Necessary Evil

Chapter 33

Although the horizon was now exploding with the red dawn, the light remained low, darkness holding itself fast in the shadows where Grandfather and Kier moved soundlessly. As he went, the old man called out occasionally like a chickadee.

Once, when he must have seen or felt Kier's frown, he said, "It is so that if there are any watchful ones, they might mistake the spirit of the one who passes."

Since they were making no sound, Kier took him to refer to some spiritual sense. He only shook his head and wished he had a gun. Then he recalled his pack, and reached a hand to Grandfather's shoulder.

"I have a gun off that way, at the head of the pasture."

"I don't think there is time if we are going to do this before full daylight," the old man said.

They made their way to the edge of the forest. At then-closest, the trees were a good fifty feet from the house. Kier wondered how they would get across the opening in the gray light of the dawn. When they reached the last patch of brush, they lay flat and looked over the foot-high bunch grass. Two men were visible, one at the edge of the front porch, the other by the back door. Each had an M-16. Without guns, it was hopeless. Kier glanced at Grandfather, who simply nodded before turning and grabbing the nearest Scotch broom. It had been uprooted and fashioned into a hedgework that a man could hide behind. Back on his belly, Grandfather moved it out into the grass, then motioned to Kier, his first two fingers making a walking motion; then he pointed to himself. Obviously, he intended to show himself in the clearing as a distraction.

"When I get inside, you turn out the lights at the fuse box," Grandfather said. "White men see nothing anyway. But you must move in your spirit."

Inwardly, Kier winced. Nobody is invisible, not even Stalking Bear, he told himself. Still, he would keep himself so flat to the ground he might as well be a spirit.

"I will also make you invisible," the old man whispered, trotting off into the forest.

Kier waited. The odds of this working were miniscule. Grandfather was the stealthiest man he had ever known, but he still had to lug around a body susceptible to a bullet. Once inside the house, lights or no lights, everyone but Grandfather and him would have a gun.

However insane it was, there was no time to ponder it, for Grandfather was now out in the open. About one hundred feet away, he had emerged from the forest. But he didn't just walk. Instead, he danced and chanted. It was an elaborate pantomime that told the story of a great hunt.

"What the hell?" The man on the back porch by the fuse box advanced toward Grandfather, while Kier began to crawl.

The man went for his radio. "We've got some old Indian out here, crazy as a coot."

"Repeat, did you say old?"

"Wrinkled as a prune. Just dancing and chanting."

"Bring him in," Kier heard Tillman say.

Both men now walked quickly to Grandfather, while Kier crawled as fast as he dared toward the rear door. More men came out of the front door, walking around the kids' toys, and another man came around back just an instant after Kier had slipped under the back porch.

Kier hunkered down while the new man took up position above him. His eyes peered through the space between the planking. From the shadow of the man's feet, he knew he was standing well back toward the house. No solution came to mind. Damn. He was stuck. Crawling out from under the porch was out of the question. He would be dead before he got over the porch railing. And now Grandfather was captive, waiting, helpless-like Jessie.

The chair was from Europe of all places. Before this Jessie had thought it was comfortable. It was unbelievably stout, but even if it hadn't been, she would have had no opportunity to free herself. A man stood next to the chair, guarding her. Periodically Tillman would appraise her from a distance, like a dog checking its dinner bowl. It was only a matter of time before he tried to complete what he had started in the forest, she knew. His humiliation burned in his eyes. Now it was a contest.

Incredibly, she was starting to believe that the man Doyle was not really one of Tillman's mercs. He had signaled her twice with an almost imperceptible nod. She wondered if he could be FBI. It could easily be some elaborate trick, just as Tillman had said.

Pain shot up her back through her shoulder blades, and her knees felt as though they had needles in them. Being immobilized was far more painful than she would ever have imagined. She couldn't move anything that counted, and the only time she could get up was to use the bathroom-and each time she did, they retaped her more tightly than ever. Although caked in blood, the cuts on her face appeared superficial in the mirror.

