Gil Mason/Gunwood USA Box Set

by Gordon Carroll

  “You just point and click, like using a mouse on the computer only this click’s a little louder. Got it?”

  “I’ve got it; the Army, remember?” He looked so pale I thought I might be able to see the glow of his face if I turned off the flashlight. I put a hand on his shoulder.

  “She’s going to be alright, Tom.”

  He gave me that single curt nod again, as though he didn’t trust his voice, and took the gun back.

  “Don’t use it if you don’t have to, but if you do, then do.”

  “I just want my little girl.”

  “I know.” I took my hand away. “You’re going to be here for awhile, make yourself as comfortable as you can, but be ready for the signal.” I turned back to the tunnel. “I’ve got some work to do.”

  42

  I picked up Max and the two of us sprinted up the stairs from the stage of the theater all the way to the top seat. Around eighty trillion steps.

  I’d gone over it in my mind a hundred times, but now, standing up here, I took a few minutes to make sure it was as I remembered.

  Five minutes to four and the sun still hid below the eastern horizon, its arcing rays shading the black of night to a mellower hue of deep purple. Looking to the east, over the semi-bowl of the theater, Creation Rock rose up on my left. I knew there to be a cave a little higher than half way up that tunneled all the way through the mountain to the other side. A good place for Mr. Spock to stage a sniper. Only I didn’t think He would be able to pull that one off on this short of notice. It was a good hike and required a little climbing to make it to the cave, and first you had to know it was even there. Not to mention the route it took to get to it. If I was wrong and he did stage a man there, I still might be able to get Amber into Tom’s hands before he took me out. But it would be close at best. I shook my head. It was useless to waste much time on it anyway because there was no way I could get Max up there in time to stage him and then get back to take care of everything else. I would just have to hope for the best.

  My next placement picks for snipers would be at either end of the last row of concrete bench seating, past the row itself on top of the planters. The trees, tall evergreens with thick pine needles, would offer concealment and shade, and the elevated position would give a superb field of fire.

  After I snugged an electric collar around Max’s neck, I took him past the planter on the south side to where the railing blocks a two foot drop-off. I had him slip under the metal bar, gave him a platz command and he dropped to his belly, his eyes just able to see over the concrete berm. I pointed toward the closest planter and gave him the guard command. He looked at me with a bored expression and belched. I stroked his head. He growled. I smiled. “I love you too, boy.” He growled again, this time showing teeth. I removed my hand. What a joker.

  I would have liked to keep Max with me on the stage, but the work up here was killing work, and it might prove too much for Pilgrim, so Max had the job.

  When I reached the stage again, it was ten after four and streaks of violet and blue were gently shifting through the sky. I dropped the backpack and ran full out to the Escalade. Now that I knew Mr. Spock’s men weren’t already here, I could bring the car in. I started it up and drove back to the open bay doors and backed it in. I closed the doors and slid the inner lock into its hasp. It could only be opened from the inside now.

  I carried the rifle case from the Escalade and took my position next to the south side door that opened onto the stage. There was a rectangular section cut above the door with sandstone louvers fitted along its length to allow airflow. Standing on a chair, I surveyed the battlefield. This whole operation would go a lot smoother if I had a couple of Claymores, but the police tend to frown upon blowing up their state treasures, even for a good cause.

  There was no way to know for certain how many men Mr. Spock would deploy, but I figured about five. Two snipers, one for each planter, a spotter watching the low road, probably from the overhanging rock behind the stage, and another to guard the high road to the upper parking area. Mr. Spock would bring the girl down from the upper lot, planning on making the stage. I would stop him when he got to the level of the lighting platform. The tricky part would be to get him to stand directly in front of the three foot high, flat roofed shed. But I had an idea for that.

  It was by no means the best plan I’d ever come up with, but like Quill in Guardians with the dance off against Ronan, it was all I had. I looked at my watch, four-twenty. Now came the hardest part of all.

  Waiting.

  The dog watched Gil run down the steps. He was far slower than Max. Max could have run to the bottom and all the way back up to the top and still beat him back to the bottom. He seemed so much weaker than Max in so many ways. And yet Max could not best him.

