Blood Appeal

by Lyle O'Connor

  “Okay, Okay, I’ll get it handled,” Pug said.

  “I don’t want any more screw-ups. You were hired to do a job and I want it done. No more delays. It’s in your best interests that it gets done fast.”

  “I’ll put more pressure on the Elders and get the results you’re looking for.”

  “I don’t care how you do it. I don’t want any witnesses. Do you understand? No more kidnapping girls so you can have a fun time with them. If you grab one of them, I want you to make it look like a drowning accident. I don’t know what you were thinking taking that girl outside Alaska. Stupid move. You’re going to have to do better than that.”

  “I get the picture, boss. I have some fresh ideas straight out of the south that’s worked for them to keep problems under control. I have this guy, Duke—” Snuth interrupted Woolf, “Listen, I am not interested in the details. I want you to get it done.”

  Kuhl switched off the tape. Pug’s Scout had crested the hill not fifty yards in front of us and turned toward Paxson. Kuhl asked, “What’s the plan?”

  “Like you said brother—follow the information.”

  We gave him a long lead. Unless we missed our guess, we knew the direction he’d be traveling. The sky had darkened and thick clouds masked the sixteen-thousand-foot peaks of the Alaska Range to the north. Bands of clouds swept rain across the delta. We turned south on the Richardson Highway and drove directly into the fast moving storm.

  Vehicle traffic became fewer on the highway. I surmised the midweek weather had caused anglers to hunker down for an early evening. Pug’s vehicle speed was affected too. He’d slowed his rig down to where we closed the distance to within eyeshot. Standing water collected on the asphalt surface and made driving treacherous. Pug had wisely exercised caution and slowed his speed allowing us the same opportunity.

  The Scout swung into the parking lot of the Mom and Pop store by the Glenn Highway intersection. We refueled at the nearby service station. We figured if he got a head start on us, he’d be heading to the training camp only a few miles away. We’d easily catch him but, to our surprise, Pug pulled out heading west on the Glenn.

  “He’s either going home to Moose Pass or he’s Anchorage bound,” I said. “Moose Pass is a long way. I’m leaning toward Anchorage.”

  Kuhl nodded and said, “Where do you want to take him down?”

  “Soon. Whenever the opportunity presents itself.”

  As evening fell, the storm-darkened sky gave the appearance of night. The thick mass of clouds showed no sign of breaking up the lock it had on the horizon. We’d driven thirty miles across the flats and passed Gunsight Mountain’s tiny airstrip. Hemmed in by a cloud bank on either side of the Pass were jagged mountain pinnacles that peeked through like dark shadows. We could see the terrain changing as we headed down into the Pass.

  Kuhl pointed out a set of vehicle taillights in front of us that had flashed rapidly. The driver had pumped the brakes and I counted two blinks from the right-hand turn signal before it disappeared from the road. Kuhl slowed the van as we approached the area where the vehicle had turned off. We could see Pug’s Scout at the crest of a knoll. We looked for a turnaround.

  Our target had parked on a three-hundred foot long pull off. Road signs marked “Trailhead Tahneta Pass” sat at either end of the pull off. The Scout was the only vehicle visible in the lot. Rain was coming down heavier and steady, the wind was picking up and temperatures were steadily dropping. The unseasonably cold conditions played to our favor. Had the climate been more conducive to hiking, the parking lot might have had a higher level of activity.

  “Let’s have a little chat.”

  Kuhl’s eyes lit up and a smile stretched his lips tight. In the dim lighting of the dashboard, he had taken on a Guy Fawkes appearance without the mask. We traveled another quarter-mile and broke the crest of the hill before we swung the van around on the hardtop. We cruised back past the west trailhead entrance and turned into the lot where the Scout had entered, cutting our lights as we pulled onto the access road.

  The Scout wasn’t visible from the entrance. The rise in the road surface, trees and bushes had masked our arrival. We quickly geared up with ski masks, gloves and weaponry. We hoofed it to the top of the knoll and crept closer. Pug had cut the headlights off, but the engine was still idling. Kuhl used a set of Mil-Spec night vision goggles to verify Woolf was inside the SUV.

