He glanced at Ariel, who scanned the lake, her eyes settling on the cabin at the side of the lake. The cabin looked quiet, except for the wisp of smoke curling from the stone chimney. “Someone’s in the cabin,” she said. “There’s smoke from a fire.”
“Just as we thought,” Kyle said, his pulse quickening.
“Wait!” Ariel said urgently. Kyle flinched, wondering what she’d seen. Ariel turned, her face inches from his, and looked into his eyes. She put cool hands on his cheeks, drew his face to hers, and kissed him, her mouth open.
“What was that?” Kyle asked softly.
“In case something bad happens,” she said.
Kyle nodded grimly. “We have a plan. We can only hope it works.”
She took his hand and squeezed it, gave him a peck on the cheek, then turned and led Kyle along the narrow path down the sloping meadow and toward the lake. How long would it take for the ones in the cabin to notice them? And what would they do? Shoot first and ask questions later? Until now, the forest had provided cover. Exposed and in the open, walking to the lake’s edge, Kyle’s dread returned, his chest tightening as they approached the water.
They were to act like a couple of innocents, just looking for a good fly-fishing lake, they would say. But Kyle knew their cover story was thin, very thin, by claiming they’d wandered off course, deep into this private ranch land. Who gets that far off course and on foot? But Ariel had insisted it happened often, that avid fly fishermen and women will go to extremes to find the perfect lake. Such fly-fishing aficionados were occasionally escorted from the Vista Verde Ranch, she said. Kyle could only hope their story would hold. Their excuse was that the Vista Verde Ranch, though private, was surrounded by federal Forest Service land, which was open and accessible to anyone who wanted to use it. People like me, he thought.
Now Kyle was doubtful. There was a national crisis at hand. Who in God’s name would be so ignorant of the national crisis they’d be tromping blissfully around the Sangre de Cristo Mountains looking for trout at this remote, high mountain lake? If the men inside the cabin were who they suspected, they’d easily be shot on sight and never be seen or heard from again.
Still, he and Ariel ambled down the slope to the water’s edge. A cool breeze gusted as they arrived, rippling the surface and distorting the flawless reflection of the surrounding peaks. At the water’s edge, they paused, Kyle resisting his urge to turn and stare at the cabin. Ariel shed her small pack and settled on the ground, crossing her legs. She took her water bottle from the pack, drank, then peeled the wrapper from a protein bar.
Kyle dropped his pack to the grass and opened his fly rod case, extracting the pieces of his carbon fly rod and fitting them together. He threaded the orange line through the guides and cradled the rod in the crook of his arm as he knotted the filament taper and tugged it tight. With his other hand, he took a box of flies from his pocket and snapped it open. He found a suitably colorful and fuzzy fly and quickly tied it to the line.
Kyle walked down to the lake’s edge and began to work the line back and forth in graceful arcs before letting it float out and onto the lake’s rippled surface. Kyle let the line sit for several minutes, then reeled it in and repeated the cast, dropping the fly in a different spot.
Kyle felt a sudden and strong tug on his line, then just as quickly it went slack. A fish had stuck, but had not taken the fly. It was gone. “Damn,” Kyle muttered, even though he didn’t want to catch anything. Kyle reeled the line in, then glanced at the cabin. He saw no sign of life other than the faint wisp of smoke curling from the stone chimney. Was anyone in the cabin? There had to be! A fire in the fireplace or stove would not smolder that long unattended. But why hadn’t anyone shown themselves? He and Ariel had fully expected to be confronted when they’d first appeared. But nothing. Was this whole gambit a deadly mistake? Anxiety gripped his stomach as he stood and cast his line again, wondering if he’d get out of there alive.
Kyle could feel two sets of eyes burning into this back, where the ache of his tense muscles burned between his shoulder blades. He imagined the pain from a couple of bullets to the back, the sharp crack of gun shots echoing off the jagged granite peaks as he crumpled to the ground, his flesh and blood blown across the water.
