Hunted (13 page)

“Yes.”

“They smell something. Attack that goddamn hippie commune. Do it right now.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

By now there were over four hundred federal agents involved, very nearly a mob. Over a hundred agents from several federal agencies attacked the cabins at the old hippie commune. That proved to be a very costly mistake. A dozen agents went down, dead or seriously wounded, in the first fifteen seconds of the attack. Kevin had told Vince and Todd that the agents would be in protective gear. So the men and their wives and kids all went for head shots. Living in the wilderness, and having to rely on game for much of their food, all were expert shots, as the agents tragically discovered almost immediately. To compound the tragedy, more than half of the agents now involved were under the impression this was a legitimate operation, and had no idea it was a government foul-up and attempted cover-up and that they were attacking innocent men and women and kids.

After the first attack was thrown back, the men sent their wives and kids out the back, using tunnels they'd dug years before, back when the peace and love and hippie movement was heavily infiltrated with government agents looking for members of the SDS or the Weathermen. But the reports detailing the construction plans of communes had long since been destroyed after the movement died out years back.

“We'll hold our fire while you get your wounded out of there!” Kevin shouted from his cabin. “Go on, do it. We won't fire on you if you won't fire on us.”

“What the hell?” a federal marshal muttered to a friend. “That doesn't sound like hard-core drug dealers to me.”

“Something's very strange about all this,” a Bureau man said to a buddy who was with the BATF.

“It stinks,” the Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms man replied. “I have not seen one word of intel on these people. And I have to say that Max Vernon is unstable.”

“I agree. But you didn't hear that from me.”

“Then how in the hell did he get where he is?”

The Bureau man grunted. “Luck and ass-kissing.”

“You believe that crap about Stormy Knight and her cameraman?”

“No. And it's camera-person.”

The BATF man grinned. “Right.” His grin faded. “Then what are we doing here?”

The team leader of this unit of the FBI's Hostage Rescue Team looked over at the two men. “What are you guys suggesting?”

“It's a set-up, a fuck-up, and a cover-up,” his colleague said bluntly.

The TL gave that some thought. Then he shook his head. “No way. We wouldn't fuck up that bad. We're under orders to shoot to kill.”

“Yeah,” the special agent said drily. “Just takin' orders. And how many times have you heard that?”

* * *

Jack Speed and Kathy Owens knew what they should do, but didn't know how to go about doing it. They quickly realized they were caught up smack in the middle of a free-fire zone. They didn't know code words or passwords and had no safe way of learning them. During the shooting, the wounding, the frantic crawling and the dragging of Kathy, then tumbling down into the ravine, they had lost their ID folders and radios.

“We're fucked!” Kathy said.

Jack smiled through the burning pain in his wounded shoulder. “This is no time to be thinking of sex, Kathy.”

Three men suddenly appeared at the top of the knoll. “Freeze, goddamn you!” one shouted. “We're federal agents.”

“So are we,” Jack said.

“Sure,” another man said, unable to see how Jack and Kathy were dressed due to the shadows where they lay. “And Santa Claus humps reindeer. Get your hands up.”

Kathy raised both her hands, and Jack held up his one good arm.

“Both hands, goddammit!”

“I can't. I've been wounded. Look, I've got my wallet right here. I have ID.” Jack stuck his hand inside his jumpsuit, and the third man on the knoll shot him.

Screaming her rage, Kathy pulled iron and emptied a full clip into the men, killing two and wounding the third. He dropped his M-16 and went staggering off, holding his bleeding neck.

Kathy turned to Jack. But his face was covered with blood, and she could not find a pulse. She cussed and then scrambled up the hill, retrieving the M-16 and a magazine pouch from a dead agent. She picked up a handy-talkie, only to find that one of her bullets had shattered the transceiver.

“You stupid, cowboy, hot-dog, trigger-happy sons of bitches!” she cussed the dead men. Then, fighting back tears, she started trailing the man who had killed her partner.

* * *

A team of federal agents spotted the mercenaries moving across a meadow and, believing they were part of Sam Parish's bunch, opened fire on them.

Al Jenkins went down, a bullet taking him in the center of his forehead.

The mercenaries suddenly vanished in the tall grass and brush, and the killing stalk began. The federal officers would lose.

“We stay right here,” Darry told the women, after hearing gunfire coming from all directions. “I have a hunch that the worst is yet to come.”

“I just wish I knew what was going on?” Stormy bitched.

“The both of you are wanted for questioning about drug trafficking and subversion,” Darry informed the women.

Stormy and Ki sat on the cave floor, on their bedrolls, and stared at him in utter disbelief. Stormy found her voice first. “You have got to be kidding!” she exploded, waving her hands in the air.

Darry shook his head. “No. I heard some agents talking last night.”

“You went out there last night?” Ki questioned.

Darry smiled. “Yes.”

Stormy read the smile accurately. “But not in human form.” It was not a question.

“You have a very vivid imagination, Stormy,” Darry said, not losing his smile.