  Kuhl gave the thumbs up and we advanced. Kuhl moved left from the vehicle and out of view of the side mirrors. Effectively, he was moving up in the driver’s blind spot. I slipped into the brush on the right side of the vehicle and continued to close the distance on the rear of the Scout. Ten feet away, another step and I was eight, now six.

  I startled. The noise I heard was indistinguishable. My P99 responded to a ready position. I instinctively squatted under the plane of the Scout’s windows. More noise. Struggling sounds. A momentary tremulous voice—silenced.

  I quickly took a position at the left corner of the Scout. Without hesitation, I spun the corner with my weapon prepared to destroy anything in front of the muzzle. The Scout’s door stood wide open. Pug lay face down on the gravel, Kuhl’s shotgun stuck in the back of his head. I was late for the party.

  While Kuhl held our target at gunpoint, I slipped a pair of stylish nylon bracelets on his wrists. The style you’d find at a hardware store. I stood Pug up and dusted off the front of his clothes that were mostly wet from the rain-soaked gravel. I spun him around and put three more cable ties together then cinched them around his neck like a dog collar. I pulled his wrists up behind his back and fastened them to the noose with additional ties. Struggling or working his wrists free would cause the collar to tighten like a noose.

  With my ski mask in place, Pug hadn’t recognized me. He made two or three attempts to ask why we were jacking him up. We intensified his concerns by saying nothing. At one point, Kuhl laughed when Pug asked who we were. “You must be some kind of stupid. Our masks are to hide our identity. You think we’re going to tell you who we are? Don’t ask anything else until we say you can talk.”

  Kuhl pulled the shotgun sling to one side, turned Woolf around and said, “Wait here.” With a slap on my shoulder, he trotted toward his van. I searched Pug for weapons and removed everything from his pockets. Besides a handful of change I took his wallet and cell phone. A check of his call log showed he’d placed a call recently. I put his belongings in my jacket pocket. Kuhl pulled up alongside us and said, “Put him in the back and put tape on his mouth.”

  Pug flew pretty well when I tossed him in the van head first. Finding a comfortable spot to sit was a challenge not easily overcome. However, he squished into the corner behind the driver seat nicely. I slapped a piece of polyethylene tape across Pug’s mouth.

  “What about the Scout?” Kuhl asked.

  Clutching a flashlight that Kuhl kept handily within reach, I hastily looked through the Scout. A small pile of papers scattered on the back seat were the only items of interest I found. I quickly bagged them for Anna, who enjoyed digging through junk drawers and people’s personal belongings. I turned the Scout’s ignition off, took the keys, locked the doors and made my way to the van.

  “Is that what you want to do, leave it parked out here?”

  “No sweat brother. Vehicles park here all the time. No one’s going to notice.”

  A half hour later we’d pulled up to the highway intersection at Glennallen. “Want to make a party out of it?” Kuhl asked.

  “Why not? Let’s pick up the little lady.”

  “Roger that.”

  There had been occasions when my thoughts have come back to haunt me and this was one of them. Countless times I’d told myself that cell phones were nothing more than electronic leashes. But I was wrong. They were valuable tools in our trade. I wanted to contact Anna and the Glennallen phone tower had the strongest signal in the area. But it was of no use. Located on the river’s edge, the RV Park had poor reception. We would surprise An
na when we showed up with Pug.

  It was late in the evening when we arrived at the RV. Pug had ridden quietly having chosen not to agitate us. He must’ve understood there wasn’t any benefit in it for him. Anna was waiting with her coat on at the door. Quickly, I interjected, “I tried to call but I couldn’t get an answer. There wasn’t enough signal.” I was puzzled when I saw she was ready to go. “How’d you know we were en route?”

  “Women’s intuition?” Anna patted my cheek like I was a child.

  “That’s what women always say.”

  “Relax, I didn’t know. Do you feel better now?”

  “No—because you were ready to go.”

