Necessary Evil (6 page)

Kier lay stunned, not yet believing what had just happened. Jessie was getting up, but looked woozy.

"You okay?" he asked.

She nodded. "It had to be a bomb. I doubt that fuel could have exploded that violently. We were damned lucky."

They both stood, burning debris on the snow around them, and Kier nodded toward what looked like an impenetrable wall of snow-covered branches. Ducking beneath larger boughs and dislodging a cascade of snow in the process, he knocked smaller dead branches out of the way until he had created a sheltered area just large enough for them to huddle in under the cover of an old evergreen tree. They squatted with their backs to the trunk.

She groaned.

"Sorry I haven't got a chair."

"I'll manage just fine," she said.

He pulled out Volume One and handed her the handwritten page. While she read, he took the volumes out of the heavy box and put them in his pack, abandoning his medical supplies.

"God, what was on that plane?" Jessie had finished reading. "You suppose there's anything left after that explosion?"

"Don't know. Flames everywhere," he said.

"I've got to call for help."

He began crawling out of the brush toward the embankment. "Let's get back to Claudie's and the truck."

A mighty warrior's thoughts are more deadly than his arrows.

—Tilok proverb

O
ut of nowhere a man appeared, initially just a shadow in the dull light, moving steadily toward the plane. His clothes were the color of the snow. Jessie and Kier had walked halfway back from the plane by a circuitous route to avoid the heavy brush. They had turned down a very wet swale, as evidenced by the sword fern spread through the oaks. They saw him before he saw them.

Across his chest the shadow man held an automatic rifle. The oversize banana clip told Kier it was military, no hunting rifle. Kier motioned Jessie down behind a big, snow-covered log. As they dived in the snow, they caught glimpses of two more men, one to the right, one to the left, both apparently in a rough line moving through the trees.

The first man would soon cross the pair's original path from the Donahue ranch. Should Kier jump the man bearing down on them and ask questions later? he wondered. The jet had crashed a little more than an hour ago. How did men dressed for combat arrive here this soon? How could anyone know in advance where a plane would crash?

"What the hell?" Jessie whispered.

"I'll be damned," Kier agreed in astonishment.

The first man was still coming directly for them, walking slowly, and looking side to side, now just thirty feet off. They flattened behind the log, burrowing into the snow. Jessie fished out her gun.

"It looks like the army's arrived," she breathed in his ear.

"We'll know soon enough."

But Kier had a sense. When these men moved through the forest, they studied the ground and the landscape, their heads constantly turning. They often stopped to watch. This was no exercise. These weren't just soldiers: they were hunters.

Crunching snow told Kier the man was upon them.

Like a swooping bird, the rifle's barrel came, then passed from view. Kier sucked in his gut until it hurt. He put his finger to his lips and pointed up. The ghost man was standing just above them atop their log. In the dense snowfall and rough ground, the footprints that memorialized their passing were not so easily seen.

In an instant, Kier reached around the log, finding the white boots of the big man, and yanked with tremendous force, sprawling the soldier across the log. Obviously surprised and disoriented, the soldier flailed and started to call out. Kier rose above him, delivering a sharp blow with his right elbow to his solar plexus.

Faster than Kier could comprehend, Jessie thrust her gun in the man's face.

"Shut up," she half whispered.

Together, Kier and Jessie pulled the man into the deep snow behind the log, and under a hemlock with branches low to the ground. Jessie had ahold of the soldier's hair, with her gun still to his head, but he either didn't see it or didn't care. He began to scream.

Kier delivered a moderate two-knuckled karate punch to the man's solar plexus, and the scream turned to a grunt almost as soon as it began. Kier crossed his hands, grabbing the man's jacket on either side of his neck using the long bones of his forearms in a viselike grip, cutting off the blood flow through the carotid arteries. What was left of the groan was choked to a loud whisper. Still the man struggled, kicking out at Jessie. From the corner of his eye, Kier saw a blur, and Jessie's pistol butt cracked the side of the man's jaw. The head lolled for a second.