Her first indication that something unusual was happening came when she heard about the old Indian over the radio. She was almost certain it would be Grandfather. Then they were bringing him in. Two men picked up her chair and put it close to the wall dividing the kitchen from the living area so that she could not see or be seen.

When they got the old man inside, Tillman wasted no time.

"What can we do for you?"

"I did not know there was anything you could do for me," the old man answered.

"Why'd you come?" Tillman sighed.

No reason." There was a pause. "You're here with a lot of men. A lot of fancy guns. You have reasons?''

"What's your name, old man?"

"Chunk Tawa."

"In English."

"Chunk Tawa."

"What's it mean?"

"You would say 'Stalking Bear.' "

"Do you know the one they call Kier?"

"The animal doctor."

"And do you know somebody whom they call a Spirit Walker?"

"You believe in that stuff?" The old man chuckled.

"Do you know him?"

"Broken-down old man like me."

"Where is he?"

"Who knows? Tavern in town, maybe."

"I don't think you're telling me the truth. Now why did you come here?"

Tillman's voice had become a snarl, and Jessie wondered if he had hold of Grandfather.

"I like Claudie and Jessie. Do you like them too?"

"How do you know Jessie?"

"She's been here a few days. I heard about her. I met her in my dreams. How do you know her?"

"Shut the hell up and answer my questions, or you'll die. Now where in the f-"

The lights went out. Jessie heard a shriek, followed by a choking sound that she imagined was coming from Tillman's lips. Frantically she began rocking in the chair, but in an instant she felt a gun at her temple. Then, inexplicably, the gun dropped. There had been a silenced shot.

"FBI, remember Dunfee?" someone whispered in her ear.

Then they were gone. Shots from next to her sprayed the room around her.

Doyle.

Desperation clawed at him, tightening his throat. He knew he had to move quickly or they would kill Grandfather. Feeling around on the damp earth for any kind of weapon, he came up empty. Then he remembered. Under the front porch, there was a pike pole from a logging pond that the Donahues used for pulling down fruit-laden branches when harvesting apples. He scurried under the house to the front porch. As he went, he could hear Tillman firing questions at Grandfather. In less than two minutes he found the pike pole and brought it back beneath the back porch. A gap between each of the porch's board stairs allowed ferns to grow up through the steps. Moving under, Her aligned the pole with the openings in the steps. He made a rustling sound with his hand, then waited. The guard didn't move. Again he did it. Still the sentry didn't come. Next he tried a snake's angry hiss. But it was as if the man were deaf.

Finally he called out madly-the chickadee and the snake- a fight. A shadow appeared on the steps. The man was on his knees, trying to peer through the fern. He fumbled with his light. Kier used his hand to make another scurrying sound. He raised the pole, looking for a face. Nothing. Nothing. His arm shook with the tension. A light. A face. There. With all his power, he drove the pole straight for an eye. Only a grunt and the sharp exhale of breath marked the piercing of the man's skull. The long point and the large barb had disappeared into the man's head.

When Kier tried to pull the pike pole from the man's eye socket, the barb caught and the head came forward.

Kier needed the pole. Quickly he crept from under the porch, then dragged the body out to free the long handle that protruded from beneath the steps. The man's body gave an ugly quiver. One firm jerk did not free the pole. Kier placed a boot on the dead man's face and yanked. There was a wet snap as the skull fractured and the tip came free. He grabbed the man's sidearm and rifle on the run. On the porch, he threw the main breaker in the fuse box, then broke it for good measure.

He tried the knob only once. Then, slamming into the door with his shoulder, he broke it off its hinges, knocking it inward and flat to the floor. Inside all was black. The feeble rays of winter dawn displaced the darkness only near the entrance. Men were calling in muffled voices. He stayed very low, hearing the pffft of silenced pistols as he went. There was some kind of firefight going on-people shooting at each other. Since he knew the layout like his own home's, he went to the corner of the living room where he had last seen Jessie-but found only an empty space.

