Deadfall (35 page)

“As long as you're square with me, we're good to go. If I get any indication you're lying, the deal's off.”

“I'll do just what you said, I swear. I want my little girl.”

“All right. I'll see you tonight then, and bring my phone with you.”

“S-sure.” He hesitated. “I made a few calls to my daughter; I hope you don't mind.”

Mac sighed.
That will go over big with Sarge.
“Just bring it tonight.”

Mac briefed Chris, who agreed to be one of the ground troops for the mission. He then called Sergeant Evans to make sure he'd been able to secure the confidential funds.

“You're all set, Mac,” Frank said. “Just be careful.”

Mac would wear the GPS so air support could monitor his location while ground units would standby in the gorge. He checked out a half-ton Chevrolet pickup with dead plates for the mission and loaded up his rifle and gear for the meet. After briefing all the involved detectives and troopers, Mac left for Vancouver. He had to go home and get into character for his acting role this evening.

Driving over the bridge, Mac did a little praying himself. He wondered if this is what a soldier felt like before going into battle. He'd done a little undercover work, but nothing like this. Everything depended on his ability to make Jayce believe he was nothing more than an illegal hunter.

The butterflies he'd had in his stomach all day turned into combat planes.

31

M
AC DROVE EAST on I-84 to the Corbett exit, glad they'd be
taking Troy Wilson's vehicle from this point on. The old undercover
truck he'd signed out was in dire need of brakes and a frontend
alignment. The twenty-year-old truck had been seized from a
dope peddler years ago. Mac pulled up in front of the Corbett
Grange and found Wilson already parked there in an older-model
red Toyota pickup.

Mac parked behind the building and grabbed his rifle, then walked around the other side of his pickup to make sure the small GPS unit was still functioning. He pulled out the front of his wool pants to check the glowing green light. He'd attached the GPS to the inside of his shortsot the most comfortable place, but probably the safest.

Mac saw no reason to give Troy details of the OSP plans. Truth be told, he didn't trust Troy Wilson any more than he could throw him.

Troy pushed open the passenger door of the truck from the driver's seat. Under the dome light, he had the look of a man heading for the gas chambers. Mac shared Troy's anxiety.

“You ready for this?” Mac climbed into the pickup, wishing they were doing this hunt in daylight rather than the dead of night.

“No.” He sighed heavily. “I just hope we can pull it off, or we're both dead. You got the money?”

Mac patted his right front pocket on his camouflage jacket. “Right here.”

“Let's see it.” Troy pulled a cigarette out of his front shirt pocket.

“I'm not your customer. I'm your ticket out of here, remember? Don't forget who's running this trip. You'll see the money when I pay Jayce.”

“He'll kill me if he finds out. He'll kill both of us.” Troy lit the cigarette with trembling hands.

Mac hated cigarette smoke. Another remnant from his father's bad habits. He didn't say anything, figuring Troy was barely hanging on as it was. The nicotine would calm the guy—at least for a while. “So you said. I guess you'll have to trust me,Wilson. Now let's get going. And if you have to smoke, at least crack open your window.”

Mac felt for the small .380 semiautomatic backup gun he'd stowed in his hip pocket. It was there all right, but he doubted he'd get to it in time with all the clothes in the way.

Troy pushed the manual transmission into gear and started back down Corbett Hill to I-84, eventually turning east on the freeway toward Cascade Locks. They didn't talk much on the way except for the brief instructions Mac gave Troy on how he wanted the bear handled if they killed an animal: unskinned and whole. “I want Jayce's bullet in the animal.”

They passed Bonneville Dam, entering Hood River County in less than twenty minutes. After taking the exit for Cascade Locks, Troy zigzagged up so many forest service roads that Mac lost his sense of direction. It didn't help that he couldn't see past the head-lights. After more than forty minutes of back-country driving, Troy stopped in front of a rustic cabin. Mac could see a large four-wheel drive pickup parked in back, but he couldn't make out the model or color in the low light.

The lights were on inside the small hunting cabin, giving it a warm, homey look. Mac's heart pounded so hard, he could feel it pulse through his neck. He took several deep calming breaths as he followed Troy up the gravel path to the front door.

