Thin Blood Thick Water (Clueless Resolutions Book 2) (16 page)

“I have no choice,” he stated in a robot-like manner. “There is unrest in the tribe and it’s possible that, based on my father’s influence, I could swing the tribe against the elders. But that would take time. The younger generation hates the dictatorial hold the elders have on their parents. The elders will realize the threat I pose to them eventually. To buy time I have to obey their command now.”

“Well, Lamar,” Maggie said matter-of-factly. “Look at me and tell me whether you are going to select me for sacrifice or are you going to sacrifice the man I love.”  Lamar was stymied. He had no plan for this circumstance and was acting primarily on the basis of self-preservation. After a few moments of reflection he stated, “I cannot make this decision.” After glancing back at the elders, he looked at the ground in front of Maggie and Max.  He then said, softly, “I can give you a few seconds to decide for yourselves who goes first.”

The tired and battered abductees were at the end of their tolerance. Max glared at Lamar. When Lamar looked up he averted Max’s gaze. He turned to face the elders and was giving them some sort of signal. During Lamar’s distraction in signaling the elders and awaiting a return signal, Max whispered to Maggie, “In order to take one of us up on the mountain they will have to take the shackles off. That way we will both be free to make a break for it.”

“But where would we go, Max?” Maggie whispered.

“I’m not sure, but going down toward the river is our only chance,” Max answered. “I’ll volunteer to be sacrificed and try to break free while going up the mountain path. You get free as soon as you can and meet me along the river. We’ll take it from there,” Max whispered in utter desperation. Max then looked at Lamar and said emphatically, “I’ll go first.”

With a long, emotion-filled look between them, Max and Maggie nodded farewells as the enforcers uncoupled the manacles they had worn for what seemed like a lifetime. Lamar and one of the enforcers escorted Max toward the path to the upper ledge. Maggie’s guard, the ‘gagger’, hovered nearby to ensure that she stayed in place. Max didn’t hesitate on his way, anxious to get out of sight on the way up the stone path. Maggie took stock of the surrounding area in order to find the most likely path to make her exit when the opportunity arrived. She could see the opening to the path that the ‘paddlers’ used as they came up from the river. She decided that it would be her best bet for a quick route to the river below.

As Max’s escorts started him up the stone steps to the sacrifice ledge, Lamar came close, and grabbed his left arm.

“The man who throws the lever up there is Jonathan, my brother,” he said, apparently referencing the final execution of the sacrifice. “I told him to make it quick.” Max gave Lamar a piercing glare, an indication that, if a miracle ever put them face-to-face in the future, Max would have as much compassion toward him as Lamar had exhibited to him and Maggie.

“Suffer with the guilt, you scum,” Max hissed in return.

Chip and Danyel were driving back from the ferry port when Chip got a call on his cell phone from Heather Copeland at USAP headquarters.

“I have an upper echelon director from the F.B.I. on hold,” she said. “He insists that it is high priority and wants to have a private conference call with you. His name is Chace.” Chip agreed and pulled the service car over to the roadside.

“This is Chip,” he stated into the phone.

Don Chace explained that he had gotten word that his good friends Maggie Marshall and Max Hargrove were in trouble. Chip remembered Chace’s references in their regard and asked if he could hold while Chip put his call on speaker. He explained who he was with and that they were alone, idling in a service car. Chace agreed and Danyel introduced herself. Don Chace recommended that, since they were on a cell phone, they should converse in general terms, omitting specifics. He suggested that they call him from a secure landline, with anything detailed that required a conversation thereafter.

“Cell phones and other satellite-connected conveyances are a real life-saver at times, but messages by anything other than courier, cable, or postal service, were pretty much up for grabs,” was Chace’s stated philosophy. The trio swapped info to ‘get on the same page’ and made plans for a behind-the-scenes meeting between Chip, Danyel, and Chace’s counterpart in the Canadian Mounted Police Command.  According to Chace he had been told that, like in the United States, Canadian Politics had substantial influence with government agencies and there was an unofficial ‘walk softly’ order in place concerning the Native Indian Affairs. Chip thanked Chace and agreed to keep him informed on their progress. He also gave Chace the land line phone number at the Bickford guest house with assurances that the line was definitely secure.

