Hunted (20 page)

“Jesus, Hank,” Special Agent Augello said. “Are you trying to get us all killed?”

“I'm trying to keep everybody alive,” Hank replied. “You think if those were angry survivalists they'd be walking across an open area with flashlights burning?”

“Hey, Hank!” the voice came out of the misty rain. “It's Johnny Mack. What's the matter, Hank? Did some of your Cabbage Patch Kids screw up on this op?”

“Johnny McBroon,” Hank muttered. “The damn CIA is in on this. Who else is going to pop up?”

“Cabbage Patch Kids?” a young Bureau man said. “I resent the hell out of that!”

“Believe me, we've called them worse,” Carol said. “You know that man, Henry?”

“From way back, Carol. I was le-gat at the embassy in Berlin. Johnny was active then. I heard he got into trouble—which he did almost daily—and resigned before they fired him. He's probably doing contract work.”

Johnny stepped into the light from the fires, both hands held up. “Evenin', Hank. Some of your boys and girls screwed up big-time on this one. Al Reaux from NSA is dead. Somebody broke his neck.”

“Goddammit!” Hank lost his religion and hurled his half-filled cup of coffee across the clearing. Then Carol stood astonished as Henry “Hank” Wallace did some of the fanciest cussing she'd heard in a long time.

“My word!” Carol said.

When Hank had calmed down, Johnny said, “You've got to call a cease-fire in this area, Hank. There are innocent people being killed, and there'll be more if something isn't done right now. There are Army, Navy, and Air Force Intel people dodging lead out there.”

“What the hell does the military have to do with any of this?” Carol blurted.

Johnny shrugged. “They were sent in to find a man. Just like I was.”

“Well, we all know who that man is,” Hank said, looking around for Darry.

But Darry had silently vanished into the night, Pete and Repeat with him.

“Jesus Christ!” an agent blurted and pointed. “He was standing right there with his dogs five seconds ago.”

George Eagle Dancer smiled.

The agents blasted the misty night with pistol fire, bringing the entire encampment of agents on the run, startling Alberta and Rick (who had hidden the canister in the barn, stayed in the barn darkness, and were engaged in some kissing and a little friendly groping when the mini-war started), but leaving Craig unscathed as the reporter serpentined through the timber.

Once in the brush, Craig cut on the afterburners and headed for the road, the last place (he hoped) the rogue agents would think to look for him. He quickly reached the roadblock, the lights plainly visible from his position, and stayed in the timber paralleling the gravel road. He had quit smoking upon returning from his tours in Vietnam, years back, and was in excellent shape. He began jogging whenever the terrain and brush would allow it. Chuck's place was not that far from the ranger station, and Chuck liked him and despised the federal government. More and more, Craig was understanding why so many people loathed the government and their high-handed, near dictatorial tactics.

Then he heard footsteps behind him.

Craig dropped to the earth and lay still, listening. What he heard shocked him.

“Hey, Mr. Hamilton!” the stage whisper reached him. “I know you're out there. I'm friendly. I'm a helicopter pilot who was befriended by some of those people Max Vernon is hunting. My chopper crashed and they helped me. Look, I believe this whole thing is a set-up, and I want away from it. Okay?”

Craig had to trust somebody. He raised up. “Okay, man. Come on and let's talk.”

“My name is John Ayers. We can talk later. Right now, let's get the hell gone from here. I've still got some wind left. You seemed to have a definite location in mind, let's go. You don't want those guys lined up with Max to catch you . . . and I don't want them to catch me with you.”

* * *

“What the hell do you mean the AG is out of pocket?” Hank Wallace yelled into the mike.

“Just that. She left on vacation yesterday, by car, with some friends. I don't know where in the hell she is. Backpacking in the Smoky Mountains, I think.”

“Try to find her,” Hank said wearily. “And get hold of the deputy director for me. He's got to call off Max Vernon and his two-legged dobermans. It's out of control here, Jerry. Just out of control.”

“I'll do what I can, Hank.”

“Do better than that, Jerry. Just get it done!”

* * *

Darry and Pete and Repeat loped effortlessly through the rainy, misty night, staying in the low places, the ravines, and using ancient wolf trails that were older than man. If they were spotted at all, it was only for a micro-second, and the watcher could not be certain his eyes weren't playing tricks on him in the night; he only thought he saw dark, animal-like shadows flitting silently through the wet and gloomy mist.

