Primeval

6

With maps of British Columbia and Alaska tacked to every piece of exposed wall inside of the small hotel room, Collins, Alexander, and Farbeaux compared the description of an area along the Stikine River taken from L. T. Lattimer's letter home on the back of the last page of the Petrov journal.

"I don't know Jack, how many times has the Stikine changed its course, even if only by feet after a hundred years?" Punchy asked. "I think if I returned to Ottawa, I may be able to get a better handle on this. Someone in our interior department may have something to offer.

Jack stepped back from the large map and looked at Alexander. "You know better than anyone that if we went to any branch of any government with this, not only would we be arrested, they would fill those areas with so many Mounties and bureaucratic red tape, Lynn would surely be killed."

"Damn. Sorry, Jack, maybe I need some sleep."

Jack nodded and then looked at his old friend. "We'll have time to rest on our way up to your backyard."

Farbeaux sat at the small table and sipped a large cup of coffee, grimacing at the horrible taste. He turned the pages of the Petrov journal easily, and even as he did he felt the brittleness of the paper.

"Beside the description of the overhanging bluffs and medium-size plateau our Colonel Petrov describes at his last encampment, the exactness of the area leaves much to be desired. Too much has changed."

Jack looked back and saw the Frenchman as he thumbed through the pages. "Lattimer used the journal to discover his gold deposit. Does it say anything about where that strike was made in the papers and letters?"

Farbeaux closed the old diary and then picked up the plastic-covered letter still etched on the last page of the journal. He shook his head and then handed Jack the pile. "I see no reference about his find anywhere, other than he found a wonderful strike."

Jack shook his head. He was beginning to think they would stand a better chance just making their way up to the Stikine and hoping for the best. He figured the Russians couldn't be that inconspicuous in that wilderness area. He became frustrated and slapped the page in his hand against the table, and then sat. He knew he was fooling himself: The Stikine was only the most dense and nearly unexplored region in North America. It could be like finding a needle in the proverbial haystack. In frustration, he started reading Lattimer's announcement again about his find and declaration.

"Why was a Russian colonel even in that part of the world? How could anyone get that lost, especially a trained army officer? And just who in the hell are these 'children' he keeps mentioning?" Alexander asked. "It makes me think this whole book may have been written by a madman. Or, have you even considered the fact that this whole thing is a hoax?"

"I guess we'll ask Sarah what Doc Ellenshaw has to say about it," Collins said as he rubbed his eyes.

Farbeaux was beginning to agree with the Canadian CSIS man. "I believe the man may have been a deserter from the Russian army, after all, they were going through political turmoil at the time, if I remember right it was a little thing called the Russian revolution."

"But run to Alaska, get lost, bury some wagons full of gold, then disappear."

Jack looked at Alexander and then slowly shuffled through the papers again. As he did, he finally found the notation he was looking for. He smiled and then laid the papers down.

"Son of a bitch, it was right there the whole time, and we boy geniuses missed it."

Farbeaux just raised his right eyebrow and took another sip of the bitter coffee. Punchy Alexander turned away from the large maps to look at Jack.

"What did we miss?"

"Here," Jack said as he slid the journal across the table and pointed to the second to the last page. It was notes jotted down by Lattimer. "He said he finally had his strike, hallelujah, he said it was right in front of him the whole time, under a bluff just where the diary said Petrov and his deserters made their last camp. At this site he came across strange-looking aluminum, a hundred yards of it."

"Strike, Jack, not gold-filled wagons, and just because he found a bunch of aluminum cans — I just don't see where any of that helps," Alexander said.

Farbeaux looked from the letter to Alexander who had joined them at the table. He then fixed Jack with his own penetrating eyes. "I think I see what you're saying, Colonel."

"Lattimer didn't find his strike, he found the diary and then he found at least one of the wagons of gold."

"Whoa, that's stretching things, Jack," Punchy said with a shake of his head.

"No, he tells us it was the mother lode, and it wasn't a deposit he found in the river right here." Jack pointed to the dates of the first notes in the upper right-hand corner. The pencil used was faded, but the date was clearly visible: July 22, 1968. "That is the date he wrote his relatives on the back page of the last entry of the journal. Now look here, the last thing he writes is the fact that he was sending Ellenshaw back with the journal and he would take the strike and head back when he had assistance from the local Indians to help load it."

"So?" Alexander asked.

"The date, old friend, on that last letter — July 23, 1968. Now, how can he have a strike, a find of any kind, and have it dug out of the ground, packed, and ready to go in one day, or even two, three, or four?"

"I'll be damned," Alexander said. "Yes, I would say, maybe he found it already smelted and put into coin, maybe American double eagles, just as…"

"The diary said," Jack and Henri finished for Punchy.

"Now that is what's called a gold strike," Alexander said smiling. Then the smile faded. "Still doesn't say where along the Stikine to look."

"I think it does," Henri said, shuffling through the letters. "Now, the map that was inside of the journal is worthless, no markings of any value. Except for this." Farbeaux pulled over the last page Jack was holding and then the map with Lattimer's little chicken scratches on its old face. "Here, he says he's sending Charlie Ellenshaw and the grad students back to the camp, and he figured they could find their way back in a matter of two days down river."

"Yes?" Punchy said, but Jack already pieced it together and so he stood and walked over to the map and looked.

"The wording, Mr. Alexander," Henri said. "He mentions the camp; obviously we thought he was saying it was the camp of the graduate students he was hired as guide for. Now, anywhere on the upper Stikine is many more days by boat back to civilization than just a mere two days, not two days journey, so it has to be another camp, perhaps—"

"A fishing camp," Jack said turning to face the two men. "The Tlingit Indian Fishing Camp to be exact." He jabbed a finger at a spot on the large map. "This Wahachapee settlement right here."

"Even if it isn't so, Colonel, I believe it is a good place to start looking," the Frenchman said as he stood, walked into the bathroom, and poured out his coffee. "If young Sarah brings back anything at all from your complex, Colonel, I pray it's real coffee, French roast if possible."

Jack didn't answer the remark, knowing Farbeaux was trying to take his mind off of Lynn if only for a moment. Instead, he just turned and looked at the map once more and studied the legend at the top and its wholly unintentional foreboding message: UNEXPLORED REGION — STIKINE ARCHIPELAGO WILDERNESS.

Two hours later, after Jack had just about worn a path in the dirty carpet from the hotel room's large window and back again to the map, Sarah finally returned from the complex at Nellis. She hugged Jack and through the tenseness of his body, she could tell he was chomping at the bit to get moving.

Jack slowly pushed Sarah away when he saw that standing between her back and the front of Will Mendenhall was none other than Charles Hindershot Ellenshaw III.

"Oh, no, this isn't for you, Doc, sorry," Jack said, eyeing Sarah and Mendenhall with a ferocious glare. "There's enough of us probably going to jail over this."

Charlie, replete with a bright orange hunting vest and green pants and shirt, pushed his glasses back up on his nose and stared at Jack, not moving. He shuffled from one foot to the other.

"It was Niles. He insisted Charlie join our band of outlaws," Sarah said, stepping around Collins, and rolling her eyes at Alexander and Farbeaux.

"Uh… Colonel, I think I need to be with you on this trip. To help you get your sister back."

"Colonel, the doc here may have something you need to hear," Mendenhall said, still standing outside of the room, looking almost as nervous as Charlie.

Collins just stared at Will. His eyes told the young lieutenant everything he needed to know.

"Or not," Mendenhall said looking away. "Uh, we brought some supplies and a little equipment… I'll go check on it." Will bounded away and then down the stairs without looking back. He had decided to let Sarah battle the colonel on behalf of Ellenshaw.

"Jack, I think you better listen to what Charlie has to say — he knows about the area we're looking for, he can find it and recognize the spot."

Collins finally gave in and stepped aside. "Alright, Doc, you have two minutes to convince me you're worth the weight we have to compensate for on the plane."

Hindershot smiled meekly and stepped into the room. He nodded at Punchy, who only stared at the crazed white-haired professor. Then Charlie saw Farbeaux and stopped dead in his tracks.

"That's right, Professor, strange circumstances call for strange bedfellows," Henri said with a nod of his head. "If I remember right, you're the monster man, correct?"

"I am a crypto zoologist, yes"

"I would have thought you would have had quite enough of your very strange profession down in the Amazon, Doctor," Farbeaux said as he stood and slapped the tall thin man on the back.

"Alright, you can tell your story on the way to the plane," Jack said as he gathered the maps that were pinned to the wall. "If it isn't a good one, you'll have to describe the area as best you can and then hitchhike back to Nellis and tell the director, thanks but no thanks. Am I clear on that, Doc?" Collins said as he quickly folded the maps and shot Ellenshaw another withering look.

"Yes, uh, yes, Colonel, very clear."

"Well, we few, we desperate few, we band of brothers," Henri looked at Sarah and smiled and half bowed, "and sister, shall we head north, and not stop until we fall off the edge of the world."

It was only Charlie that smiled as the others were already leaving. "Actually, I think we only fall off the map, Colonel Farbeaux."

Henri raised his right brow as he gestured for Ellenshaw to go out before him.

"That, my dear Professor Ellenshaw, is just the thing that scares me."

Everett and Ryan had been standing beside the seaplane for what seemed to them half the night and now they were only two hours away from dawn.

Everett would glance at his watch and then look up and around the steep incline that held the trickle of water at bay in the L.A. River. The chain-link fence surrounding the river was high, and stopped all but the racers and drug dealers from venturing into the basin. Carl was getting an old and reliable feeling at the back of his neck.

Ryan walked around the right wing float of the Grumman and bent over to check the main landing gear. The tire pressure on that side was low, but there was nothing he could do about it. He remained in his position and acted as if he were checking other areas of the large wheel.

"Captain, I have the feeling we are—"

"Being watched," Everett finished for him. "Stay where you're at for a minute; keep a low silhouette."

Up until this point in time, the large Grumman seaplane had only drawn casual lookers, and they had been lucky thus far that none of them had called the police to ask why there was an antique plane sitting under a bridge in the L.A. River. Everett thanked the heavens that everyone in L.A. kept to themselves: If it didn't affect them, it was none of their business. But now the naval captain was beginning to wonder if their luck had run out.

Against the streetlights from above the river, Everett finally spied the watchers: at least two men, but he knew there were more. He shook his head as he recognized the windbreakers favored by the FBI field offices. To them, he thought, that was plainclothes.

"We have feds to the left and probably more behind us," he said to Ryan. "Okay, Lieutenant, it's Acting 101 time. I want you to laugh and then go around to the stairs and climb inside; I'll walk to the tail section. When you hear the word, fire this damn thing up."

"Okay, but what about the colonel. Shouldn't we—"

"Gentlemen, this is the FBI. Please stand clear of the aircraft."

Everett closed his eyes, knowing he had been snuck up on from behind.

Two agents came from the dark at the back of the plane. They had weapons drawn and pointed at both he and Ryan. He felt one of the agents remove his Berretta nine-millimeter from the back of his waistband. The other waited for Ryan to straighten up before attempting to take his.

"Your record is indicative of a good sailor, Captain Everett, I would expect you to come quietly. Then we'll take Colonel Collins and the rest when they arrive."

"Look, you know what we're doing; why don't you just turn around and leave," Everett said as he felt the agent's hand checking him for other weapons.

"We're following orders, Captain. If we could let you go, we would. The president says you'll be stepping on a lot of toes, so for now you have to step aside and let our office and the Canadian authorities handle this."

"My friend, since you've read my file, you surely must have read about the man that is in charge here. Do you think this situation will stand?" Carl asked as he finally turned and saw for the first time that the FBI agent was young, possibly too young.

"Our bosses don't like sending us out blind, Captain. We know enough about Colonel Collins that this entire basin is surrounded by fifteen other agents.

Everett looked around. He saw passing headlights on the old bridges in front of them and in back. The one they were under was quiet for the moment, and he suspected there was at least one team of agents up there.

Ryan came out from under the undercarriage with his hands up. He shrugged his shoulders in the false light of the streetlamps above them. "Captain, it's your duty to tell these guys; if you won't, I will."

The agent holding Everett at arm's length looked at Ryan over the large SEAL's shoulders, but refrained from asking what Ryan was talking about.

"Tell us what?" asked the second agent leading Ryan to the front of the plane.

"Listen," Everett said, lowering his hands, and then raising his brows as if to ask if it was alright. The agent nodded but stepped as far back as he could to keep out of range of Carl's long legs and arms. "I'm a nice guy, hell, I know you're only doing your jobs; even Ryan there has his moments of clarity, but the man we work for, he's, well, how do I put this?"

"A prick when mad," Ryan finished for him.

"Thank you, Mr. Ryan. You see, it's not just me, Colonel Collins has his mind set on something and—"

There was a thud and a grunt from above them on the bridge. Then there was a clatter of metal and the sound of something sliding down the steep slope of concrete.

"Never mind," Everett said. "Too late."

The first agent frowned and then relaxed, he still looked around nervously, but then he cowboyed up and tried looking confident.

"Nice try," he said as he reached for his radio. "Two and three, this is one, sit-rep."

There was only static. The agent looked a little different than he had just a second before. "Units two and three, sit-rep," he said just a little too loud, telling Everett and Ryan that he was becoming more than just a little concerned. Carl just grimaced mockingly and shrugged. The agent brought his own weapon up and made sure Everett knew he was covered. Carl just shook his head. That was when they heard footsteps, a lot of them. As they watched, three groups of men were slipping and sliding down the concrete slopes of the river. They were followed by others, and one group had what looked like a white long-haired scarecrow of a man who fell on his butt, but popped right up and kept following the others.

The agent couldn't help it; he turned when he saw the three long parades of men coming down from above. At that moment, Everett easily reached out and took the agent by the wrist and simply twisted the gun from his hand. Ryan wasn't as adept at disarming a man as the captain — he raised his boot into the air, stomped on the agent's right toe, and clipped him on the neck, freeing the gun with Ryan catching it, juggling it and then finally securing the weapon.

"Are we clear down there, Mr. Everett?" a voice called from the dark.

"Clear, Colonel," Everett called out as he ejected the ammunition clip from the nine-millimeter and then the chambered round, he eased the gun back into the agents hand. Jason Ryan did the same.

Finally, out of the darkness marched eight FBI agents, looking mad and very frustrated. One of the men looked at the man Carl had just disarmed and shook his head.

"They were on us before we knew anyone was there."

"You should have remembered your training from Quantico far better than you did," Jack said as he stepped up from behind the agents. "There is no such thing as a secure perimeter in an open civilian area." Collins looked at the agent in charge. "Your men became too complacent with passersby; they were more concerned about being seen than securing any hostiles" — he leaned into the agent—"we, sir, are the hostiles."

Farbeaux, standing next to Sarah and Ellenshaw and still covering three of the agents himself, smiled and knew Collins was the most worthy opponent he had ever come across. It took Jack only moments to smell the ambush as they passed by the bridge, and only another few seconds to figure the plan of taking the agents without anyone getting hurt.

"Colonel, I told them after reading your unclassified army file that we didn't have enough men, but you know how Washington can be." The agent in charge looked down at his feet, and then he shrugged and looked at Collins once more. "Well, you have us, but as one former soldier to another, I'll ask you to reconsider and let others handle this situation. Give over the information you have and let us go after the Russians; we have friends up there."

Jack looked at the agent after nodding at Ryan to get the aircraft preflighted. "We have a friend here and I think he even speaks Canadian."

Punchy wanted to laugh, but he figured Jack was only trying to make a point.

"Then, Colonel, we tried." The agent held out his hand. "Good luck, and I hope you get what it is you are going after."

Collins looked at the hand in front of him, and then shook it.

"Oh, this is very touching, but we may want to think about getting the hell out of here, Colonel. The L.A. police may not be so cooperative," Farbeaux said as he waved for Mendenhall to bring the supplies down, as he turned to assist. "In case you have forgotten, we left two of their brethren tied up at the Chavez house."

Jack closed his eyes in frustration. He had forgotten.

"Don't concern yourself, they were found an hour after you left the house," the FBI agent said. "Colonel, I'll give you two hours; after that, I have to tell them you're heading north," he said releasing Jack's hand. Then he smiled, "I believe I overheard north of Toronto if I'm not mistaken."

This time Jack did return the smile, "Yes, Toronto."

Ten minutes later, the FBI agents held flashlights at the bridge that was four hundred feet in front of the idling Grumman. The plane was filled to the brim with men and equipment. Sarah was squeezed into a seat that included two backpacks, one rifle, and Farbeaux. Every time she looked around, she saw that crooked smile of the Frenchman and the bobbing up and down of his brows.

"Don't worry, my little Sarah, you may only have to bear my advances for a very few moments, I don't expect this antique to get off the ground — I don't think she was made to carry this much of a load."

"Thanks, Henri. Between you or the bridge, either way, this is going to suck."

Ryan, with Jack sitting in the copilot's seat next to him, reached up to the overhead console and jammed both throttles all the way to their stops.

"When I say so, Colonel, you pull back on that wheel as far as possible and as hard as you can," Ryan said over the noise of the roaring engines as he released the brakes.

Jack looked very uncomfortable taking the three-quarter steering wheel of the Grumman. He touched it gingerly at first, then grabbed on tightly. "Is it supposed to vibrate this much?" he asked, his eyes wide open and staring at the fast-approaching bridge and the agents holding their flashlights.

"How in the hell should I know, Colonel? I've only flown a propeller-driven trainer three times in my life!" he shouted and then roared with laughter as he pulled back on the wheel, "Now Colonel, Now!"

The seaplane bounced once, scattering the agents before it. Then it bounced again.

One of Alice Hamilton's contributions to the upgrade of the old seaplane was to incorporate a flight computer that not only projected a holographic image of the approaching bridge, but also carried the voice trait of the Europa computer back at the Event Group complex. It was she who started warning Ryan of the encroaching danger straight ahead.

"Warning, obstacle detected. Warning, max weight overload. Warning, obstacle detected in aircraft path. Divert! Divert! Divert!" said the sexy female voice just as the Grumman bounced hard off the concrete.

"Are you going to hop over the damn bridge?" Collins asked loudly.

Finally, the nose of the Grumman lifted free of the riverbed and rose. "Come on, old girl, fly, damn it, fly!" Ryan screamed while everyone in the back of the plane prayed and waited for the sudden impact that would tell them the bridge was old, but built well.

The Grumman climbed and as it barely screamed over the railing of the overpass, they felt the impact of the rear wheel as it slammed into one of the old streetlamps that lined the bridge. The glass and steel and the seaplanes wheel careened off onto the pavement of the bridge, causing several cars to spin out to avoid the flying debris. Then the seaplane suddenly took a nosedive back into the river, but Ryan quickly compensated with full flaps, pumping furiously at the old hydraulic system. Finally, the plane rose into the night sky, flying barely above the power lines and over houses. Ryan relaxed when he felt the centerline of the plane level off and the weight factor lessen as the Grumman rose. He slowly started to pump the flap handle once more.

