The Devil Colony (11 page)

What the hell is going on out there?

Chapter 7

May 30, 3:52
P.M.
Utah Wilderness

Hank leaned low over the mare’s withers, avoiding low-hanging branches as the horse raced downhill through a forest of Douglas firs, western spruce, and lodgepole pines. Still, he got battered and scraped. Behind him, clutching tightly around his waist, Kai fared no better.

He heard her sudden cries of pain, felt her bounce high out of the saddle they shared, but mostly he sensed her terror, her fingers digging into his shirt, her breath ragged.

Hank gave Mariah free rein, trusting her footing and eye for the terrain. He corrected her only with sudden tugs on the lead to keep her path within the shelter of the forest. His dog, Kawtch, kept up with them, racing low to the ground, taking a more direct path through the trees.

Behind them, the military helicopter gave chase, thundering above the treetops. The woodland canopy offered some protection, but Hank was growing more certain that the hunters were tracking them by body heat, using infrared.

Off to the left, a spate of gunfire shredded needles and branches from a spruce tree. Splinters stung his exposed cheek. The hunters’ aim was getting better. As the roar of the chain guns died away, a sharp cry burst forth behind him.

“Professor!” Kai called out. She risked freeing an arm and pointed.

Ahead, a meadow cut across their path, bright with sunshine. It was wide and grassy, dotted by a few scraggly junipers and a handful of granite outcroppings. The forest continued beyond the meadow, but how to reach it? Out in the open, they’d be picked off easily.

As if sensing his worry, Mariah began to slow.

Someone else also noted their dire situation. A fresh rattle of gunfire tore into the forest behind them.

They’re trying to drive us out of the forest.

With no choice but to obey, Hank spurred Mariah into a full gallop, faster than was safe in the dense woods. He whistled for Kawtch to keep at his side as they burst into the sunshine. Free of the forest, Hank aimed for the closest rocky outcropping. Gunfire pursued them, ripping twin lines through the grass as both of the chopper’s guns let loose.

Hank ripped Mariah around the outcropping as if it were a barrel in a rodeo race. The mare cut sharply, hooves digging deep into the loose soil and grass. Hank leaned to keep balance, but he felt Kai’s arms slip, caught by surprise by the sudden turn.

“Hold tight!” he hollered.

But she was not the only one who was surprised by the maneuver.

Rounds sparked off the stone that shielded them—then the chopper shot past overhead, missing its target. It spun, banking around, pivoting to come at them again.

Hank had not slowed Mariah. He aimed straight for the diving helicopter. As it swung to face them, he tugged his pistol from his holster. It was a Ruger Blackhawk, powerful enough to deal with the occasional wild bear. He didn’t know if it was an act of war for a Native American to fire upon a National Guard chopper, but he had not started this fight. Plus his goal was not to kill, only to distract.

He pulled the trigger over and over again as he raced head-on toward the helicopter, emptying the clip. He saw no reason to be reserved. A few rounds even found their target, cracking off the windshield.

The attack caught the hunters off guard.

The chopper bobbled, a spate of return fire cut off abruptly, aborted as the vehicle jostled the gunmen. Hank used his heels to urge Mariah onward, ducking straight under the belly of the helicopter. It was so low now that Hank could have reached up and brushed his hand along the landing skids.

He spotted one of the gunmen hanging out an open hatch overhead, dressed all in commando black. They locked eyes, then Mariah cleared the helicopter. With the thunder of the engines and pound of the rotor wash, the mare needed no further urging.

Mariah shot for the woods again, diving back into the shadows.

Kawtch hit the forest’s edge a few yards to the left.

The chopper’s engines whined into a banshee’s cry as it climbed again and spun after them.

This cat-and-mouse game could not last forever. They’d been lucky so far, but farther down the mountainside, the alpine forests would dwindle to a smattering of oaks and open fields. The hunters must have known the same. The helicopter sped after them. Their pursuers would not be surprised again.

Plus Hank was out of bullets.

A sparkle of silver drew his eyes to the right. A small stream, glacier-cut and flooded with snowmelt and rain from the passing storm, raced down a series of cataracts. He used his knees to guide Mariah toward it.

