Safe and Sound (23 page)

“What the hell happened here?” Keller asked. He gritted his teeth as the car slammed into another rut.

“Acid rain,” Riggio said. “Power plants and shit in Tennessee and the Ohio Valley. The wind blows the smoke right up here. When the clouds form, they’re like battery acid. Any trees that don’t die outright are so weak they’re killed by bugs.” As if to emphasize his words, a wisp of cloud blew by below them in the valley. It would normally have been a beautiful sight but for the army of dead trees beneath the cloud. Then the road took a hard left and the blasted hillside was out of view as they passed between up-thrusting rocks on either side. Then the rocks were gone. The road suddenly widened out into a large circular clearing, like a parking lot. A battered and ancient Ford pickup sat to one side. There were pine needles covering the trunk and stuck on the windows. Keller pulled the car over next to the truck. They got out. Next to the truck, a gravel path led into the trees. Another no trespassing sign was nailed up by the path

“Jesus,” Keller said. “This guy really doesn’t like company.” He reached back into the car and pulled the shotgun from its rack.

“Hold it,” Powell said. “You’d better leave that here.”

“Like hell,” Keller said.

“He’s not going to like you coming onto his property armed,” Riggio warned.

“He’ll get used to it,” Keller said. “You said you were on an exercise when you first met Harland. I don’t suppose you were carrying bouquets of flowers.”

Powell sighed. “Whatever. At least sling it on your back, okay?”

Keller thought for a moment.

“Look,” Powell said impatiently, “We’re here to talk, not fight. And if he does decide to fight, that thing won’t do you a bit of good. You’ll never see him coming.”

“Okay,” Keller said. He slung the weapon on his back.

Powell and Riggio shouldered their packs. “Follow me,” Powell said.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

When the telephone rang, the man his colleagues knew only as Mr. Phillips was seated in his arm-chair, reading. He sighed and put the book aside. No one ever seemed to call until he was sitting down engrossed in a book. And the book was one of his favorites, too. He picked the phone up. “Hello?” The voice was soft but steady, with a distinctively British accent.

“How’s retirement treating you, rooinek?”

Phillips grimaced. DeGroot never tired of calling him by the Afrikaans term for an English speaker. It literally meant “redneck,” but any of the ironic humor of the term being applied to the reticent Phillips had long since been bled away by repetition.

“I’m well,” Phillips said politely. “And you?”

“Fine. I scheme that retirement’s gotten a bit boring for you, else you wouldn’t have answered my little message.”

“It was the bit about a potential large payoff that caught my eye.”

“Need some money, hey?”

“Who doesn’t, really?”

“Willing to take a few risks for it?”

“If the payoff is sufficient.”

“Don’t worry. As always, no one will ever know you’re there. Not until it’s too late. Still got your skills, have you? Still in practice?”

In fact, Phillips had taken his rifle out to the range the day before and fired over two hundred rounds through it. He didn’t stop until he could consistently put six consecutive bullets into a one-inch circle at a hundred yards. “Not bad for an old guy,” another shooter had remarked. Phillips had ignored him.

“Yes” was all he said.

“Lekker,” DeGroot said. “So you’re in, hey?”

“Yes,” Phillips said again.

“Got a pencil?” DeGroot asked.

“I don’t require one,” Phillips said. “Just tell me the meeting place.”

DeGroot chuckled. “Still showing off, I see.” Phillips didn’t answer. DeGroot gave him the directions. Phillips said good-bye and hung up. He looked at the phone for a moment, then dialed again. The voice on the other end answered by repeating the last four digits of the phone number.

“He called,” Phillips said.

“You told him yes?” the voice said.

“That’s what you asked me to do.”

“Good. I’ve booked a flight for you. It leaves at six-thirty.”

Phillips grimaced. “Commercial?”

“Anything else would be too conspicuous. When you reach your destination, I’ve rented you a car.”

