireplace, an area reserved for the top echelon, when Tamara came over to join them. Tamara was a tall, blond, Nordic-looking woman. She was quite attractive, though the hard edge to her features somewhat detracted from her beauty. She had taken some liberties with the black uniform, and while it had all the prescribed accoutrements, it was a skin-fitting, black leather garment that clung so closely to her perfect figure that her nipples stood out.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong,” Tamara said as she settled in a chair beside them. “But I believe that when you left this morning, you said you were going to bring back Ben Raines’s head back in a box. You had all the information on the flight path of the plane. What happened?”

  “We shot down the plane,” Cain said.

  “You did? Well, I’m surprised,” Tamara said. “Pleasantly surprised, but surprised.”

  “Don’t be giving us any of your shit, Tamara,” Doyle growled.

  “Yeah, you know what happens to women with a big mouth,” Burkett added.

  “I’m not just a woman with a big mouth,” Tamara replied. “I’m a colonel. Or have you forgotten?”

  Tamara’s promotion to colonel was a recent event. Doyle, Cain, and Burkett had all recommended against it, but the Gruppe Kommandant had promoted her anyway, and instructed Doyle and the others that she was to be treated as their equal.

  “I’d like to meet the GK face-to-face someday,” Doyle said. “I’d ask him just what in the hell he’d been smoking when he decided to make you a colonel.”

  “That day will never come,” Tamara said. “Nobody meets the GK. Nobody even knows who he is.”

  “Yeah, it’s a hell of a note that he doesn’t even trust his second in command,” Doyle said.

  “Second in command? Well, now, just who do you say is his second in command?” Cain asked.

  Doyle looked at the challenging expression in the faces of the other three, then snorted what might have been a laugh. “Us,” he said, taking in all four of them with an inclusive wave of his hand. “We are his second in command.”

  “You got that right,” Burkett said.

  “You said you shot down the plane?” Tamara asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, so where is Raines?”

  “He’s probably at the bottom of the mountain, all busted up on the rocks,” Cain said.

  Tamara frowned. “Probably? What do you mean, probably? Didn’t you find the wreckage?”

  “Yeah, we found it,” Cain said.

  “So, was he dead, or what?”

  “It’s not that simple,” Burkett insisted.

  Tamara sighed. “What happened?”

  Doyle told the story of shooting down the airplane, then tracing it to the crash site, where they encountered Ben Raines still alive.

  “You shot him, I hope?”

  “Yeah, I think so,” Doyle replied.

  “First you say he is ‘probably’ dead, then you say you ‘think’ you shot him. You know what I think? I think you are giving me a line of bullshit Either that, or you aren’t telling me everything,” Tamara said. “You haven’t actually killed him, have you?”

  “We may have,” Doyle said. “But to be honest, I don’t know whether we did or not. It doesn’t matter, though. If we haven’t killed him, he will be dead soon.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “For one thing,” Doyle replied, “he’s wandering around out there without food, weapons, or any kind of survival gear, and that includes no coat or blanket. You know how cold it gets up here at night, even at this time of the year?”

  “Not cold enough to freeze to death.”

  “Maybe not, but you can build up a damn good case of exposure. And if he is still alive, he’s going to be one miserable bastard.”

  “So what are you saying? That you plan to let nature take care of killing him for you?” Tamara asked. “Is that the report you’re going to give the GK?”

  “No, that’s not the report we’re going to give the GK,” Doyle said. “Though in truth, if we just left the son of a bitch out there, I think nature would take care of him, providing he’s not already dead.”

  “Given that you don’t intend to let nature take its course, what do you have in mind?” Tamara asked.

  “First thing tomorrow morning, I plan to turn everyone out to look for him.”

  “With a reward of fifty thousand dollars for whoever finds him,” Burkett added.

  Tamara thought for a moment, then nodded. “Sounds reasonable,” she said. “But why wait until morning?”

  “Because if he is alive, a night in the cold will take enough starch out of him to make him easy prey.”

  Tamara nodded. “Good idea,” she said. “When you’re going after someone like Ben Raines, you need every advantage you can get. I agree with you.”

  “Oh, you agree, do you?” Doyle replied sarcastically. He looked at Cain and Burkett. “Great news, boys, Colonel Lynch agrees with us.”

  “Don’t be such a wiseass,” Tamara said.

  “Look, you two can argue all you want,” Burkett said. “But I got other plans. I don’t intend to spend the night alone.” Burkett looked over toward the bar where several of the soldiers, men and women, were drinking and visiting. “And I think I see just the one I’ll ask to keep me company,” he added.

  One of the perks of belonging to Die Kontrollgruppe was that no one junior could refuse the sexual advances of anyone their senior.

  “Who have you got in mind?” Cain asked with a chuckle.

