The Daisy Ducks (33 page)

"Be careful as you approach," he said into
the microphone, "especially in this falling light. Doc and I
will be inside the buildings or off to the side in the bush."

We had a look at the old buildings. There was nothing
unusual about them. The only thing we noticed was against the outside
wall of the largest structure: a big horizontal tank on a metal rack
with a lever spigot. Kaunitz rapped the tank up and down and
pronounced it half full. Of what? He opened the spigot for a split
second and let the gold liquid gush onto his hand, which he sniffed.
Diesel fuel, he reported.

"Diesel? For what? The old engines are gas
powered. And I'm sure the locomotives they used to have out here were
steam."

"I know," he said. "That's why it's
interesting."

"Where do you think the tracks lead in this
direction?" I asked.

Kaunitz gazed at the old right of way that
disappeared into the pines, heading west.

"Who can say? They might go all the way to
Tennessee." He had put his boot on the rail and stood there, his
foot cocked up, looking at the old rails as they converged far away
in the trees. Then he looked down at his boot.

"I think I feel something," he said. I
knelt down on the ties and put my ear to the rail. A faint thrumming
and clicking came through, and we jumped for the trees, went to
earth, and waited. A few minutes later we both heard the growl of an
engine, then saw motion through the trees. A strange vehicle ghosted
into view. It was a small wooden flatcar, like the kind used by
railroad work crews, that appeared to be homemade. The platform was
mounted on a pair of standard boxcar trucks, but the engine was the
interesting part. It was an old Minneapolis-Moline farm tractor. The
cowling was still in place over the engine, but its wheels and
undercarriage had been removed, and the spinning driveshaft connected
to a drive wheel and chain drive that ran down through the platform
to the truck wheels. The exhaust stack stuck up through the tractor's
cowling. It was sooty black at the tip, and dark smoke chuffed out
the top. And that, I realized, solved the puzzle of the half tractor
I had spotted in Royce's barn. They'd pirated its engine and drive
mechanism to power their little train. The wooden platform
clickity-clacked by us, going about ten miles an hour. On the
platform were two men in fatigues, each holding a rifle. They didn't
stop at the mill, but rolled right by and disappeared around the
bend, headed in the direction we'd just come from.

"Don't like that," said Kaunitz. "One:
they're probably going to relieve that sniper. And they'll find him
trussed up, which will blow our insertion we worked so hard for. Two:
that contraption with two more men, plus our sniper friend, means
that Royce has a bigger operation than we thought. This isn't going
to be a cake walk."

"I've had that feeling for some time."

We lay low until we heard a crow cawing nearby.
Kaunitz waited, then blew into the crow call he had hung around his
neck. The crow cawed back. Soon Summers and Desmond were with us. It
was past five-thirty, which meant less than an hour of daylight left.
I said we should head back. Night comes fast in the mountains; once
the sun goes down, the valleys fill up with darkness quickly. We all
agreed and had stood up for the trek back when the sound came through
the trees again. We hit the dirt.

There was that little trolley once more, huffing and
chuffing back the way it had come. But this time there were three men
on the little wooden platform. The third man's face was almost hidden
by his bush hat, but the setting sun caught his face for an instant
as the car rolled past, and I recognized the priest.

"Jusue1o," said Summers under his breath as
the iron wheels clicked and chuckled past our heads. I noticed that
in addition to the extra man, the platform was also loaded with gear:
olive drab ammo boxes and several wooden and cardboard cartons. Then
it was gone, and only the dark wisps of oily smoke and the distant
click-clack of the rolling trucks were evidence of its passing. We
stayed put until Kaunitz got to his feet, looking warily around him.

"C'mon," he said. "Let's get back to
our gagged sentry and march him back to camp."

We retraced our earlier route. There was the kid all
right, just where we'd left him. Kaunitz unfastened him from the tree
and let him take a leak. Then he retied his hands behind his back and
took off the gag.

"What's your name, boy?" he asked.

The kid didn't answer. Kaunitz made a half turn away
from the boy, as if he had given up and would continue walking. But
then, quick as lightning, he spun around and swung with an open hand
that was a blur, catching the kid's jaw with the heel of his palm.
The boy, not expecting the blow, was knocked spinning into the bush.

Summers reached down and picked him up by the collar.
He shook him twice, the way a terrier shakes a rat, and set him on
his wobbly legs.

"Man ax you a question. What's your name?"

"Why do you want to know?" the kid managed.

Whap!
Summers popped him
hard on the face with the back of his big hand.

"Don't gimme no mess-around," he said.

"I . . . I —"

Whap!

"Don't gimme no jiveass," growled Summers,
popping the kid again.

There were two bright red streaks coming from his
mouth and nose now, mixed with snot and tears. I felt sorry for the
boy, who probably wasn't older than twenty. I stepped between Summers
and the kid, wiping his mouth with my handkerchief

"Listen kiddo, you can go either way with these
guys. You can play it tough, like they do in the movies, and get the
shit beat out of you. Or you can tell us what we want to know and
save your skin. Believe me kid, they mean business. I want you to
think about this on the walk back."

He looked into my face and the tears came hard. He
bit his lip to keep them back, but it didn't work.

"My name's Darryl Royce," he said. "Please
mister, don't let them kill me!"

He was crying in earnest now and could barely stand.
I was about to cry too, dammit. I couldn't help it; I saw Jack and
Tony in the kid. Nothing like being a dad to make you soft. I turned
the kid around and pointed him in the right direction.

"We're not here to kill you, son," I said.
"I think you've got a good idea why we're here, don't you? Now
these gentlemen are going to ask you questions. For your sake, and
for the sake of your friends, you'd better not hold back. As soon as
we get what's ours, we'll leave these mountains. If you help us,
we'll leave quickly and without hurting anyone, including Bill Royce.
Is he a brother or a cousin?"