  Worse than that, Max was starting to not want to. And that scared him. When the man rubbed his head it felt good. A part of Max told him to bite into the man’s wrist, to sink his teeth in as far as they would go and shake and tear until the blood flowed and the man submitted. But that other part made him want to relax and feel the strong, but gentle strokes as the fingers smoothed the fur of his head. That part wanted to accept the man as his pack leader.

  Ancient instincts warred within him.

  Max laid his head on his paws and rested. A rabbit popped out from behind a bush and hopped up on the planter a few feet away, chewing the brown-green leaves of sparse grass that sprouted between cracks in the asphalt and cement. Its’ nose and ears twitched, searching for signs of danger. Max was hungry and rabbits were good for food, but the Alpha had put him in a long down which meant he wasn’t to get up or move until signaled, either by voice or the collar that circled his throat. The collar was tight. It was uncomfortable but Max accepted wearing it. When the man put the collar on him it meant he would get to fight soon. And just now there was nothing Max wanted more than to attack something. To forget about the man and his touch and his voice, and instead give himself over fully to the bloodlust that swallowed him in its red glow when he fought. When life and death hung in the balance and there was only tooth and claw, speed and power and cunning. No thought, only instinct and action.

  The night thinned above him, birds chirping their wild songs, the scent of blossoms opening tickling his nose. This was mountain country, but a very different kind of mountain country from his native land. It was gentler, dryer, the winters far milder, the summers a bit hotter. The wind sometimes rushed and blew, but it never reached the howling madness of the hinterland’s storms, where the banshees wailed for weeks on end with no respite, the snow slashing like flying teeth.

  No, he liked it here. But still, he had unfinished business back home. The Gray Wolf.

  A sound. The distant thrum of an engine coming closer. Max’s ears perked up, scanning to the left and to the right, triangulating on the source. Nearly three minutes later the car breeched the lip of the hill. It stopped well to the west of him and two men dressed in green got out of the car carrying rifles. Max watched them as they looked around. They talked, pointing to several different locations. They separated, each moving to opposite ends and laying down beneath heavy trees. The men reminded him of Two Fingers and The Huge Man.

  Max couldn’t see them anymore. But he could smell them.

  I spotted the snipers right away. Exactly where I thought they would set up. I had been waiting for the branches to move and when they did I zoomed in with the binoculars. Only two. Good. I swiveled to the right and checked out the cave high up on Creation Rock. It looked clear. I hoped it stayed that way.

  It had taken me a little longer than I planned to get Pilgrim in position, but now everything was ready. I just hoped I’d pegged Mr. Spock correctly. Military men tended to think in military strategy; hold the high ground, outflank, overwhelm with superior firepower, attack with surprise from ambush.

  The key to defeating that type of strategy was to be ready for the surprise. To ambush the ambush, outflank the flanking maneuver, suppres
s the superior firepower, and retake the high ground.

  Piece of cake.

  I stashed the binocs’ and checked the two transmitters hooked on my belt. They were keyed to separate frequencies, one for Max, the other for Pilgrim. The collars weren’t for shocking like most e-collars, they just vibrated. I’d trained them both to react in certain ways to tingle-codes that I would send them by activating the transmitters in a very simplified Morse-Code fashion. The order of the day was pretty straightforward; attack when signaled.

  Footsteps snapped on the stone steps to the north of the stage and I realized Mr. Spock had already made a move I hadn’t anticipated. He’d parked on the north, down at the lower lot and walked up the steps to the side of the stage, moving in from beneath Creation Rock.

  Amber slept in his arms.

  43

  I set the binoculars down and picked up the rifle. I sighted in on the sniper to the right; it was the man in black with the diamond stud earring from the gas station in Castle Rock. I placed his upper lip at the center of the crosshairs. I moved my right hand from the rifle to the transmitter that was keyed to Max’s collar and pushed the send button.

  Max watched the men as they approached the planters where large pine trees grew. They lay on their bellies beneath the branches, one on either side. They were wearing green and brown splotched clothing that blended with the landscape, but Max didn’t need to see them to know where they were. They made noise. They emitted odor.

