Necessary Evil, page 16
"They'll kill me if I do that."
"The nose. The fingers. The toes. And guess what else goes? You're lying on your belly, you know."
The man cursed in long, elaborate phrases that seemed to have no end. Kier had never heard anything quite like it. "All right, all right. Press star, then punch the year 1776 into the key pad, then the date 07-04-76, then star again."
Kier did as instructed.
"I don't hear anything."
"It's because nobody's talking. Now can I get up?"
Suddenly, the Indian boy's screams took on a calmer, but more robust tone. James Cole was in real pain now. The boy's agony carried in his cries.
"What are they doing to the boy?"
"Probably ripping off his nails with a set of pliers."
"Call and make them stop or you're dead."
"Won't do any good."
"Do it." Kier held the radio to the man's lips and gritted his teeth through the boy's next scream.
"Base, this is Oregon."
"Go ahead, Oregon."
"Stop with the boy or I'm dead."
There was a pause.
"Say again, Oregon."
"Stop with the boy or I'm dead!"
"Sorry-" Something cut the man's voice off. There were muffled choking sounds over the radio, then quiet.
Kier grabbed the radio and listened, but heard nothing except static.
James Cole let out a war whoop that rang through the forest. Then there was only the silence of the falling snow.
"Guess we can go back to the number of men on this mountain," Kier said, mystified as to how the boy might have gotten free. It was unthinkable that James could have overcome a trained soldier, especially since they would have had him in cuffs.
"Ten went up this ridge of the mountain, but only six went up this fork of Hobbs Ridge with the Indian boy. Brennan thought you probably wouldn't go someplace a lot of people know about. They called Brennan and the other four on the radio when the grenade went. They're split in pairs. One pan-is at least four hours away. The other is more. Now let me up."
Because of his shaking, the man's words were almost unintelligible.
"You said this ridge of the mountain. What about the other ridge to the northwest and the ridge to the southeast?"
"At least three on each, nobody on the back side of the mountain yet. Of course, that doesn't count the law. Soon you're gonna be a fugitive, you know. The story is you're a thief trying to get rich off other people's research."
"Who do you work for?"
"Oh, come on. They're gonna tell a grunt like me? I'm a mercenary on contract. I work for the colonel back down the mountain. Who he works for, I don't know and I don't care."
"What's the colonel's name?"
"Goes by Brennan, but nobody uses a real name."
"Who does he report to?"
"I don't know. Guy doesn't come around much. Think he goes by Grant."
Kier sensed that the man wasn't giving him everything. Saying nothing, he began pushing even more snow on his captive.
"No," the man said, sounding panicked.
Kier withdrew his knife and held it to the man's Achilles tendon.
"Please, don't cripple me here on the mountain."
Pressing, Kier drew blood.
"All right!" the man said. "Brennan and Doyle report to a guy who goes by the code name Grant, General Grant. Brennan called him 'Mr. T' once, then shut up real fast. That's all I know."
"So where is Mr. T?"
"Johnson City. I don't know."
Kier kicked more snow, then stepped on the man's feet, driving them deeper.
The man half screamed. ''Last night they found a lady named Donahue. Let her go, I guess. Command station's at Donahues'. General Grant's in Johnson City. Or maybe at that clinic of theirs. That's all I know."
"Tell me everything you know about the general-Mr. T."
"He's rich. Got a company of some kind, and he's a big hunter they say. He was out looking at the tracks you left. He's got the clinic over by the reservation. I don't know any more than that. He talks to Brennan and Doyle, not me. I lied about the law. They're scared of the law until we find those volumes. I swear that's all I know."
"Tell me about the clinic."
"I've only been there one time. I don't know."
"What did you do there?"
"Nothing just… moved stuff around."
"Tell me exactly."
''Took papers from the wreckage there by snowmobile. Most of it was all burned, but what was half burned or still readable, we put in boxes and took there."
"Where exactly did you put these boxes?"