  “You see that pretty little redhead standing at the end of the bar? This is her lucky day. I’m going to make her a happy woman tonight,” Burkett said, rubbing himself.

  Cain and Doyle laughed.

  “Find someone else,” Tamara said.

  “What do you mean find someone else?” Burkett replied. “That’s the one I want.”

  Tamara smiled. “You’re too late. I’ve already put my claim in. Tonight, that beautiful little piece of fluff will be sharing my bed.”

  Leaving the men, Tamara crossed over to the bar and said something to the young redhead. The redhead smiled, nodded, then walked hand-in-hand with Tamara toward the elevator. As the
y walked away, Tamara, without looking around, held her hand out behind her, flipping a bird toward the three men.

  “I’ll be a son of a bitch,” Burkett growled. “It’s bad enough we have to have a woman share rank with us. She also shares women with us.”

  “What are you talking about?” Doyle replied. “That dyke doesn’t share her women with anyone.”

  The other two men laughed, then started toward the bar to find their own companions for the night.

  NINE

  Ben fashioned a trap by running control cable from one arm of the bell crank to the trunk of a nearby tree. A second, smaller cable was run from the other arm of the bell crank, then formed into a large loop, as in a slipknot. The mechanism was held taut with the spring he had taken from the battery box. When he was finished, Ben covered the exposed cable with leaves.

  Tracks had showed him that this was a popular watering place for animals, and he hoped to be able to catch one of them with his makeshift trap. If it worked as he had planned, when the cable was disturbed, the spring would snap the bell crank back, ensnaring the animal in the loop of the second cable. It wouldn’t hold the animal permanently, but long enough to make it an easy kill for Ben.

  The trap was sprung within thirty minutes of his setting it, and it worked perfectly. The problem was with the animal it caught. Ben had thought to catch a caribou, elk, or bighorn sheep. What he caught was a brown bear, and rather securely, as the bear had ensnared both his left hind leg and right foreleg.

  As soon as the trap was sprung, the bear turned to run, which is exactly the way Ben had planned it, because as the animal tried to run, it tightened the noose around the two trapped legs.

  The bear, realizing that it was caught, let out a loud roar, then began jerking on the cable, trying to extricate himself. That only made the noose grow tighter, so Ben wasn’t worried about the animal escaping the noose. However, he was concerned that the bear might be able to pull the cable loose from its anchor.

  Ben approached the bear warily. Seeing him, the bear correctly surmised that Ben was the cause of his difficulty, and he bared his fangs, growled, and tried to swipe at Ben with his free left foreleg.

  Brandishing his sword, Ben tried to move in on the bear, hoping to take advantage of the fact that the bear had two of his limbs ensnared. But the bear was too quick for him, and Ben had to jump back to escape what could have been a crippling blow. He tried several more times, but was unable to thrust his sword into the bear.

  Then looking around, Ben saw part of a fallen limb, the top of which formed a Y. Taking the limb in his left hand, Ben approached the bear again. This time when the bear swiped at him, Ben held up the limb, catching the bear’s paw in the Y. With the animal’s attack parried, Ben made a counterthrust, driving his sword in the bear’s underbelly just about where he thought the heart would be.

  The bear’s roar grew louder, but this time there was as much pain as anger in the bellow. Ben pulled the sword out as blood pumped from the bear’s wound, then made a second thrust, near the first.

  The bear fell forward, toward Ben, and he jumped back before he could withdraw his sword. He stood there as the bear lay on its belly, flopping and twitching in its death throes, and for a moment Ben felt a sense of compassion for the creature.

  “I’m sorry, bear,” he said quietly. “But I didn’t have any choice.”

  Port Hardy, British Columbia

  Paul Kingsley, the operator of the small airport at Port Hardy, was sitting at his desk, eating his supper of creamed salmon and biscuits, when Greg Merrill came into the operations building.

  “Your supper looks good,” Merrill said, reaching across the counter toward it.

  “Too good to share,” Kingsley replied, pushing Merrill’s hand away.

  “Come now, Paul, don’t you know that the Lord does not like a selfish man?” Merrill asked.

  “Uh-huh. Well, you tell the Lord to get his own supper,” Kingsley replied. “He’s done it before. You do remember the thing about the loaves and fishes, don’t you? And turning water into wine?”

  “Damn, you are a sacrilegious shit,” Merrill said with a little laugh. “Is the computer back up?”

  Kingsley put his fork down, then tapped a few keys and looked at the screen. He shook his head. “No. I’ve got some guys from the computer place working on it, but nothing yet.”

  “It was up last night ’cause I was working with it,” Merrill said.

  Kingsley chuckled. “I wouldn’t go around admitting that if I were you. People might blame you for infecting it.”

  “What do you mean, infecting it?”