Somewhere, he knew, a man had a gun to Jessie's head. He had to take the man down, and quickly, before someone found a light. Pffft. Pffft. More shots fired wildly in the dark. For a fleeting second, he wondered who was shooting at whom. He crawled in ever-larger circles. His fingers found a boot. A body. A dead man. She could be anywhere. They might have moved her to the back of the house.

Panic rose inside him. He resisted the urge to call out. Sensing was more important than thinking, his Tilok mind told him. He moved across the carpet toward the other corner of the living room. If she was in here, she was probably next to the wall, hidden from the kitchen.

Kier reached an empty chair on the opposite side of the room. He had seconds at best. He heard his grandfather.

"Kier."

Pffft. Pffft. More shots from men shooting blindly. Grandfather must be shooting as well. Kier fired a volley from the M-16, punching holes in the tops of the walls. It would keep people down.

A hand grabbed his arm, pulling him. It was only a moment before his hand found another chair-Jessie. But she was lying on the floor, struggling, trying to escape her bonds. Kier heard a sound like a knife through cardboard. A light flashed, bouncing off the ceiling. With a single shot the light went out. Now his fingers found Grandfather, kneeling low by Jessie's chair. She was moving, crawling along the floor.

"Jessie."

"Kier."

"Grandfather."

"Let's go," Jessie snapped.

Grandfather led the way toward the light. As they reached the back door, he finally saw her. Then they were outside, running. They should have been shot going through the door, silhouetted by the dull morning light. They hit the trees still alive and for a moment an exuberant joy sang through Kier.

"I can't believe we're alive," Kier said.

"White men can't see spirits," said Grandfather.

"Somebody in there was on our side, shooting like hell.

That's why we're still alive," Jessie said. Then she stopped running abruptly. "We can't run now while Special Agent Doyle's still in there."

"He double-crossed me," Kier said.

"He didn't double-cross anybody but Tillman. He's a real agent."

"Then he's sold out."

"You're wrong," she said. "Get it in your head. The FBI are the good guys. We've got to help Doyle. If they figure out he was shooting, he's dead."

Kier grabbed her arm to draw her forward, but she shrugged it off.

"We have more important things to worry about than one man," Kier argued, "even if he is legitimate."

"You would never say that if it was Grandfather or me."

Kier sighed and looked at Grandfather. ''I suppose you could go," Kier said haltingly. "We have the diary and the cure. You could tell the newspapers." He struggled. He didn't want to risk Jessie's life again. At best, Doyle was a government agent with a facility for lying. Jessie's blind faith in the damn government was ludicrous. He kicked the dirt, then turned away from her, staring at nothing.

"I can't live in a world where everything depends on the Lone Ranger, Kier. You've got to believe in more than yourself and the Tiloks. Nobody in this country can tolerate the Tillmans of the world. This government can't. Give me the pistol and let's go back. Let Grandfather take care of the Tilok." She studied him. "On everything else in life you are so wise. I just… " She shook her head and remained silent.

He guessed she had said her piece. He took a deep breath knowing he had only seconds to decide.

"Whisper to me where the cure is," he asked Grandfather.

The old man responded so quietly that Kier could barely hear. Then Kier turned to Jessie, seeing the question in her eyes.

"There is nothing they can do to make me tell," Kier said, as if to explain. "The stuff with James Cole should be safe. But we may need the other half that Grandfather hid."

Her gaze went to the ground. He knew she was wondering whether she could protect the information from Tillman if she were caught and tortured.

Grandfather nodded. "We are surrounded," he said.

Kier neither saw nor heard anything, but somehow began to sense something. If only Jessie hadn't insisted they stop. Maybe if it were Grandfather and him alone. But with Jessie… It seemed hopeless.