"Where to, Colonel?" Ryan asked as he finally got the nerve to take a hand from the wheel and wipe his sweating brow.

"We'll refuel at the mouth of the Columbia River in Oregon, and then we'll push into Vancouver, and just pray the Canadian authorities don't shoot us down. We're not on speaking terms like we are with the FBI."

"Amen to that."

Collins finally made his own body relax as Ryan made his turn north over the Port of Los Angeles. He swallowed and finally spared a thought for his sister, praying she was still alive.

"Hang on, baby girl, just hang on a little bit longer," Jack mumbled to himself as he stared at his reflection in the side window.

The few members of the Event Group had made it out of the first phase of a mission that for the first time had no plan at all, other than to search — and in the case of Jack Collins, to destroy, if that search failed.

Lynn Simpson had to hand it to the two Russians and their small army of employees and guides. They had arranged everything from food and rest stops to refueling areas on the long and arduous helicopter ride from the town of Wrangell, just below the Tongass National Forest in Alaska, to the Stikine River, sixty miles south of Dease Lake, British Columbia. Lynn was surprised that Sagli and Deonovich had been so free with the information about the expedition they were on. She guessed they figured she wouldn't be coming back with them at any rate, so why not allow her full access to their immediate plans.

The four brand-new Sikorsky helicopters skirted the river as low as the trees would allow. They had almost run headlong into a small Bell Ranger of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police an hour before, but the expert pilots on the Russian payroll had avoided them nicely by dipping below the small range of mountains that flanked the Stikine. The helicopters were loaded with men and equipment that had been waiting for them in Seattle, undoubtedly the staging point for every murderous operation since they killed Serta, the lumber magnate a week earlier.

As Lynn watched the Stikine Mountain Range looming before them, she was approached by a man who had been introduced to her as the expedition's doctor: Leonovshki something or other — she couldn't keep all of the names straight, which told her she wasn't doing her job right. If she got out of this mess she had every intention of bringing every one of these bastards to justice. The doctor unceremoniously grabbed her hand and started to unwrap the bandage that covered the area where her index finger used to be. He looked it over, poked the inflamed skin around the wound once or twice, and then grunted his satisfaction. He rewrapped the amputation with a fresh wrapping and then rummaged in his black bag and brought out a syringe.

"Antibiotics," he said as he leaned forward.

"Why bother? I mean, it's not like they're going to let me go after they find what they want."

"I do as I am told, young lady. What my employers plans are, do not concern me; just what they are paying me."

"Spoken like a true mercenary."

The doctor gestured for her to stand up and lower her denim pants that had been supplied to her a day ago. She did, not exposing as much as the young doctor would have liked. He punched the needle home. As she looked around, several of the other killers for hire were admiring the upper portion of her ass.

"In the end, aren't we all just mercenaries? Even you with your agency masters?"

Lynn wasn't about to get into a philosophical debate with the doctor, so she just buttoned her pants and then sat down, staring at the others until they turned away. The doctor reached up and pulled down a plastic bag and handed it to her.

"I believe this should be about your size. The days are still warm here, but the nights can get cold."

Lynn opened the clear bag and pulled out an expensive, bright yellow down jacket. She looked back at the doctor and frowned.

"This would make for a good target in the woods."

The doctor ignored the comment and walked away, using the tied-down equipment to steady himself as the helicopter rose and dove over the trees below.

Lynn placed the jacket beside her and watched as the large helicopter started to descend after smoothing out. They were near some sort of small settlement that looked almost deserted. She spied a few small fishing boats, not more than fifteen feet in length as the helicopter she was riding in circled the settlement. The pilot finally sat the transport down in a small clearing about three hundred yards from the thick forest that lined the base of the mountains. As she watched, the other helicopters did the same, spacing themselves far apart as their wheels touched down on the rocky soil.

Lynn didn't move and was soon approached by Dmitri Sagli. He was wearing expensive hiking boots, denim jeans, and a bright red shirt. He looked ridiculously like a lumberjack of old. He even had suspenders on. She couldn't help but smile, although she hid it behind her hand.

"We are at the Wahachapee Fishing Camp. It is small and is populated by Tlingit Indians. If you make one attempt at either escape, or to relay your predicament to the locals, we will not only shoot you, but everyone here, children included. Do you understand?"

"I've understood you since you first opened your foul mouth in Virginia."

"Then you do understand — it won't be us killing these people, but you." Sagli turned and made his way to the lowering stairs as his ten men started unloading the supplies and equipment.

Lynn shook her head and then grabbed the coat she had been given and followed Sagli out of the helicopter. As she stepped onto the rocky soil, she was amazed at the raw beauty of the area. With the mountains behind and in front of them and the river coursing through the center, the spot was an ideal location for nature lovers. However, as she saw that the area was void of people, her enthusiasm quickly diminished.

A hundred yards to her front, she saw Deonovich and Sagli speaking together in hushed tones, not once sparing her a look. As her eyes scanned the area, she saw what looked like a small general store, perhaps there to sell bait to the local Indian population. Next to the three-story market, there was a large icehouse and its chilling tower. A small warehouse was at its base and several of the local men were standing on the dock, watching the newcomers as they unloaded. The men were of various ages: some had the long hair of the young native, while other older men wore their hair short. Their skin was copper toned from living and working in the open and, like all fishermen, had the honest look of laborers. She saw an old woman coming from the river carrying two baskets filled with fish — the heavy Indian woman looked her way and then quickly in the direction of the two Russians. It was as if she didn't even notice all of the equipment being off loaded from the four helicopters.

Good for you, Lynn thought to herself, the less curious these locals are, the more likely they will survive the murderous group that was invading their tranquil home.

"Sikorsky S-76s — four of them — now these are some fishermen that know how to travel."

Lynn was startled as the voice came from behind her. She turned and saw a young woman, maybe sixteen years old, as she placed a hand on the sleek light blue side of the tail boom of the helicopter she had ridden in. Lynn looked back at Sagli and Deonovich, but they were busy supervising the unloading of their equipment. She turned back to face the pretty girl in the dark green overalls and the black shirt. Lynn could see the twin braids that coursed down her back and she had a face as bright as sunshine, setting off her raven black hair. She was surprised to see a Caucasian girl among so many native Canadians.

"I see you know your aircraft," Lynn said as she approached the young girl.

"Sure, we see a lot of nice and very expensive things here; you know, rich doctors and such when they hire out for fishing and hunting guides. I also attend college at Washington State, so I do have an idea how the rest of the world lives and plays." The girl saw the confusion her statement caused the stranger. "I was homeschooled by my grandmother and then I started college early. It wasn't as tough as people make out."

Lynn smiled and then looked around her, surprised at the emptiness of the fishing camp.

"I didn't mean to be condescending, you just didn't look like a student… I mean… uh, hell, I don't know what I mean."

The girl removed her hand from the aluminum skin of the Sikorsky and looked at Lynn, examining her.

"You don't look like you're much of a fisherman or hunter."

"Touche," Lynn said with a smile as she saw the girls eyes shift from her to the large group of men placing crates and bags along the shore of the river. When she looked back at Lynn, the girl had a curious look on her face, and then it vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

"So, do your parents operate this settlement?"

"My parents are dead. I live with my grandmother, and yes, this is all hers, everything from a mile up the mountains to the water that flows in the river — bought and paid for many years ago. My family buys fish from the few groups of Tlingit Indians left in this area. We freeze them and sell them down south in Vancouver and Juneau."

"I'm sorry about your parents."

The girl smiled. "Why would you be sorry? I never knew them, my mother died giving birth to me and my father was killed a few years after that. I'm afraid all I have are pictures." Her smile broadened. "Would you like to see them?"

Lynn couldn't resist, she liked the young girl immediately. She knew she could be no more than sixteen years old, but she said she was in college already. That would made her something special in Lynn's mind. Plus, her smile was infectious.

"Yes I would," she said quickly. "I would also like to meet the grandmother of a girl smart enough to attend college at such a young age." Lynn watched for a reaction, as maybe there was some way she could get the message through to these people not to interfere with their new visitors. She didn't trust the word of Sagli not to hurt and kill to get what it was they came for — or to cover up that fact.

"My name is Marla Petrovich."

"I'm Lynn. Nice to meet you, Marla."

As Lynn turned to follow the girl, she could not help but notice the attention Marla paid to the lined-up supplies and equipment. It was if she were examining the reasoning behind some of the more exotic of it. Her eyes lingered the longest on four large tarp-covered pieces. To the girl's credit, she kept quiet as she bounded past Sagli and Deonovich.

Sagli watched Lynn and the girl for a moment, and then said a last word to Deonovich and then he followed Lynn and the girl as they walked toward the small two-story store, his eyes never leaving the two women.

Sagli's large partner watched as the three disappeared into the wooden-framed store. At that moment a breeze sprang up and moved the rotors of the four helicopters. Deonovich turned away from the dust that the wind had kicked up, and as he did, he thought he heard the far-off sound of a tree falling. When he looked up after the sudden wind had died down, he stared as far as he could across the river. It seemed as if something had moved there, but the darkness of the woods and the long shadows the giant trees cast made seeing anything impossible. As he turned away, he suddenly knew what the feeling was that he had when looking across the fast-moving river — he felt he was being watched.

As Lynn went through the old door, she was amazed to see that the store was far more modern than she ever would have suspected from the old wooden structure from the outside. There were new advertisements for Coors, Molson, Moosehead, and Budweiser brands of beers. There were up-to-date displays of all brands of fishing equipment and even had a rental counter for those items. The floor was not made out of wood, but was a bright and shiny linoleum that was beige in color. The shelves were clean and dusted and full of canned goods, and even had a quaint sign hanging from the ceiling that said AIR TIGHTS. The store even had a dairy department that carried fresh milk and eggs.

"Well, this is it, the last stop of humanity before reaching the wilds of the Stikine," Marla said as she gestured for Lynn to follow her around the large counter situated at the right of the aisles.

Lynn felt Sagli step into the store and eye his surroundings with suspicion. He allowed himself to relax when he saw there were no apparent customers inside the large store. Lynn could see that he adjusted something under his open coat, obviously warning her that he was armed.

"I have most of my pictures upstairs, but there are a few which Grandmother keeps here. We call it our ghost wall." Marla smiled as she pointed at an old black-and-white picture of two people. One was a large blond man and the other was a smallish woman who had obvious Indian blood in her, and was beautiful. The large man, at least six foot four or five, had his arm around the small woman who was a good foot and a half shorter than the man. "These are my parents; Grandmother says that my mom was actually pregnant with me when this was taken."

"Your mother was a beautiful woman," Lynn said turning and smiling at the obviously proud girl.

"What did your father do for a living — run this store?" Sagli asked as he stepped up to the counter and removed his pair of work gloves.

"Her father was a guide. No man in the world knew this area better than my Eric; he was raised along the Stikine and never left her waters."

Lynn and Sagli both turned to see an old woman come out of a back room wiping her hands on a dish towel. She eyed the strangers with an arched brow. She was dressed in a large pair of denim pants and wore a bright red-and-black wool shirt. Her hair was pulled back into a bun and she looked spry for a woman in her early eighties.

"Oh, hello," Lynn said as she stepped out from behind the counter.

"You folks lookin' for a guide? We usually get advance notice of fishermen headin' our way by the Mounties down at Jackson's Bluff."

"We flew in from Juneau," Sagli said, eyeing the old woman.

"From Alaska, but you are Russian, right?" the heavyset woman said as she gained the counter, and stepped behind it, looking at her granddaughter.

"Grandmother, this is Lynn. Lynn, this is my grandmother Helena, and — I don't know your name," she said turning to Sagli.

The Russian didn't say anything, he looked at Lynn and then put his gloves back on.

"So, I take it you are traveling up the Stikine?" the grandmother asked.

Lynn was about to answer when Sagli slapped one glove against the other. "We will be doing some exploring and sightseeing."

"Sightseeing? Along the Stikine?" the woman said with a smile and a raised brow.

"You'll have to excuse Grandmother, she gets in these moods," Marla said as she came from around the counter. "But she's only concerned; the Stikine can be a very dangerous place if you don't know what you're doing or exactly where you are going. The river can be calm one minute, and with just a small thunderstorm up north, can become a raging torrent the next."

"We are well equipped for any contingency, young woman," Sagli announced.

"Many a fool has gone into the forest, the mountains, and the Stikine Valley well equipped, and we would find some of that fine equipment floating back down a week or two later," the grandmother said as she unlocked the cash register. "Now, is there anything we can help you with before you go?"

Sagli eyed both the young girl and the old woman, then he took Lynn by the arm and pulled her toward the door. Lynn tried to look back, but the Russian kept a steady pressure on her by squeezing her arm so that she knew there would be no more conversation exchanged.

After the two left the store, Marla turned to her grandmother, who was watching the activity outside with interest.

"You don't like that man, do you?" she asked.

Without turning to face the girl, the old woman said, "Russian."

"Grandmother, we do have Russian in our blood. You said it yourself: There are so many Russians in this area of Canada, you can't throw a rock without hitting one."

The old woman just looked at her granddaughter and then smiled. "Come now, help me with the baking. You need to earn your keep before you go back to school."

The girl shook her head and then headed for the back, but the old woman stayed and watched as the newcomers inflated giant Zodiac rubber boats, eight of them in all. Then she watched as the helicopters lifted off and then disappeared over the giant trees. All the while, the Russian who had been in the store watched her through the window.

"Goddamn Russians," was all she said.

Before she turned away, she noticed the face of the smallish woman looking at her. There was something in her stance from that distance that told her that there was trouble. Then the old woman's eyes went to the men loading the supplies onto the boat and she couldn't help but notice the plastic-wrapped items being stored at the bottom of each boat. She knew what they were loading, and they weren't your standard hunting rifles — they were automatic weapons.

She eased herself away from the window and went into a back room just outside of the kitchen. There was an ancient rolltop desk with all the stores financials laid out on its top, and above that on the desk's upper most reaches, was a large radio. She picked up the old-fashioned microphone and then hit the transmit button.

"Charlie, do you have your ears on down there?" she said into the mike and then waited.

"RCMP, Jackson's Bluff," came the answer through the wall-mounted speaker.

"Charlie Kemp, is that you?"

"Helena, how's things up to the camp, eh?"

"Charlie, I think we may need a few of your Mounties up this way. We have visitors, and I don't think they're here for the fishing."

7

Lynn watched as the first four large Zodiacs pulled onto the rocky shoreline of the river. She had been surprised they had traveled as far as they had after the sun had set as the river was one large twisting and turning roller-coaster ride since they started out from the fishing camp. As the men piled out of the huge rubber craft and their two hundred horse-power Evenrude engines were shut down, Lynn was cognizant of how quiet the woods were around them. The sound of the fast-flowing Stikine helped with masking the sounds of the men unloading equipment, but she could tell that when all was said and done, the wilderness would let you hear for miles around.

As she stood at the rear of the boat, her wrist was grabbed by Dmitri Sagli. He held a Remington.306 hunting rifle with a twelve-power scope in his other hand. His eyes met hers, and then darted away, scanning the area around their landing site.

"I will post no guard on you," he said, finally turning back to look at her. His eyes turned silver in the light of the rising moon. "This area is inaccessible; escaping would only hurry the process of your demise, so once we have made camp, think about what I have said. You may stand a small chance with us, but against a hungry bear, or a pack of wolves, you'll will have no chance at all." He let go of her wrist and then started walking away to the area he had chosen to make camp just inside of the tree line. "We will wait for my partner to join us with the last two boats. We will be here for at least twelve hours; use that time to rest — it will be the last chance you have before we push on to our destination."

Lynn rubbed her wrist and then looked around. She had not noticed before, but Deonovich and several of his mercenaries were also nowhere to be seen; as a matter of fact, she hadn't seen him since they left the fishing village.

Lynn stepped free of the Zodiac and started up the shoreline. She looked at the ancient and very foreboding trees that lined the Stikine, and shivered. She had been in wilderness areas before, but she could never remember being in a place where she felt as though she were an entire world away from civilization. As she looked skyward, she swore she could see every star in the universe as they twinkled and winked far above her. It was like looking at an incoming tide of luminescent water as it rushed to shore.

The men were quick and efficient at setting up large five-man tents. As they worked, Lynn could see that they all shouldered automatic rifles and all kept a wary eye on the river. They also watched the very tree line that held their small camp safely hidden. As they set the last of the tent poles and made their ropes tight, Lynn saw several boxes of large caliber ammunition. What were these men preparing for, a Canadian Mountie's full-scale invasion — or maybe something else?

"Lions and tigers and bears, oh my," she said under her breath nervously, trying to take her mind off the pain in her hand.

It was two hours later and Lynn had been supplied with a tin plate with rich beef stew almost overflowing the rim. She had discovered she had been near starvation. She had greedily shoveled the food into her mouth as the Russian mercenaries watched her with large smiles, shaking their heads. After she had eaten, she was shown to a small two-person tent and told that was where she would sleep. Not trusting the men she was currently keeping company with, Lynn silently pulled a small fallen branch into the tent with her. Once inside, she saw that an electric lantern had been placed in with her. She turned it on and saw a brand-new sleeping bag and a large bottle of drinking water, and beside it were three painkillers.

Lynn grimaced as she placed the small tree branch over her knee and tried to break it. The leafy branch was still too green to snap cleanly. She redoubled her effort and was rewarded with a snap. It didn't break through all the way, but she knew it would work out. She bent and twisted the branch until it broke and then she pulled, slicing the limb into two separate pieces, with one end sharper than the other. She smiled and tossed the blunt end away, keeping the small jabbing spear and poking at the air with it. At least she could poke someone's eye out with it if she were attacked in her lonely nylon-built domain.

Now that she was armed, she pulled out of her jacket, it being warm enough outside to make the night at least comfortable. She lay down on the sleeping bag and listened to the little spits of laughter coming from the men outside of her tent as she swallowed the three painkillers. Listening to the men, it was as though these bastards were on a vacation. She shook her head and closed her eyes.

An hour later she awoke to the strangest noise she had ever heard in the field. It seemed as though it came from miles away. As she sat up, she heard men as they unzipped their tents and stepped out, also questioning what it was they were hearing. She didn't understand the Russian language, but knew that the sound unnerved the men.

Lynn stood and cautiously approached the tent's flap and slowly slid the zipper down. She saw men standing around one dwindling fire pit. The soft glow showed her that they were, indeed, looking to the north, far past where the Stikine turned at a sharp angle. As she cocked her head to listen, the men were shushed to silence by Sagli as he stepped from his own large well-appointed tent. He was bare-chested but held the.306 at the ready; he went as far as to pull the bolt back and chamber a round.

The noise dwindled, and then picked up in intensity. It sounded like several people slamming large sticks against the trunks of trees. The sound echoed down through the river valley of the Stikine, bringing with it a set of cold chills, the likes of which Lynn had never had before.