This was the second time the man on the other end had said “I” and not “we.” This operation must truly be off the books. It wouldn’t be the first time, but, Phillips thought, it was going to be the last if he could help it. The comments of rude
Americans aside, he was getting old for this sort of thing. He hung up the phone and glanced at his watch. He sighed. If he was going to make his flight, he’d have to leave immediately. Properly cased and unloaded, his rifle could be checked as baggage, as could his specially hand-loaded ammunition when properly stowed. Eventually, the airline security people could be convinced that he was harmless, just a rich hunter traveling to find big game. But that took time. The one thing he dreaded, especially where he was going, was when some security guard wanted to talk deer or dove or some other kind of actual game hunting with him. He had no interest in killing defenseless animals.

Phillips stood up and stretched. He picked up his book again. He would finish it on the plane, but he didn’t think he’d bring this copy. It was a rare first edition and he didn’t want to risk damaging it. He ran his finger over the raised letters of the title. Red Harvest.

***

“Whoa,” Keller said.

The path ended abruptly at the edge of a deep ravine. A hundred or more feet below, the stream that had cleaved the cleft of the mountain foamed over rocks. A narrow wooden trestle spanned the gap to the other side, a distance of forty to fifty feet. Rusted railway tracks ran down the center, ending where the trestle joined the trail.

“What is this place?” Marie asked.

Powell gestured to the other side. “There’s an old played-out mine on the other side. It dates back to before the Civil War. This is what’s left of the tracks for
the train that brought the ore down the mountain. The trail we just came up is the old railroad bed.”

“You were right,” Keller said. “You could hold off an army from here.”

“Told you,” Powell said. “This is the only way in from the road, across here. Down the other side is just woods.

It’s where the national park begins.”

“So where’s your friend?” Keller said.

Riggio cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hey!” he yelled. “Hey!” The sound bounced and echoed off the walls of the gorge. There was no response.

“He had to have heard that,” Powell said. “Let’s go on.”

“I don’t want to go on there,” Ben said. “It’s scary.”

Marie bent down and picked him up. “Just put your head on my shoulder, baby,” she said. “I’ll carry you.”

Ben looked dubious, but he put his head against Marie’s shoulder and closed his eyes. They picked their way carefully across the bridge in single file. Halfway across, Keller looked down. He saw several familiar objects fastened to the supports of the bridge. He pointed. “Are those what I think they are?” he whispered to Riggio, who was right behind him.

Riggio nodded. “Yep,” he said, “he’s got the trestle wired.” He gave a tight humorless grin. “Don’t worry, though,” he said. “He wouldn’t blow it just to kill us. He could have just picked us off if he wanted to do that.”

When they reached the other side, they could see the mouth of the old mine, recessed slightly into the cliff ahead. The opening was sealed shut with heavy
timbers nailed close together, the whole construction overgrown with a snarl of vines and creepers. A well-worn path led past the mine, into another stand of trees. “The camp’s through there,” Powell said. “When we get to the edge, we’ll stop and call again until somebody answers.”

“How do you know anyone’s still here?” Keller asked. “Maybe Harland gave up, too.”

Powell shook his head. “No,” he said. He gestured at the path. “That’s been kept clear.”

“Okay,” Keller said. “Let’s go.” The woods were thick here, arching over the path like the roof of a tunnel. They fell naturally back into single file, Powell in the lead, Keller behind him, then Marie with Ben in her arms, then Riggio bringing up the rear. After a few hundred yards, they began descending. They had to pick their way carefully; even though the way was clear of brush and vine, rocks jutted up through the clay soil. Finally, the trail and the trees ended together at a low stone wall with a wooden gate. Beyond the wall was a large rectangle of flat ground, about the size of a football field, where the slope of the mountain leveled off before beginning its descent again.

The long sides of the rectangle were lined with small log houses, a half dozen on either side. The area between them was grass, as flat and well trimmed as a parade ground. On the opposite end of the rectangle was a larger building, two stories tall, also made of hewn native timber. An American flag hung limp on a pole in front of the broad wooden doors.