“What about this drug crap?” Ki said, anger in her voice. “And subversion? That's nonsense.”

“Sure it is. But they've got three keys of cocaine to back up their story. They found it in your camp.”

“They found
shit!”
Stormy practically shouted the words. “I've never used dope in my life. I don't even like to take a pill for headaches.”

“Oh, you don't have to convince me. I believe you.” Again, that odd grin. “But now, ladies, you can share a sensation with me. Tell me: how does it feel to be hunted like an animal?”

* * *

Sam Parish had taken transceivers from the dead agents in his camp and passed them around. He and his people could now listen to everything that was going on and stay one step ahead of the feds.

Sam Parish had talked about someday overthrowing the government of the United States. But like so many of his ilk, all that had been so much hot air. However, the government did take those types of remarks quite seriously and had sent a man in to infiltrate the Citizen's Defense League. Sam had never quite trusted the infiltrator and had not told him about the cache of weapons the CDL had used in their escape. The infiltrator had feigned being shot when the attack started and was now (after having his butt chewed on by Max Vernon during a debriefing) once more a part of the agent team searching for the CDL.

But he wouldn't be for long, and neither would the men and women with him. The agents had made the mistake of attacking Nick Sharp and his mercenary team, and they now found themselves encircled by the highly experienced group; and the noose was slowly tightening.

Max Vernon was about to lose another team of agents.

* * *

“You were attacked by men claiming to be federal officers?” Henry Wallace asked Dr. Ray Collier.

“Yes,” the doctor replied. “I've still got a knot on the back of my head where one of them struck me.”

Carol Murphy looked and nodded her head. “He took a hard lick, Hank. No doubt about that.”

The inspector sighed heavily. “I apologize for that, Doctor. I know that doesn't help much, but I want you to know the Bureau is not in the habit of assaulting innocent people.”

Ray held up a hand. “I don't know if these people were from the FBI. They were all wearing camouflage and ski masks. I thought they were outlaws.”

Carol shifted her gaze over to the doctor's son. She did not like the look in the young man's eyes. He was obviously angry clear through and clearly was capable of doing something very foolish if the rogue agents returned. She looked at the doctor. “Do you have any weapons in camp, Doctor Collier?”

“What business is that of yours?” Karen snapped the question.

“None, Mrs. Collier,” Carol quickly assured her. “None at all. I was just curious.”

“We don't own any type of firearm,” Dr. Collier stepped in.

“But all that is probably about to change,” Karen said.

The doctor cut his eyes to his wife, not quite sure what to make of that.

But Henry knew. He'd seen it before . . . too many times of late. Another law-abiding citizen getting ready to arm himself because of the excesses of the federal government. “Might I make a suggestion, Doctor?”

“Certainly.”

“Move your camp on several miles. Get out of this area for safety's sake.”

“I think that is a very good idea,” Dr. Collier said.

“I don't,” Karen said. “I like it right here.”

“Me, too,” Paul said. “Why should we move? We haven't done anything.”

“There is a manhunt going on in this area,” Carol pointed out. “It just isn't safe to stay here.”

“I've already discovered that,” the doctor said drily. “Rather painfully. But we'll consider your suggestion.”

“Please do,” Hank said. “If at all possible, we'll be checking on you from time to time, Doctor. Tell me, since you've been here, have you seen the owner of that cabin set back from the bluffs?”

The doctor shook his head. “No. Since the, ah, incident, we've seen no one.”

“Be careful,” Carol warned the family. “Very careful.”

And keep your powder dry, young Paul thought, remembering a line from an old western movie.

* * *

Kathy found the agent, she'd been trailing. He was lying dead, having bled to death from the neck wounds she'd inflicted with her 9mm. She did not know the man, and as she looked down at him, she felt nothing. She searched the body looking for ID, and found it. BATF. She tossed the ID by the side of the body and stood up, trying to get her bearings. With a sigh, Kathy realized she was as lost as she could be. She had absolutely no idea where she was.

She looked up at the leaden-colored and cloudy sky. She could not see the sun. She took the dead agent's canteen and water purification pills and walked on. She didn't realize it, but she was heading deeper into the wilderness, straight toward George Eagle Dancer, who was less than a half mile away.

 

 

Johnny McBroon, Pete Cooper, Lew Waters, and Jay Gilmore had found a secluded spot to make camp and stay put. A small spring was close by and all four men had had the forethought to carry emergency rations that would last them for a couple of days. They planned to sit this one out until the shooting stopped.

* * *

Jack Speed moaned and stirred and tried to sit up. He could not manage it. He had taken a bullet graze on the side of his head that had bled copiously and left him with a terrible headache, and another bullet had hit and gone through the meaty part of his wounded shoulder, exiting out his back, just under the collar bone.

Jack managed to claw and crawl his way to the top of the small knoll and was shocked to discover the bodies of two cammie-clad men. He did not know who he was, where he was, or what the hell had happened to him. He passed out between the bodies of the dead agents.