''I don't know. I'm telling you I was blindfolded to get down there. It seemed like a basement-it was all concrete. Now let me up or I'm gonna die."
"Did they tell you about a virus or bacteria-danger of infection from the plane?"
"Huh?"
"Yeah, huh. They had an infectious-disease freak show on that plane, with viruses and bacteria and a few special things developed by the geniuses who hired you. I could have been exposed to something."
"You're bluffing."
"Why do you suppose Mr. T's ass is so far away? Have you seen him get near the plane? Why would I make this stuff up?"
"That would explain the suits. We didn't go near the pieces of the plane. Some other guys with special suits did. You… you touched my clothes."
"If I was you, I wouldn't take them back. Or I'd make sure I got medical treatment. Maybe you'd like to take the clothes from the guy just down the hill here. He hasn't been near me.''
"You bastard. I can't even wear my boots."
"Quite right. With any luck the dead guy didn't get his feet blown off. Then again, maybe he did."
"Look, I'm freezing. I got to get up."
"Talk to me."
"Listen, you gotta let me up. I can't feel things anymore." The man's voice had risen to a shriller pitch.
"How did you guys get to the crash site so fast?"
"Damn it, I don't know this stuff."
"Your balls are gonna look like purple plums unless I get some answers."
"Savage. Bastard." Kier waited while the man swore epithets more vociferously than before. "Have you no human bone in your body?" the soldier said through gritted teeth, his whole body convulsing as he tried lifting his middle out of the snow. Kier put his foot on the man's buttocks, holding him down.
"We were waiting for the plane to drop something. It was to drop a… a… bunch of pods. It wasn't supposed to crash. We don't know why that happened."
"What was the plane supposed to drop?"
''Something for a damn experiment. And a bunch of papers, that's all I know. They don't tell us."
"You must have surmised."
"Look, I don't know."
"You guessed. You speculated."
"I'm gonna die, mister," the man cried, obviously starting to break.
"What did you imagine?"
"We thought maybe… it was some military experiment. Something to sell to the military… worked out by the government. And then there was… something to do with the Indian reservation."
"Why did you think that?"
"Because they seem to know a lot about the Indians, that's why."
Kier's blood ran cold. Every Tilok on the reservation was a potential guinea pig-including his own mother.
"Be more specific. What do they know about the Indians?"
"Well, they had us go to a mink farm and take some minks. In the middle of the night."
"What did you do with the minks?"
"Brought them to the lab."
''How many of you were involved in this?''
''Just me and another guy. They said they thought the natives might have gotten something from the minks. We just went and got about five. It was for some kind of test."
"What kind of a test?"
"One of the science types whispered about a test. 'When the test was done,' he said. And we had supplies for a few days. I swear to you, I don't know-they told us nothing except what I already told you." The man shook so badly he seemed to be convulsing. ''Then more men came. We were supposed to get stuff dropped from the plane. I swear to God that's everything I know."
"There was a fancy black box on that plane. It had lab summaries. Why do they want it so bad?"
"There were s- s- six volumes. Number five and six are still missing. They're going nuts over Volume Six especially. I don't know why! Le- le- let me up. Please!"
"Tell me Mr. T's name. You must have heard something."
"Tillman, I think. Tillman, damn it."
Fortunately, the dead man lived up to his name-"Texas." He was big, with boots that would suit Kier's purposes. Apparently Texas had tripped the wire, then looked in horror to see what he had done. Since it had taken a moment for the grenade to blow, it had caught him in the face, with the result that there wasn't much of the head left. Blood was everywhere, and the clothes riddled with shrapnel.
"I have some disappointing news for you."
"What?" the man said, standing on the dead body to try to keep his feet out of the snow.
"You're going to wear his boots, and my shirt."
The man just stared vacantly.
"Don't take it so hard. If I've got a virus or bacterial infection, it's inside me. It's my breathing on you or touching your skin after I've blown my nose or wiped my ass that could kill you."
