Preying in Two Harbors

by Dennis Herschbach

  The dried branches of the tree wiggled, and this time Ben heard the scrape of something being pushed open. He realized he was standing next to an escape route from the militia’s compound. He grabbed for his service revolver and pressed against the rocks to the side of the tree. Someone gave one more push from the inside, and what had looked like a natural windfall fell away as a slanted door, like those for root cellars on old farmsteads, opened. But this was no root cellar.

  As Ben watched, a figure was pushed out of the opening into the morning air, and it took him a moment to recognize Deidre. She was hunched over, holding her ribs, and she staggered as she tried to walk on stiffened legs. From behind, he could see that her hair was in tangles and matted to her head. Then she turned her head, and Ben almost gave away his position by uttering a gasp. Deidre’s face was beaten. Blood crusted around her nostrils and her lips, and one eye was swollen completely shut. Almost no part of her face was without a bruise of some degree, and she looked as though she was going to collapse. A hand had her by the back of her neck, and that hand was attached to an arm that looked to be clothed in a uniform.

  As the uniformed man followed Deidre through the opening, Ben stepped forward and raised his pistol. He slammed the butt of the Glock against his head, and the man fell unconscious. Ben grabbed him by the collar and with one heave pulled him to the side, leaving the opening to the escape route unobstructed. Completely confused, Deidre stood in the growing daylight, unsure of where to turn. Before she could move, Ben heard another sound coming from the escape door, and he stepped to the side. Another uniformed man took one step from the entrance and when he saw Deidre standing alone, paused.

  “Don’t move an inch, you bastard!” Ben blurted out, but the militiaman turned anyway, only to see the barrel of a nine-millimeter handgun pointed directly at his face. From the distance of three feet, its bore looked like a cannon, and he threw his hands in the air.

  “Don’t shoot!” he shouted. “You got me. It’s over!”

  But it wasn’t. Ben could still hear the rattle of the machine gun. It sounded like there may have been more than one, and he remembered the three large hummocks he had noted on his recon mission. As he stood there, covering the second man to have emerged from the hatch and waiting for Blake to come to, the members of Fire Team B spilled down the bank toward him. Jameson began to bellow above the din, “She wasn’t—” He stopped. “Deidre, is that you?” Then he gathered in the sight. “Who the hell is that?” he demanded when he saw Blake sprawled on the ground, blood flowing from a wound on the back of his head.

  The plan had been for Fire Team B to blow a hole in the wall of the building, rush in, grab Deidre, and pull her to freedom. When the rescue was complete, they would retreat to the lowland and fire a flare, signaling to the other teams the rescue had been completed. Then all would withdraw a short distance, sealing off the perimeter of the camp so no one could enter or leave. That part of the mission complete, an FBI negotiating team would move in and try to get everyone in the compound to surrender. The plan was intact, but now Fire Team B had two prisoners to contend with. Jameson had a problem on his hands. What to do with Deidre and Ben and the two militiamen in his custody? He made the only logical choice.

  Turning to his rifleman, Jameson said, “You return to HQ with the prisoners. Ben, Deidre is in no condition to walk out of here. Can you carry her?” Ben nodded and moved toward his wife, but she was so dazed she perceived him to be a threat and tried to beat him off. Luckily, her strength was so sapped, she could barely swing her fists.

  Blake let out a groan and rolled over onto his back. He reached for the back of his head and gently fingered his scalp, and the team leader pounced on him, relieved him of the sidearm he carried, grabbed the front of his uniform, and jerked him to a sitting position.

  “You’re going back with Rifleman Petroff. If you try to escape, he has orders to shoot you. Understand?” Jameson commanded. Blake tried to focus his eyes, but they wouldn’t cooperate. Finally, he was able to nod. Jameson pulled his captive to his feet and shoved him in the direction he wanted him to go. “Rifleman, you heard my order. I meant what I said. Shoot either one of them if they try to make a run for it.” The trio, two militiamen and a national Guard soldier, started off on the trail leading back to the Knife River.