As suddenly as the strange banging had started, it stopped, and the dark world around them became silent once more. Lynn saw Sagli lower his weapon and then gesture for the others to get back to sleep or to take up their guard stations once more. Sagli looked up at the giant trees as they swayed in the slight wind that had sprung up. As he turned away after slinging his rifle around his shoulder, he saw Lynn as she looked out of her tent flap. He smiled, with not one inch of it actually reaching anything other than his lips. Did he know something about the strange noise and wasn't offering an explanation, or was he as taken back as the others had been, herself included?

"Beavers slapping their tales against the water," he said as he passed.

Lynn decided to brave a comment from the small safety of her flimsy nylon fort.

"Sounds like wishful thinking."

Sagli stopped for a moment and faced her.

"Does it really matter? Anything out there would be doomed to challenge this group of men — now get to sleep, you will have a hard day tomorrow."

Lynn watched Sagli disappear into his tent and then his light go out. Just as she was starting to zip up her own flap, she looked once more into the darkness.

"Beavers, my ass," she said, and then gave out a slight shiver.

Around the camp the night grew still once more, and little did the Russians know that their presence in the valley of the Stikine had just been announced.

The few Russians on guard continued their watch, but now they listened far more closely than before. Most of the veterans of war-torn Chechnya and other embattled places felt as though they were once more in hostile countryside as their survival senses became active, and they knew as all old soldiers knew. They were being watched.

As the drone of the large twin-engine Grumman thrummed in Jack's ears, his thoughts turned to his sister, where they never drifted very far away from. He was having a hard time recalling her face. He knew that happened from time to time with others in his life, so he knew he had to think of Lynn in context. Recalling her childhood was the easiest. Her smiling face as he pushed his seven-year-old sister down the hill outside of their parents' house, trying desperately to teach her the balance she needed to, as in her words, ride a big person's bike. He remembered being so proud that she kept her balance all the way down the minislope, and then the sheer horror he felt when she wobbled, and then dumped the bike moments before striking the picket fence that lined their front yard. He smiled at the memory. She had bounced up and wanted to go again.

"Colonel, you awake?"

Jack tuned his head, losing the smile and the memory at the same instant. "Yeah, Lieutenant, what's up?"

Ryan could see Jack's face in the soft green glow of the mapped-out hologram on the split windscreen. He looked tired, and thought seriously about not asking him.

"Uh, you think you can take over for a while? I have to rest my eyes for an hour or so. During our twelve-hour layover at the Columbia River, I didn't get much sleep."

Jack sat up straight in his seat with a worried look on his dark features.

"Don't worry, Alice installed one really nice autopilot; she'll fly herself. You shouldn't have to do anything but monitor the threat board right in front of you, but we're flying low enough that we shouldn't be picked up by anything outside of a seagull with Doppler radar."

"Okay, Ryan, don't you go far, and if I call, don't drag your ass getting back here."

"Yes, sir." Ryan undid his safety harness, and half stood beneath the overhang of the flight controls.

"Tell me, Ryan, does it feel good to be flying again?" Jack asked as he looked at the twin steering wheels of the Y-shaped yoke in front of him as they moved up and down, and left and right on their own.

"Yes it does, boss, we have an old saying in the navy: Just don't take the sky away from me."

Jack smiled at the look on Jason's face. He nodded and then gestured for Ryan to get some rest.

"So, my little Sarah, since my left leg has gone completely to sleep from your nonweight, take my mind away from it and tell me about your Colonel Collins, and his little sister."

Sarah shook her head. She was tired, but the constant bumping of the ancient plane kept her from relaxing, so she and Farbeaux had kept a steady chatter going since refueling in Oregon.

"Henri, you may not believe this, but until yesterday, I didn't know Jack had a sister."

"Would you two be quiet for a while? That damn Frenchman's voice has a worse tone to it than those ancient piston engines," Everett said from the tight seat across the aisle. He had an old fedora that he had relieved from Henri's secret basement pushed down over his eyes.

"Sorry," Sarah said as Jason Ryan squeezed through the small opening separating the cockpit from the cabin. She watched him as he looked around, and then finding no seat to sit in, started to lie down on a pile of supplies.

"No, Jason, here, take my place," she said as she stood and removed herself from Farbeaux's leg. "Believe me, it's more comfortable than that mountain of camping stuff; that is if you don't mind Henri hitting on you."

"Touche, my dear, touche!" Farbeaux said as she stood.

"Jesus, can you people take it outside?" Everett said.

"Here, here," agreed Charlie Ellenshaw, who had his head propped up against Punchy Alexander's large chest, who in turn had one leg draped over Will Mendenhall's lap and two rolled-up sleeping bags.

Sarah apologized and picked her way around the crowded cabin and headed for the cockpit.

"You better keep your hands to yourself; I heard what you Frenchmen are capable of," Ryan said as he sat hard onto Henri's leg.

"Oh, you haven't heard the half of it, Lieutenant, believe me," the Frenchman said angrily as Jason crushed his leg.

Sarah poked her head through the small curtain that separated the cabin and cockpit. The four-foot entryway was something a hobbit would have a hard time going through, but Sarah figured she and Ryan would have no trouble.

"Mind some company," she asked, "it's a tad crowded back there."

Jack didn't turn to face Sarah and acted as though he was still reading the hologram readout on the windscreen.

"Hi, babe. No, sit down, silence in here would no doubt be preferable to Farbeaux's chatting you up."

Sarah squeezed into the pilot's seat and looked around. The hologram with its see-through detail cast a green and blue glow on her features. She chanced a look at Jack and attempted a smile.

"Anyone trailing us?" she asked just for conversation.

"We had a close one just south of Seattle, but Ryan ducked into a valley just below Mount Rainier, he lost them pretty fast."

Sarah waited for more, but she saw that Jack wasn't going to add anything to his answer. She swallowed and then turned her head to the left, a large cloud slid by, almost luminous in its while veil because of the moon. She closed her eyes at her own reflection.

"Jack?"

Jack was reaching over and was turning the small knob on the overhead console that automatically adjusted the altitude because he had seen on the readout that the old Grumman had drifted up by about ten feet. When he was satisfied, he looked over at Sarah and half smiled.

"Tell me you love me," she said, her eyes boring into his.

The look on Jack's face wasn't exactly what she had been hoping for. He bit his lower lip, and then after a second, as though the slight frown had never been there at all, he actually smiled. "You know I love you, and one of the reasons I fell in love with you was your confidence in yourself. You, of all the women I have ever known, didn't need reassurance on a constant basis. You knew how I felt."

"You surely don't have a clue about women, Colonel Collins," she said, still holding his blue eyes with her own.

Jack chuckled and then nodded. "Okay, I love you, and I hope that makes up for all the other times I wanted to say it, but couldn't."

Sarah smiled and batted her eyelashes, which Jack saw and shook his head.

Helena Petrovich waited silently on the long, covered porch of the store. She had been awakened early by the signals throughout the night by the Chulimantan. The constant hitting of the trees and the unrhythmic beat made her toss and turn. It had been almost twelve years since they had heard the beating of the clubs so close to the camp, and she asked herself why they had ventured this far down from the north. It was causing her a sleepless night.

The beating had stopped about an hour before the sun rose and its rays started reflecting off of the moving Stikine. She had gone into the store an hour before and told Marla it was almost time to get the frozen bait for the Tlingit Indians to start their day fishing. She heard the girl moving around in the back of the store as she sat in her large rocker and listened to the sound of the many fishermen as they walked through the woods on the beaten-down path of a hundred years that wound its way down from the hills and mountains that surrounded the small fishing camp.

She waved and nodded her morning greeting to those that raised their hands to Helena. They were surprised to see her out so early, as she usually was inside getting their bait for the morning fishing. Several of the older Indians knew exactly why she was out that morning — they had also heard the constant thumping of wood on wood throughout the night, and they, as she, had gotten very little sleep.

"Thanks for the help!" Marla said as she kicked the front door open with her arms full of the white butcher's paper-wrapped bait. Sixteen packages for eight boats.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart — I just didn't feel up to facing that stinky mess this mornin'."

"Oh, but it's okay for me to?" Marla asked as she made her way down the wooden steps.

The old woman didn't answer as she watched her granddaughter move her small frame toward the river and the waiting fishermen. She smiled to herself as Marla handed out the mornings bait, and laughed and joked with the old Indians, and fended off the sly smiles of the younger ones. After her arms were empty, Marla adjusted the knitted cap she wore and then waved at the fishermen as they shoved off from shore, starting their small engines as they headed up or down river. Marla started back to the store, then she paused a moment and turned toward the tree line. She stopped completely in her tracks, and the old woman could see the girl was sensing something. Marla was so in tune to the river and woods, nothing could escape her knowing that something was different. Helena wondered if the girl had heard the Chulimantan the same as herself during the night.

"What is it?" the old woman called from the porch, standing and letting the rocker sway back and forth by itself.

Marla looked at her grandmother, and then back at the woods to her left. Then she smiled and shrugged her shoulders. "Nothing I guess — just thought I — oh, never mind."

Helena watched as Marla started walking back to the store. Her eyes went to the woods where the girl had been looking. She, too, was feeling something — she couldn't put a handle on that particular cup, but she knew something was indeed watching from the woods.

Suddenly Marla stopped and listened, and then she clapped her hands as she heard a familiar sound coming from a distance. The old woman now seemed to relax somewhat as the same sound finally reached her ears.

"You didn't tell me Charlie Kemp was coming, Grandmother!" Marla shouted and clapped once more.

Helena shook her head and smiled. Marla loved the visits by the Mounties, especially Kemp. The RCMP sergeant always took her up in the Bell Ranger helicopter and then afterward supplied her with all of the gossip coming out of Vancouver and Seattle. Charlie was only about seven years older than Marla, and every time the girl returned to school, he would almost wilt and fall from the vine. The relationship was innocent enough, at least on Marla's side of the river, but Helena knew Charlie had a schoolboy crush that would only be called off by time and distance.

Marla put her hand to her brow and blocked out the rise of the morning sun when she finally spied the red and white helicopter as it shot low over the trees with a loud whine of its engine. On the sides of the Bell Jet Ranger were the gold-painted crown of the Canadian government, and on the tail boom read RCMP.

As the Ranger set down in almost the same spot as the Russians helicopters the day before, Marla ran to the door and pulled it open. She screamed aloud, she was so happy at seeing Charlie Kemp. The young sergeant didn't even wait for the turning blades to stop before he had thrown off his headset and jumped from the pilot's seat, and then smiling and yelling himself, picked the young girl up and twirled her around.

As Helena watched from the porch railing, she smiled, and then saw that Charlie wasn't alone. She was stunned to see the commander of the RCMP station at Jackson's Bluff, Captain Dar Wilcox, climb from the backseat, and he also had Corporal Winnie Johnstone in tow. Three men in all — that meant they had taken Helena's call very serious indeed.

"Well, well, Captain Dar, why do we have the pleasure of having the commander of the northern territory to our humble camp?" Helena asked as she moved to the opening in the porch where she waited at the top of the wooden steps.

Dar Wilcox removed his green bush hat and looked around the camp. He had a serious look on his tanned face.

"Damn, did those Indians already start their day?" he asked as he wiped a bit of sweat from his brow.

"Just missed them, why?" she asked as the captain bound up the stairs and put his arm around the old woman and hugged her to him.

"Well, with that call of yours, I don't want anyone running into these fellas until we can find them and check out just what their story is, aay?" He looked around and then finally down at the old woman. "Just how in the hell are ya, Helena?"

"Tolerable, Dar, just tolerable, I've been enjoying Marla's company lately."

Wilcox looked down at Charlie and Marla, who were laughing as they approached the store with Corporal Winnie Johnstone in tow.

"Looks like you're not the only one enjoying her company," he said as he finally released her. "You did good calling us. Speaking of which, Winnie, get in there and let the base know we arrived alive, and we'll keep in contact from time to time."

"You plan on staying a while, Dar?" the old woman asked as the other mountie stepped onto the porch.

"Yeah, maybe a day or two. Figure after we find out what those Russian boys are doin,' we might throw a line into the river and see what we can take back home with us."

"That's good, Dar, real good. I know how hard you Mounties work," Helena said with a jab in the captain's rib cage.

"You better watch it, us Canucks don't take to joking about our work!" he said as everyone laughed.

As they entered the store, several dark shadows moved from the deeper parts of the surrounding woods and finally made their presence known to the sun and river.

Captain Darwood Wilcox sipped his coffee while leaning against the store's long counter. He smiled as the blond-haired and blue-eyed Charlie Kemp showed Marla the magazines he had brought her. Hell, the captain thought, the damn things are only two months old. He shook his head and then shouted into the back room.

"Well, Winnie, did you get ahold of them?"

Winnie Johnstone stepped from the back room, followed by Helena. The old lady shook her head.

"Yes, Captain, told them we may be a few days up here and that we'd call in if there was trouble."

"Dar, I don't believe you're taking this thing as seriously as you should. These fellas… well, let's just say they didn't look like the salt of the earth."

Wilcox sat the coffee cup on the counter and smiled at the old woman. "Ah, you worry like a mother hen, prob'ly poachers is the most we're lookin' at here. If they're as heavily armed as you say, we'll observe only, and then call in the big boys. We overfly 'em with the Ranger and let them know the Mounties are still here."

"Oh, great, you'll overfly 'em with that old rickety Bell Ranger while they have brand-new Sikorskys parked around here," Marla said as she finally tore herself away from Charlie, who in turn watched her walk away appreciatively.

"Oh, I think we can handle them, don't you, Charlie?" Wilcox asked, frowning at the way he was looking at the young girl.

"I can outfly anyone or anything in the northern territory," he said as he finally stopped looking at Marla's butt.

"Cap'n, we have company here, you better look at these old boys," Winnie said as he stood at the large plate-glass window.

Captain Wilcox turned and walked the few paces to the window. He immediately saw six men standing by the RCMP helicopter, and then his face went flush as one of the men opened the pilot's side door and reached into the chopper. He reappeared a moment later and gently closed the door.

"What in the hell do them fellas think they're doin', they can't — Winnie, go tell them to get away from government property."

The corporal looked back at the captain. "Cap, have you seen what those boys are carryin'?"

Wilcox saw immediately what his man was talking about. What he hadn't noticed in his cursory look at the men was that each one was holding an automatic rifle. He counted three AK-47s and three automatic weapons the likes of which he had never seen before. They were all dressed in camouflaged green and black fatigues, just like the ones he and his men were wearing. Then he gasped and straightened as one of the men emptied a full magazine into the engine compartment of the Ranger. The holes appeared in the housing as if by magic.

Helena grabbed Marla by the shoulders and pulled her to the side of the counter.

"You get up to Warriors Peak, and you stay there until you hear from me that it's okay to come home. You hear me?"

Marla was staring at her grandmother with wide eyes. She could only nod her head that she understood, as her eyes flicked from Helena to Charlie and Winnie as they unholstered their nine-millimeter weapons from their belts. Then she saw Captain Wilcox do the same.

"Charlie, go with Marla, make sure she's clear out the door before this mess gets too ugly, then get in the back and call Jackson's Bluff and tell them that we have a situation up here."

Charlie was rooted to the spot of floor he was on and didn't make a move to follow the captain's orders.

"Charlie! Move, goddamn it!"

Finally, his paralysis broke as he ran for Marla and then they both quickly disappeared.

"Helena, you skedaddle, too, you're too big a target."

Wilcox flinched when he heard the old woman as she chambered a round in her twelve-gauge shotgun.

"You shove it up your ass, Dar Wilcox. This is my property and I don't plan on seein' it shot to pieces."

The captain shook his head as he took a deep breath. On his way to the door he tried to figure out just what in the hell he was going to say to the largest armed force he had seen in the territory since the Canadian army held maneuvers in this area over ten years ago. He didn't like the feeling of his shaking as he opened the front doors and stepped out onto the porch.

"You men," he shouted as he took what he hoped was a stance of authority in front of the six heavily armed men who stood in a straight line facing the store, "you're in violation of Canadian law for illegal automatic weapons and destruction of government property."

He watched the men as they made no move. They acted as though he hadn't said a word. Then he felt Winnie step out on the porch and take a position beside him.

"Damn it, boy, I wanted you to stay in the store. The less they know the better."

"I have a feeling these boys wouldn't care if there was a Canadian regiment in there with us, Cap."

Wilcox knew the corporal was right: these men were killers and he was just lying to himself if he thought otherwise. He felt foolish for what he had said to the men already… like they would just lay down those horrible-looking weapons and come quietly.

One of the camouflaged men stepped forward of the others. He brought the AK-47 up and rested the wood stock on his hip. He was now only about a dozen yards from the storefront.

"The man and woman who left the store through the back way are now in our custody. Your radio has already been destroyed, both in your helicopter and the aerial for the store. There will be no magical rescue for you. Lay down your weapons, and only what needs to be done will be done."

Wilcox knew immediately that Helena was right, the man spoke with a thick Russian accent. His dull expression told the Mountie that this man had been through this, or something very similar before. The man's eyes never once moved, as the others behind him also stood motionless.

"We have men on the way here, we're not alone," the corporal said as he held his small nine-millimeter outward with both hands, still pointed low, but pointed forward nonetheless.

The man in front of the line half turned and spoke in Russian. Before Wilcox knew what was happening and even before he could react with a scream of warning, one of the men quickly raised a rifle and with blinding speed fired one shot. The round hit Corporal Winnie Johnstone in the forehead and threw him backward one step until his momentum slammed him against the wooden wall of the front of the store where he slumped and then fell over dead.

"I will not ask again," the man said.

"My God, my God…" Wilcox said as he lowered his weapon to his side.

The man in front of the line of killers frowned once more and then shook his head. He then quickly gestured at someone Wilcox could not see. As he watched, Charlie and Marla were led from around the back of the store, in between it and the icehouse. Marla looked angry as a seventh man held her arm and with the other pushed Charlie out in front of them. Without hesitation, the man who had spoken, raised his AK-47 and fired a three-round burst into the chest of Charlie Kemp, who just stared as if he were dumbfounded by his sudden death. He finally went to his knees and then to the ground face first.

"Ah!" Wilcox screamed at the same time as Marla.

Charlie managed to roll onto his back and look up as the man holding Marla pulled her by the hair. The man with the AK-47, its barrel still smoking stepped up to Charlie and raised the weapon one last time and fired one round into his face. Then he turned away with no expression and looked at Wilcox.

"I said, drop your weapon. You see what happens when I am forced to give an order twice."

Wilcox tossed the nine-millimeter out onto the gravel. Then he didn't know what to do, raise his hands or keep them lowered.

"Thank you," the large crew-cut Russian said and raised the AK-47 one last time and fired another three round burst into Wilcox from twelve feet away. One of the rounds hit the plate-glass window and it shattered. Helena screamed and then rushed out onto the porch. She saw Dar Wilcox and tossed her shotgun away as she went to his side. The captain of Jackson's Bluff RCMP Station 12 was dead as she kneeled beside him.

The leader of the group gestured for the man holding Marla to take her to the old woman.

"Finish this business and let's get back to camp, we have wasted enough time here."