  “I know you. You couldn’t resist the opportunity to take him, and you knew better than to leave me out of it.”

  She had me pegged.

  Anna fired up the Avenger and waited for us to pull out. Adherence to Kuhl’s travel wishes for the mission’s sake pleased him. I climbed into the van, pulled off my mask, turned to Woolf and said, “Remember me?” He had plenty of time to get a good look and I made sure he could see me. Confused, he nodded his head.

  “Sit back and relax. You and me—We’re going to have a talk. Man-to-man.”

  “Head north away from Glennallen,” I said.

  “What’s north?” Kuhl asked.

  “Nothing, I hope.”

  Camping areas were densely populated along the tributaries of the delta. I’d noticed on our trip to Tangle Lakes the farther north we’d traveled the less camping, fishing, and fewer people were near the highway.

  “The road map shows a Trans-Alaska Pipeline crossing and an access road that veers off to the right. Look to the left side of the access and you’ll see a large gravel pit. It’s worth checking out.”

  “Gotcha.” Kuhl liked the idea.

  It was after midnight when we arrived at the pit. The clouds hugged the mountain peaks around us while the sky above cleared. Usually, I would have said weather conditions had improved. But the chilly wetness made being outdoors for any length of time miserable. I helped Pug out of the back of the van. I didn’t want him to hurt himself. Kuhl upended a five-gallon paint bucket and helped Pug get situated.

  I leaned toward Pug so we were face to face. “I need answers.” Pug stared me in the eyes. I reached up and slowly pulled the tape from his mouth. “You tell me the truth and everything goes smoothly.”

  “The whole thing in Missouri was an accident. We didn’t know who you were or nothing.”

  “Who is the Alaska Arctic Alliance? I want to know who’s who?”

  “Like what?” The smirk he showed displayed a level of disrespect I wasn’t willing to tolerate. I’d rather he shook in fear than sneered.

  “Anna, can you make our guest more comfortable and cut the cable ties holding his arms against his back. Leave the wrists tied for now,” I said.

  Anna moved behind Pug and with a flick of her folding tactical knife the blade snapped open. Momentarily I could see in her eyes what I’d seen before. Cold. Steely-blue. Pug had no idea how close he was to an angel of death. I’d seen Anna in action. Skilled. Lethal. Willing.

  Anna slowly slid the knife blade from the bottom of Pug’s left ear to his clavicle. I caught her attention with a nod. “Just the cable tie, sweetie.”

  “Are you comfortable now?”

  Pug nodded.

  “I don’t want any song and dance this time. Answer the question.”

  “We’re survivalists.”

  “Too bland. You’ve got more going on than a training camp. You’ll have to do better,” I said.

  Pug shrugged.

  The cold, wet, night chill bit at us until Anna, Kuhl and I put our fleece jackets and gloves on. Pug was not afforded the same luxuries.

  After ten minutes of listening to myself talk, I kicked Pug off the bucket and kicked him about the head. I distinctly remembered Pug tap-dancing on my head with his boots not long ago.

  I grabbed him from the ground and slammed him onto the bucket again. Gone was Pug’s smirk. Only a grim expression of fear was left.

  “You’re nods and shrugs aren’t the answers I’m looking for, but you know that. Who’s bankrolling this outfit?” I asked.

  I’m the kind of guy that prefers truth above silence and silence above lies. But Pug wasn’t cracking. Perhaps it was me or maybe my style. I didn’t see how it was possible that I hadn’t asked the right question. “Who’s Snuth?”

  “Snuth?” Pug was a challenge to interview and I hadn’t figured him for that. But, in all fairness, I’d been gentler with him than I had with most others. Usually, I convinced the target I wasn’t fooling around in the first few seconds of our meeting. If the answers didn’t start flowing, I’d have to use more persuasive means to get what I wanted.

  “I’m not going to ask you again. You don’t have any bargaining chips on the table. You tell me who Snuth is, or I’ll make your death drag out for a week or more.”

  Pug was smarter than he looked. “Mister Snuth owns a mineral exploration company that I work for once in a while.”

  “What kind of work?”