  They were weak.

  Max closed his eyes and used his other senses to hone in on the closest one. Almost time; Max felt it. His saliva glands kicked in and he started to drool. The men in the planters had the same smell, the same feeling of coarse, guttural brutality emanating from them like waves of heat energy as had The Huge Man and Two Fingers.

  Max hungered. He wanted to attack, but he couldn’t, not yet. The Alpha had not given the command.

  Max’s collar vibrated. He shot up like a coiled spring, vaulting the railing as though it wasn’t there. Landing lightly on the other side of the railing he moved like a launched torpedo.

  He hit the man from the side, catching him under the arm near the pit, biting full and wide. A gunshot sounded from below but Max ignored it as the sniper he’d attacked swung down with an elbow, a reflexive move, clipping Max’s forehead. He turned, grunting and grabbed at Max’s face with both hands. But the dog was in a frenzy, violently shaking back and forth, dragging the man’s body and jerking it with each tug and pull. One of the man’s thumbs found Max’s eye and shoved in. Max ducked away from the pain and danger and released his grip, shooting up and forward with blazing speed. His jaws clamped tight on the man’s throat and all four canines dug into the soft flesh. Max worked on pure instinct now, consumed in the feral lust of battle.

  The man tried to scream. Max could feel the vibration bubble up into his throat, but only a wet gurgle made it past his lips. The responding growl that rumbled out of Max came unbidden, an exclamation of victory and power over his opponent.

  The man’s struggles slowed, his trembling hands falling limply to his sides. He became loose weight in Max’s jaws. Max dragged the man’s body backwards, jerking his bulk over the edge of the planter and continuing back blindly.

  Through the rifle scope’s magnified glass, I saw Diamond Stud lift his head and look over to his right, his attention averted. Max would be attacking his partner across from him, my little surprise. I pulled the trigger and felt the recoil against my shoulder. A red mist filled the air behind Diamond Stud’s head and he flopped forward. I swiveled the sight to the left, looking for the second sniper, but he was gone. I had to trust Max to handle that end of it.

  I looked back at Mr. Spock and saw that he held Amber in his arms with a gun pushed up under her chin. She’d awoken and was sobbing, big crocodile tears rolling down her chubby cheeks.

  My stomach went cold and I felt sick and scared and mad, all at the same time. “I have the flash drive,” I yelled. Mr. Spock’s eyes scanned the stage, darting this way and that. He hunched his shoulders, using the girl as a shield. Big, brave man.

  Muted screaming came from the top of the seats. Mr. Spock jerked his head in that direction then back to the stage. “Come out now or she dies,” he shouted. I thought I heard a trace of fear in his voice. Good, maybe I’d made up the ground he’d gained in surprising me by coming from below.

  I opened the door and walked out on stage, my S&W in my right hand, swinging loosely at my side. In the left I held the transmitter for Pilgrim’s collar. “Let her go, and you get the flash drive.”

  Mr. Spock looked up at the cries from the top of the amphitheater. “You did something to my men; shot one of them.”

  “You should have come alone.”

  He looked back at me, his hot eyes cooling to that cold professional killer I knew him to be. “Okay, so now I’m alone.”

  “Are you?” I scanned Creation Rock, the hole of the cave looked empty. I shifted my gaze to the left, Ship Rock jutting out of the earth like the Titanic going down for the final time.

  His jaw flexed. “The flash drive.”

  The rising sun speared the sky with radiant beams that slashed out from the rocky backdrop of boulders lining the rear of the stage behind me, barely touching the tops of the giant mountains to the right and left. I pointed to the lighting shed a few rows up and center. The small drive still in its case wedged by two nails I’d pounded into the wooden door. Mr. Fixit strikes again.

  I obtained sight picture on the flash drive, my one hand stance holding the gun, rock steady. “Send over the girl or I blow it to bits.”

  Mr. Spock started walking toward the shed. “You do and I’ll scatter her brains over these seats.”