He shook his head to clear it. Focus! Whoever was in the cabin had to be wondering who in the hell had the misfortune to come across this high and remote little lake. Kyle nodded to Ariel, who rose to her feet. She joined him at the water’s edge and they moved another 50 feet along the shore. After twenty minutes and two more moves, Kyle and Ariel were at the lake’s edge directly below the cabin.
“No one’s coming out,” Ariel said. “What the hell’s going on?”
“They don’t want to show themselves.”
“Why not?”
“Strangers like us might ask questions,” Kyle said, “questions they don’t want to answer.”
“That means they’re hiding,” Ariel said. “Hiding themselves and possibly someone else.”
“Exactly,” Kyle said. He took a halting breath and exhaled. “I hope Raoul’s in place.”
“I’m sure he is,” she said. “What do you want to do?”
“If the mountain won’t come to Mohammed, then Mohammed will go to the mountain.”
“What do you mean?”
Kyle leaned close and whispered his plan.
“Why me?” Ariel asked.
“Damsel in distress,” Kyle said, narrowing his eyes. “Works every time.” He glanced over Ariel’s shoulder to the still quiet cabin. “It’s show time.”
Kyle turned back to the lake, picked up his fly rod and began to cast, when he doubled over, gripped his chest, dropped his fly rod, and collapsed to the ground.
With his eyes squinting in pain, Kyle watched Ariel jump up and run to him, falling to her knees as panic spread over her face. He felt her lift his head with her hands and shake him.
“Kyle!” she shouted. “What’s wrong? What’s happening to you?” Ariel shook him a couple of times, then bent close, placing her open mouth on his, and began to perform CPR by pressing on his chest and breathing into his mouth. “Kyle! Talk to me!”
Kyle lay still. Ariel rose to her feet, looked around, and waved her arms in a panic. Her steps faded as she scrambled up the slope to the cabin. He heard her heavy footfalls on broad wooden porch and the distant thump-thump as she pounded on the cabin door.
Chapter 30
Ariel tried to calm her quivering stomach and prayed her voice wouldn’t break. Damsel in distress? What the hell? But she’d played this role before and she could do it again. Lives were at stake here. She stood on the porch, hearing only her own heavy breath. She bent forward, her ear close to the door, and listened. Nothing. Had this all been a mistake? She began to doubt that anyone was inside. She pounded the door again and waited. “Hello?” she shouted. “Is anyone in there?”
Again, silence. She pounded on the door with her fist. “Please help me! My husband has collapsed! He’s had a heart attack. He’s dying!”
She pressed her forehead against the door, then jerked back at the sound of heavy footsteps from inside approaching the door. She froze as door handle turned and clicked. The door slowly opened a crack, revealing a burly man with a thick reddish beard and blue eyes. Dressed with a black t-shirt with the Atlas global monogram, desert camo pants, and desert boots, he was clearly irritated and threatening. “What do you want?” he growled.
“Please,” Ariel pleaded, doing her best to sound desperate, squeezing tears from her eyes. “My husband! He’s dying!”
The door opened wider, revealing the leather strap of a shoulder holster across the man’s chest.
Ariel had all she could do not to crane her neck to peer inside.
The bearded man slowly shook his head. “What are you talking about? Who are you?”
Ariel turned and point
ed to where Kyle lay on the ground at the lake’s edge. “It’s the altitude,” she said, sounding on verge of hysteria. “We’re from New York. He’s not used to the thin air and the exertion! I think he’s had a heart attack!”
The man scowled, shook his head in disgust, then said, “I’d like to help, but there’s not much I can do.”
“Don’t you have a radio or something?” Ariel asked anxiously.
The man scowled, as if it was none of her business.
“We need to get him out of here by helicopter or something!” Ariel said insistently. “You’ve got to do something!”
Another man appeared behind the first, also wearing an Atlas Global shirt, camo tactical pants, and boots. “Look, ma’am,” the guard man said. “We’re just up here fishing like you. There’s nothing we can do. You’re on your own.”
“On my own?” Ariel cried. “I need help! Please! I beg you!”
The two men stared, the second one resting his hand on the pistol on his web belt. Ariel swallowed, doing her best to hide her fear, as she searched their faces and brushed away tears with a finger.
