Reverse Metamorphosis book one of the Irrevocable Change trilogy (41 page)

He had chosen his weapons carefully. His long
range choice was a SIG-AMT auto rifle throwing a .308 caliber 150
grain soft point bullet. A primary reason for choosing it was the
availability of the optional twenty round magazine. The barrel had
been threaded to receive a long fat silencer and a Weaver ten power
adjustable scope completed the rig. At best the report would be
muffled as opposed to the loud and sharp crack with out it. The
assembled pieces had been tested at Tony’s farm and consistently
got five shot groupings within three inches at 300 yards with a
factory load. For up close he carried a six shot Smith and Wesson
Model 58 revolver firing a .41 caliber magnum soft point bullet of
210 grain. He had also packed an old .32 cal. Gilsenti
semi-automatic with a fat silencer screwed onto the six inch
barrel, but as things were developing he didn’t think it would be
used. He was prepared for long range or short range; a quiet kill,
or a sudden and loud flat out surprise attack.

Even the Chicago Library System was involved
in his planning. He had spent two full days at the main library
downtown reading about wilderness survival methods and specific
equipment he could possibly need in the winter. On the author’s
advice he had forgone haircuts and stopped shaving to grow a beard
and mustache as additional protection from the cold.

An accidental death had been ruled out when
he counted the minimum number of people who could be at the lodge
as five; De Grand, the two ever present guards and two care takers
who lived there full time. The number didn’t count guest who could
be brought along. Tony had relayed that information to his N.Y.
contact and received an approval for an assassination.

At Montana visitors centers he had picked up
state road maps and area and activity specific maps for the miles
of roads and trails around Glacier Park. The terrain looked
formidable, but he would attempt to find a route through the
mountain passes into Canada. In Wisconsin he had learned frozen
streams and rivers became roadways for snow mobiles. The machines
could fly over the smooth snow covered surfaces of lakes and
rivers, if the driver watched out for warm unfrozen areas.

At four the next morning he woke and ate a
cold breakfast high in calories and protein. Candy bars, beef jerky
and water had been kept next to him while he slept so it wouldn’t
be frozen in the morning. Before donning his outer parka additional
food, along with water, was put in pockets inside the coat for
lunch and supper. Storing the sleeping bag, rifle and a three
gallon gas can on the machine completed his last minute
preparations before he gunned the throttle and headed north. The
anticipated fog was light and caused little problem. His main
concern became the herds of elk and grazing deer he came upon in
the early morning hours. He had planned two days to drive what
looked to be about sixty miles on the maps, but which could
actually be up to eighty or ninety miles in real distance traveled.
The true mileage could even be over one hundred miles if he hit
blind trails he couldn’t traverse; box canyons or impassable
mountains could block his way and cause delays. Several of the area
maps indicated walking trails ascending the mountain. He felt the
chance of crossing over would be pretty good if he could find them.
If a hiker could cross the terrain he thought his machine surely
could. Charles De Grand was expected to arrive at his lodge in
three days and remain there for five. If there were problems he had
extra time in his window of opportunity. Ultimately however,
everything depended equally on his equipment, the weather, his
personal stamina, and his ability to traverse the mountainous
terrain.

Well before noon Clay was past the north end
of Lake Kintla, still under an overcast sky. The ice covered lake
made an excellent roadway, but he held the speed down on the new
machine for two reasons: the engine needed to be broken in, and if
the equipment were damaged the job was jeopardized. When he left
the lake he located a summer walking trail and followed it through
the rough and uneven natural forest terrain, forcing him to watch
ahead for obstructions before getting to them. Pine trees and
leafless aspen groves slowed his progress when he wasn’t able to
run on a frozen stream. When he approached an impassable jumble of
huge boulders between two sheer cliffs he had to return to a point
where he could pick up a trail running up the mountain. Several
times during the afternoon he ran into dead ends, causing him to
backtrack and search out another route. Three hours before dusk he
was continuing north, heading further into the mountain range,
gaining elevation as he went. An hour before dark he pitched the
tent, covered the snow mobile and brushed the snow and ice from his
outer garments. Inside the tent Clay settled in for the evening as
darkness enveloped the area. He surmised he had traveled about
fifty miles and was near to or past the Canadian border. His tent
was pitched a hundred feet west of a drop off of several hundred
feet down to the floor of a narrow and treacherous valley below
him. Had he been on vacation it would have been a perfect place to
take photographs of the distant mountain vistas. Settling in for
the night he quickly fell asleep, tired from the pounding he had
received from running and maneuvering the snow machine across the
rough terrain.

In the morning he broke camp at five thirty
and continued to run slowly across the snow covered mountain in the
dark. He surmised the snow was between three and ten feet deep in
most places and much deeper in other areas. Twice he had to back
track when the directions he chose lead him into dead ends. Once he
ran up against an impassable stone face and another time the trail
simply ended at an abrupt precipice. Finally he felt like he was
traveling mostly downward; descending into Canada.

Early the following afternoon he crested a
ridge and looked out over the small town of Crowsnest Pass, nestled
in a valley among spruce trees. It was fair sized for the remote
area, with a population near seven thousand people. Skiers arriving
to run the slopes swelled the population during the winter season,
and fishermen took up temporary residence in the warm months to
fish the many nearby lakes.

De Grand would be flying into the airport at
Lethbridge the following Saturday afternoon and after being driven
the ninety miles to the lodge should be arriving as the evening sun
was dipping below the mountain range.

Backtracking, he returned a mile into the
mountains to a valley he had passed through earlier where he picked
a campsite in a depression between two small ridges away from the
natural trail through the valley. Clay set up his tent and placed
all of his gear inside. His spare gas can was empty and would
require filling in town. While there he planned to eat a hot meal
in a sit down restaurant and refill his water container.