  The screaming up top stopped, leaving the bowl of the theater eerily quiet except for Mr. Spock’s footsteps and Amber’s sobbing. Reaching the side of the shed, he sat Amber down, keeping the gun pointed at her head, and pushed on the locked doors, trying them. He lifted the drive from between the nails, looked it over. He removed a miniature drive reader from his coat and slipped the thumb dot in. I saw him close his eyes, take in a deep breath and sigh it out. The gun dropped to his side.

  My gun was pointed at his face. “Amber, come over here, honey.”

  Mr. Spock held up a finger and shook his head. “Wait.” He nodded and two men came from the south side of the stairs, both sporting MP-5 sub-machine guns. They walked up alongside him, looking down at me.

  “You’ll be the first to go,” I said, lining my sights on the bridge of his nose.

  Mr. Spock shook his head again. “I propose a deal.”

  “We already have a deal.”

  “A new deal,” said Mr. Spock, his free hand gently brushing Amber’s hair. “I can’t let you live. You know too much. But, if you give up now, I’ll make it painless and as a bonus I’ll let little Amber here live. After all she’s just a baby, she can’t hurt us.”

  “And her parents?”

  There was a pause. “The father has to die; he’s seen some of my people.” He thought for a moment. “I can let the mother live; she’s no danger to us.” He looked down the bore of my gun. “It’s the best I can do.”

  “I don’t suppose you would accept a vow of secrecy?”

  He slipped the drive into his coat. His lips curved up slightly at the corners. “No.”

  I shrugged. “It was worth a try.” Half way through the last word I pulled the trigger. The muzzle was pointing straight at his face while his hand and gun were still dangling carelessly at his side.

  And he still beat me to the shot.

  Sanity returned slowly as the fog of battle subsided. Max released his hold on the dead meat and dropped low behind the body; he sensed danger. Looking for the second man on the far planter beneath the pine tree, Max made out an unmoving, lumpy shape. Taking a deep breath he caught the scent. Human, but different. Dead human. Max darted to him, stopping by his foot and smelling carefully. A pool of blood lay
beneath his face, the shallow dirt of the planter slowly absorbing it into its embrace. Max sniffed at the shattered hole in the back of the man’s skull. He caught the barest of scents of the Alpha, still lingering from the bullet that passed through the man’s brain.

  The wind shifted abruptly. Popping sounds came from below. Max looked up, scenting the wind, catching its swirling trails in short, quick sniffs. There was something… faint… but there… he was sure of it. Like a drop of blood in an ocean of water. He moved, stepping over and past the meat beneath him. He circled to the left — to the right — back to the left — moving in wider swaths — searching for the trail of scent — following it back and forth as it drifted and broke on the vagaries of the breeze — and then he had it — powerful — like a cold splash of water in the face.

  Man

  Max took off, running to the north alongside the west face of Creation Rock. He rounded the far side, scrambling over boulders and hills of dirt dotted with cactus and scrub brush and prairie grass. He wound his way through a maze of rock walls, littered with small, sharp edged stones. He lost the scent, found it, moving in and out of the cone like a shark smelling blood. He found his way blocked by a sheer wall of rock, the scent drifting down to him from directly above. Max stretched up on his hind legs, his front paws on the wall. He jumped and dug in with his nails, but the soft sandstone crumbled beneath his scrabbling paws. The great wall was unscalable. Max went east another fifty yards and found a winding path that led up and south before curving back west at a higher grade.

  The trail grew stronger, the scent coalescing from a fragmentary misty vapor to a solid ribbon of scent that beckoned him like a siren’s song. The slab of rock beneath him ended abruptly, leaving a chasm between him and another rock fifteen feet ahead. The drop at least fifty feet. Max circled, giving himself room to run. He bent low, his powerful legs gathering tension to shoot forward. Ears back, he exploded, gaining top speed in eight strides and the edge of the abyss in twelve. Without a change in stride, he launched himself out and over, clearing the gap with yards to spare. Landing smoothly he continued on, racing now, the scent so strong he knew he was close and the knowledge driving him toward that mind blanking state of bloodlust he so craved.