19
No one would ever learn who leaked what to whom, but the big three networks and two all-news networks hit the area within minutes of each other, all of them flying in by private jet and then chartering prop jobs to take them into a strip in the wilderness area. Other network personnel were coming in by truck and motor home as fast as they could, bringing in food and cots and other supplies. The federal marshals at the roadblock on the only road leading to the ranger station were very nearly overwhelmed by the crush of newspeople.
At FBI Headquarters, at the attorney general's office, at Langley, at Fort Meade, and in the offices of Army, Navy, and Air Force Intelligence, as soon as the networks started cranking out signals, the reaction was pretty much the same.
“Oh,
shit!”
The White House was just about as eloquent. “Goddammit!” the President shouted. “This is gonna make me look like a fuckin' fool!”
Not that he really needed any help to reach that pinnacle.
* * *
About an hour before dark, much to the chagrin of the agents, Craig Hamilton showed up at the federal outpost, guided there by Buckskin Jennings.
“How in the hell did that old fart find us?” one agent asked another.
Actually, the animals told him, for like Chuck, Buckskin sprang from the loins of the Lost Tribe.
Craig embraced first Stormy, then Ki. When he put his arms around Ki, she slipped the canister containing the damning film into his jacket pocket. Then they pulled apart and grinned at each other.
Buckskin had observed the switch and smiled, thinking these newspeople were a devious bunch.
“No film, no interviews,” Will Augello warned Craig.
“Fine,” the reporter said. “No problem. My main concern is Stormy and Ki.”
“As you can see, they are both well.”
“Are they under arrest?”
“Not yet.”
“Chopper is on its way with Hank and Carol,” an agent called.
“Get ready to strobe them in. Daylight is fading fast.”
“Right, sir.”
“Can you guide me out of here in the dark?” Craig asked Buckskin. “Without both of us getting shot?”
The old man smiled. “You best ride back in that helicopter. If that's all right with the feds.”
“I'm sure that will be fine. Mr. Jennings, I would advise against you riding back in the dark. There are agents out there who might mistake you for . . .” Augello paused, searching his mind for the right word. Enemy? So far, he hadn't been able to discern any clear-cut enemy, except for that unknown band of paramilitary people who kept popping up and killing for no reason.
“The enemy, son?” Buckskin asked. “Out here, the only enemy we have is the goddamn federal government. Anybody takes a shot at me this night is gonna be in for a grim surprise.” He looked at Craig. “You drop by and see me 'fore you leave. You're always welcome at my place.” He looked at Will Augello. “You federal fuckers ain't.” He winked at Craig. “See you, boy.” Then the old man was gone.
“Damned old turd,” one Bureau man muttered.
“Chopper five minutes away,” the agent handling the radio called. “They've got a doctor on board.”
The chopper landed, and Hank Wallace and Carol Murphy stepped down with a doctor. Moments later, the chopper lifted off, with Jack Speed, Kathy Owens, Craig Hamilton, and the schoolteacher.
Back at the ranger station, which had been turned into a command post, Max Vernon was well aware that Hank and Carol had boarded a chopper for someplace. He was in charge of this op, but he knew better than to question or interfere in any way with IAD. Max was arrogant, ambitious, and rather short-sighted in many areas of judgement, but he wasn't stupid. One of his men, who, like Max, was up to his ass in this cover-up, had listened to the radio transmissions from Agent Augello. He walked up to Max and whispered to him.
Max nodded his understanding. “You can bet Ki Nichols slipped that film to Hamilton. You get some men and be there when that chopper lands, and you get that film. Any way you can. Understood?”
The agent nodded and moved off into the gathering darkness.
Rick Battle and Alberta Follette had returned to the station, and Al had observed the exchange. “Come on,” she said to Rick. “Something weird is about to happen.”
“Something weird has been happening around here for days,” Rick responded. But he dutifully followed her.
* * *
Hank was tape-recording everything. “And this film, Miss Nichols, you have it with you?”