  Ben swept Deidre off her feet in one move, and draped her over his shoulder. He heard her moan as his shoulder made contact with her ribs, but he knew they had to move away from their current position. It would be too dangerous to stay that close to the compound. The sound of gunfire had ceased, and an eerie quiet draped the woods, as even the animals had gone silent. Deidre was light to carry as they started out, but an eighth of a mile later, her dead weight became too much for Ben. He set her down, and for an instant he feared she had died. As he held her head in his lap, the lid to her unbruised eye fluttered, and then it opened. He felt her bury her face on his chest, and he gently enveloped her in his arms. The rifleman had ordered his prisoners to stop, and he stared at the couple on the ground.

  “That’s okay, Petroff,” Ben said. He didn’t know the man’s first name. “You go on ahead with those two. We’ll be okay. We just need a minute or two to rest, and we’ll be right behind you. I don’t think anybody will be chasing us. They’re bottled up back at the compound by your unit. We’ll be okay.” He held Deidre closer to his body while Petroff herded the prisoners up the trail.

  It was full daylight by that time, and the day was sunny. Through the forest canopy, Ben could see swatches of blue sky, and the small animals had begun to resume their activity. There was no gunfire in the distance, and had it not been for the sight of Deidre’s bruised face, they might have been enjoying a tryst in the woods. She tried to smile but winced in pain.

  “Can you walk?” Ben wanted to know. Deidre tried to shrug her answer, but the pain caused by the movement of her shoulders made her inhale sharply. Ben stood up and tried to help her to her feet, and after struggling, she was upright. With him holding her under her arm, Deidre shuffled down the trail as best she could, but Ben was broken by how weak she was.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  An occasional shot could be heard in the distance, although from where Ben and Deidre were standing, they could have been mistaken for hammer blows or other construction noises. At seven forty-five, they reached the river, and Ben gently picked up Deidre in his arms. She had just enough strength to assist him by clutching his neck and shoulders as he waded the few yards to cross the stream. He slipped on an algae-covered boulder when they were midway to the other bank and went down on one knee, soaking his pants and bruising himself, but they made it. As he pulled them onto the bank, Ben silently gave thanks that they were on home turf. The compound seemed a continent away in that instant.

  He didn’t put Deidre down, but decided to get back to the house as quickly as he could, and stumbled several times on the rough trail but didn’t fall. The closer to home they got, the lighter his wife seemed to feel, and Ben nearly ran the last few yards to the porch of their home. They were met by Director Benton, Jackie, and two of Deidre’s deputies. As they took her from him, he pleaded, “Get an ambulance as quick as you can.”

  Benton said nothing but pointed toward the driveway, where Ben saw the lineup. Two county ambulances were idling, along with a number of military ambulances. Medics were running across the lawn from the county vehicles. They helped lay Deidre on the couch in the living room and began an examination. One was on his phone, but Ben couldn’t make out his conversation. The other turned to Ben. “We’re going to transport your wife to the hospital in Two Harbors. I can’t find any critical wounds, but until we get some scans taken we won’t be sure. You can follow us in your own car.”

  Ben looked at his boss who said one word: “Go!” It took minutes to load Deidre into the ambulance and it pulled out, sirens blaring and lights flashing. Ben followed as closel
y as he could, but they soon outdistanced him. He knew the law about being an ambulance chaser, and he didn’t need to be stopped by a zealous patrolman and given a ticket.

  By the time he pulled into the hospital parking lot, he could see that the ambulance had been unloaded and a flood of relief swept over him. As he rushed through the ER doors, he was met by a security guard, who reached for his sidearm and aimed it at Ben. Shocked and confused, he raised his hands in a sign of surrender, then realized he still had his Glock in its holster on his hip. “Wait!” he shouted. “I’m FBI and that’s my wife they just brought in.” The guard didn’t lower his gun, and Ben was somewhat relieved to see that his finger wasn’t on the weapon’s trigger and that the safety was still in the “on” position. His heart was pounding in his chest and time stood still.