The man smiled and then started pulling Marla toward the store.

"Wait," the man said as he held up a hand. Then he cocked his head to the right as if he were listening for something. "Throw both of them in the freezer and then come back out here."

The man stood with a struggling Marla squirming in his grasp waiting for an explanation.

"Move, you fool, we have company."

As the men listened, they heard the sound of an aircraft as it approached from beyond the bend in the river. The leader, Gregori Deonovich, saw something that made him blink. An old-fashioned seaplane, the likes of which he had not seen since he was a child came around the bend in the Stikine, its large wings tilting so far over that it looked in danger of hitting the rushing river only thirty feet below it.

"Take them inside. We may need them if something unexpected comes of this."

The man ran, dragging Marla with him and then he gathered up the old woman with surprising strength.

Without shouting one order, Deonovich sent his men scattering. They immediately took up firing positions but he knew they had moved too late as the Grumman seaplane fell lower to the river — he couldn't believe his bad luck, the plane was going to land at the fishing camp. He actually saw the man piloting the old craft wave a greeting, and then lower it as fast as he had raised it.

"Bring that aircraft down!" he shouted.

Suddenly, five automatic weapons opened fire on Alice Hamilton's antique Grumman, and as they emptied magazines into the plywood frame, the Russians became more than happy as they saw large pieces of wood flying off the seaplane as it started falling for the river below.

Deonovich smiled as he knew the plane couldn't maintain its integrity with the large caliber rounds slamming into it.

"Sorry, my friends, this is the wrong day to come and fish this end of the river."

Ryan released the autopilot with little fear. He had disengaged the new system Alice had installed several times during their long flight just to get a better feel for the ancient Grumman. Will Mendenhall, suffering from a severe backache and stiff neck from his rotten sleep in the cabin, had gratefully spelled Collins to keep Ryan company on the last leg of the flight into the fishing camp.

"Well, here we go, hang on back there," Ryan called out as he reduced power to the two Pratt & Whitney engines. The Grumman started to ease itself from the sky as Jason watched out of his side window at the approaching Stikine River far below.

"Damn, that has to be the most twisted river I've ever seen. You sure you can land this thing without cracking up?"

"Come on, man, when a navy pilot can't land on water, something's wrong, wouldn't you think?" Ryan said, smiling as he pumped down the hydraulic wing flaps while using his other hand to turn the large rudder. "It's not like we're coming into a hot LZ or anything."

"Hey, I thought you only landed on carriers. Have you ever landed in the water before?"

"No, in the navy we call that crashing," he said as he again looked out of the side window and saw some men on the riverbank below. He raised a gloved hand and waved, and then he saw what those men were carrying and dropped his hand. As the Grumman made its shallow dive, there were several loud thumping noises.

"What in the hell was that?" Will yelled over the loud engines.

"Take evasive action, Ryan, we're taking ground fire!"

Mendenhall heard the call from the rear cabin and knew it was Captain Everett who had shouted, but at first he couldn't comprehend what he said.

"Did he say…?"

Before Will could get the whole question out of his mouth, heavier caliber rounds slammed into the windscreen, and then he heard some more pinging and whacks coming from the two engines above.

Ryan struggled to add power to the two engines and started pumping the flaps back as the seaplane started to rise back into the air. He managed a look out of the side window, a single bullet passed through the glass and just missed his head, but it did tear the twin throttle controls on the upper control panel out of his grip as they both sheared off and went flying into Mendenhall. The engines were now at full power and unless Ryan cut the fuel off, they would crash into the trees or the river at full speed.

Ryan cursed and tried to look through the shattered glass. What he could make out was several men down below up on the riverbank kneeling and firing into the seaplane.

"We have men on the ground, a dozen feet from the river," he shouted for the benefit of the colonel and the others in the back.

Jack and Everett beat everyone into action as thirty holes stitched themselves through the plywood hull of the flying boat. Three would have hit Sarah if she hadn't had two rolled-up sleeping bags piled in front of her; still, the powerful rounds knocked the wind out of her as goose down went flying in all directions.

Collins started throwing camping gear everywhere as Everett joined him, unceremoniously throwing Charlie Ellenshaw into the small aisle. The Grumman lurched and went almost upside down and then righted itself, throwing Jack and Everett off their feet. Jack stood and grabbed the first M-16 from the plastic container that had been buried under the rest of the gear. He threw the short-barreled M-16 over his head, not caring if it hit anyone. Sarah, finally getting her wind back into her lungs, ducked as an arm shot out and took the airborne automatic weapon. As she turned, she saw Henri Farbeaux holding the weapon and then throwing himself over three folded tents as he quickly smashed out one of the small round portholes that lined the side of the aircraft.

"Here, Punchy," Jack shouted as he threw him another M-16. "I expect you remember how to use one of these," Collins said as he reached for another just as a red hot round tore through his jacket at the shoulder.

"If I don't, I better remember damn quick," Alexander said as he didn't bother to smash out one of the portholes, but instead sent several 5.62 millimeter rounds through the glass before throwing himself prone and opening up at anything along the fast moving riverbank.

Everett took a weapon and slammed home a magazine. "Jack, I don't think someone down there is all that impressed with Alice's plane."

Collins heard a loud creak and then a bang as one of the engines froze up. When he looked up, he could actually see the holes in the upper cabin where engine parts had blasted through the wood.

"We're hit!" came a shout from the cockpit.

"Ryan really has a way of stating the obvious," Collins said as he started slamming the butt plate of the M-16 against the thin marine plywood hull. It only took about six hits before he had a hole large enough for he and Everett to fire from.

"Alright, give 'em hell," Everett screamed above the damaged engines.

Deonovich was satisfied when he saw the starboard engine of the seaplane burst into flames just as the rising Grumman went flying past at a hundred feet and climbing. The Russian saw large chunks of wood careen into the air as his men continued to pour accurate fire into the old wood of the plane. Then his expression quickly changed as something caught his eye. He knew he must be imagining the sight he was witnessing: The ancient aircraft was actually returning fire. That observation was quickly punctuated and verified by thirty rounds striking the rocks and gravel of the riverbank. Two of his men screamed in shock and fell backward onto the ground, two holes each in their chests.

Deonovich decided that retreating to a covered position was probably the healthiest choice he could make in the next few seconds as the aircraft continued a withering return fire at their antagonists. Whoever these people were, they surely were not your ordinary fishermen.

Ryan was struggling with the dying plane. The river ahead looked shallow in too many places and the bends in the Stikine looked to be too close together for a straight in landing.

"Goddamn it, there's no place to set this bitch down!" he said through clenched teeth as the wheel assembly started shaking in his hands. "We have to turn around and land in the deepest part of the river in front of the fishing camp."

"Hey, buddy, I don't know if you noticed or not, but there seemed to be some not-so-nice people back there shooting bullets at us!" Mendenhall said, feeling really out of place without a weapon; so he did the next best thing — he pulled his seat harness as tight as he could.

"Colonel, I have to come back around, I suggest you clear those people from the beach!"

Collins didn't answer, he knew Ryan had to do what he had to do and didn't bother the navy pilot with what he really wanted to scream out—Are you nuts! Instead, he reached down and tossed everyone fresh magazines.

Everyone in the cabin was tossed to the left side of the plane as Ryan turned the Grumman for everything the old girl was worth. The one remaining engine screamed at full power as the other burned through its wing mounts. The smell of burning wood and its smoke started to fill the cabin and the cockpit. Still, the old seaplane responded as Ryan completed the turn just as the colonel and the others opened up again on the approaching beach.

Ryan knew a catastrophic failure was only a second away when he heard the loud crack of the wing header just above them.

"Oh, shit!" Mendenhall yelled as he heard the same horrifying crack. "That didn't sound good at all."

Ryan pushed the wheel all the way forward, bleeding off altitude as fast as he could, even threatening to bury the Grumman's nose into the river below. They were being raked by machine-gun fire but not at as heavy a volume as before thanks to Collins and the others. However, Ryan knew that was the least of their problems at the moment.

The seaplane flared out, nose up just as its right-side wing float was shot free. It fell off and struck the water and then bounced up into the fire-damaged wing, creasing it along the line of bolts that held it together with the fuselage. The old plywood structure was not meant to sustain that much damage or debris impact, and so, just as the boatlike prow of the seaplane hit the river, the right-side wing let go, shearing off at the cockpit. The seaplane hit and spun in the water, the left-side float hit and dug into the fast-moving river and, even though the Grumman was traveling in the same direction as its southern flow, the float dug in and then tore free, but before it did, it was like sticking a ball bat into a large fan — the plane spun, tearing off the remaining wing and smashing the fuselage into two pieces. As quickly as they had hit the water, the old collector's item was in pieces.

As Deonovich saw the destruction before him, he stood from behind the tree where he had taken cover. He shook his head at the tenacity of whoever was inside of the destroyed plane. It had been surprising that his antagonists had put up such a quick and terrible defense. He looked around and saw that three of his men were down and one other was injured.

"Remarkable," he mumbled as he stepped toward the Stikine to watch the debris of the seaplane as it started its run down river. "Utterly remarkable."

As the Grumman rolled over onto its back, the tail section and most of the cabin sped by the cockpit in an out-of-control rush down the Stikine. Inside the cabin, Collins had had the M-16 he was holding smash into his shoulder as he was firing, coming near to separating it. As the water rushed inside, he saw Sarah as she fell from what had been the cabin's floor. In a flash, he saw the Frenchman grab her and then they both vanished in the rush of water. Collins knew that Sarah could be in no better hands other than his own.

"Charlie!" Everett shouted.

Collins looked around as the cabin slid completely under the rushing water. He still held the M-16 in his right hand as he used his feet to push off of a shattered rib strut. He felt the river grab him as soon as he was free of the cabin. He felt another, and then another person slam into him as he fought to get to the surface.

"Goddamn it, those bastards are still shooting at us!" Everett shouted as he surfaced, and then his words were cut short when he swallowed a mouth full of water.

Jack felt the rocky bottom of the river and tried to gain what balance he could. He felt a strong arm pull him fully back into the water. It was Punchy Alexander; he had both hands free and was pulling Jack as close to shore as he could get. All around them, geysers of water were shooting skyward as bullets from upriver struck all around them.

"Did anyone get Charlie out?" Jack shouted.

"Hell, I don't know, but if we don't get to the bank we're going to get our asses shot off," Alexander screamed.

As Jack and Punchy gained the shore, he heard an M-16 open up somewhere in front of them.

"That damn Frenchman is fast, him and that little girl are giving us cover fire. Now let's go, Jack!"

Jack stumbled as he gained the rocky shoreline and fell, Punchy continued pulling him. "It would help if you got up and used that damn weapon in your hands."

Jack realized he still held the M-16 and quickly rose to his feet just as three rounds narrowly missed his head. He saw Everett start firing from a prone position ten yards away. He quickly aimed at anything that didn't look like a tree upriver and opened fire.

"There's only one left," Henri Farbeaux called from the tree line to Jack's left. "And he's decided to call it quits."

Collins stood and saw a lone man shove a large Zodiac into the water and then jump in. Collins aimed and fired, but the man was too fast as he started the large outboard motor and streaked upriver, bouncing over the rough surface.

"Son of a bitch used his remaining two men as a shield, stupid bastards." Punchy stepped up to Collins and looked him over. "You've got a pretty good gash on your forehead, old friend," he said as he turned and made sure the boatman wasn't making a return trip.

"You all right?" Jack asked Alexander as he wiped blood from a six-inch gash just into his hairline.

"Nothing a seamstress can't mend," he answered with a grimace as he pushed down a large rip in his right pants leg. Blood was soaking through the wet material in a pretty good spread.

"Short Stuff, get over here and see if you can give Punchy a hand before he bleeds to death. Henri, Carl, let's see if we can find the doc, Mendenhall, and Ryan."

"Goddamn it, Jack, we flew right into that one. We must be getting old," Everett said as he pulled the magazine from his weapon and looked in it. It was empty so he tossed it onto the rocky shore. "I'm out, so if that bastard tries again, I have to chuck rocks."

"Well, this is the place for it," Farbeaux said as he and Sarah joined them at the river.

Collins saw Sarah was fine, a little bruised, but intact. Henri was the same except for three large scratches to the left side of his face. He nodded his head at the Frenchman in thanks for pulling Sarah out of the plane.

"I don't give your professor Ellenshaw much of a chance, Colonel," Farbeaux said as he checked the number of rounds in his own weapon.

They all turned at once when they heard someone coming from the tree line.

"Whoa, hold your fire! We didn't survive that magnificent crash just to get shot by our friends!" Ryan said as he, Mendenhall, and none other than Charles Hindershot Ellenshaw the Third held up their hands.

Jack shook his head when he saw his people, happy as hell they had made it through.

"You crashed, Mr. Ryan. So, tell me how in the hell that makes you a friend?" Jack asked, only half jokingly.

"Now, how did you get into the tree line?" Everett asked as he assisted a limping Ellenshaw to the ground, relieving Mendenhall and Ryan of their burden.

"Well, Will and myself took an 'E' ticket ride in what was left of the cockpit, skidding along the water, and then rolling to beat all hell onto the riverbank and then into the forest. Thank God for seatbelts." Ryan kneeled, still shaking from their ordeal.

Mendenhall leaned down and patted Ellenshaw on the back, making a sloppy wet sound as he did.

"As for the doc here, we found him playing dead about a hundred feet away from us." They all looked at Ellenshaw: He had lost his hat, his thick wire-rimmed glasses were bent so out of shape that one earpiece was dangling down the side of his face, and his hair looked at if a bird had started putting a nest in it.

"I most assuredly thought I was dead, Lieutenant," Charlie said as he removed his bent glasses and then covered his eyes. "That was a horrendous way to land a plane, I must say."

Jack was grateful everyone was alive. He looked at the river and saw no sign of the wreckage. The Grumman and all of their supplies would wind up in Vancouver by the end of the week. He took a deep breath and looked around. The store looked as if it had taken gunfire — the icehouse next to it was leaking what could only be liquid hydrogen from several gaping gaps in its woodwork. There wasn't any movement or other signs of life from the fishing camp and Jack feared the worse for the people here.

"Well, let's go see what those people were doing here, and if they left anyone alive."

Jack, Everett, and Punchy Alexander moved separately into the open, spread out as far as possible to make sniping at them a singular event. Carl was the first to come to one of the four bodies that lay crumpled on the stony ground nearest the river. Everett rolled the body over on its right side, bending over and retrieving the AK-47 from the man's frozen grasp. He slung the weapon over his right shoulder and then turned and felt the neck for a pulse. The bearded face was frozen in shock and the eyes were wide open. The captain was getting ready to continue on when he saw that one of the bullets that had struck the dead man had hit him in the upper left arm, exposing something colorful underneath. Tearing away some of the material, Carl quickly wiped away the blood from the bullet wound and then exhaled deeply. Just under the hole where the 5.62 millimeter round had entered the arm, there was a tattoo. A red hammer and cycle, the old Soviet state symbol — only this one had a gold lightning bolt running through it. Everett released the arm and then looked around at the other bodies, betting they all had the same markings.

"Jack," Carl called out, halting Collins in his tracks. "Check the upper left arm of that body."

Collins, who had just checked the dead man at his feet for a pulse and then picked up the AK-47 and chambered a new round into its breech, leaned down and tore the camouflage fatigue at the shoulder. The material ripped away revealing a hammer and sickle, complete with a gold lightning bolt.

"What the bloody hell is it?" Punchy asked a few feet away as he kept a wary eye on their surroundings.

"Spetsnaz," Jack said looking around him, more appreciative of the enemy they had faced. "Old school; tattoos are from the old Soviet days."

"What in the hell are Russian commandos doing here?" Alexander asked, becoming even more aware of his surroundings and now feeling far more vulnerable than he had just a second before.

Jack didn't answer Punchy's question; he straightened and then continued toward the general store. He stopped a moment and looked back at Ryan and Mendenhall. They were huddled with the others just inside the tree line. Mendenhall held the only M-16 in the group and was watching the riverbank to their rear. Collins gestured to Ryan and made a trigger movement with his finger, indicating that he should relieve the other two dead men of their weapons. Ryan understood and sprinted from the trees toward the remaining bodies.

Alexander was still thinking about the Spetsnaz and the rumors of their capabilities. As an intelligence officer, he had run up against the newer versions of the commando group, but most Western nations knew them to be a ghost of their former selves, sloppy and inefficient compared to the old fellas from two decades ago. He looked at Jack and saw that the element of the Spetsnaz hadn't made a dent in his hastiness to hurry their group along. He shook his head and followed Collins.

The colonel quickly went straight for the large front steps of the general store, waving as he did for Everett to go left and check the icehouse. Punchy Alexander followed Collins onto the large front porch and then to the left side of the open door as Jack went to the right of the still closed one. They immediately saw two bodies and Punchy recognized the green uniforms. He mouthed the word "Mounties." Collins took a shallow breath, shaking his head at the horrendous murder of more men, and then before his thoughts wandered even more about life's injustices, he quickly reached out and opened the door. A small bell chimed and Collins grimaced: He knew mistakes like that cost men their lives, and he had just made one of the biggest. He looked at Punchy who was standing there smiling and rolling his eyes.

"I told you we were getting too old for this, but then again, I didn't think about that, either."

"For whom the bell tolls," Jack whispered and then before he could think about it, went inside and then quickly to one knee as he scanned the interior of the large store. Alexander followed just a second later taking aim at the higher points of the store.

Collins didn't see any movement as he slowly scanned the area to his front. Then he stood and gestured for Punchy to take the left side of the store, and he would take the right. The counter area is where he would have set up the initial stages of any ambush, so that was the first place he looked. He slowly lay down and then rolled silently toward the closest end. He saw a can of pork and beans lying on the floor that had fallen from a small display case after the glass from the plate-glass window had struck it. Jack closed his eyes as he easily reached the can, not daring to take a breath. He picked up the red and white labeled can and then opened his eyes, and then pulling it back as if it were a grenade, he eased it through the air until it struck the counter at the far end. As it did, he rolled the rest of the way around the far end of the counter and quickly aimed — nothing. Collins stood and shook his head at Punchy, who returned the gesture. Then he turned and looked to where Collins was looking.

Straight ahead was a large steel door of the walk-in freezer or refrigerator. Jack could hear the hum of the motor as it engaged. He also saw there were two clean round holes where two bullets had punched through it. Collins raised the AK-47 and pointed it at the door and advanced. Punchy kept his M-16 pointed at the upper floors of the store where he suspected the owners living quarters to be. It was another great ambush spot.

Jack reached the door and stood to the right side next to the large handle. He reached out and pulled on it.

"If you open that door, we'll kill your man," came a girl's voice.

"Go ahead and kill him, he's not our man." Jack grimaced, hoping beyond measure he had responded the way he should have. "We killed his companions outside."

"I'm not falling for that bullshit, you want him dead. Just try me, you Russian prick!"

Jack looked over at Alexander who was watching from a distance, he shrugged his shoulders, as if saying Jack was on his own on this one.