“No.”
“You've hidden it?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
Hank Wallace was an excellent interrogator, skilled in picking up on the slightest nuance. He sensed instantly that the film was gone, probably with Craig Hamilton. He cut his eyes to Carol, and she made a circling motion with her index finger, imitating the main rotor of a chopper.
“Miss Nichols,” Hank said, “I really wish you had not given that film to your friend. You just may have placed him in very grave danger.”
Ki was shaken at that remark. Even though she knew the IAD man was only guessing, she instantly realized the truth behind his words. She cut her eyes to Stormy.
Stormy said, “Inspector, we don't know who is involved in this government . . . well, screw-up, but that film is our only hope of showing why it happened. For all we knew, know, you may very well be involved in trying to cover up this . . . mess. We had to get that canister out.”
“I understand,” Hank said. “And I can assure you that neither Special Agent Murphy nor I are involved in any cover-up. If this government has rogue agents in its employ, we intend to find them and either recommend dismissing them and/or bring charges against them.” He cut his eyes to Darry. “You do get around, don't you, Mr. Ransom?”
“I know the area,” was Darry's response.
“I'm sure you do.” Hank's reply was dry. He turned to Carol. “Get that chopper on the horn. Tell it to get back here andâ”
“Chopper just landed at the command post, sir,” Hank was told.
“Damn!” the inspector said. His eyes widened as Ki pulled a short-barreled pump shotgun out of her duffle.
That made the other agents a bit nervous.
“Ah, Miss Nichols,” Hank said. “Would you please put that shotgun away?”
“I was just going to unload it,” Ki said.
“Why don't you give it to Agent Norris, there?” Hank suggested.
“Why, sure,” Ki said sweetly, and handed the shotgun to the agent. She did not mention anything about the .38 she had under her jacket.
“Thank you, Miss Nichols,” Hank said, then turned to George Eagle Dancer. “Now, sir, if you would be so kind as to tell me your part in this . . . little drama.”
George smiled and began speaking in Cheyenne.
Darry ducked his head to hide a grin.
Hank Wallace sighed and looked very pained.
* * *
Craig sensed trouble coming his way as half a dozen men began closing in on him seconds after he hopped out of the chopper. He circled the chopper, found himself in a small pocket of darkness and almost ran into Alberta and Rick. He took a chance that the rangers were not involved in any dirty business and slipped the canister of film into Alberta's jacket pocket. “Don't lose that, and don't let the feds know you have it,” he whispered.
“What?” Rick asked.
“They'll kill you for that film,” Craig whispered.
“Hey, you!” The shout stopped the reporter and the rangers. “Reporter! Hold up. We want to talk to you.”
Craig turned and smiled in the darkness. The main rotor blade had wound down and stopped its ticking. The night was silent. “Why, sure, boys. I want to interview some of you, too.”
“No interviews,” he was told. “Come on.”
Rick and Alberta pressed up tight against the body of the big chopper. The lights on the makeshift pad had been turned off, and neither felt they had been seen.
Craig walked off toward the ranger station with the agents, chatting easily with the men.
“You just might have the shortest career in the history of the service,” Rick whispered to Alberta. “Let's see: interfering with a federal officers, withholding evidence... and I'm sure there are about a dozen more charges they could pin on you.”
“So are you going to turn me in?” she asked with a grin.
“Don't insult me. Come on. We've got to get that film to a safe place.”
“Where?”
“Be quiet. I'm thinking.”
A gentle rain began falling as the mist moved in, covering the land.
* * *
Ray and Karen Collier had seen the helicopter circle and land, then later, as the night closed in, watched as fires were built. They talked it over and made up their minds to take the family, hike over, and put an end to this nonsense.
“Don't be a fool!” Kevin told the man and wife.
“It has to end,” the doctor said. “My son has killed a federal agent. You people were involved in a wild shoot-out where federal agents were killed. If we don't turn ourselves in, we're all going to be hunted down like rabid animals and destroyed. Don't you see that?”