  “Where’s your badge?” the guard demanded.

  “In my wallet,” Ben answered as calmly as he could. “Left back pocket,” he continued. The guard still eyed him warily.

  Noting that Ben’s holster was on his right hip, he instructed, “Lower your left hand, slowly, and with your thumb and forefinger, take your badge out and lay it on the table.” He nodded at a stainless steel surface placed in front of the metal detector that entrants were supposed to pass through. Ben did as he was instructed and finally realized the guard was doing exactly what he was trained to do. ERs had become like battlegrounds in too many instances. The guard asked Ben to step back from the table, and he picked up the wallet, fumbled it, because he was watching Ben closely in case he made an errant move. He knew to remain calm and not lower his hands.

  After scrutinizing the ID in the wallet, he told Ben to turn around and face the wall without lowering his hands. Ben felt the retaining strap on his holster unsnap and felt the weight of his pistol lift. He heard the guard step back.

  “Move away from the wall and turn around slowly,” he commanded, and Ben obeyed. “You can lower your hands and step through the metal detector.” Ben did has he was told, and heard the beep of the detector go off. The guard eyed him worriedly. “What do you have in your pockets?” he asked, none too casually. Ben saw him slip his finger inside the trigger guard.

  Oh, God, he thought as he remembered he had stuffed a ten-shot clip into his other rear pocket. “I’m so sorry,” he began to explain. “In all the confusion of wanting to be with my wife, I forgot I’ve got an extra clip of ammunition in my other pocket. How do you want to work this? Do you want me to dig it out, or do you want me to get up against the wall again, and you do it? If it were me, I’d put me up against the wall.” The question caused the guard to pause. Never before had a suspect given him the choice of how he wanted to proceed. It began to dawn on him how ridiculous the situation was becoming. He almost laughed.

  “Tell you what, Agent VanGotten. You move really slow, and empty all of your pockets. Rules are rules, and you can’t take this crap in with you.” Ben did as he was told, removed his watch and laid the ammo clip beside it. As he dug deeper he found the compass and another clip he had forgotten in the pocket of his vest. He looked at the guard and shrugged. This time the detector allowed him through, and he rushed to the nursing station.

  “I’m Ben VanGotten, Deidre Johnson’s husband. She was just brought in, and I want to be with her.” The receptionist didn’t have to check her records.

  “Follow me,” she said as she led the way past several curtained compartments. She held the one marked “ER9” back, and Ben really looked at his wife for the first time since she had been taken.

  *****

  Major Jensen and Director Benton huddled together with the rifleman who had brought in the prisoners. They had been turned over to the state troopers to hold. After a short briefing, the major consulted with the governor, filling him in on what had transpired so far.

  “Governor, it’s our opinion that we should negotiate with the remaining militia. We have their lead officers, and we think we can get most of them to surrender, especially if we play the card that their commander was caught skipping out. If that fails, we need your approval to stage a full-scale assault.”

  The governor held his head in his hands for a long ten seconds. He remembered a group called the Branch Davidians and the negative press that incident had evoked. At least there were no reports of women and children in Blake’s stronghold. On the other hand, a report had recently crossed his desk outlining the possible fallout of giving in, and his thoughts went to a rancher from a western state who two years earlier had forced an armed standoff with the government. The report went on to say the stalemate gave a false sense of victory to the rancher’s supporters. Since the authorities backed down, there had been seventeen incidents of anti-government extremists firing on law enforcement. Politically, it wouldn’t look good to appear weak. Finally, he lifted his face from his hands.