"Listen, my name is Collins, I am a colonel in the U.S. army. I have a man here from the Canadian authorities and we're looking for an American woman — that's why we're here. Our plane was just shot out of the sky, and it was that man's friends who did it, so I really don't care if you kill the bastard or not."

There was complete and utter silence coming from the refrigerator. Jack glanced over at Alexander and nodded toward the door.

"Ma'am, I am Jonathan Alexander, an agent for CSIS in Quebec. The man is telling the truth. Come out, you won't be harmed, not by us."

"My grandmother is hurt. One of those bastards shot her in the arm," came the voice, and then that was followed by another, more husky, but feminine protest.

"I've hurt myself worse with a kitchen knife."

Jack heard the first voice — that of a much younger person — shush the second. Then he heard the door handle pop, but it still remained closed. Jack took a step to the front and raised the Russian-made weapon. Finally, the door opened and Collins heart raced for a second when he saw a man in the same camouflage fatigues as those outside. He just stood there, his eyes opened, and then just before the colonel fired his weapon, the man simply fell forward.

Jack's eyes moved from the body to a smallish girl holding an older, heavy woman in the center of the large walk-in. "You were bluffing, he was already dead," Jack said as he bent over and made sure the commando was indeed as he looked.

"He was hit almost as soon as he took us in here to murder us; must have been stray bullets," the girl said as she started to assist the old lady out of the cold of the icebox.

Collins, with the aid of Punchy, moved the dead man out of the way to allow the women out. Jack slung his weapon and then went to the other side of the old lady and assisted the girl with the weight.

"That was pretty good, but what if we were the bad guys?" Jack asked, looking around the ample bosom of the grandmother to see the young, brazen girl dressed in bloody overalls and a knitted cap.

"I wasn't thinking that far ahead," Marla said as she eased her grandmother into a large desk chair just to the rear of the sales counter.

"Check the register, dear, and see how much those Russian bastards made off with," the old woman said as she held a hand over the bullet wound in her left arm.

The girl rolled her eyes as she reached into the large desk and brought out a first-aid kit. "I don't think they were here to rob us, Grandmother," she said as rummaged through the kit.

"Well, you never know," the old woman said as she grimaced.

"You said you were looking for an American woman?" Marla asked as she found the small packages of alcohol wipes and antibacterial ointment. "Was her name Lynn?" she asked, not looking up.

Jack took a deep breath and then leaned heavily against the counter; he found he had no voice to answer the girl.

Punchy saw Jack's distress and then stepped up and took one of the alcohol wipes from the girl and started cleaning the old woman's wound. It was just a graze, so he wiped and spoke at the same time. "Yes, her name was Lynn. It's his sister."

The girl looked up and into the blue eyes of Jack Collins. "Yes, I can see that you are her brother, you have the same eyes."

"Is she… she…"

Marla took a deep breath and then handed Punchy a tube of antibacterial cream. "She was fine yesterday when she left with those other Russians."

Jack closed his eyes and then turned away just as the soaking-wet Mendenhall and Ryan, followed by Sarah, Farbeaux, and Doc Ellenshaw, came to the front of the store. Mendenhall and Farbeaux leaned over and was checking the bodies of the two Mounties outside, and Ryan stepped in and leaned over and checked the others.

Sarah saw Jack as he walked around a few of the stacked shelves full of dry and canned goods. She took his arm and stopped him.

"She was here; the Russians took her upriver," he said as he finally looked down at Sarah.

"Then we have a chance of getting her back," she said.

She saw Jack's lips move but didn't hear the one word he kept repeating.

"What? What are you saying, I don't get it," she said questioning his tone and his look.

"He says, my dear Sarah, that his sister is in the hands of what's known to soldiers around the world as, Spetsnaz — specialized killers from the Cold War. Their own bloody government created them and now they don't know what to do with the ones they discharged. The Russian government is terrified of them." Farbeaux looked around at the bodies, "Evidently, they have found gainful employment."

Sarah McIntire turned to face Farbeaux, who was looking at the tattoo he had uncovered from the dead Russian only a few feet away. Farbeaux tilted his head as he stood and nudged the dead Russian with his boot.

"And this new development is unsettling to say the least."

Jack and Sarah both looked at the Frenchman; only Sarah had a question written on her face.

Farbeaux smiled, but there was no humor there. "I dare say the men that are holding your sister are far more aggressive than I was first led to believe." He looked from Sarah to Collins, his smile gone.

"You can leave anytime you want, Colonel," Jack said still staring at him.

Farbeaux tilted his head as if in deep thought. "No, I believe I'll stay a while, and if things get too hot, I can always trade you for me."

Jack turned away and left. Sarah just looked at Henri, shaking her head.

"I know I don't disappoint you, my dear — you know who and what I am."

"That's what gets me, Henri, I know who you are, and you still go lower and lower in my estimation every time you open your mouth."

Farbeaux watched her leave to follow Collins, and then he turned and saw the young girl looking at him from the porch. She had heard the exchange between the three and the look in her eyes told Farbeaux that he hadn't made a friend with the smallish teenager.

Marla watched the Frenchman turn and leave, eyeing the icehouse and going in that direction; she then turned and looked at her Grandmother who was getting her arm wrapped by Alexander. "Has the world gone over the edge?" Marla asked as she shook her head in disgust.

"The world has always been insane, honey; we just isolated ourselves from it."

Punchy straightened after he finished tending to the old woman's wound.

"In case you ladies haven't noticed, you're not isolated anymore." Punchy stepped back and then retrieved his weapon and then looked at the young girl who was angry and staring at him.

"Believe me, Mr. Ottawa, we've noticed."

Jack stood on the porch and surveyed the fishing camp. His eyes roamed over the rock-covered ground and into the tree line. A stiff breeze picked up and made the trees sway against the deep blue sky of the early morning. Everett was busy checking out the icehouse, the small warehouse, and the equipment shed with Jason Ryan. Will Mendenhall and Sarah stood just off the large porch with Charlie Ellenshaw in an attempt to get the soaking-wet, stray-haired professor under some form of control — the man could not stop shaking. Sarah used Charlie as an excuse to give Jack the time to think things out. She looked up from Ellenshaw as Henri Farbeaux stepped from inside the store.

"In case you were thinking about using the radio, Colonel, I regret to inform you that its aerial has been disabled and that dead Russian there placed a bullet into the set before he closeted himself in the icebox. The old woman is fit to be tied."

Collins didn't turn at the sound of Farbeaux's voice. He was still watching the trees around the camp. Then his eyes went to the Bell Jet Ranger sitting a hundred yards from the water's edge. He saw the bullet holes in the engine housing and knew that the commandos would not have left that radio intact after so thorough a job on the camp's equipment. Out of the seven cell phones on his Event personnel, not one was receiving a signal. Jack was finally realizing that his nonplan for getting his sister back had placed a lot of his people in jeopardy.

"I believe I am beginning to know how you think, Colonel Collins; as they say, know one's antagonist and you shall know yourself."

"Word games at this stage of the trip, Henri?" Jack said still hearing the rush of wind through and around the trees, his eyes moving at every twitch of movement.

"Yes, I do play games, except at this very moment, I am not. You, Colonel, are thinking about ordering everyone here to remain, while you, afraid for their safety, and ever the good commander are going to go it alone, as you Americans are fond of saying."

Collins kept his features neutral, but knew the Frenchman was far more intelligent than his file said he was. Director Compton had tried many times to tell him that, but Jack had always figured one way or another, Farbeaux could be outsmarted. He was now learning that little task may not be possible.

"If you attempt to go into this wilderness alone, you will die, and your sister will perish with you. It's that simple, Colonel. And I dare say that I will not get my reward for you playing the hero, and your own people will nod and agree to do what you order them to do, but in the end they will follow you after you have left. So, let's save us some time here, and not even bring that suggestion up."

"If you're going to follow those bastards, everything you need is in that supply shed in the back. All of my son's guide equipment is in there. He had a small arsenal of hunting rifles and ammunition — he stocked up seeing the fact that we don't live right down the street from Walmart."

Jack and Farbeaux had not noticed the old woman and her granddaughter as they stood just inside the door. Punchy was there also, wrapping his right hand with gauze. He acted as though he didn't care to hear what was being discussed.

"I'm thinking that we should use a boat to get down river and get some authorities in on this," Collins said, more of a test for the grandmother than a statement of what he was truly thinking.

"Authorities?" the old woman said with a smirk. "They killed all the authorities north of Jackson's Bluff if you hadn't noticed." Marla placed a hand on her grandmother's arm and tried to get her to calm down. "I don't fancy leaving them Russians to the authorities. You seem like people who have dealt with this sort of thing before; just do what it is that comes naturally to you folks. I want those pigs out of those woods."

"We'll need most of what you have if we are to go north," Farbeaux said before Jack could say anything.

"You can have everything we can spare. While you are gone, I will send some of the boys down river to round up whatever 'authorities' they can find, and get them up here as soon as they can."

Jack nodded at the old woman as she gestured for them to come back inside. "C'mon, we have a hand-drawn map in here that's more accurate than anything you boys have studied, and I think I know where those bastards are heading."

Sarah, Mendenhall, and Charlie saw what was happening, and followed the four people into the store. Jack turned and saw them.

"Start getting enough food for at least five days — move!"

They quickly started following Jack's determined orders.

Collins turned away and saw that Marla had stayed and waited for him.

"My grandmother is determined to give you a fighting chance; she's angry and maybe should stop to think about what it is she is doing. Where you are going, the land is unforgivable. More than a few dozen have gone up the Stikine in just my lifetime and never came back. And that was without people out there that wanted to kill them."

Collins didn't say anything.

Marla held eye contact for a moment, and then stepped aside when she saw the determination in Jack's eyes. She lowered her head and then saw Mendenhall taking several canned goods from the shelf.

"Put those down, you'll have to travel light because we only have two boats in the shed. The freeze-dried stuff is back here, enough to feed an army."

Mendenhall, arms brimming with canned soup, salmon, and chili, looked deflated. He glanced over at Sarah and they both rolled their eyes.

"I could have gone all year without hearing that you carried freeze-dried rations." Mendenhall slowly started placing the delectable canned goods back on the shelf.

"Someday, we have to buy stock in the companies that make that crap," Sarah said as she, too, started placing cans back where she had gotten them.

"I kind of like the freeze-dried food," Charlie Ellenshaw said looking around and pushing his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose as he saw Mendenhall shaking his head.

"Why doesn't that surprise me, Doc?"

"Now, we are here," the old woman said pointing to the fishing camp. "You won't have to cross the river; stay on this side, and you'll end up on the northern Stikine all the way up to where those people may be."

Jack watched as her finger pointed to the rounded bend in the Stikine more than a hundred and twenty miles north of their current location.

"And how do you know that is where they'll be?" Collins asked.

The grandmother turned to face the Frenchman, the American, and the Canadian. "Because that's where that damn L. T. Lattimer said he found his gold — that is what they are after, right?"

"I didn't think Lattimer was that well known," Punchy said as he popped four aspirin into his mouth.

The old woman smiled as she turned fully to face the others. They all could see that at one time in her life, the heavyset jovial lady had been as beautiful as her young granddaughter, but age and time had caught up with her, but to her credit, she looked as if she really didn't care that her looks were gone. She looked around until she saw the thin man she had seen enter the store. Charlie Ellenshaw was looking at a large can of bug repellant, reading the ingredients closely.

"L. T. Lattimer was an arrogant, untrustworthy man who was a cancer to this part of the Stikine, a most unreliable sort. We learned of his possible fate from that tall and soaked drink of water right there," she said pointing from the back room to where Charlie stood.

Ellenshaw scratched his butt and then felt the eyes on him. He turned and saw everyone in the small office looking his way. He turned his head, thinking that someone was behind him, and then he realized it was indeed himself that was the center of attention. He was about to ask what it was he had done, when he saw the old woman. He squint his eyes and then recognition lit his features.

"That's right, you — I remember everything. The way you came back here with the rest of those hippie boys and girls, talking about Lattimer."

Charlie placed the bug repellent down and nervously smiled. "I remember you. You warned us to watch ourselves with Lattimer. I also told you about the animals that lived in that area. You didn't ever deny that anything that remarkable could live there."

Charlie swallowed as the memory of those days returned. He shook his head and felt weak in the knees.

"As I was saying, he knows more about that area than I do."

"Tell me, madam, did anyone ever go back and look for Mr. Lattimer?" Ellenshaw asked, getting himself back under control.

"My boy spent a month looking for L. T. and never found a thing. Never found your monsters, either," she said turning back to Charlie.

Ellenshaw looked down at the floor, still feeling the others looking at him. He knew they weren't believers in his story of what the world called Bigfoot that inhabit this part of the world, but he didn't care, either; he knew what he had experienced that summer in 1968.

"It's okay, boy, you did real good back then just getting the rest of those students out of there, and back down the river, that's more than most would have done. You have nothing to prove to me," she said and when Charlie looked up at her, she winked. That made him feel better and he looked away, embarrassed.

"Come here, Mr. Science, and join us at the map," Jack said, nodding that he agreed with Helena.

The old woman gave Charlie Ellenshaw a crooked smile as he timidly stepped into the small office.

"As I said, the northern Stikine is unkind to fools." She then turned back to the map. "And like I said a minute ago, we have a stash of weapons, mostly hunting stuff that we have found in the woods from time to time. We don't hunt ourselves here as we have always left the wildlife be. But you're welcome to them; it's a small arsenal if the truth be told. A lot of smart-ass doctors and lawyers who wouldn't listen to reason; let's just say they may have come across something that wasn't as sporting as a deer or elk. That's right, my friend, I listen to the tales that the Indians talk about at night same as everyone else."

"So you believe in that hokey crap about Bigfoot?" Alexander asked, looking almost insulted at the stories that Charlie had been spewing all the way up north.

"Thank you," Jack said, cutting off any further comments about what wasn't really important.

"As I said, you are welcome to all those guns and equipment," she said eyeing Punchy Alexander with what amounted to total disdain, "but you listen to me now." She pulled at Jack's sleeve and nodded toward Charlie. "Do not venture into the woods ten to twelve miles north of the Stikine River. Do you hear me? Even if your quarry goes to ground there! Stay out of that area."

She turned and pointed at a spot on the large map of about a thousand square miles.

"What's in there?" Farbeaux asked, more than a little curious, especially since historically speaking, the mother lode of the Alaskan and Canadian gold rushes had never been discovered — the source of all that gold was still out there somewhere.

"It's wild, young man, more wild than you could ever believe. Just stay out of there. If your Russians go in there, rest assured that they are not coming back."

Jack, knowing that if his sister was in there, there was no way he wasn't going in after her. He looked at the black, hand-printed words embossed over the field of unbroken green that marked the area the old woman had shown them. Jack wrote the words down on his notes: THE CHULIMANTAN PLATEAU.

Not one of the men ever thought to ask the meaning of the Indian name that graced the valley and the rise of the large plateau. Collins heard the admonishment of the old woman, but paid her no mind.

"Don't go north of the Stikine."

8

After the supplies were organized and stacked, they placed them all in front of the porch. Collins then called everyone except Charlie Ellenshaw to the steps. He was inside looking over the map of the Stikine Valley and Plateau with the old woman. The girl, Marla, was watching the group from a distance, making sure their boxes of.306 ammunition was placed in a plastic pouch to keep river water from damaging them. Altogether, the girl and her grandmother had gathered nearly two hundred rounds for the hunting weapons, and another hundred fifty for the 5.62 millimeter automatics.

Everett took up position beside Collins, looking from face to face. The two officers had come to a decision an hour before, and Carl knew their news was not going to be well received. Farbeaux suspected what was coming because he had watched as the naval captain had cut the rations for their journey upriver almost by a quarter, and he had also tossed aside one of the tents.

"Ryan, you and McIntire are staying here."

"The hell you say," Sarah started to protest.

"No, no. You're not leaving us behind," Ryan said as he looked directly at Everett and not at Collins.

"At ease, Mr. Ryan, you'll do as are ordered," Carl said, making sure Sarah understood his anger, also.

"Look, we don't know what else is right here under our noses, and these people have gone through enough; we have to leave someone here in case they have a rerun of what happened today," Jack said, now looking directly at Sarah.

"Colonel, I would bet two months pay that that old woman could kick my ass three ways to Sunday, and the girl is far tougher than my last three bunkmates combined."

"This is not a negotiating session, Mr. Ryan. Will is a soldier; he's trained for what we do. Doc Ellenshaw, well, he's Doc Ellenshaw, and he has his reasons for being there, and we have reasons to take him. Punchy goes where I go and Colonel Farbeaux has his own reasons for being brave. You and McIntire have no reason for being on the river, but you have a big reason for watching out for things here. I want that RCMP chopper fixed if at all possible."

"Wait a minute, you know I'm not qualified on those damn things," Ryan protested.

Jack turned on him. "Damn it, Ryan, you know and I know you can fly one. Fix the damn thing in case we need to beat a hasty retreat out of this place. Do you understand, Mr. Ryan?"

Ryan didn't respond, he figured since he was in civilian dress, Jack didn't rate a salute, so he turned on his heel and reached for a small toolbox and then stormed off toward the damaged helicopter. Sarah meanwhile watched Jack, her eyes never leaving his. He waited for her to continue her argument, but instead she raised her right brow, which told Collins she was about to explode, and then turned and followed Ryan.

"They just hate being left—" Mendenhall started to explain.

"Not now, Lieutenant. Leave it," Jack said and turned on his heel and trotted up the steps. "Captain, organize Colonel Farbeaux, Mr. Alexander, and Mr. Bleeding Heart here, and get that boat loaded. I want to be on the river in thirty."

Everett and the others watched Jack leave and enter the store. Carl shrugged his shoulders and then turned toward the supplies.

"Come on, you bunch of pirates — the wonders of Mother Nature await."

The old woman watched the white-haired Charlie Ellenshaw study the map. He had a small notebook out and was jotting down his own information just as Collins had done earlier.

"Tell me, the acreage here." He was pointing to the northern most section of unexplored territory far above the Stikine. "How much animal life can that section support in your estimation?" Charlie scrunched up his nose and then turned to the old woman. "I mean, vegetation wise, berries, plants, elk, and deer?"

"You're kind of peculiar, aren't you? Hell, even as a youngster you were, all the way back in sixty-eight," she said instead of answering.

"Excuse me, madam?" Ellenshaw said pushing his thick glasses back up on his nose and looking the woman over.

"You didn't exactly grow into what you would call a male specimen in all those years, Charlie, so just what are you doing here? You're not like these others."

"You mean, Colonel Collins and Captain Everett? I think we make a pretty good team."

"You don't usually get out much, do you?" Helena said, nodding as if she wanted Ellenshaw to agree outright.

"I assure you, I am as field qualified as the next man in this group. I could tell you a story or two," Ellenshaw looked around and then caught himself before he broke his secrecy oath. "Just suffice it to say, I've been places and seen things that you wouldn't find in Kansas."