Kier gave the man the boots with no socks. Then the man put on Kier's shirt. Kier took his captive's outer clothes, which were tight but wearable.
"I don't have time for the truth-or-consequences test. So we'll cut straight to the good stuff. You are going to get on this radio and say exactly what I tell you. If you say anything else, I will shoot you instantly. If you do it right, I'm going to let you run straight down this mountain in those oversized boots. You say exactly the following:
''The Indian stripped Texas. He's headed down the mountain. I'm circling."
After the man uttered the words, Kier took back the radio.
"Run. And if I were you, I wouldn't come back here. Your friends are jumpy. They'll shoot an ordinary shirt in a second."
At that the man fled at a gallop.
Chapter 16
The cries of bad men carry on the same breeze as those of the good.
— Tilok proverb
Jessie could find no more leaf piles to further insulate her clothing, so she was limited to rearranging what she had-and exercise-to keep warm. She longed for the comfort of the hut. Maybe there would be clothes from the bodies of the enemy, she told herself.
She walked in a large circle, satisfied that she had managed to find her beginning point after she had broken down the trail and stepped off it in a way that would disguise her exit. Having watched Kier, she made several false leads and hid near one of them at a spot where she could observe both the main trail and the false lead.
Now inactivity made the cold a bigger menace. She had heard of jumping in a snowbank for warmth. At the moment, it was a frightening thought. The logic behind hiding in snow-the elimination of wind chill and the insulating qualities of the fluffy white stuff-paled before the mental image of freezing to death in a smothering white prison.
So she remained in her hiding place, rubbing her arms through the leafy insulation, occasionally jumping up and down. But that used energy. Shivering used energy. Thinking used energy. Being ready to kill used energy. There was no more food, and she had little body fat. She imagined her body devouring its own muscles and organs to stay alive.
Looking around, she saw that the trees in this area were young. Kier had explained that forest fires killed the old trees and allowed the forest to regenerate. The young red fir trees had interlocking branches that created a wall of delicate green boughs.
In places where these evergreens weren't as thick, there were leafless hardwoods and underbrush that tore at her legs, dislodging the insulation in her clothes and rustling when she moved. It was hard to see much beyond fifty or sixty feet, even in the openings. In the thickets there was no visibility.
She decided that she needed to emulate Kier: to be a ghost in the woods, moving much more slowly, placing one foot directly ahead of the other, as he did.
Suddenly, she heard a crunch, then a branch swish. Was it Kier? If so, he was making noise on purpose, and that was unlikely. Could those men have killed him with a silenced shot and gotten past him? A hollow feeling entered her chest-a foreshadowing of panic-and she felt so alone. These mountains were so vast, so foreign. While she listened, she made herself take deep slow breaths and consciously relaxed her muscles.
By the direction of the sounds, she could tell there were two of them. So it wasn't Kier. They were on either side of the main trail that she had broken down. They were on her circle, or, perhaps just off it, trying to avoid booby traps. Lifting the silenced pistol, she readied herself. Then they stopped. Why?
For what seemed like minutes, there were no more sounds. Then she heard a snap. Dear God, they were on top of her. She noticed the fog from her own breath. Crazily, she wondered if it would give her away, like a chimney. Now her heart thundered. She aimed straight at the sound, her finger wanting to pull the trigger. But she dared not. Why didn't he move again? A muscle in her shoulder tensed, pulling. Her arms started to ache from bracing in the firing position. Relaxed control. Relaxed control. Breathe, breathe.
Another swish. And there was white against the green. Kier was wearing white. She saw an arm through the trees, then above the arm a shoulder. Was it Kier? She had to be sure.
She aimed just below the shoulder. All she had to do now was squeeze. Got to do it. Just a face-something-there! It was a wisp of brown hair. Pop! Down he went. She had been dead on, she was sure.