“He's right,” Niki surprised her husband by saying. “There is no place left to hide, Kevin. And I don't feel like running for the rest of my life. Those agents attacked us, not the other way around. A judge has to take that into consideration. Karen has said that her law firm will represent us. We've got to think about the young people, love.”
“Mother is right, Dad,” Beth said. “Come on. Let's get this over with.”
Kevin looked at his friends in the very dim light that night allowed. Vince and Todd both nodded their heads in agreement as did the rest of the group. “All right,” Kevin said with a sigh. “Let's go. Everybody get a flashlight. Just pray we don't get shot.”
The group started walking across the flats toward the camp of the federal officers.
* * *
“Look, goddammit!” Craig was rapidly losing what little temper he had left. “I've told you fifteen times, I don't have any film. I don't even know what in the hell you're talking about.”
“He must have given it to the guide,” Max said, speaking openly now, for he had no intention of letting Craig Hamilton leave this room alive. Max and the agents aligned with him had just stepped over a line from which there could be no retreat. “Alert all outposts that there is a man on horseback who is armed and dangerous. Blow him out of the saddle.”
“You're
insane!”
Craig said. “Crazyâall of you. You can't possibly hope to get away with this. Come on, guys. Give it up. Jesus Christ, people, don't dig yourselves in any deeper.”
Craig had positioned himself against the rear wall, next to the back door, his back pressing against the panel of light switches. He could tell the door was not locked.
Max looked at an agent he'd called Sonny. “You have the crack.”
“In my pocket.”
“I've got a cold gun,” another agent said.
“Then you know what to do,” Max said.
Craig plunged the small room into darkness, jerked open the door, and headed for the woods, running low and doing his best to move like a snake.
* * *
Jody Hinds had been so exhausted he had to rest. He'd curled up under some low-hanging branches and dropped off into a deep sleep, oblivious to the rain that fell around him and on him. He was about fifty yards from where Major Lew Waters, Lt. Commander Jay Gilmore, and Major Pete Cooper were resting, huddled under an overhang in a small ravine.
* * *
Johnny McBroon had seen the bobbing flashlight beams from his position on a low rise and walked down to join them, taking a chance that the group was not federal agents or any of Sam Parish's bunch.
“Hey, you people!” he called, after squatting down behind some bushes he'd almost fallen over in the rainy darkness. “Don't shoot. I'm friendly. I just want to get out of this mess. Put your beams on me if you like. My hands are in the air. I've got a pistol in a holster.”
“Come on out,” Kevin called. “And talk to us while you walk.”
“My name is Johnny McBroon. I write under the name of Johnny Mack. I'm a wildlife photographer and writer. I've been ducking and dodging gunfire for what seems like a damned week.”
“We do know the feeling,” Ray Collier said, as Johnny stepped up to join the group. He held out his hand. “I'm Doctor Ray Collier. We're going to take a chance and turn ourselves in to that group of federal agents over there.” He pointed to the camp fires about a half mile away. “Hopefully, peacefully,” he added.
“Turn yourselves in?” Johnny questioned. “What the hell have you done?”
“It's a very long story,” Karen said.
“Well, we'd better start hollering at those feds now,” Johnny suggested. “I guess they're not trigger-happy, or they'd already be shooting at us.”
“You people out on the flats,” the bull-horn voice boomed through the rain. “Stand easy with your hands in the air. We're federal agents. Don't panic. We're not going to shoot.”
“I know that voice,” Johnny said, blowing his photographer story.
“This is Inspector Henry Wallace from the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
“Oh, shit!” Johnny said. “He used to be a legal attache at the embassy in Berlin.” Then Johnny grinned mischievously. “I heard he went IAD. This is going to be interesting.”
“If you're armed, sling your rifles and shotguns and keep your pistols in leather or in your pockets. Come on in.”