Patriots Betrayed (34 page)

Authors: John Grit

BOOK: Patriots Betrayed

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“Don’t do that,” a gravelly voice that came from behind warned. “I’ll kill you where you stand.”

There was something unusual about the voice that caught Dale’s attention. It sounded Hispanic, but that wasn’t it. There was a strange quality to it. He froze, then slowly turned to face a much younger man than he expected, judging by his voice. He could not see the man’s face because he wore a ski mask, but his body was that of a young man.

“You stepped in it. Stepped in it bad.” Appearing to be in his late twenties to early thirties, the man was dressed in an expensive suit, and his jet black-hair flowed out from the bottom of the ski mask and down to his shoulders.

Dale’s attention was on the muzzle of the 12-gauge shotgun pointed at his face. He raised his hands. “I’m with the Wildlife Commission and am here to give you a ticket for operating a motorized vehicle in a closed area.” He wondered if his voice sounded as weak to the man as it did to him. The man’s harsh laugh burned his ears, and he knew he was in trouble.

“Walk this way,” the man said, “and we’ll see if we can keep you alive. You haven’t seen enough of the others to ID them yet, and you haven’t seen the tag on the Cad. I’m a bit worried about the numbers on the boat, though.”

Dale started to say something about how he hadn’t seen a thing, but decided to keep quiet.

When Dale stepped closer, the man said, “Grab the radio mike and snatch it off your shirt and let it dangle from its cord.”

Dale did what he was told.

The man kept the shotgun aimed at Dale’s face. “Pull the radio out of its carrier and drop it in the mud.”

A woman’s voice came over the radio. “Have you made contact with the subject yet?” Dale ignored it and dropped the radio at his feet. That radio was his only chance, but he had no choice. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but whatever it is there’s no need to kill me.”

“I agree,” the man said, “otherwise you would be dead already. Just do what I say like you’ve been doing and we’ll be out of here in a few minutes and leave you tied to a tree.”

Dale nodded, just lowered his head a fraction of an inch. “Okay. I have a wife I want to go home to.”

“Don’t we all,” the man said. “Now lie on your belly and put your hands behind your head so I can take that pistol without us two getting into some kind of a death dance that ends with your head blown off.”

After the man threw Dale’s pistol in the woods, he asked, “Do you have handcuffs on you?”

Dale said, “No. Left them in the vehicle.”

“Remove the strings from your shoes.”

Dale sat on the ground and did so, then wadded them in his hand and threw them to the man.

The man motioned to his left with his head. “Walk that way, so I can find a tree to tie you to.”

“There’s a tree right there,” Dale said, his voice cracking with fear.

“I’m trying to keep you alive, remember? If you get a look at anyone, you’re dead. You understand? Now move. I’ll tie you up back in the brush so there won’t be any chance of that.”

They walked fifteen yards and came to a pine tree eight inches in diameter. “Sit down with your back against that one,” the man said. He tied Dale’s hands behind him. “Just sit there and be quiet. We’ll be gone soon. It might be morning before they find you, but you’ll be alive.” The man walked off. Someone cranked the outboards on the boat and drove downriver, the roar of the motors fading into the distance.

Almost gagging from fear, Dale sat there and listened for the sound of the SUV driving away, wishing to hear that sound with everything he had.
They’re druggies for sure.
He gasped for air.
Calm down.
They have no reason to kill me.
Five minutes later, he heard voices coming closer.

The rough-voiced man said, “Damn it, Boss, there’s no reason. He didn’t see anything but the front of the Cad.”

Dale’s heart jumped into high gear. He almost lost it when thinking about his wife and how this was going to hurt her, not only now but the rest of her life. He thought of his big brother, who had protected him from bullies in school.
Don’t do anything stupid over this, Lee.

A man with a thick South American accent said, Queeny hasn’t had a taste of blood in months.”

“Oh, hell. I wish I had shot him. He’s just a game warden, Boss.”

Another Hispanic man spoke up. “He
is
the boss, and you seem to be forgetting that. Now stay here and stand watch while he has his fun.”

Dale’s chest heaved. He heard them coming. The sun had set, and it was growing dark, but he could see the sadistic sneer on the Hispanic man’s face as he opened the five-inch pocket knife. “No!”

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Feathers on the Wings of Love and Hate 2:

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Apocalypse Law 2

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Apocalypse Law 3