"Cousin. How I know you're not lyin'?"

"Unfortunately you don't. You'll have to take my
word. Now march, and don't you forget what I said."

So we walked on until we hit the highway. It was
almost dark now, and we weren't worried about blowing our cover,
since no doubt they would miss the kid anyway. We decided the best
thing to do was to get back to camp fast. We marched the kid along
the shoulder of the road, leaving it and going to ground when we
heard vehicles. just before eight, we caught sight of the camper
through the trees. As we approached it, Kaunitz blew on his crow
call. We got an answer from the trees, and Roantis appeared. As soon
as he saw the kid, he went right by us, walking intently toward him.
The kid stood on the old logging road with his hands tied. Then we
were all standing in a circle around him, asking questions. Was Daisy
all right? How many men were with Royce? Where were they? What were
they doing? What did they want? The kid began slowly, but once
started, droned on and on. He puked twice; he was literally scared
sick. We left him there with Desmond, who was soon sitting with him
under a pine tree, talking like an old friend.

We went inside the camper and sat around the dinette
table drinking coffee. There were several avenues we could take.
Summers and Kaunitz wanted to repay in kind, holding young Darryl
Royce until we got Daisy back. I knew it was time to speak up.

"We could hold the kid, sure," I said. "But
it's dumb. One: we'll need at least one man to watch him, and we need
all of us. Two: up till now, they haven't hurt her, or me. And
they've had reason to and plenty of chances to do it. I don't think
they want any bloodshed, and I'm telling all you guys, I don't
either. I say we march the kid into town and hand him over to Roger
Penland. The law can question him and get some answers. That makes us
the good guys, Royce and Jusuelo the bad guys. The law can get
special teams to go after them. Helicopters, dogs, the works."

There was silence. The men looked at each other, then
at me. Summers sighed and shrugged his shoulders, glowering in my
direction.

"Doc's right," he said simply. From the guy
I least expected. But Roantis shook his head.

"Okay," said Roantis, "except for one
thing. Bringing in the heat like that. If they crowd Royce, he might
kill her. I'm pretty sure Jusuelo would. Also, how much of a chance
will the deputies have against that bunch? Huh? You tell me, Doc.
Freddie says you just missed getting blown away by a booby trap,
right? Ha! They go after Royce and Jusuelo, they'll get chewed up. I
don't care how many choppers and dogs they got. And a lot of people
are going to die."

"Then what do we do?" asked Kaunitz.

Roantis lighted a Camel and thought for a few
seconds.

"First, we bring the kid in here and find out
all we can. Exact numbers and locations. We'll use the maps and
decide how to go after them. We can go in quicker and softer than any
police team, Doc. Believe me. We know how to do it."

Kaunitz and Summers nodded.

"Okay," he continued. "Then we take
the kid to town and leave him somewhere where he'll be found in
twelve hours or so, to give us a head start —"

"Yeah, and then he'll tell the heat where to
find us," said Summers. "Ain't no good."

"No," said Kaunitz, "I'm not so sure
he will. He'll spill to us because he's afraid we'll kill him. But
why tell the law?"

"Don't kid yourself They could make him spill,"
said Summers, whose experience with the police on Chicago's South
Side I could very well imagine.

"How about this?" I said. "We take the
kid into the police and tell them just what happened. Then we go back
to Asheville and wait till they release Daisy. When she's back safe,
let the law go after them."

"Nah," said Freddie. "The law will
start after them right away, and Royce will get wind of it. Then they
won't release Daisy, or they might even hurt her. You're right about
one thing, Doc: so far they haven't hurt anyone. But the law goes
after them, that will change."

"We'll tell Penland to wait until we get her
back."

"He won't do it," said Roantis. "The
law's not trained to wait. They'll rush into the bush, get chewed up,
and a lot of people will get hurt. Guarantee it. Now here's the
drill: we truss the kid up somewhere so he'll be found the next day,
and then we move in on them fast, before Royce even knows what's up."

All the Ducks thought this was the best plan. I
thought it stunk. Problem was, so did every other plan we could think
of. So we got the kid inside in front of the maps and pumped him
good. Twice he hesitated. The first time, Summers popped him in the
face again. The second time, Kaunitz took him out into the woods. He
brought the kid back shortly; the boy was shaking and ashen-faced. I
don't know what Kaunitz said or did to him out there, and I still
don't want to know, but the poor boy would've turned in his own
mother.

We learned that Jusuelo was the drugrunner, not
Royce, although Bill was going along with it to supply his own
voracious habit and to finance a community of survivalists in the
mountains along the North Carolina-Tennessee border. Though fed up
with the military, Royce was, according to his young cousin, set on
establishing his own little wilderness outpost. In a cave and two
abandoned mines, he'd set up living quarters, tool sheds, a field
hospital, a training camp, and vast storage facilities for food, arms
and ammunition, crude agricultural equipment, and off-road vehicles
and fuel. He had done this in less than a year with the help of
soldier friends, relatives like young Darryl, and mostly young
drifters from the small mountain towns who didn't want to spend the
rest of their lives pumping out children and debts, working at gas
stations and hardscrabble clay farms, or moving down off the mountain
to work in the mill. About ten or twelve men were actually out there
now, at least half of whom were also hiding from the law. The kid
pointed out their location on the map. Daisy was in the mine, but
they moved her often. She wasn't hurt or sick, not that he could
tell.

"Now why?" asked Roantis as he helped the
kid to his feet. "Why's he doing all this? What does he want?"

The kid wasn't sure. He suspected that Royce wanted
to set up an armed and fortified haven to survive the nuclear war he
was certain was coming and to hold sway over his little kingdom,
where nobody would ever abandon or betray him again. Ever.