On the far west end of town he filled up with
gas and two cycle engine oil and entered a small, plain restaurant
beside the gas station. A sign at the entrance vestibule advertised
an all day salad bar for ten dollars Canadian per person. He didn’t
much care what the food was, as long as it was hot. Before entering
the dining area he slipped on a pair of black thick framed glasses
and pulled the black wool watch cap low on his forehead. To his
surprise the food table had fried chicken and fish and roast beef.
In thirty minutes he was stuffed and ready to tackle the cold
again. When he was ready to leave he put on the thin brown jersey
gloves before taking money from his billfold.

Outside the sky was still overcast as he
drove the snow covered Highway 3 east out of town six miles to
where a road turned to the south. A sign beside it proclaimed the
road to belong to Lodge De Grand. Beneath the name the sign read
Private Road – No Trespassing. The report he had read indicated De
Grand had inherited the lodge and over a thousand acres from his
grandfather. A mile and a half down the private road he passed a
stone columned entrance on his right. A lane wound through spruce
and aspen trees to the lodge. And it did appear to be grand. The
building was a two story central log structure with single story
log wings on either side setting behind a porch the entire length
of the lodge. Mossy wood shingles covered the roof, and the entire
weathered structure looked like the forest setting had been
designed around it. The main building sat approximately two hundred
feet off the road and appeared spacious enough to house at least
sixteen people overnight. Tire tracks indicated vehicles had been
out and back in since the last snowfall. A quarter of a mile
further south and east the road ended without warning at a rocky
abutment, veering straight up at least thirty feet.

Clay turned the snow mobile to the west and
left the unplowed road to explore the area behind the lodge.
Shortly after entering the woods a lake was visible ahead. The
frozen body of water extended to the north, past the De Grand
lodge. The back of the lodge sat within fifty feet of the quarter
mile wide lake and had a view of a low rocky ridge across the lake.
Most of the trees between the lodge and the lake had been
selectively removed to enhance the view from the back of the
building out to and across the lake. Clay moved ahead and turned
south, staying close to the bank of the small lake. The south end
of the lake stopped at the base of the mountains several hundred
yards away where a vertical stone face rose at least a hundred
feet. Cutting across the frozen surface and turning north, he
proceeded to ride slowly along the far bank. He was positive he
would go unnoticed against the snow covered landscape if he didn’t
kick up a white cloud. The lakes surface was scarred by the tracks
of other snow mobiles from one end to the other. Tracks led off the
lake to a shed beside the lodge; De Grand had the machines too. The
back of the lodge had a covered screened porch, confined to the
central two story section of the building.

Past the lodge the ridge to his left dropped
down until it was just a high hill at the end of the lake, a half
mile north of the lodge. Leaving the lake he snaked his way through
the conifer trees and gained the top of the ridge. Full power was
needed to climb to the top which was steeper than he had originally
thought. On the back side he traveled south until he judged he was
again across from the Grand Lodge. Embedded boulders and fallen
trees made the upper portion of the steep ridge too precipitous for
the snow mobile so he shut it down and climbed to the top on foot.
He had missed his target by at least two hundred feet and walked
along the ridge until he was straight across from the building. The
top of the ridge was too high to see into the lodge’s main room at
ground level, so he carefully made his way down the steep boulder
strewn incline. About two thirds of the way down he looked through
a set of binoculars and intruded upon the common area of the lodge.
The first thing he noticed was the flickering of a fire in the huge
natural stone fireplace. Furniture was of a rustic northern
woodlands type with thick cushions on the seats and backs. A large
chandelier made of moose and elk horn hung from the peaked beams in
the middle of the room. In a kitchen in the north wing he saw a
woman and man sitting at a table eating supper; the live in
servants. Seeing no sign of anyone else inside the lodge he high
tailed it back up the ridge and crossed over to the snow
mobile.

To save time he headed north out to the main
road back to Crowsnest Pass and found the trail he had made coming
into town. Tomorrow he would explore the area more thoroughly and
find an escape route from the lodge.

All through the evening he dealt with nagging
problems, exposed when he finally saw the actual location. If he
shot De Grand from across the lake the guards would give chase
immediately and the servants would notify the local authorities. A
lone snow mobile trail going south through practically virgin snow
could be followed by an incompetent blind man; not good. Both
guards would have to be killed or eliminated from the chase. It was
improbable for him to shoot all five of the people from across the
lake. He would need to get closer to the victims. Also, if
possible, he needed to separate De Grand and his bodyguards from
other people. No need to make this a massacre if he could avoid
it.

After eating a cold breakfast the following
morning Clay again drove north to town. Yesterday when he was
within a half mile of it he had come across several other snow
mobile tracks. He would use them to hide his own trail while
escaping. A quarter mile from town he found the spot he was looking
for. Several snow mobiles had run in an east west direction. A
strip fifty to seventy five feet wide had been churned by the drive
belts of multiple machines. Turning east he used the packed trail
to take him within two miles of De Grand’s lodge before it turned
north toward Highway 3. Following it to the highway he learned the
machines had crossed the highway and continued on north. Three
other snow mobile riders had passed him going west and he had seen
a group of five people going cross country on skies.

Clay suddenly stopped the machine, removed
both of his right gloves and dug inside his coat. A weather
forecast was coming on in one minute over the miniature pocket
sized radio in his shirt pocket. The small speaker in his ear was
about to give him an important update. He soon learned a major snow
storm was building over the coast and was expected to hit the
Alberta and British Columbia border area the next afternoon. The
storm would bring temperatures of minus thirty two degrees Celsius
and could last up to two days. He quickly calculated the
temperature to be about minus twenty five degrees F. As a parting
shot the announcer added the Rocky Mountain area could expect at
least two feet of fresh snow. Good news for the skiers; bad news
for him.