* * *

The mercenaries gathered up all the weapons and ammo of the dead agents, took their transceivers, and then buried the body of Al Jenkins. They left the bodies of the agents for the varmints and moved on. Their original mission was forgotten. This was personal now. They had been first accosted and then attacked, and one of their own was dead.

The ten highly skilled warriors moved out.

The war was on.

* * *

Rick Battle suited up in uniform and Smokey Bear ranger hat, provisioned up, made sure he had plenty of ammo for his side arm and rifle, and saddled up, over the protestations of several of the federal agents.

“Ranger, it's a war zone out there!” one said.

“By God, the people who live here didn't start it, now did they?”

The agent had no come-back to that.

Rick lifted the reins and rode out, his packhorse trailing on a lead rope.

* * *

George Eagle Dancer saw Kathy approaching and hit the ground. Several moments later she passed within only a few yards of him and was oblivious to his presence. George lay still and watched as a man seemed to spring out of nowhere and shout to the woman. The shape-shifter! he thought. He was one with the earth and I did not sense his closeness.

Kathy lifted her M-16.

“I'm friendly!” Darry shouted. “I mean you no harm. I am not armed. I have Stormy and Ki with me. They are as confused as to what is going on as I am.”

Through the pain in her head (she still had a headache from the bullet graze), Kathy recognized Darry and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Has the whole damned world gone crazy?” she asked, walking toward him.

“I've seen it a lot crazier,” Darry offered, with that strange, almost mystical smile.

“I don't know what that means, but we can pursue it later.” She walked up to him. “Stormy and Ki with you?”

“Yes.”

“Jack is dead.”

He stared at her until she grew uncomfortable under his gaze. She got the strangest feeling that he was looking into her soul. But that was a crazy thought. She shook her head. “What is it?” she finally asked.

“Where did it happen?”

“With Jack?”

“Yes.”

She pointed. “Over there. I have to admit, I'm lost.”

“Easy to do out here. I knew the other agent was wounded, but I didn't know how seriously.”

“How did you know?”

“I was there not too many hours ago, looking at the both of you. Come on. Let's get you settled. And your friend.”

“My . . . friend? You were over there . . . looking at us?”

“Yes. Your friend is the Indian who is hiding in the rock and brush over there,” Darry said, pointing.

“I don't know any Indians!”

George Eagle Dancer stood up. “I come as a friend,” he called. “It was not that way originally, but I left the others. I want you to believe that.”

“I believe you. But if I find you are lying, I'll kill you.”

“I believe that, too, shape-shifter.”

Kathy looked at Darry. “So you are . . .”

“We can talk about that later,” Darry cut her off.

“He is immortal,” George said. “My grandfather was a great medicine man. The last of his kind. When I returned to live on the reservation, he would tell me about the shape-shifter, the immortal who led many lives. The man who came from the east. The first white man to come to us. He was a mountain man, scout, gunfighter, soldier, and he was a good friend to the Indian. He has been called by many names. So many names that no one can remember them all.”

Darry turned without replying, and the FBI agent and the mercenary looked at one another and then followed him up the hill.

In the cave, Darry did the introductions and then said, “I'll go see about your friend, Jack.”

“I just told you, he's dead.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. We'll see.” He looked at George. “See that nothing happens to the ladies.”

“I will do that.” He smiled. “I almost said, ‘be careful.' But what could harm you?”

Darry did not reply. He left the cave without another word.

Several miles away, Kevin Carmouche stood with his friends and looked down at the body of Vince Clayderman's wife, Anna. She had been shot in the back by a long-range shooter and managed to stagger on for several hundred yards before collapsing. Their fifteen-year-old son, Jerry, was fighting back tears as he stood beside his father.

“Go on,” Kevin told the others. “I'll bury her.”

“We can't take the time for that,” Vince said. “The feds will be here any moment. They'll body-bag her. Anna would understand. We've got to get these kids clear and safe. Then we'll map out some tactics.”

Still, no one made the first move to leave the body of Anna Clayderman.

“When we're sure the kids are safe, we'll take the fight to them,” Todd said.

“Yeah,” Vince said, his voice choked with emotion. “Those federal bastards want a war, we'll give them one.”

But no federal agent had killed Anna. The shot had come from a member of Sam Parish's CDL.

The three young people could not hold back their tears, finally allowing their emotions to flow freely.

The Vietnam vets and what was left of their families turned away from the cooling body and slipped into the thick brush. Kevin took the drag, erasing all signs of their passing. The group was only about a half mile from the river and the camp of the Collier family.

“Tell Sam I got me one of them federal bastards!” Sid Dalton said. “It was a bitch agent.”

“That was a damn good shot, Sid,” a friend complimented him. “Had to be at least four hundred yards.”

“I can't believe it,” another CDL member said. “The war is really on. It's really on.”

“Sam always said the day would come when we'd have to fight the government,” Sid replied. “Now it's here.” He slung his rifle. “Come on. God, guts, and guns took this country from the savages two hundred and fifty years ago. Now let's go take it back from the feds.”