Once they’d reached the bank, he goosed Mariah with his heels. She leaped into the middle of the stream with a heavy splash—but from here, they would need to part ways.

Hank let loose the reins, grabbed Kai’s wrist, and rolled out of the saddle downstream of the horse. With his other hand, he managed a fast slap to Mariah’s rump, both as a good-bye and to get her moving.

She jumped out of the river as Hank and Kai hit the freezing-cold water. Kawtch splashed next to them. The current grabbed them all and spun them downstream. The last thing he heard before being dragged underwater was a sharp cry from the girl.

Kai scrambled for the surface, kicking wildly, striking a soft body with her heel. She had been too stunned to react when she was first pulled out of the saddle, but once the cold struck her, it loosed a scream, one trapped inside her since the explosion hours ago.

Then her mouth was full of water.

Out of breath from her yell, she choked as her body was flung around. Slick rocks battered her. Ice-cold water swamped her nose. Then her head was above water again. She coughed and cried. Arms scooped her and pulled her toward shore. She tried to scramble out of the river, but strong hands yanked her back into the water.

“Stay here,” Professor Kanosh hissed. He looked half drowned, his gray hair plastered to his skull. His dog climbed onto a boulder, still standing belly-deep in the stream.

“Why?” she asked, her teeth already beginning to chatter, both from the cold and the terror.

He pointed up.

She searched and spotted the helicopter vanishing over a ridgeline to the west.

“Body heat,” the professor explained. “It was how they were tracking us so well through the woods, why we couldn’t escape. Hopefully they’ll chase Mariah’s big sweating rump deep into the woods. ”

Kai understood. “And the cold water here . . . it helped hide us.”

“A bit of sleight of hand. What sort of Indians would we be if we couldn’t outfox a hunter in the woods?”

Despite the terror of their situation, his eyes smiled. She felt warmer for it.

“Let’s go,” he said, and helped haul her out of the frigid stream.

His dog clambered out after them and shook his coat, spraying water, as if nothing had happened.

Kai tried to do the same herself, shaking her hair, then her jacket, seeking to shed as much of the chill from her body as she could. One of the gold plates fell out of her jacket and struck the ground. Professor Kanosh’s eyes fixed to the plate, but he made no move to take the burden from her. So she retrieved it and returned it alongside the other in her jacket.

Professor Kanosh pointed downhill. “We need to keep moving, keep warm.”

“Where can we go?” she asked, her teeth still chattering.

“First, as far from here as possible. That trick will fool those hunters only until Mariah breaks free of the forest. Once they see her saddle’s empty, they’ll come backtracking, and we want to be long gone.”

“Then what?”

“Back to civilization. Look for help. Get ourselves surrounded by people on our side.”

He headed down the mountain, following a thin deer trail, but she read the worry in his face. She also remembered the call he had interrupted when he found her. Uncle Crowe was some bigwig in Washington, something to do with national security. He was not actually a close relative, but a half uncle on her father’s side—whatever that meant. She had met him only a handful of times, last at her father’s funeral. But all of the Pequot tribe was an extended family. The entire clan was a tangle of bloodlines and family relationships. She had a thousand aunties and uncles. But everyone knew if you were in big trouble, a call to Uncle Crowe could help smooth feathers.

“I know someone who might help us,” she said.

As she walked, she reached into her pants pocket and removed her cell phone. Water dripped from it after the dunk in the stream. It wouldn’t power up. She scowled and shoved it away. She doubted she could’ve gotten a signal anyway. She’d been lucky earlier to get a single bar when higher up the mountain.

Professor Kanosh noted her efforts. “Okay, then the first order of business is to reach a phone before the hunters regain the scent of our trail. Even if it means turning ourselves over to the state police or the National Guard.”

She tripped a step. “But those were the ones who were trying to kill us.”

“No. I got a look at their uniforms. They were certainly soldiers, but not with any National Guard unit.”

“Then who?”

“Maybe it’s still the government, or maybe a mercenary group looking to cash in on some bounty. Either way, I know only one thing for sure.”

“What’s that?”

His next words chilled her more than the dip in the icy stream. “Whoever they are, they want you dead.”

