Hunted (9 page)

Ki was thinking: she didn't tell you any of this, Stormy. I was there, remember?

“Billy Wilson served in the army during the First World War, first in the British Army, then in the American Expeditionary Forces. After the war, he vanished. In the forties a man fitting his description right down to the color of his eyes won a lot of medals as an American soldier in Europe. Then he vanished. There is no trace of him serving in Korea, but the military did launch a very extensive search for Sergeant William Shipman. They wanted to recall him. He was never found. Then during the Vietnam era, a man calling himself Dan Gibson served as an army ranger in ‘Nam. Same description as the others, the same color of hair and eyes. In 1969, he was discharged and vanished. Just dropped off the face of the earth. During the mean years of the Ceausescu regime, a number of agents from Romania were dispatched to this country to find a Rumanian national named Vlad Dumitru Radu. One of them sought political asylum; that was granted after he told a very interesting story. I have a good friend in the State Department . . . now retired. He told me the story. You want to hear it, Mr. Ransom?”

“I enjoy a good tale, Miss Knight. It's a way to pass the day. Go ahead.”

Ki was sitting with her mouth hanging open.

“Beginning about 1318, a bounty was placed on the head of Vlad Dumitru Radu. It was said he was a werewolf and those in power wanted him dead. It is documented fact that Vlad Radu lived with, ran with, and hunted with . . . packs of wolves. About 1350, Vlad Radu was almost captured by soldiers. He suddenly vanished right before their eyes and became a wolf. The men were so frightened they threw down their weapons and fled in terror. But one looked back and saw the wolf change into human form. He saw a young man, in his mid-twenties, standing there.”

“Folklore,” Darry said, reaching down to pet Pete.

“In 1375 he was spotted again, and once again, he shape-shifted into a wolf and ran away. The young man, before he turned into a wolf, fit the description of Vlad Radu ... to a T. He was now seventy-five years old, and had not aged. There were a dozen or more sightings of Vlad Radu, in both human and wolf form, over the next fifty years or so. Then, in the fourteenth century, Vlad Tepes, known as Vlad the Impaler, placed an enormous bounty on the head of Vlad Dumitru Radu. But he was never caught.”

“Because he doesn't exist,” Darry said.

“Oh, I think he does, Mr. Ransom,” Stormy persisted. “Vlad Radu left his native country for the last time about 1460. He may or may not have been back since then; that is unclear. It's since been almost positively documented that a man fitting Vlad's description fought by the side of Jeanne d'Arc. The Church has denied for years that they had an affair. A man fitting Vlad's description fought with Napoleon Bonaparte. But I'm getting ahead of the story. A man fitting Vlad's description was seen in Japan, years before the first recorded mention of a white man setting foot on that island nation. There are stories of a man fitting Vlad's description in Africa. Toward the end of the 14th century, a man fitting Vlad's description was the leader of a gang who operated around South Yorkshire in England. Many believe this man was the real Robin Hood. There was a mountain man in America's West who fit Vlad's description—he was there fifty years before any other mountain men arrived. Then there was a scout and finally a gunfighter in the 1870s in the Wild West. Both the scout and the gunfighter fit Vlad Radu's description.”

“How the hell do you know all this, Stormy?” Ki finally blurted, amazement in her eyes. “You never told me any of this.”

“I've been quietly researching this story for years,” Stormy replied. “I started back in high school. I've been fascinated by it. This story is, I believe, the most important story of the millennium.”

Darry said nothing, but his mind was racing. A school girl, he thought. A mere school girl finally put it all together, doing what others have been unable to do over nearly seven centuries. Incredible.

“You have anything to say, Mr. Ransom?” Stormy asked.

“Quite a fairy tale, Ms. Knight.”

“Oh, it's no fairy tale, Mr. Ransom. It's real. Do you know who this Vlad Radu looks like?”

“No.”

“You, Mr. Ransom. He looks exactly like you.”

During a rest stop to catch their breath, let weary muscles relax, and to allow their clothing to dry off a bit after racing through white water on the scenic river, Dr. Collier told his family, “We'll be at our camping spot mid-morning tomorrow. We're right on schedule.”

“All right!” Terri said. “A whole week of solitude. Awesome!”

Paul smiled at his sister, and Karen squeezed her husband's hand, both of them thinking how fortunate they were to have two fine kids. The family was counting on seven full days of hiking and exploring and fishing and relaxing before continuing on their adventure of running the white water. They had carefully planned all the activities for each day. It was going to be quite an adventure. But they hadn't counted on tragedy being included.

* * *

Major Lew Waters of Army Intelligence, and Al Reaux of NSA came face-to-face on a trail. They stood for a moment without speaking, just looking at each other.

“Nice day for a walk among nature, isn't it?” Lew broke the silence.

“Yes, it is. Been out here long?”

“Couple of days.”

Al nodded his head. “Me, too.”

Both men took in the other's clothes and boots. Al wore expensive hiking boots. Lew wore “Go Devils” army mountain boots. Each man could see the telltale bulge of a shoulder holster on the other. Neither man knew who the other was, but each man suspected what the other was.