  “You have my orders to attack this group, if necessary. But first, try to negotiate a surrender. That way, everyone wins, to some extent, anyway.” Major Jenson made plans to move the command post nearer to the action and was soon on his way to what had become a siege.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  An IV bag hung from a stand near Deidre’s bed, and the tube leading from it disappeared under the sheet that covered her body. Her good eye focused on him, and he could see tears in it. Ben brushed back the hair from her forehead, stooped, and kissed it.

  “Oh, my Deidre, what did they do to you?” She tried to smile at him, but only one side of her mouth moved. Her lips on the other side were too swollen to respond. “You never realize how much you love someone until you almost lose them. I’m so sorry I didn’t go with you when you went to the river.”

  Deidre attempted to sit up and grimaced as she tried to speak. “Don’t talk crazy,” she croaked. “You know how stubborn I am, and I’d have said I wanted to go alone. None of this was your fault.” She shifted in her bed. “What’s happening with the Guard and the rest of the folks? Are they taking care of those guys?” Ben said he didn’t know what was happening. “Then get back there. I need a full report as soon as possible. Those are the people who killed Justin Peters, who shot Jeff, and who vandalized Joseph’s place, not to mention all the other crap that’s been going on around here. I’d bet next month’s paycheck they sabotaged the rail line, too.” She sank back down on her pillow. “Well, get going. I’m going to be out of here soon. I’m okay. Go!” She smiled as best she could, but Ben didn’t move.

  The curtain parted, and the ER doc had to duck a little to get under it. He carried a clipboard. “Well, the good news is, I’ve seen worse.” He smiled. “Nothing is broken and the scans showed no signs of internal injuries. The way you feel, you probably won’t believe this, but your biggest problem is that you’re extremely dehydrated, which we’re fixing right now.” He pointed to the IV. “Lactated Ringer’s, salt and glucose solution. Otherwise, all of the injuries are to your soft tissue, except for three badly bruised ribs. I’d say you’re either very lucky, or your abuse was planned to make things look bad without killing you. Either way, we’ll be holding you for about the next four hours to see how your body responds to being hydrated. If all goes well, you’ll be released by six this evening. You won’t be doing any skydiving for a while, though. Any questions?”

  Ben looked at Deidre as he asked the doctor, “It’s okay for me to leave her while I take care of some other business?” The doctor chuckled.

  “We’ll take good care of her.”

  Ben kissed his wife one more time on about the only part of her face that wasn’t turning black-and-blue. “I’ll be back!” he said, impersonating a movie star from one of his favorite adventure movies, took one more look at Deidre, blew her a kiss, and left.

  *****

  Only the deputies and a highway patrol trooper remained at his house. They told him that Major Jensen and Director Benton had moved HQ to the haul road leading to the mili
tia’s compound. The two prisoners had been moved to the Lake County jail by state troopers. The deputies expressed their surprise that Ben was back. He had retrieved his sidearm when he left the hospital, and he checked it again, making sure it was loaded, checking the safety last. He decided to walk the few hundred yards up the road to the new HQ, and as he did, Ben remembered all the conversations he and Deidre had had while they strolled the county road. He was jerked back to the present when a short volley of gunshots erupted somewhere back in the woods. Feeling some apprehension, he wended his way up the haul road, thinking his fear was unfounded but half expecting a militiaman to step out of the woods onto the trail. A half-mile in, he spotted a shelter ahead where several Guardsmen were posted. Ben’s unease lifted, and he approached the spot where Jensen and Benton were discussing the situation.

  “Ben!” Director Benton said, taken by surprise. “What are you doing here?”

  Ben grinned a slight smile. “Deidre sent me. She wants a report on what’s happening.”

  Jensen shrugged. “She’s one tough lady. Who wins the arguments in your house?”

  Now Ben actually smiled. “She does.”

  Benton got down to business. “Here’s where were at. Jackie and another negotiator are in there right now, trying to set up some kind of communication system with the resisters. We’ll try talking them out first, but the governor has given his go-ahead to use force if necessary. We suspect we can get some to surrender, but there will be a hardcore group who will fight. We need to figure out how to separate them so we can act.”