Fear No Evil

Chapter 88

It had taken every bit of Matthew Butler’s flying skills to get the bullet-riddled Jet Ranger over the mountains, across Swan River Valley, and to the remote clear-cut in the national forest. He landed the helicopter behind a huge pile of logging slash, which made it impossible to see from the logging road where they’d left the Land Cruiser.

“That’s it,” he said as he shut down the engine and then rocked his head back in relief. “I am never going up in this shitcan ever again. No matter what M says.”

“He’s going to say a lot,” Big DD said. “He owns it now.”

“His damn idea,” said Vincente, who had a blood-coagulant patch pressed to the back of his right forearm, which had been slashed by a piece of flying metal when one of Durango’s bullets ricocheted off the door frame. “He wanted us up there.”

Butler said, “He did. Let’s wipe the chopper down. Everything inside.”

“They’ll find my blood no matter what we do,” Vincente said.

“Don’t matter, JP,” Big DD said, pulling out bleach wipes and starting on the dashboard. “You’re already dead.”

“That’s who we are,” Vincente said. “The living dead.”

Butler wiped down the control panel and the stick, climbed out, and started on the pilot seat. Twenty minutes later, they were hiking back to the vehicle and he allowed his mind to think forward, to anticipate once more.

He knew M well enough to understand that they wouldn’t be leaving Montana anytime soon. His boss had been right. Butler had thought following Cross to find the cartel men was a ludicrous idea, but M’s instincts were correct. Which meant he’d want them all killed, which meant they needed a new plan.

They reached the Toyota before dark and drove the logging road three miles to an improved dirt road that they drove for eleven miles to Highway 83. It was pitch-black out and moonless when they pulled up to the Swan River Lodge, whose sign still bore traces of its former life as a Super 8 motel.

There were three or four other vehicles parked in the lot but none by their three rooms on the bottom floor. Butler had Big DD and Vincente unload the gear, went to the far-right room, and knocked twice and then three times.

A few moments later, the door opened, and he slipped inside. The door shut behind him. He turned to see Alison Purdy standing there, studying him with eyes that had dark bags beneath them.

“Did you get them so we can get the hell out of this dump?”

He shook his head. “We’re lucky we’re alive after getting into it with five cartel men. We took out at least one if not two, but they hammered the chopper good. It’s no longer airworthy.”

“M is not going to want to hear that,” she said, limping over and climbing on the bed next to a night table with five different prescription bottles on it.

“Which is why I need options,” Butler said. “Did you call that shop in Bigfork?”

“And bought them,” she said, nodding. “They’re in the other rooms, charging.”

He felt relief. “How’d you pull that off?”

“Offered them a delivery fee they could not refuse. The van pulled in three hours later, right before dark.”

“And how far can they really go?”

“Twenty-five miles a charge, max.”

Butler thought about that. “Headlamps enough?”

“I had all four mounted with extra lights.”

He smiled and then frowned. “Why four?”

“Because I’m going with you.”

“Oh, no, you’re not.”

“Oh, yes, I am,” Purdy said. “You’ve tried twice without me and failed both times. You don’t want a third fail. You don’t want to strike out and have to tell M, do you?”

Butler felt his chest constrict. “What about the leg?”

“I don’t have to do a thing with that leg if I don’t want to. Now, get some food and some sleep. To be up there in time, I figure we need to be gone by five a.m. ‘And thank you, Alison, for your resourcefulness and ingenuity,’” she said with a smile.

Butler smiled back. “I appreciate the option, Alison.”

“Glad to be of service,” she said.

He left her room, went out in the Land Cruiser, and used the satellite phone.

When M answered, Butler gave it to him straight, listened to his self-congratulatory reaction to their finding the cartel by looking for Cross, and endured the inevitable barrage of anger that followed news of the helicopter’s current state.

“You cost us at least a half a million dollars!” M roared.

Butler said, “With all due respect, the helicopter was your idea. And it’s not like you can’t afford the penalty.”

“It’s the principle,” M replied in a seething tone. “They should all be dead now.”

“But they’re not. And the helicopter can’t fly. Or at least, I won’t fly it again.”

For several moments, M was silent. Then he said, “You have options?”

“Two,” Butler said. “First one, we sit on the pullout and trailhead where Cross and the cartel men will have to take their rafts out of the river. But that almost guarantees witnesses.”

“And option two?”

“We get a good six or seven miles up the trail that parallels the river to a pinch point and rapids below Black Bear Creek,” Butler said. “Do you see it on your satellite image? Anyone on the river has to get through that spot.”

“I see it,” M said after a few moments. “It does look like a good place for an ambush, but it’s rugged country all the way up. How are you planning to get in there seven miles with that much elevation gain without a helicopter? Hiking? Horses?”

“E-bikes,” Butler said. “Purdy bought four of them today.”