The old woman slapped Charlie on the shoulder, almost knocking the thin scientist into the large map. "Don't take offense, skinny, I was just funnin' ya' is all. Now, you asked about the vegetation and wildlife up in them parts, well, I'll tell you, Hindershot," she said, using Charlie's middle name that made him cringe inside. "There is enough roughage and game up there to support half of the African savanna. Now, why do you ask?"

Charlie quickly wrote down her information. "Oh, no reason, just a scientist curiosity."

"You're as poor a liar as you are at gunplay, Hindershot Ellenshaw. The colonel's lookin' for his sis, and that French fella, well, let's just say he has the look of a man with another agenda, and the others — well, to this old woman's eye, you can tell they would follow that colonel man into hell if they had to, but you, you are here for something else, aren't you?"

"Madam, I assure you, I am only here to assist the colonel in the task of finding his sister."

A stern, motherly look came to the husky woman's countenance.

"You hear me good, Hindershot, don't go lookin' for something you shouldn't be lookin' for; that something could jump right up and bite you and whoever's with you right in your asses. Some places weren't meant for people, and that area you're askin' about is one of them. You were there once; stay by the river, and you just might make it back to your lavatory," she said with not an ounce of humor.

"You mean, laboratory, and I again assure you—"

"Doc, that's enough. Why don't you go help the others load up?"

Charlie turned to see Collins standing by the counter with his hands on his hips; he didn't look happy at all.

"Yes, Colonel."

Jack watched the professor leave and then rubbed his eyes.

"Ma'am, there isn't another phone nearby? A radio?" he asked as he looked at her with his now red eyes.

"No, there's no phone lines this far out. We're on our own until the fishermen come back in two days."

"I'm leaving lieutenants McIntire and Ryan behind to assist just in case."

"Colonel, we've not needed babysitting in our many years here on the Stikine; it's others who need to take care."

"I understand, but, well, the small woman, Miss McIntire…"

"She'll be safe here," the old woman said, knowing what he was going to say because of the intense look in his blue eyes. "There is one thing I remember my granddaughter said about some of them Russian's equipment. She said they had what she thought was some kind of electronics, a lot of it, and some heavy firepower, so you best be careful and not run into another ambush."

"Electronics?"

"That's what she said. Anyway, good luck, Colonel. We'll send help upriver as soon as we can," she said, holding her large hand out for the American. "And we'll make sure nothing happens to your two lieutenants."

"Thank you, ma'am." Jack started to turn but was stopped by the woman's powerful grip.

"Mind me here, Colonel Collins, stay out of them woods north of the river. I think maybe you should let them Russian boys look for what they came for, because in the long run, the result will be the same, so get your baby sis out of there and come back and leave them murdering sons-a-bitches to their own devices."

Jack's hand was finally released, thoroughly confused by the large woman's last remarks. As he left the store, he stopped and watched the camp around him. The supplies were almost loaded and he looked up to see Sarah standing at the bottom of a small ladder, holding it steady while her eyes were burning a hole through him. Ryan was busy taking out his frustrations on the engine cowling of the RCMP helicopter.

He shook his head and started down the steps when he saw the breeze bring the trees to life again around the fishing camp. He stopped walking and looked around. He was totally confused as to why the sound and movement of the trees made him uncomfortable — it was primal in nature and it was if he and the others were not only being watched, but that whoever was watching was a danger. He took a step and then felt eyes on him. He stopped and turned and saw the old woman standing in the doorway. She wasn't looking at him. She was also watching the trees, while wiping her hands on her long leather skirt. Her eyes finally looked at Jack, and then she turned away and entered the store, the darkness inside swallowing her up.

Lynn Simpson stood at the edge of the river and stared at the woods across the way. The late afternoon was still filled with brilliant sunlight as it dappled off the fast-moving Stikine. Her eyes roamed over to ten of the Russians as they uncrated several small devices that had been encased in Styrofoam. Of these, one very large and powerful man loaded a small rifle. It was short, and the barrel was wide and fat. He attached one of the small, round objects they had just uncrated and then attached a short pole to it. He then rammed the pole into the weaponlike device and raised it to his shoulder. He pulled the trigger and there was the sound of a compressed air blast that sent the object hurtling over the Stikine until it disappeared three hundred yards into the trees. The large man continued until six of the rounded objects had been sent across and deep into the far woods at about four hundred yards' separation.

As she watched this strange delivery method of equipment, other men started sitting up a large tent and they began filling it with small consoles that sat upon tables, while others began digging a large pit. Soon, they pieced together a small generator and placed it into the hole. They soon had it covered with large branches cut from the trees, surrounding the camp forming a weatherproof cover for the generator.

That morning they had traveled more than seventy miles upriver, arriving at a large bend that actually started to turn south on the eastern side. Now, instead of crossing onto the north side of the Stikine, the Russian leader, Sagli, had made camp on the southern shore, for what reason Lynn couldn't fathom. Thus far, he had kept his distance from her as he supervised what looked to be their final camping spot.

Lynn became more curious as a large, fifty-foot-tall antennae was raised just outside of the large blue tent where all the sophisticated equipment had been setup. When they had the guy wires in place and taut, the men went about setting up their tents and then after that it actually looked as if they were preparing defensive fire pits around the camp. As she admired the efficiency of the developing base of operations, she saw Sagli with a set of papers. He was looking from them and then surveying the woods around them, even looking up and out across the river a few times. He was deep into thought. That was when Lynn decided to approach the ponytailed Russian.

"Since I am more than likely going to remain behind when you leave here, maybe I can learn what it is you are looking for?"

Sagli didn't even look up from the papers he held in his hands. "These are copies of the Lattimer note and a description of this area as written by a Russian colonel long ago in 1918 that we received from our friend—" Sagli caught himself before he disclosed something he swore never to divulge. "In them, this colonel describes the area where he had left two wagons full of gold. I am now in the process of correlating his description with the area I have chosen to begin the search."

"It would seem to me you would be looking for an area against the plateau and not out in the open like you are, that is if it is gold you are looking for."

"Observant, Ms. Simpson; however, that is not our purpose here." He finally lowered the papers and looked the beautiful woman over. "I have found the landmarks described in the letters, it is right over there across the river. Do you see the rise of the plateau about a mile and a half into the woods?"

"Yes," she said as she held her bandaged hand to her eyes to shield them against the setting sun."

"The three largest veins of limestone running horizontally down its face, that is the only such variant that comes close to what Lattimer and this Russian colonel had described. His find has to be nearby." Sagli looked at Lynn and then seemed to decide something. He reached into his right pants pocket and brought out a small plastic case. He opened it and removed a large gold coin. "Do you know what this is?" he asked, handing it over to her.

Lynn turned the heavy coin over in her hand. The gold was cool to the touch and, of course, she recognized it immediately. "It's an American-minted gold double eagle, circa 1891. Value in today's gold market at about nine hundred fifty dollars, give or take ten dollars. If memory serves me correctly, the twenty-dollar gold piece weighs approximately.9675 ounces of pure gold."

"I am astounded at your knowledge of such mundane things as gold, Ms. Simpson, truly amazed."

"We have to be up on the markets for terrorism purposes, that fact shouldn't surprise you that much."

"Nonetheless, you are correct. And somewhere out there is two wagons full of them and we are now here to find those wagons' resting place."

Lynn could sense the lie coming from Sagli's mouth. At first, she thought he was telling the truth, but it was in the way he quickly turned away from her that undid him. She was trained to see the small of a lie, when a larger one would have been hidden the truth better. She had also noticed that among the copies Sagli was examining, there was one that stood out. It was a computer-generated letter that had English language written upon it, and she saw the header; it was from the NSA — the National Security Agency of her own country.

"And no one since this Lattimer guy has ever looked for it?" she asked, trying to keep him talking and eyeing the papers, trying to see more of the NSA printout he held.

Sagli turned back to face her; at the same time he reached out and took the heavy double eagle from her hand and replaced it in the plastic case.

"As a matter of fact, this coin was found nearby back in 1968."

"And all of this stems from a Russian diary from 1918?"

"Yes, that was the starting point for Lattimer, when he found the rotting diary along this very point of the river, possibly at this very spot."

Lynn couldn't help but smile. "And you, being the wealthiest man in Russia, you decide to throw it all away for a treasure hunt, one that wouldn't even be a decimal point in advantage to that wealth? No, Mr. Sagli, I don't buy it, just like my agency won't swallow that load of bull. What are you really looking for?"

Sagli smiled. This time the humor went all the way to his eyes, which was far more unsettling to Lynn than when it hadn't.

"We are looking for the gold, and it is a far more valuable commodity than you or your agency is aware of."

Lynn watched Sagli walk away and then stride into the large tent. She followed at a slower pace as to not attract the attention of the men she knew had been assigned to watch her. As she stepped to the side of the unzippered flap, she leaned in and saw that Sagli was listening to the right side of a headset, and as he held the radio link up, he absentmindedly tossed the coin onto the large table that held the radio. As she examined that table, she saw small pieces of twisted metal lying next to even more of the gold coins. Before she could see the twisted shards of black painted metal closer, a large hand grabbed her arm and turned her around. She came face to face with Gregori Deonovich. He was wild haired and dirty. Several of the camps men were pulling the Zodiac he had arrived in up the bank of the river. Deonovich roughly pushed Lynn into the tent.

Sagli lowered the headphones, and saw his partner and the angry expression he had on his filthy face. Deonovich raised a hand and then brought it down across the face of the American woman. Lynn fell to the nylon floor of the tent and then received a kick from the much larger man.

"Brother, brother, what is the matter with you, we were just trying to contact your team, what happened?" Sagli said, grabbing Deonovich and staying the next kick he had already drawn back to deliver to Lynn.

"Someone is tracking this woman. An aircraft we thought was nothing more than fishermen opened fire on us from the air." He turned to face Sagli. "They took out my entire team." He suddenly stopped and then pulled Sagli to the back of the tent, angrily ordering some of the technicians away.

Lynn wiped blood from her mouth and then rubbed her ribs where the big boot had landed squarely. Then she saw the animated way Deonovich was talking to Sagli. Lynn could see by the large man's body language that it wasn't just the reverse ambush of his men, it was something else. Sagli turned away and closed his eyes. Then he turned back angrily.

"Was he killed?" he asked.

Deonovich looked from his partner to Lynn, then he stepped forward and once more removed Sagli from earshot. He whispered something and then let go of his arm.

"Still, would it not have been more prudent to allow the aircraft to land before opening fire on it? That way you would have at least known who was on it. Now we have lost men we cannot replace and you have also left a now obvious enemy in our rear."

"They have no radio, and that gives us at least two or three days to find what we came for," Deonovich said by way of making things right with his partner for his failed ambush and the planned murders of the fishing camp family. "That means they either have to go downriver for help, in which case when they return with help we will be gone from this place, or they will come after us. And that will be to our advantage because they will be bringing our…" He stopped talking and looked at Lynn. "Get this woman out of here," Deonovich shouted at the men lining the front of the tent. After Lynn was picked up and moved out, Deonovich continued. "These intruders obviously do not realize who it is they have brought with them."

"Still, the chances of our success have now been diminished at the very least." Sagli turned away in deep thought. He turned back to face Deonovich. "Do you have any idea who these people were?"

"I have no idea, they were expert marksmen I can tell you that, my friend. But the means in which they arrived should rule out the possibility of a government resource, even a Canadian one."

"Your meaning?" Sagli asked.

"The aircraft they arrived in looked as if it had been taken from a museum."

Sagli was confused as to who these intruders at the fishing camp could be. Especially if they had who Deonovich described as their partner on the same plane as themselves.

"Well," he said with a shrug. "The stakes are too high for us to concern ourselves with such a small force. We will watch and wait and continue our search, and when these men arrive, if they arrive, we will kill them all."

As both men stepped aside and allowed the technicians to continue adjusting their equipment, Sagli stopped at the tents flap and saw Lynn facing north across the river. Then he noticed a few of his own men looking in that direction. Before he could order all of them back to work, he heard what it was that had stopped everyone in their tracks. The hammering of wood on wood had started again from deep in the forest across the river. Sagli stepped from the tent and cocked his head to the right side, trying to figure area and distance of the irritating, strange sound. As he did, several more of the distinctive slapping of wood commenced in other parts of the forested wilderness. Some sounded as if they were on their side of the river. Unnerved, Sagli turned to Deonovich.

"I want a fifty percent alert status on watch tonight. I suspect we have Indians indigenous to this area out there trying desperately to get our attention, and I don't know what they have planned, but I want to be ready for whatever it is."

The noise grew in volume and continued for three hours until the sun set behind the western mountains, and then all became horribly still; even the constant buzzing of insects ceased as the moon slowly rose over the Stikine River and its nervous visitors.

The Chulimantan were starting to move south from the small plateau and into the valley of the Stikine.

Will Mendenhall had been placed in the bow of the fifteen-foot Zodiac boat. The old river craft had been reinforced at the bow and stern with slabs of plywood, and there was a small cockpit complete with a windshield and an ice-chest stool for the river pilot. Marla's father had built in coolers and the control panel with throttles for the twin Evenrude motors, complete with depth finders and fish locators. As Will looked back at the cockpit where Carl Everett sat, his eyes moved to the colonel. Jack had placed Will in the bow as a lookout, and then had placed Henri Farbeaux and Punchy Alexander at the sides for the same purpose, while he sat next to Everett, cleaning one of the hunting rifles: an old-fashioned.30-.30 Winchester.

Jack had talked nonstop for the past hour, sharing something with Everett. Will wondered what it could be that made the captain sit as still as he had while he listened, being as the colonel had placed the Frenchman and Alexander as far away as possible in the boat so he could talk to the captain. Doc Ellenshaw was constantly writing in an open journal, looking up from his words for a minute of reflection, then delving back into his writing.

As they approached a large bend in the Stikine, Will turned and saw that Collins had changed his position and had come up to the bow without him noticing.

"Colonel," Will said as he lowered the binoculars, and then turned over from where he had been laying against the tall rubber and plywood bow, "you shouldn't sneak up on me like that."

"Getting spooked in your old age, Lieutenant?" Jack said as he slid down beside his security officer.

Mendenhall looked around at the passing scenery of the Stikine and its surrounding woods. The sun was now so low as to set the trees and even the water on fire with its bright orange illusion. The sun was dying and Will could see hope doing the same in Jack's face; this would be a long night of waiting on shore instead of going ahead upriver.

"To tell you the truth, Colonel, I've never been big on camping." Will looked back at Jack with an embarrassing smile that started and then failed to materialize. "I don't know, I guess it's become more acute since we left the fishing camp, but I swear for the past fifty miles…"

Collins watched Will as he failed to say what he was thinking. He glanced back as he felt the eyes of Farbeaux on him from behind. Henri raised his brows, smiling. It was if he knew Will was distressed about his surroundings and wanted to let Jack know that he knew. Collins gave him no indication that he cared one way or another as he turned back to the young black lieutenant.

"It's not like you to not finish a thought, Will, so give: What's on your mind?"

"We're being watched, Colonel," Mendenhall said as he again attempted the smile, and then shook his head at his failure. He turned back to face the front of the boat and the river beyond.

"We just may have something watching us, although I believe we won't run into our Russian friends for another fifty or so miles."

"It's not that," Will said without turning back to face Jack. "It's more instinctual — like walking down a street in Compton, just knowing that there is someone lying in wait for you around the next corner."

"Are images and memories of growing up in L.A. coming back to spook you?"

"No, that I could deal with, now as then. This is something else, like a memory, a very old memory or something. A thing from the past; hell, I don't know what I'm trying to say."

"What you're feeling is the state of loneliness in this part of the world," Collins said as he relaxed and lay against the large rubber wall of the Zodiac, placing the blue, seventy-year-old baseball cap that the old woman had given him before they left at a lazy angle covering his eyes. "I don't know if men… people like you and me that is… were ever meant to be here. Hell, maybe no one was ever meant to be in a place like this." Jack lifted the old Brooklyn ball cap and looked squinty eyed at Will. "And, Lieutenant, in the wilderness there is always something out there."

"Yes, sir," Will said, but was not satisfied as he turned back and looked into the dark woods that slid by the large boat as it moved upriver.

As the boat with its six-man crew moved along the river, the sun began to set and the woods surrounding them began to come alive with the animals that used darkness to hunt. As Mendenhall nervously glanced behind him, he saw Punchy Alexander watching the left side with all the determination of a man truly seeking out the bad things that could harm them. Farbeaux, on the other hand, was looking right at Will, his smile still there. Henri then winked at him. It was if the Frenchman were conveying once more that he had a secret that only he knew. Will figured it was only Henri being the total ass that he was.

Mendenhall finally relaxed when Carl turned the Zodiac in toward shore. All eyes except for the colonel watched as a small clear area presented itself, and the roving band of rescuers had a spot in which to wait anxiously for the rising sun that would signal them another day closer to finding Jack's sister — one way or the other.

The tent that had been set aside for half of the camp to eat in was still crowded as Lynn was given a plastic plate, and then watched as something resembling beets and a mystery meat was plopped into it. She was given a plastic fork but no knife. She turned away from the surly brute with the filthy apron and looked about the tent. She saw several places she could have sit down to eat, but decided that she would forgo the splendid company of men that grumbled and shoveled food down their throats and move to the outdoors. She chose a place by the small fire about halfway between the tents and river. The sun was now but a memory as the last of it dipped below the tree line to the west, signaling the true beginning of night.

As she sat down on a large rock worn smooth over a millennium worth of river water running over it, she saw that the guard had been set around the camp for the first of many shifts. They didn't care about her as she watched most of them as they in turn watched the surrounding woods. They were still on edge after the demonstration of noise had ceased about an hour before. The beating of wood on wood had set everyone's nerves on edge and the men didn't mind the reassuring feel of the large caliber weapons each of them held as they watched the darkness envelop the camp.

As Lynn nervously tasted the concoction of red sugar beets and beef, she saw Sagli and the freshly washed and cleaned Deonovich as they stood at the river's edge. They were talking with one of the technicians from the tent that held the lab and mechanical equipment she had seen earlier. Sagli seemed to be doing most of the talking. The ponytailed Russian was gesturing at the far shore of the Stikine, indicating with his hand certain areas she could not see from her place at the fire. She made a face when the beets and meat touched her tongue and then she placed the plate beside her and watched the animated exchange.

Sagli turned and saw her twenty yards away, and then pointed at the smaller Russian technician and then at Deonovich. Both of them turned abruptly and started for the tent brimming with electronic equipment. She noticed that both of the men had shoulder holsters as they passed by her. Deonovich glared at the small American woman and then growled something she couldn't understand as he eventually disappeared into the tent followed by the smaller man.

"We have possibly located something across the river by electronic means."

Lynn turned as the sound of Sagli's voice surprised her. He was standing by the fire looking down at her, but not really looking at her at all. The man was a thinker, and that was when she realized that all of her field reports were not quite telling her the truth; Sagli didn't really have a true partner in Deonovich, he was the man in charge and the other was just his lackey. To her, that could mean some sort of an advantage she could utilize down the road — but how? She didn't know just yet.