  “You know, a virus. The computer guys say that somehow we got a worm that’s eaten everything up.”

  “Whoa, I didn’t have anything to do with that,” Merrill said, reacting quickly against Kingsley’s jest.

  “Take it easy, I didn’t say you did. I was just teasing.”

  “Are they going to be able to fix it?”

  “Yes, but it’s going to take a while. They have to erase everything from the hard drive, then reload it with backup. Fortunately, we have most of our files backed up.”

  “Oh. Okay. So listen, I was supposed to change out all the filters on the DC-4 today. You got any idea when Gerald and Ed Parker are coming back?”

  Kingsley looked up from his meal. “Coming back? Coming back from where? You mean their plane isn’t in the hangar?”

  Merrill shook his head. “Nope. Hasn’t been all day.”

  “I didn’t even know they were gone,” Kingsley said.

  “What do you mean you didn’t know? Don’t you have their flight plan?”

  “No.”

  “How can they not have filed a flight plan?”

  “Duh! The computer is down, remember? I didn’t say they didn’t file it, I’m just saying I don’t have it. If their flight plan was on the computer just before it went down, we lost it.”

  “Well, if they filed before the computer crashed, it would be on the Internet somewhere, wouldn’t it?” Merrill asked.

  “Yeah, it should be.”

  “I guess I can always take care of the filters tomorrow,” Merrill said.

  “Yeah, I suppose so,” Kingsley said. He stroked his chin. “But it bothers me that they are gone and I have no flight plan for them.” He picked up the phone.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to call Vancouver. If they did get the flight plan filed, Vancouver might have something.”

  “Yeah, give ’em a call,” Merrill suggested. “You think that’s where they went?”

  “No, I don’t think so. If they went to Vancouver, they’ve had plenty of time to close it. But Vancouver is the clearinghouse for all the flight plans filed in this sector.”

  “Don’t you think if Vancouver had an unclosed flight plan that originated from here, they would have called to check on it by now?” Merrill asked.

  “Yeah, you would think so,” Kingsley said. He began punching in the numbers.

  Merrill folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the counter that separated him from Kingsley’s area.

  “Northwest Flight Operations, Fred Johnson.”

  “Yeah, Fred,” Kingsley said when the phone was answered. “This is Paul Kingsley, from Point Hardy. Listen, I’m inquiring about Gerald and Edgar Parker. Do you have an unclosed flight plan from them?”

  “What type aircraft?”

  “It’s a DC-4, tail number 442715.”

  “Whoa, that’s an old one.”

  “Don’t let the age of the plane fool you. It’s mint,” Paul said.

  “Just a minute, let me check,” Fred replied. Kingsley could hear the sound of tapping computer keys. “No, we don’t have a flight plan from them at all, closed or unclosed.”

  “You don’t? You have nothing on them?”

  “No.”

  “Well, have you heard anything from or about them, or from any of the other airfields around?”


  “I haven’t personally, and there is nothing on the computer. What’s all this about, Paul? Are you declaring them missing?”

  “I don’t know,” Kingsley replied. “Not yet, I guess. They must’ve left here early this morning, before anyone else arrived. The problem is, we have no idea where they went, or when they are due to come back.”

  “Are people in the habit of departing your station without filing a flight plan?”

  “No, but our computer has crashed, and if they did file a flight plan, somehow it got lost in the system.”

  “Would you like me to do an Internet search of all other reporting stations?” Fred asked.

  “Yes, please. See what you can find out for us. I would appreciate it very much.”

  “I’ll get back to you.”

  Kingsley hung up the phone, then looked at Merrill.

  “They haven’t heard anything from them?” Merrill asked.

  Kingsley shook his head. “Not a word,” he said. “But he’s going to check. If they have put in somewhere and closed their flight plan, it will show up on somebody’s system.”

  “Yes, but don’t you think they would call?”

  “Not necessarily,” Kingsley said. “They probably think everything is all right.”

  The phone rang and Kingsley picked it up. “Port Hardy,” he said.

  Merrill could hear the voice on the other end of the phone, but couldn’t understand what it was saying. He could tell by the expression on Kingsley’s face, though, that it wasn’t good.

  “Thanks,” Kingsley said. “Yes, I think you are right. Do you need me to make an official request? All right, consider it done.” Hanging up the phone, he looked at Merrill, then shook his head.

  “That was Fred?”

  “Yes. He’s checked with everyone. Nobody has heard from them.”

  “Damn, that’s not good,” Merrill said. “That’s not good at all.”

  “No, it isn’t. I’m going to call Search and Air Rescue to file a missing report. The request has to come from the flight’s point of origin.”

  “What about Peggy? Somebody needs to tell her,” Merrill said.

  “You know her better than I do, Greg,” Kingsley said.