Powell cupped to his hands to his mouth and called out. “Hey! Hello!” There was no answer. He called again. Still nothing.

“Maybe he’s out hunting,” Powell said. He turned to them. “I think we should…” He stopped, his eyes widening. “Where’s Mikey?”

Keller looked around. Riggio was gone. He reached for the shotgun slung on his back.

“I wouldn’t,” a voice said.

Keller froze.

“Put your hands down,” the voice said. “Where I can see them.”

The speaker was standing a few feet away. She seemed to have materialized out of the trees. She was a short woman, barely over five feet, dressed in green camo. She looked to be barely out of her teens. Her features were clearly Asian, but she spoke with no trace of accent. Her dark eyes were hard and appraising. She held a shotgun of her own trained on Keller’s chest.

“Lisa?” Powell said.

Her eyes flicked toward him briefly, then took in Marie and Ben before returning to Keller. “Hi, Bobby,” she said. “Long time no see. Who’re your friends?”

“Lisa,” Powell said, “we need a place to stay for a few days.”

“Plenty of hotels around,” she said.

“We’ve, ah, run into some trouble,” Powell said.

“And this is our problem? Why, exactly?”

“Ma’am,” Marie interrupted softly, “could you please stop pointing that gun at us? You’re scaring my son.”

The woman looked at Marie and Ben expressionlessly for a few moments. Ben stared back, wide-eyed and trembling. She looked back at Keller. “Reach back,” she told him. “Slowly. Grab the shotgun by the barrel. Put it on the ground.” Something in Keller’s eyes made her hands tighten around her own weapon. She raised it slightly. “No stranger comes armed into camp,” she said, as if reciting from a rule book.

“Please, Jack,” Marie said. Gritting his teeth, Keller complied. As he straightened up, Lisa lowered her own weapon, then slung it on her back. She walked over to where Ben huddled against Marie’s leg and went to one knee. “I’m sorry if I scared you,” she said gently, “but we have to be careful of strangers.” She held out a slender hand. “My name’s Lisa,” she said. “I live here with my dad.”

Ben looked dubious for a moment, then reached out and shook her hand. “I’m Ben,” he said in a small voice. “My dad got shot.”

A look of shock crossed her face for a moment, then she re-formed her features into the impassive mask. “I’m sorry to hear that, Ben,” she said. She looked up at Marie. “You’d better come in,” she said. She straightened up, walked to the gate and swung it open. “Welcome to Camp Phoenix,” she said formally.

They looked at each other, then preceded her through the gate. “Lisa,” Powell said, “Mike was with us…”

“I know,” she said shortly. “He’s fine. I sent him to the mess hall.” Then, unexpectedly, she grinned. The smile made her look almost impish. “Boy,” she said, “was he surprised when I took him down!”

“Wait a minute,” Powell said. “You took him down?”

Lisa looked smug. “You betcha,” she said. “Things have changed a lot around here since you guys were here last.”

“Looks like it,” Powell said. His face split into a grin. “Man,” he said, “am I going to give Mikey some shit about this.” He began to laugh. Lisa laughed along with him. Then so quickly that her figure seemed to blur, she dropped to the ground in a curious twisting motion. One leg came around viciously and swept Powell’s feet from beneath him. He gave a startled yelp as he crashed heavily to the ground. He looked up dumbfounded at Lisa, who had sprung back to her feet and was smiling wickedly down at him.

“Now you’ve both got something to laugh about,” she said brightly.

Keller bent down and helped Powell to his feet. Powell looked furious for a moment, then he chuckled. “Pretty good, Lise,” he said ruefully. “I underestimated you.” His face hardened. “But you won’t get a chance like that again.”

“I only need one,” she said. She turned and began walking again.

As they walked across the commons, Keller noticed that the log houses on either side were boarded up. Padlocks fastened every door. They drew even with the flagpole. Keller glanced up. The American flag was hanging upside down in the symbol of distress. The sight stopped him in his tracks. “What’s the emergency?” he asked.