As the trio said their goodbyes, Danyel gave a furtive look of curiosity at Chip upon hearing his ‘definitely secure’ reference. She knew that it was a private line but wasn’t aware of any higher security status. “
But then,
” she reasoned silently,
“there was an abundance of mystery developing with regard to the Bickford saga”.

Chip’s cell phone rang within minutes after disconnecting with Don Chace. The anonymous caller referenced the F.B.I. call and suggested a meeting at the guest house. Chip agreed and indicated a 20 minute travel time from their current location. That was agreeable to the man-with-no-name and the short journey to the Bickford guest house was soon underway.

By midafternoon Chip was turning the service car into the guest house laneway when a dark grey, ordinary-looking sedan, followed closely and pulled up alongside as they parked in the driveway.  Danyel was first to exit the service car and greeted the tall, thin, red-haired ‘Mr. nameless’ as he exited his car. He referred to them by name and asked to be called ‘Bob’. They all agreed, knowing that it was an obvious alias.

Bob told the USAP duo that he was aware of the Partnership and assured them that they had a positive reputation and were held in high regard among his contemporaries. He updated them with what he knew about the local Native Indian populace. Bob explained that most of the Nova Scotia Natives were considered as one people but their history was more complicated. They were originally six or seven small tribes that had banded together to defend themselves against ‘invaders from the ocean’ who were most likely Vikings from what is now known as Scandinavia. According to lore, there was fierce fighting for years, followed by a sort of peace treaty. The various tribes had intermingled and, lacking the time or means to record separate histories, they simply grouped together as one nameless tribe. Modern day references to differing tribal ancestry among the group was not verifiable and had been adopted voluntarily by some.

An essentially Canadian liberal majority attitude, which was reflected in the government administration, had officially looked the other way at some of the rumors of manipulation which were made by an ultra-conservative minority group within the indigenous populace. That group resisted ‘pale-face’ government education. They controlled the tribes with intimidation tactics harking back to ancient times. There were periodic rituals of sacrifice to the ‘Mountain King’ which were highly secretive, but reportedly gory. There was also a drug-related influence on the Native Indian populace, the source of which was highly elusive and tightly controlled.  It was thought to originate in Mexico or Panama, but could be in any one of several South American venues. Investigative work in cooperation with the Organization of American States was ongoing but the OAS was considered to be essentially neutralized in terms of meaningful influence. ‘Bob’ was obviously well versed in the subject de jour, to the point that he apologized for the brevity.

Bob explained that he had been surprised to hear from his contemporary, Don Chace, regarding the missing USAP team. He then launched into knowledge he had gained within the past half-day concerning a ‘sacrifice ceremony’ to take place along the Forty-Five River in New Brunswick. The location was directly across the river from the national park where the Native Indian Reservation was located.

After getting the information on the missing USAP Partners, and knowing the Bickford Laboratory’s history of Native Indian staffing, Bob advised Chip to concentrate any resources USAP could muster to focus on the Forty-Five River location as soon as possible in hopes that it was not too late. He indicated that his department would do everything possible to covertly cover the clandestine activity by USAP.

Neither Chip nor Danyel had mentioned the boat house to Bob since it wasn’t obvious from the front of the house. If the need to use the secretive armament on the Cessna Amphibian came to pass, there was no way it could be excused by Bob’s superiors. On viewing the plane there might be something to tip him off. It was best to let him leave and be on his way.

After Bob’s nondescript sedan left the long laneway on his way out, a plan of action was quickly devised by Chip and Danyel. There was no time to have help sent by USAP headquarters so they would have to act on their own.