Her breaths were sharp and jerky, her hands shaking. God, I'm a mess. Think. Think. Where's the other one? Then she was at Quantico in a shoot-out. Look behind you. Always behind you, Dunfee intoned. And she whirled, like at Quantico.
Bullets compress air, and when they come very close, you can feel their passing. The instant her head turned, the bullet sliced the air where her jaw had been. She heard the little puff of the silenced muzzle.
Without a thought she dropped and rolled into the snow, ready to shoot on her way up. But she had no target. Then all hell broke loose-the thumping of an automatic rifle tore up the woods. She crawled madly on her belly back toward a log she had stepped over. Wood and ice flew everywhere. She held her automatic as she crawled.
Then it was dead still again. Nothing remained of the tumult except the chattering of an angry squirrel. She was behind the log. Never shoot what you can't see. Dunfee again. Out here it didn't matter. There were no bystanders. Maybe she should pepper the bushes herself. No-it would only give away her location as it had his.
Breathing heavily, she aimed at the spot that had spewed out the hell. She was shaking. Could she survive this? Then it occurred to her that she had a grenade. But was he still there? And why hadn't he used one? Obviously because he was too close. The trees were maybe a foot through and weren't a sure cover for shrapnel. But she was behind a big log. As if it were happening in slow motion, she watched her finger pull the pin. She stretched back her arm, then swung it forward in an arc, releasing the grenade. She waited for what seemed enough time for a slow yawn. Then, wham! The ground shook with the explosion. Damn, the ringing in her ears. Next time she'd cover them better.
Now the silence was overwhelming. Even the squirrel had shut up. Slowly, she stuck her head up. Concentrating again, she listened and looked, with the automatic ready. There was no point in being quiet now. The secret was out.
Then she heard something faint, like whispering. Of course, he would be using the radio. He had the luxury of staying put and waiting for reinforcements.
"Help." The voice was no more than a hoarse whisper. "Help."
She was stunned. It sounded genuine, like a person badly hurt. Dying. Of course it sounds genuine, you lunatic, she told herself. If she were going to fake it, she would make it sound real.
"Help," the voice came again.
It was unnerving. All her life she had thought of herself as someone who would help. Without thinking further, driven by something she couldn't explain, she began to crawl in a circle. Crawling straight away would be much safer-make him come to her. But she ignored her own safety in favor of the more powerful seduction.
After several minutes of crawling, she stopped. He hadn't moved, and was still calling out to her. Now she was opposite the log behind which she had hidden, on the far side of the shooter. By continually calling out, he was giving away his location. She could throw another grenade and wipe him out, unless he was behind something solid.
"What the hell are you doing?" she shouted in frustration.
''I'm dying,'' the faint voice said.' 'I don't want to die alone. They're… leaving me… leaving me for dead."
''And I'm supposed to worry about this?'' There was silence. "You tried to kill me!"
"You want me to apologize?" The voice laughed a feeble laugh. "You're gonna forgive me if I say-" She heard an ugly cough. "If I say, 'I'm sorry'?"
"How do I know you won't blow us both up with a grenade if I come in?"
"I'll throw 'em out."
"How do I know how many you have?"
"You've killed enough of us. Four per man."
She wasn't sure from the sound of him how much longer he could talk.
"Okay, you throw them off to my right and blow 'em." She lay in a swale behind a natural earthen berm covered with snow. Then she heard a thud in the trees, and nothing more.
After a time he called out. "Okay," he gasped.
"They were supposed to explode."
"Too weak. I'd blow my ass off."
"Well, I only heard one-and I have no way of knowing it was a grenade."
"I'm not strong. I threw three… they're close by."
"Crawl toward me."
"I can't."
"Then you're just going to have to die."
"Please." He was choking again.
"I'll think about it."
She crawled toward the spot where she had heard the grenade fall. But after she'd crawled twenty feet, she realized how stupid it was to look for a hole in the snow. Still she kept on.