They covered the miles to the ranger station in an astonishingly short time, for wolves could run for incredibly long distances without stopping for rest, and if sensing danger or closing in for a kill, the average wolf could reach speeds of up to forty miles per hour.

At the ranger station, the three bellied down in the brush and watched the goings-on, which seemed to be frantic.

“Goddammit, find him!” Max yelled. “He's got to be found and silenced.”

“Have you lost your damn mind?” Rick Battle came charging up to Max, Alberta right behind him.

“Shut up and stay out of the way,” Max warned the ranger. “You don't have the whole picture here.”

“The whole picture?” Alberta yelled. “The man is an internationally known reporter.”

“I don't give a damn who he is,” Max returned the shout. “He's withholding evidence, aiding and abetting two fugitives from justice, and he just took a shot at one of my men. Now, little girl, you just shut your mouth and stay clear of this.”

“That's pure crap and you know it!” Rick yelled. “The whole damn country knows that Craig Hamilton is one hundred percent antigun (that was about to change). Don't you ever watch the news?”

“Little girl!” Alberta exploded, drawing herself up to her full five feet, two inches. “Screw you . . . you sexist, chauvinistic big bag of shit!”

Max backhanded the woman, striking her on the side of the jaw and sending her sprawling on the wet ground. Bad mistake on Max's part. Alberta bounced to her feet, blood leaking from a cut inside her mouth, and planted her right hiking boot right in the big man's balls. Max hit the ground, howling and puking, both hands holding his gonads.

One of the rogue agents ran out and threw Alberta to the ground. Rick gave that agent a solid one-two, belly and jaw, knocking him on his butt, before the ranger was manhandled to the ground and both he and Alberta were shackled—with their own handcuffs.

Max was helped to his feet—very carefully—and managed to moan, “Lock them in the storeroom, and make sure they're locked in secure. We'll deal with them later.”

Alberta started kicking and screaming and struggling, managing to inflict no small degree of pain on several agents before she was popped on the head with a collapsible steel baton which ended the brief struggle.

Rick kept his cool and his silence. But mentally, he was thinking some dark and dire thoughts about Max Vernon and the other rogue agents.

Before Darry shape-shifted, he signaled Pete and Repeat to stay where they were and then watched as the pair of rangers were led into the house; Rick walking, Alberta being half dragged. Darry left the hybrids in the brush and silently made his way close to the rear of the ranger station. He'd been in the ranger station many times, and knew exactly where the storeroom was and what kind of lock secured the back door.

Darry watched as the agents who had escorted the rangers into the storeroom returned to a still-moaning Max, now sitting in a chair on the front porch. He made certain it was the same agents who had taken the pair of rangers inside who returned to the porch; then he slipped around to the rear of the house.

A guard had been stationed outside the rear door, and Darry took him out with one blow to the neck. It was not a killing blow, for Darry had no way of knowing if the man actually was a part of this cover-up gone sour, or just a man completely in the dark about what was actually taking place and just following orders.

Just . . . following . . . orders.

Blindly and without question.

Darry certainly realized that a country could not function without some form of government, but he had never seen a government that did not—although the founders started out with good intentions—eventually become too large and too out of control, and turn on its citizens . . . just as the government of America had done. And Darry had nearly seven centuries of observing behind him. And many more centuries of doing the same ahead of him.

A government that did not allow dissent was a dictatorship, and that was the status America was fast approaching.

Had it been a dead-bolt lock, that would have proved difficult, but this was a regular door-knob lock, which Darry simply broke off. Darry was a deceptively powerful man, with large wrists and heavily muscled forearms and upper arms. His shoulders were padded with muscle.

“Keys on my belt,” Rick whispered.

“Later,” Darry told him. “Right now, let's get clear of this place.”

Alberta was still a bit addled, but able to walk, although somewhat unsteady on her feet. She looked down at the unconscious agent on the ground outside the storeroom. “Is he dead?”

“No,” Darry told her. “But he'll be asleep for some time. Come on, this way.”

Darry led the rangers into the brush, and Pete and Repeat silently came to their paws and followed, the hybrids giving Alberta quite a shock when she spotted them. “Great God Almighty!” she blurted.

“They won't hurt you.” Darry removed the cuffs from the rangers and told them to keep the shackles; they might need them later. Then Darry and the rangers and the hybrids walked into the brush.

“Where are we going?” Alberta asked.

“To the FBI.”