Over a map on the kitchen counter they decided that one of them would fly the Cessna amphibian, at low altitudes, over to the harbor where the Nova Scotia ferry port was located. The other would drive the service car there and park it nearby. They would then take off in the floatplane for the New Brunswick mouth of the Forty Five River and do reconnaissance on the reservation area. They would arm themselves and wear protective vests, and there were three parachutes stowed in the aft section. They agreed that Danyel would fly and Chip would drive the service car.

Within eight minutes Chip was well on his way, driving at the highest possible speed, and Danyel was taking off in the Cessna Caravan Amphibian. Danyel’s tree-top flight was going to take far less time than Chip’s drive so she took a roundabout route northward toward the ferry depot. They had driven by a sandy beach area when they left the ferry managers office, and that was selected as the point to rejoin with Chip for the flight to Forty Five River. The east end of the beach was the best location to come ashore with the Cessna since it was gradually sloped and could be approached at high or mean tides. The high tide was forecasted for 3:18 PM and Chip’s expected arrival was around 2:10 PM. The plan included Danyel landing on the bay, and then remaining offshore until she spotted Chip on the beach. Then she would execute the USAP-designed wheels-down, run-up taxi technique, reaching far enough onto the beach for Chip to hop aboard without wading through the water.

Danyel discerned, by the pennants and flags atop some boat masts, that there was a light southwest breeze over Fundy Bay when she arrived. The water surface at the midway area showed a slight chop, but nearer to the rendezvous location on the wind-protected leeward northern shoreline of Nova Scotia, it was quite smooth.  Her landing was routine
. “That was a snap.”
Danyel said to herself, comparing it with the harrowing stormy and dark environment she encountered when she first arrived, landing at the Bickford Laboratory riverside boathouse. Stationary and idling in the fluctuating swells while waiting, Danyel scanned the map and charts, looking for the depths and widths along the south end at the mouth of the Forty Five River waterway. The river originated in the high elevations among the rolling mountainsides and wound its way to the Bay of Fundy. The closer to the bay, the more effect from ocean tides. As with the ferry ports venues on both sides of the bay, the ocean end of Forty-Five River was heavily impacted with tidal variations. The river currents, which switched directional flow four times each day, ranged from very strong during the highest tide fluctuations, to comparatively mild during the medium tidal swings. On this date the tide variations were in the higher range. From the ferry schedule Danyel made mental notes of the high and low tide hours for the current date. According to the arrival and departure times on the New Brunswick side of the Bay, she could estimate the best and worst times to navigate the lower Forty Five River. Glancing up from her research materials, she saw a figure on the beach rendezvous point. A look through binoculars confirmed Chip’s arrival.

Danyel pushed the throttles forward and began taxiing toward the beach.  As she neared the point of impact the landing gear switch was flipped and, at full throttle, at the precise moment that the pontoons would have made contact with the hard sand, the gear lowered and the aircraft bounced up onto the sand. Wheel brakes were applied. The throttle was cut to idle and the propeller pitch was feathered.  The Caravan lurched to a complete stop.

Chip, carrying a duffle bag full of gear, jogged around the side of the Cessna floatplane, avoiding the propeller and ducking under the overhead wing. After stepping in a few inches of seawater, he hopped up onto the starboard pontoon. Carefully stepping around the area of the opening in the topside of the pontoon where the access door to the concealed grenade launcher mechanism was installed, he pulled the rear cabin door open and deposited his duffle bag. Danyel set the parking brakes, unlatched the co-pilot’s entry door and hopped over to the co-pilot’s seat. Then she stepped out onto the pontoon. She disembarked and jumped down onto the beach sand. Chip negotiated his way around the pontoons to gain entry to the pilot’s seat. After releasing the parking brake, he stepped down and pushed the aircraft backwards. Aided by Danyel on the opposite side, they pushed the idling Cessna further back into the deeper beach water.  When the floats began to carry the weight of the aircraft, both hopped up on their respective sides of the aircrafts support structure and ensconced themselves in the pilot and co-pilot positions. Chip was the Captain on this up-coming flight.