"Then why don't you wade across the river and get what you came for?" she asked, watching the man for his reaction.

When he didn't answer, she knew she had touched a nerve, one that he was trying to hide from her, for what reason she didn't know. Instead of answering the American's enquiry, he lowered his hands from the warming fire and then faced her.

"These woods," he said, gesturing around him to the dark tree line and even the flowing river, "what do you know of their history?"

"In case you haven't noticed, Sagli, I'm an American, and this" — she mocked him by gesturing around her, just as he had—"is Canada. I'm a city girl by nature."

Sagli actually looked disappointed that Lynn had not only mocked him, she had also not answered his question. He actually had the look of a man surprised that she hated his guts. He just looked at the fire and acted as though he was warming his hands on a not-so-cold night.

"My men, men who served with me in Georgia and Afghanistan, Spetsnaz all of them, are acting like schoolgirls. The noises emanating from the forest has them" — he finally looked at her as he searched for the right word—"on edge."

Lynn wanted to smile at the killer that stood nervously over the fire, but she thought mocking him again would be a dangerous proposition at best. So she looked toward the river instead.

"I suspect that it may be elk, or deer, maybe it's some kind of mating signal, you know, striking their antlers against trees, deadfalls, things like that. Look, I'm not up to date on Animal Planet; I've been a little busy with work and all."

"It does no good to mock me. And in case you haven't noticed, Ms. Simpson, you are sitting here in camp with us, and whatever is making that noise is growing close to you, as well as to me and my men."

Sagli abruptly turned and started walking toward the technical tent to join his so-called partner. As he disappeared inside, Lynn actually heard a call of an elk somewhere far to the north of them. A far different noise from what she had led the Russian to believe as she did know the difference between what an elk and deer sound like in the woods, and whatever that strange noise was that was plaguing the inner thoughts of everyone in camp. She knew that nothing she had ever read about in all of her education made the noises they had heard earlier. She was also aware that Sagli had been right — the sounds were drawing nearer every time they heard them.

For the first time since her abduction, Lynn wasn't so sure that having Russian commandos standing guard around her wasn't so bad after all.

As soon as they had brought the boat up and out of the water and staked it to the beach after their sixty-five-mile trip up the river, they set up a small fireless camp with no tents, Charlie Ellenshaw wandered off into the surrounding woods, necessitating that Everett go out to find him and admonish the curious side of the crazed professor for being careless.

As for Henri Farbeaux, the Frenchman tossed his sleeping bag onto the ground underneath a large tree, and then sat and watched the others. He placed his hands behind his head and watched Collins most of all. When Jack caught him looking, Henri didn't shy away, he just smiled that knowing smile of his.

"I don't know why you tolerate that man," Punchy said as Jack walked by. "The damn French, you can't trust them."

"Come on, Punchy, you're in charge of the only French-speaking province on the North American continent. Don't tell me Quebec and France still has their problems?" Collins looked from Alexander toward the reclining Farbeaux, who watched the two with interest.

"They have always treated not only Quebec as an ugly little sister, but the whole of Canada. They constantly interfere with our inner workings and still have one of the largest intelligence infrastructures outside of Moscow, and for what? To watch little Quebec?"

"Take it easy, old buddy. I didn't think you were that passionate about the ills of your relationship with France."

Alexander didn't say anything else, he just tossed his sleeping bag on the ground and with a last look at the Frenchman, sat down and started removing his boots.

Collins reluctantly looked away from Punchy and his sudden outburst, and looked at Henri. The man wasn't smiling, he didn't even move. Jack knew the Frenchman had heard the exchange between him and Alexander, but instead of joining the small debate, he just turned over and closed his eyes. Jack then threw his own unrolled sleeping bag down on the ground not far from the anchored and beached boat. Everett soon approached him with one of the Russian AK-47s slung around his shoulder.

"What are our orders for tomorrow, Jack?" Carl asked.

"I want to head upriver about an hour before sunrise, if that map and Charlie and the old woman's guesswork is accurate at all, we'll pull into shore around 0930 and we'll hoof it from there."

"And what makes you think they haven't heard us coming already?" Mendenhall asked, stepping up to the two men out of the darkness.

"Because we haven't been ambushed yet — with these killers, they wouldn't hesitate to kill us all if they knew we were close."

Mendenhall nodded his head and bowed to Jack's and Carl's experience in the field because between the two of them they had more combat and black operations experience than any two men in the country. He turned and went over and unslung his weapon, gently laid it down, and then he followed suit. His eyes were heavy and he knew that tomorrow there would be absolutely no rest.

Charlie Ellenshaw had watched the exchange between Collins, Everett, and Mendenhall and he waited until after Will had settled in to lean over Mendenhall to get his attention. Will had already closed his eyes without unzipping his sleeping bag.

"They wouldn't attack us in the dark, would they?" Charlie asked, startling the lieutenant.

"Jesus, Doc, don't do that!" Mendenhall said as he rolled over.

"Well, they wouldn't, would they?"

"Doc, if they knew we were here, yes, they would hit us in the dark. This isn't the old westerns you saw on television. Regardless of what you've heard, Indians, and Russians commandos, do attack at night."

Charlie looked around at the deep woods surrounding their small landing spot. "That's a comforting thought." As he settled into his sleeping bag, the stillness of the night calmed him. There were no beating of sticks against trees, a sound that had kept him terrified and intrigued since 1968. But for now the only sound was that of the light wind as it passed through the upper reaches of the trees.

"I take it we're not going to eat this evening?" Charlie asked, once more drawing the ire of Mendenhall.

Will removed his bush hat and then glanced over at the professor. "No, Doc, we're running a cold camp tonight, no hot grub, we'll eat some MREs in the morning when we hit the river again."

"Lovely" was all Charlie said as he lay down. "Lieutenant?"

"Good God, Doc, what is it?" Will asked opening his tired eyes for the third time since laying down. "I have the guard in just three hours."

"Oh… uh… I just wanted to say good night."

Will shook his head in the dark, feeling somewhat bad for snapping at the old professor. He knew he was just a little excited, and maybe even scared of being in these woods again. And after the story Ellenshaw told them, Will couldn't really blame him for reaching out. He smiled to himself and relaxed.

"Good night, Doc. Don't forget to take off your glasses before you go to sleep."

As Charlie lay down once more he stared at the mass of stars in the sky above. He knew that the others in the Group considered him a nerd, a man more prone to wet himself in a bad situation than to assist, but he knew things to be different for himself. He was far more excited about being back than men like Will Mendenhall would ever believe. He talked through his excitement just to calm the feelings he had about the Stikine and its wildlife.

As he lay on his sleeping bag, he looked over at the now still Mendenhall. He really liked Will, but he knew the lieutenant saw him as an old fool who filled his days with dreams of long-dead monsters and crazy ideas, but Charlie knew himself to be quite sufficient in the field, even though everyone thought him a lab rat. As he thought these things he slowly reached under his sleeping bag and made sure the safety was on the old-fashioned Smith & Wesson .38. Then he felt for the six-inch switchblade knife he always carried for luck. As he felt the two weapons he smiled; no, the old lab rat knew he could take care of himself when called upon — after all, he had been north of the Stikine before, and he knew it may take nerves of steel to face what's waiting for them across the river.

As the rest of the force lay down in their tents, the few technicians still working had set up a powerful metal detector just a few feet from the water's edge. They made sure the connections were made and then they sighted the conical-shaped stand at a spot they had determined would show the best results. Two of the first shift guards watched them from a distance. There were at least fifteen men on watch around the camp.

"Do you think they have an idea where the gold is already?" one of them asked his shift partner.

The larger of the two Spetsnaz watched the technicians return to the largest of all the tents. "It's not the gold I would like to get my hands on, but the sister to that diamond the bosses have, that's what I would like to see."

The smaller guard was a late addition to the team, a man who had just received his discharge from the red army and one of the only men there that wasn't a true old-camp Spetsnaz. He looked at the tall man beside him, as if he were sizing him up. Then he looked around the camp and picked out six other teams of guards as they walked a perimeter. They were far enough away from their river position not to hear their voices.

"How deep do you think the river is at the point right across from us?" the man asked, watching the Spetsnaz for a reaction.

"Too deep to cross you fool, and don't think I don't know what it is you are thinking." He looked down at the man with steely blue eyes. "Even if you made it across, the boss would gut you and leave you for the wolves when you returned."

The small man turned away and saw the American woman who had chosen to sleep outside of her tent. She lay by the dwindling fire and he couldn't tell if she was awake or asleep. Then he turned back to look at the taller man.

"The boss wouldn't know if one of us stayed behind while the other had a look-see. I could be across and back in half an hour, with nobody suspecting I had even crossed."

"You fool, you don't even know what it is you're looking for. You could step right on something over there and not know it. Besides," the man looked across the river, "don't you feel it?"

"Feel what?" the small weasel of a man asked.

"I don't know. It's like when I was stationed in Afghanistan the last months of the war. I was a kid back then, but I remember I used to gaze into the mountains and know my killers were there." He looked back at the small man. "I get that same feeling looking out there, across the river. And I'll ask you this, we are being led by men who have taken on the new Russian government and beat them at every turn, so why are these very same men who are not afraid of anything, keeping south of the river. If what we seek is on the other side, why not camp there?"

The man didn't say anything. He just glanced over at the tent that held Sagli and Deonovich, and watched the line guard stationed at the front of their large enclosure.

"Because they know something we don't, my friend — they sense danger just as I do and they would prefer not to face whatever it is in the darkness. They are old-guard KGB and they know danger when they smell it."

The small man made a grunting sound and then shrugged his shoulders as if the explanation hadn't fazed him one bit.

"I think you Spetsnaz have been brainwashed to the point of paranoia. That story is proof that they just want to keep you in the dark about how much gold is really over there."

The tall commando just shook his head, and then turned and continued walking his post along the river.

The small man was regular army, one of only six others the team had been forced to take when others had been stopped and questioned coming into Canada. The Spetsnaz liked to joke about the regular army, saying "they didn't have the sense God gave to geese."

As the guard watched the far shore past the luminous passing of the river in the moonlight, he saw something that made him lean down and try to focus upon. It looked as if one of the trees had moved. He caught shadow moving against shadow, and that movement was betrayed by the bright moon as it shone down upon the far northern bank of the Stikine.

The man thought about calling his guard partner back over to inform him that someone had braved the river and crossed, and were now more than likely searching for the gold, just as they should be. However, something held him back as he glared into the night. He quickly unsnapped the small pouch on his belt and removed the night-vision goggles and placed them over his eyes. The movement on the far shore had ceased. The darkness was still there beside one of the larger trees in the distant tree line and it hadn't moved since he froze and watched it. In the green filtered ambient light of the goggles, he could tell whatever it was it was huge, standing at least nine feet beside the tree. The guard raised the goggles and then shook his head and rubbed his eyes. When he focused the ambient light goggles again on the same spot on the far bank, the shadow he had been watching seemed to have blended in with the tree — or trees, as now he didn't see any discernable difference in any of the shadows as one bled into the other.

The guard knew that the Spetsnaz had tried to fool him with a spook story on how their bosses were frightened of the dark across the river, but he knew better. There was something over there all right, but it had nothing to do with spooks and goblins. There was gold, and what was the harm in finding out, especially if no one knew?

The guard smiled as he looked around and then caught up with his partner. After their shift was over, he would make his excuse to wander away to do his private latrine business, and then investigate on his own the far shore — danger be damned.

Twenty minutes later, the guard had waded across the same exact spot in the river that Professor Ellenshaw had crossed in 1968. The man turned just before exiting the water and watched the camp across the river. No alarm had been sounded as the change of watch was going about its business. The man smirked at the expertise of the old-guard Spetsnaz. They may have been good once, but those days were long past.

The man made his way out of the river and watched the woods. They were silent and unmoving. With the moon almost down, the ominous shadows had vanished and with it, the nervousness he had felt before crossing the Stikine.

As he made his way up the rocky slope, his foot struck something that sounded like metal. He stopped and reached for the object. He stayed on one knee and rolled the piece of black aluminum around in his hand. He was curious as to its misshapen state as he rose. At that split second of realization that he was no longer alone on the shore of the river, the guard slowly looked up. Instead of seeing the faint outline of the forest ahead, he saw nothing but blackness blocking his view. As his head continued to move upward, he dropped the aluminum he had been looking at and it tumbled to the rocks. As his eyes rose to the sky, he whimpered in his throat when he saw the eyes looking down at him.

The giant beast tilted its enormous head as it studied the small man before it. The eyes were a dull green and seemed to be illuminated from the inside. The man tried to take a step back and the beast grunted its displeasure at the movement. Then the guard made a move to unholster his weapon from his side. The great beast saw the movement and in a split second had reached out and grabbed the man's wrist, snapping the thick bone in two. The man was shocked at the speed of movement and really didn't realize his wrist had been snapped like a dry twig.

The animal grunted again and then its luminous eyes came up and it studied the camp across the river. When he felt the man start to pull away, the animal returned all of its attention to him. As the beast moved its head, the man was amazed to see that some of the thick, foul-smelling hair of its head had been braided. It was sloppily done, but braided nonetheless. The guard pulled harder at the restraining hand of the animal and that was when the great beast took the man into the air by grabbing his neck. It shook him like a rag doll, snapping not only his neck, but three places in his spine as well.

The animal held the man closer to its face and sniffed the body. It growled deep in its throat and shook the guard one last time, and when it stopped it glanced across the river once more toward the Russian encampment. It growled again, this time deeper in its chest until it finally escaped its apelike mouth.

The beast sniffed the air and then lowered the man in its grasp. Then it raised the body by its neck and tossed it into the Stikine as if it were nothing more than a stone. With one last look at the men across the river, the beast turned and walked into the dark woods.

Fifty-six miles downriver, Professor Charles Hindershot Ellenshaw III awoke so suddenly from dreaming of that long-ago summer of 1968 that he at first failed to realize where he was. He grimaced and then rolled over on the sleeping bag after tossing the top half off of his body, knowing that Mendenhall must have covered him after he had fallen asleep. He felt around and then raised the bottom half of the bag and pulled out a large rock that was jabbing painfully into his backside. He hefted the large stone and was just drawing back to toss it into the river, when a hand reached out and took his wrist. Charlie almost let out a wail of fright until he looked up and even without his glasses he realized it was the Frenchman, Farbeaux, who had stopped his rock toss. Standing beside him was Colonel Collins, who held his right index finger up to his lips. The stone fell from Charlie's grasp and it clinked onto the ground.

"What is it?" Charlie whispered when he saw their worried faces.

Instead of answering, Jack used hand signals to someone in the rear of their cold camp; Charlie then watched Carl Everett and Punchy Alexander emerge from the tree line. Then he placed a hand on Charlie's shoulder.

"Something came across the river about five minutes ago," Collins said, looking from a scared Ellenshaw to Will Mendenhall, who came in from the forest side of the camp. He stopped and shook his head in the negative at Collins. "Take a whiff with your nose, Doc. Have you ever smelled anything like that before?"

Ellenshaw turned his nose to the slight wind coming from the north. He did smell something on the air — it was an even deeper forest smell than what was naturally given on a regular wind. Earthy, most people would call it. Wetness, much like a waterlogged dog or other animal, mixed with the rich earth of the woods. He indeed had smelled that odor before.

"I have, once, many years ago." Charlie slowly stood and looked around. The moon was setting and he felt the small amount of wind that had been present a moment before, slowly subside. "They are close by."

Collins and Farbeaux were feeling something that the others besides Everett had yet to catch onto. They took a step toward the river, watching as they went. Then they stopped and one head turned the opposite of the other, slowly circling the area around them, finally settling on the trees behind their camp where Everett and Mendenhall had searched a moment before.

"Not even the Russians can be that brazen, or that stealthy," Will said as he looked around in the direction he had just come from with the old-fashioned Colt .45 Peacemaker six-shot revolver he had removed from his pack. The old woman had passed it to him back at the fishing camp saying, he looked more the fast-draw type than the others.

"I think the Russians are fast asleep many miles upriver, young Lieutenant; this is something else," Farbeaux said as he shook his head. "Whatever it was is gone now, Colonel."

"I told you, it's them," Charlie said, acting excited. "They are close."

Jack nodded his head, knowing Henri was right — whatever had come across the river was now gone. He was also taking Charlie a little more seriously than he had before. Their stealthy visitors were either gone, or went to ground. He looked at his watch and sighed. "Well, it's 0440, let's break out the Sterno and get some coffee going."

"Is that wise? The smell of coffee travels a long way," Charlie asked as he started rolling up his sleeping bag and then he looked up at Mendenhall. "And that I did see in a western."

Jack continued to look around the camp. "Wind is picking up again and coming from the north, Doc, the Russians are in the opposite direction," he said as if speaking to himself.

As the others watched the colonel slowly walk away, it was Henri who caught up with Jack at the river's edge. Collins turned and saw the Frenchman looking at a spot directly across from them on the northern riverbank.

"I'm glad you were alert during your watch, Colonel," Jack said turning back to face the river.

"Let's be honest here, you were as awake as I. No sleeping man has those kinds of reactions."

Collins gave a false smile, but didn't turn to face Farbeaux. "Whatever came across that river was fast and large as hell, it would have awoken a dead man."

"If you say so," Henri replied. "Now, what do we do about whatever it was, now that it is obviously over on this side of the river?"

"Nothing."

"That doesn't sound like you, Colonel."

"Whatever it was, all it did was join the others of its kind that were already following us, Henri." Jack finally faced Farbeaux. "In case you haven't noticed, we've been surrounded by whatever is out there every foot upriver we've traveled."

The Frenchman watched Jack turn and walk away. "Are you always so cheerful in the mornings, Colonel?"

Sarah McIntire and Jason Ryan had been so exhausted that they just rolled two sleeping bags out by the Bell Ranger where they had worked at tearing into the battered engine compartment most of the day and into the night. They had discovered that the only part that needed attention outside of a few rubber hoses was the fuel injector. It lay in several pieces on a blanket next to the skid of the Ranger. Jason said that he would be able to repair the minute holes in the complicated fuel delivery system with some melted lead or solder.

Finally, Sarah and Jason had called it quits and lowered the gas flow on the lanterns and went right to sleep without claiming the offer made by Marla and her grandmother of a hot meal. At 4:50 A.M., it was Marla who shook them awake.

"You have to come up to the porch — now," the girl said as she pulled a shawl tightly around her shoulders. Sarah saw that when the words came, the girl's eyes were not watching them but were on the woods to her right.

"What is it?" Sarah asked as her and Ryan sat up.

The girl didn't explain; she stood and started walking back to the general store. Sarah watched her go and then her eyes traveled to the porch. There she saw in the darkness the girl's grandmother standing with arms crossed, watching them.

"I think we better do what she says," Sarah said as she started shaking out of the sleeping bag.