Troy knocked. “Hey, Jayce. It's me.”

“Come on in, it's open,” a gruff voiced boomed from inside.

Troy and Mac walked in the front door. Mac wasn't sure what he'd expected, but it wasn't this. The cabin was tidy and clean. A warm fire crackled in the fireplace. On the wall above it was a fine collection of mounts—a black bear made into a rug, a large bull elk with an enormous rack, a handsome mule deer buck, and a trophy antelope with long black horns.

“Hey, Troy, and you must be Steve.” A large man in his fifties with the look of a grizzly sat at a large wooden table in the kitchen area. Mac hoped he wouldn't have to tangle with the guy.

Mac smiled, hoping it looked genuine. Steve was the name Mac agreed to use for the undercover operation. On Trooper Ferroli's advice, he carried no identification on him.

The big man was pumping a lantern full of fuel. Wiping his hand on his suspender-supported jeans, he stood and came forward to shake Mac's hand.

“I am, and you must be Jayce.” Mac noticed how the hand was nearly double the size of his own.

“That's Jay-cee,” he corrected. Then with a surprisingly kind expression on his face, he added, “It only sounds like that when Troy here says my name with that southern accent of his. Pleased to meet you. Troy tells me you're a friend of Charlie's.”

“That's right. Too bad about his untimely death.” Mac rubbed his chin and glanced toward the wood floor.

“You two were pretty tight, huh?” Jaycee went back to his lantern. “I didn't catch your last name.”

“I'd prefer not to use last names,” Mac replied. The best defense in these situations was a good offense. “You stand to make a lot of money in our business relationship, and I'd rather keep us on a first-name basis.”

“Good, good, that's the way it should be.” Jaycee chuckled. “I'm glad to hear you feel that way.”

Mac glanced at Troy, whose upper lip and forehead were beaded with sweat. Mac could feel the heat too, even though the cabin temperature was probably around sixty. “Charlie and I were only business partners, and let's just say we made some profitable investments. It is a shame about his death, though. He owed me a substantial amount of money, but I couldn't collect because we were dealing under the table—if you know what I mean.”

Jaycee nodded. “Too bad. So how did you meet old Charlie?”

“On a guided hunt. He told me I might be able to get some trophies. I'm hoping to acquire all the native cat species for my taxidermy collection. I already own most of the African cats. I need a cougar for my collection, preferably a big male. I also want a black bear. I have others, but I am looking for a full body mount.”

“All right!” Jaycee grinned. “You bring the money?”

“Yep. I brought five thousand, not a penny more, and I'm prepared to book subsequent hunts if this evening goes well.”

“I'm sure we will be able to do business. How about you show me the five thousand, and we'll go hunting.”

Mac produced the five thousand dollars in hundred-dollar bills. The serial numbers on each bill had been inventoried earlier. “It's all there; you can count it.”

“I will. Why don't you and Troy take a listen while I'm counting? The dogs are already on a scent.” Jaycee eyeballed the bills as he spread them in his thick fingers. Mac listened intently, hearing the baying of Jaycee's hounds in the distance. “They caught a scent on the way to the cabin and I let them out. Sounds like they've treed something already.”

“How far away?” Mac asked, his pulse quickening.

Jaycee stuffed the cash in his pocket then reached for a canvas pack from behind the table. He removed a black piece of electronic equipment with a large antenna. “About twelve hundred meters, maybe a little more.” Mac recognized it as a Global Positioning System unit and felt a moment's panic. He let out a long slow breath, realizing that Jaycee could only track his own GPS boxes, not the one on him.

“Let's start hiking.” Jaycee headed for the door. “You got your rifle?”

“Sure do!” Mac tried to sound enthusiastic. “It's in the truck.”

He zipped up his coat and removed a sock hat from the pocket before removing his rifle from the front of Troy's truck.

“You have your .30-.30, Troy?”