  “I clear obstacles out of his way.”

  I didn’t see Pug as a problem solver for Snuth. He and his Alliance buddies might be good for harassing the locals, but they were more valuable as fall guys. They were too stupid to see the situation. If something went wrong, Snuth could disavow any knowledge of the Alliances activities while they did his dirty work. It was a wise investment on Snuth’s part.

  “Why does Snuth need you? He’s a fat cat with deep pockets. He could buy off his obstacles.”

  “Money don’t buy everything. He’s a businessman and sometimes people hold up progress on his mining claims.”

  There are those persons who have a hard time looking at themselves in a mirror when they know what they’ve done. Not Pug. He put a spin on his guilt, so he didn’t have to look at the reflection. In fact, he was proud of who he was. I wanted him to get a better look at himself. “Were those Alaskan natives a problem too?”

  “That’s right.”

  I took his cell phone out and asked, “Who’d you call?”

  “Nobody.”

  I gave the phone to Anna. “Check the numbers.”

  “What was in Missouri for you?”

  “Duke and Jake are family. We got the idea for an Alliance from Jake. Duke’s helped us along the way.”

  “So what have you taken care of for Snuth?”

  “Small stuff is all.”

  “What kind of small stuff?”

  “We put a little pressure on people. We never killed nobody or nothing like that. We stole those natives fishing nets and wrecked a boat or two. Small stuff, you know.”

  “I know. I also know you’ve done a lot worse.”

  “Not any of us. It’s all minor stuff.”

  “So when they didn’t cave into your demands you upped the ante with kidnapping?” Pug was silent. His eyes searched for a way out of the question. I handed him his escape if he wanted it. “Did Snuth put you up to it?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I played a portion of the tape. While he listened, I put two and two together. In Missouri, I’d called him out on the girl’s murder, but now I’d become convinced that Snuth was the one calling the shots. “The girl that was killed, she was the screw-up Snuth talked about on the tape, wasn’t she?” I asked.

  Pug stared bug-eyed; fear gripped his vocal chords. His words stuttered as he turned ghostly pale. I let him think about his answer for a long minute before I interrupted him. “Her name was Dawn, but you knew that. What I want to know is, why her?”

  His eyes cast downward as he unconsciously shook his head.

  “It’s obvious it wasn’t a random grab. You had your eye on her for a reason?”

  “Her grandfather is a tribal elder. We were going to hold her hostage until granddad signed off on the lease. Mister Snuth said we could force the native leader to come around
to his way of thinking.” Still slightly shaking his head, he continued, “He wanted a guarantee the tribe would cooperate.” Pug’s mouth hung open as he searched my eyes. “She accidentally died,” he muttered.

  “Accidentally? Really? She was murdered.”

  “That wasn’t the plan. That was never the plan. She ended up dead, but it was accidental.”

  “Did you take her to Missouri accidently?”

  “No, we were only holding her for a while.”

  “How did you get her across the border without the border agents seeing her?”

  “We took the ferry in and out of Bellingham, Washington to Whittier, Alaska—no cops or customs.”

  “You’re the one who killed her? Was it you that choked her to death?” I walked a circle around Pug while I waited for his response.

  “No. No way. I was sticking to the plan Mister Snuth had laid out.”

  Pug tried to keep an eye on me, but when I circled him a second time, I grabbed the cable ties around his neck and twisted. The plastic cut into his neck as he struggled in pain. I released the stranglehold and came around face-to-face.

  “Whew—you just avoided an accident. You almost got choked to death. My guess is you felt like someone was trying to kill you on purpose and not accidently.”

  The deer in the headlight look works for a while, then it gets old. “Let’s get on the same sheet of music. She didn’t die accidently. She was innocent of any wrongdoing and you killed her.”

  No response. I grabbed the plastic zip ties, twisting them tight.

  “I didn’t do it,” Pug gurgled.

  “You didn’t stop it either. You sexually tortured her and when you were all done with your games, you killed her and dumped her body like trash along the road.”

  “It ain’t true. That’s not what happened.”