"Damn it," Kier whispered, "don't do that again." Quickly they peered out from their hiding place under the tree. Apparently the wind and the falling snow had drowned the man's cry. No one seemed to be coming.

The soldier shook, still conscious. Kier moved around his adversary and caught his throat in a lock of his forearm. Legs thrashed for a few seconds until finally the soldier lay still, fighting only to breathe.

Jessie leaned forward, tearing off the man's goggles and pushing back his hood. He was a dull blond with hair the color of soiled straw. His blueberry-blue eyes had a wild look; his cheeks, pockmarked under the stubble, had missed a few shaves. She brought the tip of her gun's snout an inch from their captive's left eye.

"Can you hear me?"

"Yes," he whispered in reply.

His breath smelled like a bad can of tuna.

"I'm Special Agent Jessamyn Mayfield of the FBI. You always have that gap between your lower teeth?"

"Very funny. You broke my jaw."

"Sorry. You got a little excited."

"Who's strangling me? Tonto?" the man said, holding his face, while Kier maintained an armlock on his neck.

"According to your dog tags you're Sergeant Miller of the National Guard."

"You can read."

"Where you from?"

"Omaha, Nebraska. I'm a Sears floor manager."

"Well, then you won't mind if we search you. Just to make sure."

"My commanding officer is Captain Doyle. And I have a job to do."

She hesitated.

"I don't believe him," Kier said. "National Guard wouldn't play around out here. It's wintertime."

He looked to Jessie, who resisted, then relented. "I guess I'll risk an ass-chewing to search him against his will."

Jessie reached under the man's parka and pulled a pistol with a silencer from its holster. Neither of them recognized the make, and it bore no markings. He had three full clips of ammunition velcroed to his holster.

"Well," Jessie said, "this isn't military issue. Shoots .45 slugs, steel tipped to puncture a Kevlar vest. The bullets are called Talons."

"It's mine . . . personal."

"In that case, you're under arrest, because the Talons and the silencer are illegal."

On his belt she found a two-way radio with an exotic-looking digital push-pad. It was turned on and crackling. He also carried a military-issue 9-mm. semiautomatic pistol, ammunition, and a pair of handcuffs.

"These aren't military issue either," she said, nodding at the cuffs. "Where are the keys?"

"Pocket," he replied when Kier compressed his neck.

After they cuffed his hands behind his back, Miller sat and spat out blood, along with a few tooth chips.

In his pack they found a black high-intensity Techna light; Zeiss binoculars; eight more clips of ammo for the M-16; a grenade belt with four hand grenades; high-energy Power Bars; a Sterling compass in expensive-looking brass; a hand-held satellite navigation device; a Bic lighter; a stiletto knife made in Italy; a canteen; a money clip full of hundred dollar bills; an accordionlike stack of plastic sealed cards with hundreds of names and numbers in fine print; and a geodesic contour map, also encased in plastic, complete with elevations. On the map, about three miles north of the Donahues', there was a single red square. The man carried no other I.D. and wore a Kevlar flak jacket with a steel plate across the breast for maximum protection. It, too, bore no indicia of government ownership. They studied the plastic cards, but they were incomprehensible, possibly a code for the radio.

"You have the right to remain silent. . ." she began in a whisper.

Kier bet she had never spoken the words in an actual arrest situation. He sat stone-faced, impatient, while she gave the required Miranda warning. His eyes never stopped moving as he peered out through the tree branches, looking for more men.

''Did you find the jet?" The man was ignoring Jessie's litany.

"Yes."

Kier shook his head at Jessie, concerned that she not disclose any information.

"What do you know about it?" she asked.

"Did you go inside?" Miller asked, worry plain in his voice.

"Tell me why you care."

"Did you go in the damn jet?"

"Whisper, asshole," Jessie said. "What difference does it make?"

"You did go in the jet. Well, that's just great."

The man lapsed into silence.

It didn't take long to establish that the man was done talking, at least willingly. Kier surmised that he was terrified of his own people. Kier and Jessie exchanged looks, and he knew she understood the ploy. They needed information, and Kier would do anything short of physical torture to get it.