“I didn't bring it, boss.” Troy stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets. “Didn't think we would be going out so soon. It's at the gunsmith's for a new front sight.” Mac was glad he told Troy not to bring any guns with them on the hunt. He didn't want the hired help blazing away on the animals, and he for sure didn't want to get shot in the back. Watching one suspect in the dark would be enough of a challenge. Of course, that didn't mean Troy didn't have a concealed weapon. Mac hadn't thought to frisk him when they'd met up, and he certainly couldn't do it now.

“I'll shoot backup then,” Jaycee said, opening a case on the wooden table. He pulled a heavy-barreled revolver from the case with a scope mounted on the frame. After quickly running a rag over the gun, Jaycee slipped it into a shoulder-holster rig. “Let's go hunting, boys.”

Mac inspected his .308, taking careful notice of the rounds he pushed into the magazine well before slamming the bolt shut on the marked cartridge. Jaycee and Troy headed into the darkness with flashlights, and Mac followed close behind. Mac had never killed a large animal; his family wasn't into hunting—not animals, at any rate. At times, he couldn't tell if he was excited about the hunt or anxious about the case. He had done enough hiking and rescue work to handle the rough terrain. And it was rough maneuvering over and around the windswept deadfalls—fallen trees that produced a false ground when the ferns covered their rotting hulls.

“Should be just up ahead. We can just follow the dogs from this range.” Jaycee handed the electronic equipment to Troy.

“Telemetry equipment on the dog's collars,”Troy whispered to Mac before putting the equipment in his backpack.

Mac nodded. He'd figured as much.

“If we get separated, don't head north,” Troy said. “You'll launch yourself off one of the cliffs before you know what hit you.”

Great. Which way is north?
Mac didn't get a chance to ask.

They followed the sound of the baying dogs for another thirty minutes. For Mac, the sounds seemed to be coming from all directions. The two experienced hunters walked a razor-straight line to the dogs. For now, Mac focused more on the dangers of the hike than the potential murder suspects in his midst. He had long since removed his sock hat and gloves, even unzipping his coat. It had to be close to freezing up here, but he was overheated and soaked with sweat.

“Right up ahead, boys. There they are.” Jaycee shined his flashlight on a medium-sized Douglas fir that was surrounded by seven hounds, barking like maniacs and clawing at the tree. “Let's move in a little closer,” Jaycee hollered. “See what they've cornered.”

The three men walked to within twenty feet of the dogs when Jaycee announced their findings. “Hey, we're in luck. A nice fat bruin for you, Steve.” Jaycee sounded as excited as Mac felt. “He'll be a keeper.”

Mac followed the end of the flashlight beam, his gaze settling on the terrified bear that sat perched only about a dozen feet up the tree. His eyes reflected the light as he pawed the air. His shiny hide glowed in the light.

I can't do this.
The plan had looked perfect on paper. How could he fire at this magnificent animal? He hated using the animal to further his case.
The man's a murderer,
Mac reminded himself.
You
need this evidence.

“It won't make the record books.” Mac barely heard Jaycee above the pounding of his heart. “But it will make a fine mount.

Take your time on the shot; he won't go anywhere with the dogs there. Once he falls, just stay back and let the dogs smell him.

That's their little reward for the hunt; they won't harm the hide.”

Mac brought the sling off his shoulder, taking a last look at the bear's black nose and glowing eyes before shouldering the rifle.

Sorry, old boy.
He found the bear's thick front shoulder in his 3 x 9 scope and took careful aim at the beefy target. Mac fired. The bear screamed in pain but didn't fall from the tree.

“He's hit; put another one in him!” Jaycee yelled.

“I can't!” Mac yelled back. “My gun's jammed!”

Jaycee swore, pulled his revolver from his holster, and took a quick aim before firing. The bear groaned and fell, lying dead before the crazed hounds. Jaycee holstered and looked at Mac. “He's down now. Let me take a look at that thing.” Mac handed him the rifle, hoping Chris's plan had worked. He held his breath as Jaycee pulled back hard on the bolt, but the extractor wouldn't budge the casing.

“She's jammed all right. It'll come loose when she cools down.”

“I must have loaded that one a little too hot.” Mac breathed a little easier. “You made a great shot, though. Thanks. Where'd you hit him?”

“Right in the bread basket, should be a double-lung shot,” Jaycee said proudly, approaching the bear.