“Oh, wonderful,” she said sarcastically. “You are aware it was the FBI, along with people from BATF, DEA, and probably others, who tried to kill Craig Hamilton, bashed me on the noggin, and locked us up?”

“There are a few rogue agents,” Darry said. “But the great majority of the others are solid and straight . . . if a bit misinformed about what constitutes a democracy.”

“Who are you?” Alberta persisted.

“You wouldn't believe him if he told you,” Rick said.

“No more talking,” Darry said. “Save your wind and follow me.”

Alberta smiled. “Strong silent type.”

* * *

“The FBI did
what?”
the news chief roared. Due to the time difference, Craig had reached the man at his home.

“Placed me under guard and then, when I broke and ran, shot at me,” he repeated, cutting the retelling down a bit.

“I'm talking to our legal department as soon as we hang up, Craig. This is a goddamn outrage.”

“It's just a few rogue agents, I'm thinking. So don't start condemning the whole Bureau. Hell, I've got a Bureau man with me now.”

“You
what?”

“Yeah. He smelled a rat and wanted away from the stink.”

“Now, you listen to me, Craig. Here's what I want you to do . . .”

* * *

Lew Waters awakened to a faint buzzing sound. The first thing he thought of was a rattlesnake. Then he listened more intently and dismissed the snake thought. It sounded like ... well, someone snoring!

What he was hearing was the very loud snoring of the exhausted Jody Hinds. He shook his buddies awake. “Listen,” he whispered. “Tell me what that sound is.”

They listened. Jay whispered, “That's somebody
snoring.”

“Jesus,” Pete said. “They must be camped right on top of us.” Then he frowned and was silent for a moment. He shook his head. “No. Just one man.”

“One man?” Lew questioned.

“Think about it. If it was more than one man, somebody would have shushed that guy by now.”

The other men gave that some quick thought and agreed.

“So . . . ?” Jay questioned.

“Let's ease over there and see what we've got,” Pete said.

“Hell, why not?” Lew whispered.

Lightning was beginning to dance across the sky now, as a raging storm was only minutes away from unleashing its fury upon this small part of the embattled wilderness area. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Army, Navy, and Air Force crawled out of the ravine and split up, moving silently toward the exhausted Jody Hinds. Jody, back in his military days, had been known as The Bull. He was a man who possessed enormous upper body strength and used to enjoy wrestling two or three men at a time, almost always winning. Jody was not a man to trifle with, as Army, Navy, and Air Force were about to discover.

“Now!” Pete said, and threw himself on the sleeping form lying in a small depression under some branches. “Whoa!” Pete hollered, as he came sailing back out, a good three feet off the ground. He landed on his butt with such force he saw twinkling stars and heard little birdies singing for a few seconds.

Lew grabbed hold of Jody's legs and suddenly knew how it must feel to grab hold of the world's largest and strongest boa constrictor . . . and try to maintain that grip.

Jody gave Lt. Commander Gilmore a shot to the jaw with one huge fist that almost put the navy man out for the duration.

After several minutes, with both sides in this mini-conflict doing a lot of cussing, slugging, biting, kicking, and hollering, the military intelligence officers finally managed to get Jody's hands secured behind his back, tied with Jody's belt, and the big man's legs tied with a long piece of tent rope that Jay had brought along.

“Goddamn federal murderers!” Jody gasped out the words. “Sorry-assed, no-good, murdering cock-suckers!”

Lightning cut the darkness for a second, and Pete Cooper blurted, “The Bull!”

Jody's gaze shifted, and he stared at the man for a moment, reason overpowering his madness. “Lieutenant Cooper?”

“You know this ape?” Jay asked, rubbing his aching jaw.

“Yeah. He was in my outfit. Sure. Jody Hinds. I didn't put it all together until just now.”

“Christ, would you look at the weapons this guy's been carrying around,” Lew Waters said, opening two large duffle bags and staring in disbelief. The duffles were so heavy an ordinary man would have had difficulty just picking them up, much less carrying them around.

“We're not your enemies, Bull,” Pete said. “We've been ducking and dodging bullets for several days.”

Jody started mumbling incoherently and slobbering. He tried to bite Pete.

“He's crazy as a road lizard,” Jay said. “Completely around the bend.”

“I have a question,” Lew said. “Now that we have him, what in the hell are we going to do with him?”

“Bring him along with us,” the voice sprang out of the rain and windswept darkness.