"She's the only FBI. Me, I'm kindred spirit to Goyathlay. You would know him as Geronimo, not Tonto." Kier watched the man through slitted eyes as he spoke. Popping the man's own stiletto, Kier touched the finely honed blade with his index finger. "Uh-oh," he whispered, glancing to the side.

Another gunman had just appeared no more than one hundred feet away. There were going to be lots of men. In seconds, he and Jessie could be trapped.

Their captive's radio crackled. "Every man should be converging on the crash site. Sector seven, northeast corner, seven clicks in, nine clicks down. Stay with procedure. Roll call," the voice said. "Smith."

"Whiskey," somebody answered.

"Jones," the voice called again.

"Scotch," the next man answered.

"Jackson."

"Port."

A name and a password response, Kier figured.

"Jenkins."

"Bourbon."

"Miller."

There was a pause. Their man was Miller. Now they were in trouble.

"Miller, you out there?"

"Unzip his coat," Kier whispered.

He had a plan. Shadow Man Two had turned his back to the wind and was urinating. Good, should keep him occupied.

Jessie raised a brow, and then did as Kier requested.

"Roll over," Kier told the man.

"Has anybody seen Miller?" the voice called over the radio again.

It was the third time. With Miller lying facedown, Kier removed the cuffs, stripping off the thin, white outer coat. Underneath, the man wore a dark, down-filled arctic body suit, which provided the insulation.

"Now the white pants," Kier said.

"They won't come off over his boots," Jessie said as she began pulling at the laces.

The man in the distance was zipping his pants, then talking on the radio. Holding Miller's radio close to his ear, Kier heard the other man speak.

"Jones, here. Miller was near me. He was to my left. May have gone on ahead."

"They'll shoot if I stand up without my whites," Miller said.

"What are you gonna do?" Jessie put the cuffs back on him with a cold, efficient click.

"Something helpful I hope." Kier was bigger than Miller, but still managed to fit into the suit. He pulled up the hood, put on the goggles, and slid the helmet over the hood just as Miller had done.

"I think we should stay together."

"Can't—they'll find us."

"If you're going to run a distraction of some sort, I need to get these volumes to a safe place."

"Exactly. That's the only evidence there is of whatever is going on here."

"How shall I get out of here. And where will I meet you?"

"I would advise staying right here for ten minutes or until you hear a gunshot, whichever happens first. Best to get out of here when they're distracted. And they'll be distracted."

A dark look crossed her face.

"I'm going to do it without killing anybody," he added, attempting to reassure her. "I need his knife, his radio card, and his watch."

She slapped the items into his hand with a concerned frown.

"Why?"

Kier handed her Miller's silenced pistol after chambering a round. "Safety is off. How about I borrow yours?"

Jessie now pointed both pistols at their prisoner as if she didn't trust just one and told him to roll onto his belly. Then, holstering her own pistol and keeping the silenced weapon, she unlocked the cuffs.

"Lie on your gut with your arms around that tree."

He cursed elaborately as she fastened his wrists on the side of the tree opposite his cheek, which was now pressed against the rough bark.

"I love you too, sweetie," she whispered in his ear.

The other man, the one called Jones, had completely disappeared. Circling around, Kier supposed. Jones would be looking for tracks. Soon he would discover their trail. Their tracks would be visible for a good hour or so before they became misshapen impressions that only a careful eye would detect.

Kier took her aside. "You saw the bio-packs in the tail section. It could be—"

"We might have a disease. Or several diseases. I know, I know."

"If we've been exposed to something dangerous—"

"I won't go near Claudie or the kids."

"Or anyone else."

"I understand contagious."

"We don't have time to go all through this. You've got to keep Miller cuffed and backtrack his trail so you aren't obvious. I'm sure you'll be angling sharply away from Claudie's. Eventually, you should come to the stream. Turn and head down it. Stay in the water and don't leave a single track. You'll come to the bridge at Claudie's driveway and our vehicles. Don't wait for me. Hopefully, all these soldiers will be converging on the plane. Give Claudie and the kids the truck. Take the Volvo and go as far as you can to the north, away from Johnson City. They won't expect that."

"Where are you going?"