“Can you at least bring him in here where it’s warm while I go for help?” she asked, forcing a sob. Ariel tilted her head to peek inside the cabin, but the Atlas men didn’t budge, blocking her view. “Please help me.”
Ariel suddenly sank, her knees hitting the wood porch with a thunk, then leaned forward and buried her face in her hands, sobbing, her shoulders shaking. “I don’t know what to do,” she said, moaning into her hands.
One of the men groaned, then mumbled to the other, “We gotta get’em outta here. We can’t have search and rescue people crawling around here.”
“You got that right,” the other said. “What are we going to do about Alpha Mike?”
“He ain’t goin’ nowheres,” the first one said. “Let’s go check out this poor bastard. Maybe he just needs some water. Maybe they can walk out.”
“Okay, ma’am,” the other said. “Just relax. I’ve had some first aid training. Let me see if I can help.”
Ariel looked up and smiled, then blinked and dried her eyes. “Oh, thank you!” she said. “Hurry! I’m afraid he’s dying.”
The two men were already off the porch and trotting to the lake as Ariel rose to her feet and followed them, stumbling to keep up, eyeing the spot where Kyle lay on the ground.
***
Raoul rose from behind the large boulder where he was hiding and scrambled down the slope, stepping carefully so as not to dislodge rocks. He paused at the back of the cabin, and breathing heavily, he peered into a cabin window. A man who looked to be in his mid-fifties with a trimmed and graying beard and cropped hair, lay on a the lower mattress of bunkbeds. His right arm was stretched above his head and the wrist was handcuffed to a wooden cross bar. Morris! Who else? The man looked like a scientist, Raoul thought, with tortoise shell glasses and thoughtful eyes, staring now at bunk above him. The man looked fit, with a barrel chest and thick arms. A good thing because they’d need to move fast when and if made their way down the mountain.
Raoul tapped on the window to get the man’s attention. The man lifted his head and peered toward the window, then frowned at Raoul’s face, confused as to what and who he was seeing. The man eyes opened wide, suddenly panicked, Raoul feared, at Raoul’s dark silhouette. The man probably suspected the worst. Raoul tapped again and motioned for the man to open the window.
The man’s face relaxed slightly as he seemed to realize he was being rescued. He sat up and pointed to his handcuffed hand and shook his head. He then turned used his free hand to point a finger to the lake. Raoul nodded, then moved quickly to his left where he crouched at the corner of the cabin and looked to the lake.
The two cabin guards were bent over Kyle. Raoul turned to the scraping sound of furniture moving across the floorboards inside the cabin as Morris dragged the bunk beds closer to the window. Raoul returned to the cabin’s rear window and watched as Morris used his free hand to unlatch and open the window. Morris stepped back and sat on the edge of the bed as Raoul climbed inside. Morris’s face was worn with worry.
“Alan Morris?”
“Yes,” Morris said with a groan. “Who the hell are you?”
“The name’s Raoul Garcia.”
“What are you doing here?” Morris asked.
“Rescuing you,” Raoul said.
“But why?”
“Terrorists have President Harris held hostage at Vista Verde Ranch.”
“Oh, God,” Morris said.
“We’re gonna get you outta here,” Raoul said.
“Those two men down there may have other ideas about that,” Morris said.
“I know. But they’re expendable. You’re not.”
“Is this about the bomb?”
“Of course. The men who have the President have the bomb you made.”
Raoul worked on Morris’s handcuffs with his lock pics, and in a moment, they clicked open.
“Thanks,” Morris said, massaging his wrists.
Chapter 31
Kyle had kept his eyes closed as the two guards drew close, their boots swishing through the grass, the gravel crunching below their feet. He had sensed one of the men kneel beside him, then felt the guard’s thick, cold fingers pressing on his neck, checking for a pulse.
“Hmmm,” the man said. “His pulse is just fine.”
Kyle felt the back of the guard’s fingers on cheek.
“And his temperature is good.”
Kyle blinked opened his eyes and stared up at the guard bent over him.