“See you around,” Al said.

“Yeah. Probably,” Lew replied.

The men moved on, each one thinking of the other: Spook.

* * *

“Rick,” Tom Sessions said when the receiver was lifted. “I've got to go to Washington for a meeting. I'll be gone ten days to two weeks. You hold the fort down, all right?”

“Sure. What's up?”

“The budget. Fiscal year ends in a few months, and we want to get our gripes in before it's too late. I'll see you when I get back.”

“Try to get me a raise, will you?”

“You still believe in Santa Claus at your age?”

Rick laughed. “Have a good trip.”

* * *

The hybrids felt Darry's tension, and they lifted their heads, staring intently at the women. Ki was watching the big breeds, and her hand moved inside her bush jacket toward the butt of her holstered .38.

“I wouldn't,” Darry said softly. “As long as the gun's in my hand, the dogs are all right. They don't like guns in the hands of other people.”

Ki slowly pulled her hand back.

Darry cut his eyes to Stormy. “You've done your homework.”

Stormy sighed, as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. “So the search is finally over.”

“I said nothing of the sort. I just said you've done your homework.”

“You are Vlad Radu, aren't you?”

“Ms. Knight, you're here for a story. I am a man who seeks only to be left alone and live in peace. Assuming that I am who you believe me to be, don't you think I've earned some peace?”

Stormy was forced to think about that, but not for very long. “The public has a right to know,” she replied, almost automatically.

Ki said nothing, but she didn't agree entirely with her friend. Ki was a conservative in much of her thinking, while Stormy was an avowed liberal. Not quite as bad as some of her take a punk to lunch colleagues, but close. Ki also knew that sometimes the press was wrong to print or broadcast a story . . . solely for the sake of getting a story. Lives could be adversely affected forever. But Ki wasn't sure about this story.

Then Stormy surprised her by saying, “But this could be the chance for you to rest, Darry. You wouldn't have to run anymore.”

Darry was silent for a few heartbeats. There was no longer any point in denying who he was. Stormy had him cold. “Oh, you're certainly right about that. I would just have to endure being studied for the next seven centuries... or longer. Put on exhibit like some poor caged animal. Poked and prodded and questioned forever.”

Ki was watching Darry's eyes. They had changed. The strange, slightly slanted pale eyes held a savage glint. Stormy seemed not to understand just how much danger the two women could well be facing.

Stormy, Ki thought, are you even remotely aware that we might not live to broadcast this story.

“Hello, the cabin!” a woman's voice sprang out from the timber's edge. “May I come over?”

“Sure!” Darry called. “Come on in.”

When the woman stepped out of the timber and began walking across the clearing, Darry recognized her as being part of Sam Parish's group.

“You know her?” Stormy asked.

“Not really. She's part of Sam Parish's Citizen's Defense League.”

“Mr. Ransom,” the woman said, stopping in front of the porch. “Please pardon this intrusion.”

“No problem. What can I do for you?”

“I came over to invite Ms. Knight and her companion, and you, too, of course, to come over and visit our camp. We would very much like to explain what we are and what we aren't to a member of the press.”

“Aren't you forgetting that I was ordered to leave your camp and not to come back?” Darry said.

“We got off to a poor start, Mr. Ransom. We'd like to make amends if you would allow us.”

Darry shrugged his shoulders. “Fine with me.”

The woman, attractive in a rough sort of way, shifted her gaze to Stormy.

The reporter slowly nodded her head. “All right. Tomorrow evening?”

The woman smiled. “Tomorrow afternoon would be better. That would give you a chance to get back to your camp before dark.”

“We'll see you then.”

The woman lifted a hand and turned and walked away.

“Do you trust those people, Darry?” Ki asked.

“About as far as I can see them.”

“Are you going with us tomorrow?” Stormy asked him.

“Maybe.”

“You could take that opportunity to leave.”

“There is always that possibility.”

* * *

Stormy had wanted to shoot some film, but Darry nixed that immediately. “I'm tired of running,” he had told her. “I want an end to it. But for right now, the instant the camera comes out, I'm gone. You've got to give me a little time to think about this.”

Surprising both Darry and Ki, she had agreed. And then with a smile, added, “But we would like your permission to stay here until after we meet with the survivalists.”

“We would?” Ki blurted.

Darry returned the smile. “Don't trust me, huh?”

Stormy shook her head. “That isn't entirely true. But I am suspicious as to why you gave in so easily.”

“I wanted to give you time to think about what you're going to do to my life.”

Ki winced at the words. Darry had given Stormy a real low blow with that remark. And looking at Stormy, Ki knew the words had hit home.

Stormy said nothing for a time, sitting on the front porch. Finally she said, “That's not fair, Darry. I have a job to do.”

“You were a human being before you became a reporter,” he reminded her.

And for just a few moments, Stormy slipped out of her reporter role. She stared at Darry for a moment, then said, “I'm still a human being. Sometimes maybe we forget that chasing after a story. But I've paid my dues,” she added softly.

“I'm sure you have,” Darry agreed. “But so have I. For a lot longer.”