Chapter 8

May 30, 9:18
P.M.
Salt Lake City, Utah

“Did she at least leave a number?” Painter asked as he climbed into the passenger seat of a Chevy Tahoe with government plates. It sat on the tarmac near the private Gulfstream jet they’d flown from D.C.

Kowalski already sat behind the wheel, cranking the seat back to accommodate his large frame. Their third teammate, Chin, had transferred to a National Guard helicopter heading up to the blast site in the Rocky Mountains—but before Painter could direct his full attention to the anomalous explosion, he had another matter to address.

Kat’s voice sounded tinny over the encrypted line. “That’s all I could get out of your niece. But she sounded scared. And paranoid. She called from a disposable cell phone. But she did leave the cell’s number and asked for you to call her immediately after you landed.”

“Give me the number.”

She did, but she had more news. “Commander Pierce also reported in.” From the grimness of her tone, it didn’t sound like good news. “He’s with Seichan.”

Painter’s fingers tightened on the phone. “She’s back in the U.S.?”

“Seems so.”

Painter closed his eyes for a breath. He’d had no inkling that Seichan was back on American soil. But with her training and connections, he shouldn’t have been surprised. Still, her sudden resurfacing suggested something major was afoot. “What’s wrong?”

“She claims to have a lead on Echelon.”

“What sort of lead?” He sat straighter in his seat as Kowalski kept the SUV idling. Echelon was the code name for the leaders of the shadowy terrorist organization called the Guild. He began to regret leaving D.C.

“Gray didn’t elaborate. Only said that she needed his help to gain access to the National Archives. They’re meeting with a museum curator this evening.”

Painter scrunched his brow. Why was Seichan sniffing around the National Archives? The museum was a storehouse of America’s historical manuscripts and documents. What could any of its contents have to do with the Guild? He checked his watch. It was half past nine, which meant it was after midnight in D.C. Late to be meeting with museum personnel.

“Gray said he’d call back if there was any breakthrough. I’ll keep you informed.”

“Do that. I’ll see if I can’t clear up this matter with my niece, then return to D.C. in the morning. Till then, keep holding down the fort.”

Kat signed off, and Painter tapped in the phone number he’d memorized. It was answered on the first ring by a rushed voice.

“Uncle Crowe?”

“Kai, where are you?”

A silent moment stretched. He heard a gruff voice in the background, urging her to answer.

Still, her words came haltingly, balanced between tears and terror. “I’m . . . we’re in Provo. On the campus of Brigham Young University. At the offices of Professor Henry Kanosh.”

Painter squinted his eyes. Why did that name sound familiar? Then he remembered a report he’d read while en route from D.C. to Salt Lake City, a preliminary debriefing of the events up in the mountains. The professor had been a close associate of the anthropologist killed by the blast.

She gave him an office address, still sounding terrified.

He did his best to reassure her. “I can be in Provo in an hour.” Painter waved for Kowalski to head out of the airport. “Stay put until I get there.”

A new speaker replaced Kai on the phone. “Mr. Crowe, this is Hank Kanosh. You don’t know me.”

“You were a colleague of Margaret Grantham. You were at the site during the explosion.” Painter shifted his briefcase up from the floorboard to his lap. He had a preliminary file on the man, along with files on many others who had witnessed the blast.

A pause indicated the professor’s surprise at his knowledge, but the hitch in his voice suggested the hesitation was more than just surprise. “Maggie . . . she preferred to be called Maggie.”

Painter softened his voice. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“I appreciate that, but you should know that your niece and I were attacked while escaping from the mountains. A helicopter bearing National Guard markings fired upon us.”

“What?” He had heard no report from Kat about a sighting of the supposed terrorist, let alone someone shooting at her.

“But I don’t think they were actually with the National Guard. They seemed more like a mercenary group, maybe bounty hunters who had access to a Guard chopper.”

Painter wasn’t buying that explanation, especially since the sighting and shooting hadn’t been called in through proper channels. Someone else had tried to apprehend or eliminate the supposed terrorist. This raised a new fear. “Professor Kanosh, could you have been recognized by those hunters?”