“What kind of bullshit is this?” the Atlas Global guard said, springing to his feet and yanking his pistol from his belt. “What are you trying to pull? You didn’t have no heart attack!”
The second guard glanced back at the cabin. “There’s someone at the cabin.”
They turned to see Raoul crouched in the shadows of the porch, the barrel of his assault rifle resting on the railing, his cheek against the stock and sighting through the scope. The two guards glared Kyle and Ariel. “You fucking bastards!” the bearded one said.
Kyle rolled to his side, scrambled to his feet, and lifted his hands, palm out. “Now, don’t do anything stupid,” Kyle said. “No one needs to die.”
“Fucking hell,” the bearded Atlas guard growled, but did nothing.
It was a standoff for a moment, until the second Atlas guard grabbed Ariel by the arm, spun her around, and violently wrapped his left arm around her neck, holding it tightly in the crook of his arm. His right hand held the barrel of his automatic pistol against her temple, his right elbow straight out to the side.
Using Ariel as a shield, the guard whirled to face the cabin and Raoul, who was on the porch, his rifle held high and aimed at his fellow agent’s head. “Drop it or she’s dead,” the guard shouted, his eyes red and glowing.
A shot cracked across the mountain side as the head of the guard beside Kyle disintegrated in an explosion of blood and bone. The guard’s body flopped backwards to the ground, the shot echoing from the granite peaks.
Kyle was stunned as spots of blood and flesh peppered the side of his face. Raoul shot one of his own men! But Kyle immediately knew why. There was no other way. If Raoul hadn’t pulled the trigger, none of them would leave the lake alive. These men were loyal to Hank Benedict and no one else. They were part of the unfolding madness and it was far from over. They were trained killers. They were traitors.
“Let her go!” Raoul shouted from the cabin porch. “Or you’re next.”
“Fuck you,” the remaining guard shouted back. “You want this pretty woman’s brains all over the ground?”
Kyle twitched, unable to move, his gaze bouncing from the dead man on the ground to Raoul on the porch, and to the Atlas guard choking Ariel, her eyes glistening with fear, her head pulled back, h
er chin jutting upward from the guard’s arm.
“Let her go,” Kyle growled, wiping the side of his face with a sleeve.
The Atlas guard glared at Kyle, then grinned. “Make a move and I’ll kill her,” he said, “then I’ll kill you.” He then turned back to the porch. “Raoul, you’re a fucking idiot,” the guard shouted. “Don’t be stupid. She’ll be dead even if you shoot me.”
The crack of a gunshot sounded a moment after the bullet struck the guard’s right elbow, ripping his arm out and away, sending the pistol spinning into the air. Raoul’s shot echoed from the granite peaks as the guard screamed, his destroyed arm dangling limp, bloodied, and useless to his side. The man staggered backward, and using Ariel as ballast, he managed to stay on his feet, gritting his teeth through the pain and holding his still good left arm around Ariel’s neck. His eyes darted from Kyle to the porch and back as he calculated his next move.
Ariel gagged from the guard’s grip and turned slightly to face Kyle.
“Let her go,” Kyle said again. “It’s over.”
“Fuck you,” the guard groaned.
Desperate to free herself, Ariel stomped her boot heel on her captor’s foot, making the guard howl in pain, then she ducked and twisted free. Swinging her right elbow up and backward, she slammed it into the guard’s nose. The guard’s head snapped backwards, his arm good arm flailing as he reached for his nose.
Ariel then dove to the ground, rolled away, and scrambled to her feet. Crouched, legs spread and balanced, she clenched her fists, prepared for an attack.
His nose and upper lip bloodied, his right arm dangling and dripping, the guard grinned with bloody teeth. “You shouldn’t a done that missy.” The guard’s good left hand slipped behind his back and came out clutching a serrated commando knife. Emitting a groan like some hellish beast, he leapt forward and swiped the blade at Kyle, who stumbled backwards and fell to the ground. The guard then lunged at Ariel, who leapt to her right, narrowing escaping the sweeping blade.
Enemy of the People Page 20