Stormy shifted in her chair to face him. “Darry, I don't think you fully understand one aspect of going public with your life. In a very short time, you're going to be enormously wealthy. You're going to be so rich, you can buy all the security you need to maintain some degree of privacy. Have you given that any thought at all?”

“I've been rich, Stormy. And I've been poor. Don't you think I've made investments down through the long years?”

“I'm sure you have. But look at how you're living! You live like a hermit, without any modern conveniences. Darry, you've lived through seven
centuries.
You can verify or refute events. You can write, lecture, teach. You know so much about the past.”

Maybe she's right, Darry thought. It just might be fun to try.

I don't believe any of this! Ki thought. I just fucking don't believe it!

* * *

* * *

“You think it's Darry Ransom?” Jack asked.

Kathy shook her head. “I don't know. I tend to doubt it. He's living too open and he's too friendly. I think it's someone in the survivalist camp.”

“I think it's the hippie, Jody Hinds. All my alarms went off while talking with him.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “I caught the same vibes. Hinds sure is hinky about something. I've asked for a make on Darry Ransom, but nothing's come back yet.”

“So we've narrowed it down to two, possibly three people. Let's start zeroing in.”

“Where's the starting point?”

“Dairy Ransom.”

“We're not that far from his cabin. Let's go.”

* * *

The search had intensified, with all the recently sent in government people now on horseback, to cover more ground in a shorter time. Jody Hinds had, that day, ordered Major Lew Waters off his property at the point of a gun. Setting up his portable satellite and using high-speed burst transmission, Lew felt he had found his man and called in for help. It was then he learned that federal agents had been watching Jody for some time, and Lew linked up with them. Kathy and Jack received the word at about the same time, and they were ordered in to assist. They immediately forgot all about Darry and joined the surveillance teams around the cabin of Jody Hinds, his wife, and her sister and boyfriend.

Yet another colossal government SNAFU (Situation Normal All Fucked Up) was about to take place.

Jody Hinds was not a criminal, nor was he a hippie. He was a man with strong beliefs, and they included the right to be left alone and the right to keep and bear arms. Jody, his wife, Linda, her sister, Pam, and her boyfriend, Jeff, all shared the same beliefs.

“We found a patch of weed over there,” a BATF man said, pointing. “It belongs to Hinds.”

He was wrong. The patch of marijuana did not belong to Jody Hinds. It was planted—and until recently, occasionally tended to—by two ne'er-do-wells who lived in Salmon, Idaho, some distance away. The two men were now cooling their heels in the county jail, being held for peddling cocaine to school kids. Jody knew about the patch of grass, but since it didn't belong to him, he figured it was none of his business and left it alone.

“He's also a separatist and racist, and he's tied in with Sam Parish and that bunch of crackpots,” another federal agent told the FBI people and the Army Intelligence agent, who by now was in way over his head and wished to hell he could figure out some way to vacate this area... he had no business meddling in civilian affairs.

That informative federal agent was full of shit. Jody was no racist. If they had done a bit more checking, they would have discovered that Jody's wife, Linda, was half Nez Perce Indian, whose mother still lived on the Nez Perce reservation. And Jody Hinds' opinion of Sam Parish was just about on the same level as his desire to bed down with a rabid skunk.

“And they're all well armed,” another fed said.

At least the feds got something right. Jody and those with him were sure as hell well armed. All legal weapons. But they included those nasty, terrible, awful so-called “assault rifles.” The weapons that made liberal democrats pee their lace-trimmed drawers in fright and go dithering about, stomping on hankies.

“We should have arrest warrants in hand by this time tomorrow,” another fed said. “Then we'll make our move and cut the head off another dangerous snake.”

Yeah. Right.

“At the same time, another team will be moving against Sam Parish and his Citizen's Defense League. They're getting into position as we speak.”

“What's Sam Parish done?” Major Waters asked, rapidly reaching the conclusion that he was in the midst of a bunch of heavily armed government zealots who didn't know peanut butter from horse shit.

“He's preaching sedition. He believes in the violent overthrow of the government.”

“So do about twenty-five million other Americans,” Lew replied. “At least. Are you prepared to move against them, too?”

“Whose side are you on, Major?” the team leader questioned.

“I'm on the side of reason. You people are about to screw up real bad here.”

“Listen up, Major. Jody Hinds has a portable radio in that cabin. He listens to Rush Limbaugh.”

Lew couldn't believe what he was hearing. Had America really come to this? “Is that right?” he finally found his voice.

“Yeah, and he also reads the Ashes books. We've had that author under surveillance for a long time.”

“
I
read the Ashes books, you idiot! I'm outta here. I want no part of this fuck-up.”

“Don't blow our cover.”

Lew shook his head in disbelief. “Do you actually think Jody Hinds doesn't know he's being watched? Man, Stormy Knight is not three miles from here. She'll be on this story like white on rice.”

“That's a racist remark, Major,” a black agent said. “I resent it.”

“Oh, shit!” Lew said, and got the hell gone from there, thinking that Orwell had only missed the mark by about ten years.