Grandfather touched his arm, looked Kier full in the eyes. Kier had never before witnessed such calm in the face of such danger.

"I should go now," Grandfather said.

The old man squatted and duck-walked into a patch of young fir, seeming to get very small. The forest fell deathly quiet. Even the birds sounded muted. After a moment, Kier heard the faintest snap followed by a rustling sound a little farther off. Men were coming.

"You go. I'll do the best I can to hide." Jessie stood close to him.

"This time, he'll torture you. He's worse than we imagined."

"I know." Tears filled her eyes. "Go now. You've got to get away."

Another snap came, much closer.

Kier hesitated. "I can't leave you," he said simply. "Let's go. If we get away, we'll find you some firepower, more ammo, and come back for Doyle."

Moving low to the ground, they passed through some manzanita, oaks, and patchy fir, then came to an opening. Several men, he thought at least seven, were spread out in a line behind a stand of fir trees, all within 150 feet. It looked tough. He pushed Jessie back into the brush. The throbbing sound of a helicopter emerged from the distance. Seconds later, it hovered directly over them, just above the trees. They retreated, moving to the left, staying low and out of sight. As if it had eyes, the chopper hung squarely over them. Kier knew it must have infrared sights. Even Grandfather could not hide from this.

He caught a glimpse of the helicopter's belly, and his mind began to spin. In giant letters, fbi read obscenely across its underside. He pointed.

"They'll save us," she said.

Now there was no good answer. Kier reasoned that the Feds were either on Tillman's side, or they had been misled. Whichever, they were being used to track them more surely than any man could ever accomplish.

"They aren't saving us. They're following us. They're killing us."

"You can't know that," she said. "We're saved, I tell you."

He considered shooting the rotors with his newly acquired M-16. It was the only way to escape the chopper. But doing so would put him squarely at odds with Jessie and the government. It could turn them into criminals. Again he moved left and motioned to Jessie. With a dubious look, she followed. But the giant bird would not back off. If he didn't do something, they would be captured. He brought the gun to his shoulder. Through the trees he aimed at the whirling rotors. His finger went to the trigger.

Jessie grabbed his arm, swinging the rifle away. "Don't. They're trying to save us." She was screaming in his ear now.

He knew her mind as if she had an hour to speak it.

"For once in your life trust the government."

It was her expression that filled him with indecision. She was so certain, and she wanted so much for him to believe in her and her FBI. For whatever reason, the men back in the clearing did not seem to be following. He looked up. The copter was lowering two harnesses, offering to lift them out. Once in the harness, they would have no escape. He looked at Jessie, could see the hope written in her eyes.

"Please," she said simply. "You aren't the only justice for the Tiloks."

He nodded, wanting to believe she was right, but almost certain she wasn't. He walked woodenly beside her into the tiny clearing, where they fastened themselves into the harnesses. In an instant, the helicopter began to rise, hoisting them above the treetops before whisking them straight for the Donahue ranch and Tillman's men. It broke his heart to watch Jessie's face as the horror became real to her. They were being delivered to their tormentors.

The men in the woods below marched back to the house, where more men stood waiting in the yard. One was righting a fire. Kier's gut tightened as he watched a man with a coiled rope. The copter delicately lowered them into a circle of at least a dozen men, all aiming their automatic rifles at Kier and Jessie from point-blank range. Kier looked for Tillman. Not surprisingly he remained safely out of sight.

Kier could shoot, but only at the drones. And they would kill him and Jessie long before he got them all. Leading the pack was Doyle, waiting for them with a sly smile. When they hit the ground, one man took Kier's rifle and the pistol. In seconds, he and Jessie had their hands and feet shackled. They could only move in a slow, shuffling walk. Kier wondered how long it would take for them to die. Tillman, he knew, would make it as slow as he could, especially after deciding they couldn't or wouldn't deliver to him the sixth volume.