"What? Is there a deer stampede headed our way or something?" Ryan asked, shaking his head and trying desperately to get the kinks in his muscles stretched out.

Suddenly, they both sensed the change that came over the fishing camp. The utter silence told them something was happening that they couldn't see, but could sense. Sarah looked at Ryan, and without hesitation stood and started for the grocery store and didn't look back until they had joined the old woman and Marla on the steps of the porch. When they turned, Sarah watched the woods, her eyes eventually moving to the river, which was now in total darkness since the setting of the moon. She could barely make out the helicopter as it sat before them only fifty yards away.

"What is it?" Ryan asked the old woman, who was watching the same area as Sarah.

"We've had visitors in the night," Helena Petrovich said as her eyes moved from the trees to the open area before the store. "I'm surprised you didn't wake up when they were rummagin' around that whirly chopper you were working on."

"When who was rummaging around?" Ryan asked, not liking the fact that something was so close to them and they never knew it.

The old woman didn't answer. She pulled her granddaughter closer to her and placed a protective arm around her.

"Are you saying that the local Indians steal things during the night?" Jason persisted.

Helena finally spared Ryan a look. "The Indians here 'bouts don't steal, navy man. And before you ask, we don't, either."

"He wasn't inferring—"

"Let's just say it would be better if you stretch out on the porch till the sun comes up."

In the distance, two gunshots rang out. They waited, but there was only one other that followed. Then silence once more took hold.

"Who in the hell's out there?" Sarah asked when the echoes stopped.

"Don't know," the old woman said looking toward the sound of the gunfire. "Maybe we should try for some sleep; Marla and I have a workday tomorrow."

"I think I can safely say, I'm done sleeping for the night," Ryan said, taking a step off the porch and walking toward the helicopter.

"Well, why don't we eat some breakfast then," Marla said hurriedly as she took three quick steps down the wooden stairs and quickly took Jason by the arm. "By that time, the sun'll be up."

Sarah could see that the girl was frightened and didn't want Ryan to return to the chopper.

"That's a good idea; we missed dinner last night," Sarah said, looking Ryan in the eyes and then using her head to get him to return to the porch.

"You know, it's not polite to keep secrets from strangers," Ryan said, relenting to Sarah's silent request and taking a step back as the girl pulled on his arm.

The old woman watched all three enter the store, then she called out: "Secrets are how privacy is kept, Lieutenant Ryan."

Two hours later the sun had crested over the small hills that hid the warmth of the new day till the last moment before it actually appeared over the closest of the giant trees.

Ryan stepped out onto the porch and was feeling better about the early morning wakeup call than he had before he ate a full stomach's worth of a breakfast that he knew was going to shorten his life by at least three years. He had never eaten so many eggs, sausage, biscuits and gravy in one setting. He patted his stomach and then made his way down the porch.

As he approached the Bell Ranger, he immediately saw that things were not as they were left when he and Sarah ceased working the night before. The blanket he had laid the fuel injector on was hanging from one of the rotor blades and even their sleeping bags had been tossed about like they were discarded rags. That meant that someone had been there after they had returned to the store early this morning.

"Damn it!" Ryan said angrily as Sarah stepped out onto the porch and saw him jogging toward the helicopter. She quickly followed.

As he approached, he started scanning the ground for the fuel injector. As he looked he saw the old tool box that the Petrov's had given him turned over and the old rusty tools were spread all over the rocky soil.

"What happened?" Sarah asked as she caught up with Ryan.

"Someone is screwing around with us," Jason said as he kicked the tool box upright. "The damn fuel injector is gone."

"Maybe it's on the ground somewhere," she said hopefully.

"All the other parts are here, but the injector is gone. It's large enough where you could spot it right off. Look, here are the hoses, even the housing screws."

"They took the one part that would get us into the air," Sarah said, deflating, as suspects started flashing through her mind.

"Was the part in need of repair shiny — you know, bright?"

They both turned to see Marla standing just behind them. She was fully dressed in her work clothes and had bundles of paper-wrapped bait fish piled in her arms.

"Yes, it was shiny aluminum," Ryan answered with hands on hips. "Why, do Indians like shiny things?"

"Grandmother said it wasn't Indians." Marla looked around, and then looked at the river. "As a matter of fact, they don't seem to be showing up this morning for their bait."

Sarah watched the girl as she scanned the river. Then she took a step toward Marla.

"Who took the part?" she asked, not trying to push the young girl too hard.

Marla laid the bundles of fish down on the stony ground. "I think if we look real hard, we may find it out there," she said pointing into the trees. "They usually get bored pretty quickly with things that they steal."

"Who gets bored with the shiny things?" Sarah asked.

"They mean no harm and just as I said, I bet we can find the thing you're looking for. They like shiny things is all," she repeated, scared that Sarah and Ryan were mad at her.

"It's the Indians, Sarah, come on," Ryan said, looking from McIntire to the girl. "Look, Marla, they won't be in trouble, but we need that part. We can't leave our friends out there with no way back. They'll need us, I guarantee you that."

"I'm sorry, I'll help you look. I bet it's not that far away," she said biting her lip and looking nervously about the woods.

"Oh, this is ridiculous," Ryan said as he reached down and retrieved the M-16 from where he had laid it the night before, thinking about why the Indians didn't take the weapon when they took the part.

"Lieutenant, the Tlingit are not thieves. They are the most honest people in the world, if they are guilty of anything, it's pride in what they do — living out here all alone. They live here where no man can survive without assistance from the outside world, they always have."

"Except for your family," Sarah reminded her.

"But that's just it, without the Tlingit, none of my ancestors could have made it here." Her eyes softened. "They did not take your part."

Ryan let out a loud breath, reached down and tossed Sarah her AK-47, and then started for the tree line.

Sarah watched him leave and then looked and made sure there was a round in the chamber of the Russian-made weapon. With a sad look at Marla — feeling she was being far less than honest with them — she turned and followed Ryan into the tree line. The girl quickly followed.

Lynn had managed losing her tag-team guards for a few minutes, just long enough to relieve herself in the woods surrounding the camp. She could smell something that may be breakfast, or something akin to it. As she started toward the sounds and smells of the camp, that was when she saw it — or more accurate — them. There were a series of large footprints, the size of which were enormous, leading from the thick grove of trees to about the spot where Lynn had entered the woods to seek relief. As she bent over and looked closer at the footprints, she saw that they were almost human in appearance, with the exception of the size, as they were at least twenty-four inches in length and twelve inches wide. She swallowed as she turned her head back to where she had been moments before and saw that there were two differing sets, one coming, and one leaving the area. Whatever had made the prints had been watching the camp on the south side of the river.

Lynn stood, her eyes retuning to the giant impression at her feet. With total trepidation she laid her own size six shoe next to it. She closed her eyes when she realized that her small foot only covered the large toe of whatever creature made the print. Every legend and myth about the dark woods of the northwest came flooding back into her memory from childhood. When she found that she had actually stopped breathing, she opened her eyes and allowed the intrusion of the real world to flood back into her senses once more.

As Lynn took another deep breath, she first heard, and then saw several men running toward the large electronics tent. There were shouts and angry sounding orders being given, and then Sagli stepped out and looked around until he saw Lynn standing at the edge of the tree line. He quickly walked up to her, his hair hanging free and wild.

"Where have you been?" he asked stepping up menacingly.

"I assume I am allowed to use nature's facilities?" she asked, raising her brows, trying to get her emotions under control. She shuffled her feet across the closest foot impression as she stepped forward.

"You will ask for escort next time."

"I think I'll pass on presenting your men with a peep show so early in the morning."

Sagli looked as if he wanted to say something, but turned on his heels instead. Lynn watched as he started shouting orders. With one look back at the path she had just taken, she wondered if something was nearby — a thing that could not possibly exist, but evidently had escaped from the annals of B-Moviedom.

Deonovich soon joined the men as they started looking around the entire camp. It was as if they were searching for something. Lynn decided she would risk a backhanded strike from the large Russian and approached him.

"What happened, you lose something?" she asked.

Deonovich turned and saw Lynn and then grimaced. He started to turn away but stopped and then looked back at her.

"You slept out by the fire last night, am I correct?"

"Yes, I figured the tent was a little restrictive for a prisoner."

"Being a smart-ass American is not as endearing as you would believe. If we did not need you, I would throw your very mutilated body into the river."

Lynn didn't respond to the angry glare and threat as much as she wanted to.

"We are missing a man. Did you see anything out of the ordinary last night?" he asked.

"You mean outside of a bunch of Russian commandos out camping in the Canadian wilderness? No, not at all."

Deonovich raised his large hand to strike Lynn and actually managed to start it forward, when a shout stayed his punishment once again. Sagli was walking up, using a leather string to tie his hair back.

"Join the men in the search." He stared at Deonovich until the large man moved angrily away.

"Ms. Simpson, we have not only lost a man, but also the signal from our metal detectors from across the river. Do you have any idea how this could be?"

"Some of your men don't look to be the brightest, so—" Lynn started but stopped. She could see in the dark eyes of Sagli that he wouldn't brook another of her insults. "No, I don't."

Suddenly, several of the remaining twenty-five men started shouting from the edge of the river. Sagli turned and quickly left. Lynn, for her part, slowly followed as if only casually interested.

When they arrived, the men had calmed down. Sagli, expecting the worse — a drowned soldier — saw what they had been shouting about and the curious look on his face told Lynn that what he was seeing was something he had not expected. Lined along the rippling shoreline of the fast-moving Stikine, were arrayed four of the small round devices she had seen the large soldier shoot across the river the day before. From the look of them, they were still operating as lights flashed on and off. She saw Sagli look around and then down again at the metal detectors. Then he turned to the small technician who quickly leaned down and retrieved one on the small objects.

"Well, do you still have a pinpoint location to start the search? We no longer need these, am I correct?"

The small bespectacled man looked up. "Yes, sir, we triangulated a starting point last night from the devices. The radia—"

Sagli waved the man into sudden silence before he could complete his answer. He looked around him at the other soldiers who had started to wander away, continuing their search for the missing guard. Satisfied they hadn't heard anything, he looked at Lynn, but she had been smart enough to turn her back on the conversation soon after hearing the technician's slipup.

"Good, now how did these get over on this side of the river?" he asked, looking from the technician to once more eye Lynn. "It doesn't matter. You men" — he shouted out—"prepare the camp; we are moving across the river."

The men started splitting up as Lynn watched them move away. Deonovich waited and then waved Sagli over to the where he was standing with one foot in the river. Lynn stood her ground and watched, and they didn't seem to care that she was there. Sagli stood in front of his partner, and then looked down when Deonovich indicated something down upon the riverbank. The ponytailed Sagli bent to one knee and then reached and felt the wet soil. Then he stood and gestured for Lynn to come over.

"Tell me, have you ever seen anything like this before? Being American, you watch far more television than I or my friend here."

Lynn looked at him curiously, and then lowered her eyes to a spot indicated by the wet boot of Deonovich. Her eyes widened in pretend shock at seeing what she was looking at.

"No, I must say I haven't."

It was only half there, as the missing part disappeared into the clear waters of the Stikine, but she could clearly see the large toes and instep of the creature that had made the same prints inside the tree line. Like the one she had examined a few minutes before, this print dwarfed the boot of the giant Deonovich as he stood beside it. Sagli quickly reached out and scraped his own smaller boot across it, destroying the evidence. The other prints farther up the shoreline hadn't been as defined as they were laid into the larger stones that made up the riverbank.

"Look around and make sure that there no more of these about; check the sandier soil, these rocks would hide anything distinctive," he said to Deonovich. He then turned to Lynn. "You will remain quiet about this discovery, or I will be forced to deal with you."

Lynn didn't respond, she only looked at the disturbed sand where the print had once been. As Sagli started to walk away, she caught up with him.

"Maybe you haven't noticed, but I may not be your only problem. It seems like there may be something out there you didn't account for on this little safari. I think they call whatever is stalking us a Sasquatch, or that little funny name most people laugh at, Bigfoot. Maybe you should have listened and accounted for some of the stories about this area."

Sagli stopped and smiled at Lynn.

"We have accounted for everything, Ms. Simpson — everything."

Mendenhall slowly made his way back to the rear of the Zodiac, stepping easily past Captain Everett as he slowed the large boat down and threw the engine into idle to ease to silence their approach around a blind corner as they entered into another bend in the Stikine. Will squeezed in beside the food packs and eyed Jack.

"Colonel, how long have you known the Canadian?" he asked, looking away when Collins looked over at him.

"Punchy and I trained together once upon a time in the UK. He was with MI-5 at the time and I was assisting our DELTA teams. We were their garnering some training from the British SAS. Old Punchy never was much of a field man," Jack said as his eyes went from Will to the large form of Alexander sitting in the bow with Henri, who seemed to have developed a strange attachment to the Canadian, because of late he hadn't been ten feet away from him. "He and Doc Ellenshaw have that in common — they don't like bugs or things that go bump in the night. But he is the best intelligence officer I have ever run across" — he again looked at the black lieutenant—"with the exception of my baby sister. His main thing is computer espionage. He can break into most intelligence agencies and steal whatever he wants."

"Anything else, Colonel? I mean I've seen it before, like with Captain Everett: There's a closeness with people who have lived and almost died together. You and Alexander have that."

Collins eyed his young lieutenant and was proud of the way Will had progressed; he was starting to develop the leadership skills that he knew he had all along. What's more, Mendenhall was becoming an observer of human nature.

"In 1989, Punchy and I were dispatched on a recon mission just north of Vancouver to recover something of importance, that's how we met. There's nothing more than that."

"You're proud of what she's achieved, huh, Colonel?" Will asked, taking the colonel by surprise.

Mendenhall knew he was treading dangerous ground with the man he had known for three years now. Jack Collins was probably the most secretive person he had ever known — his private life was off limits.

Jack smiled as he thought about Will's question. "Yes, I am proud of Lynn. Oh, we've had our differences: She's a crusader, one that will bash her head against the wall to do the right thing."

"Sounds like someone we know, doesn't it, Lieutenant?" Carl Everett said from his place behind the wheel of the boat as he placed the throttle of the motor to almost full speed as they came to a straight stretch of river.

Mendenhall didn't say yes or no; he did however smile when he saw the look on Jack's face — a look that said he didn't know what Everett was talking about.

"Slow the boat, we have something in the water up here," Punchy called out as he and Henri traded places in the bow.

Carl eased the throttles back as Punchy Alexander looked at the Frenchman and told him to hold his belt as he leaned far over the side of the rubber craft. He yanked and pulled at something in the water until he finally lifted a body halfway out.

"Goodness," Professor Ellenshaw said, laying his notebook down and frowning.

The man was pale white, but they could see from the facial features that he hadn't been in the water that long. The head was twisted almost backward and looked as if his jaw and both cheek bones were smashed.

"Damn, his body is all busted up," Punchy called back.

"Check his arm," Jack ordered from behind Farbeaux and Alexander.

Henri reached out and ripped the sleeve away from the shoulder. There was no tattoo.

"Okay, so we now know all of the mercs aren't Spetsnaz," Collins said. "Let him go, Henri, we don't have time for any burials."

Alexander and Farbeaux let the body go and allowed the river to take him. Ellenshaw leaned over and watched the body slide by.

"I think I would have liked to determine the cause of death, Colonel," Charlie said as he watched until the river swallowed the young Russian soldier, not knowing if he really wanted to examine it or not, but feeling he should at least say he wanted to.

"I believe you could say his neck was broken, his back snapped in more than one place, and his face crushed, Doctor," Farbeaux said as he reached over and washed his hands in the Stikine.

"Poor man," Charlie said as he leaned back into the boat.

"Just remember, Doc, it was a bunch of those good men that tried to ambush us," Punchy said as he resumed his place in the bow of the boat. "The mercenary bastard looks like he may have gotten a taste of his own medicine."

Jack watched the exchange between Ellenshaw and Alexander with mild curiosity. Punchy slammed his hands into the bow wake of the Zodiac and washed his hands. Collins saw that his features were stretched with disgust, or was it something else about the body that disturbed him more than just the death stiffness of the soldier?

"He probably drowned and the rocky bottom of the river did the damage to his body, huh, Colonel?" Mendenhall asked.

Jack looked at Will but said nothing. He eased himself beside Everett.

"I think we can probably only risk about another two miles, then I think our little navy has to get out of this thing and start hoofing it — or as we say, do the Jack Collins two-step."

"Is that what they say?" Jack asked. "Yeah, I suspect we may be running into trouble soon enough if we stay on the water, these bends and curves are a perfect place to set up a river ambush."

"Oh good, are we going to walk now?" Charlie asked, actually looking excited to be off the water and into the woods.

"So now we can walk into a land ambush. Is that right, Colonel?" Henri said with his always present smile etched onto his face.

"You can always get out and swim back, Henri," Collins said, this time with his own smile.

"No, I'll try for the Twin diamonds, but looking at that Russian soldier, I would say that our chances on land may not be as good as we initially hoped they would be."

This time the smile on Jack's face widened as he was actually amused by the Frenchman.

"No one ever said you were dumb, Henri."

Jason pushed through the prickly bushes that covered the forest floor, having endured over a hundred scratches on his face for his efforts. He hadn't seen Sarah in the past hour, but heard her cuss loudly about fifteen minutes earlier, so he knew she was faring no better than himself in the tangled undergrowth searching for the fuel injector. Of Marla Petrov, he hadn't seen or heard a thing since their makeshift search party began.

Jason broke through a particular harsh section of undergrowth with pieces of bushes and thorns sticking to his face and Levis shirt, and into a small clearing of which a rippling creek ran through. He took a deep breath as a small fresh breeze sprang up. He instantly felt the clear air that greeted him after the harsh, closed in and fetid air of the thick tangle foot of the forest. He placed his hands on his knees and saw a million of the small thorns had also penetrated his jeans. He shook his head as he went to the clear creek. He washed his face, feeling the pleasant sting of the water hitting his sweat-filled scratches.

Feeling half human again, he looked into the water after drinking a few cupped handfuls. He instantly saw it and stood so fast that he dropped the M-16 he had rested on his bent knees. When he examined the fuel injector closely, he saw it had been wadded up like a piece of discarded paper. He looked around as the woods surrounding the creek became still. He slowly bent over, still watching the trees and retrieved the four-pound injector and the M-16 from the water.

"Damn it," he said under his breath. "Why in the hell would someone do that?"

When a crashing noise sounded behind him, Jason thought a bear was coming to claim his small person. He dropped the smashed fuel injector into the water and turned with the M-16 just as he saw Sarah trip and stumble into the clearing.

"You okay?" Jason asked as he reached to steady her.

"Water — oh that looks good," she said as she walked the few feet to the creek and then sank to her knees. She pushed her head into the cool stream and washed her face, and then she cupped her hands and drank. She took a breath and then turned to face Ryan. "We're not very good at this wilderness thing, are we?"

Ryan walked to within a few feet of Sarah and then reached into the water and pulled up the battered injector.

"So much for shiny things, huh?" he said as he let the fuel injector slide from his hand and into Sarah's.

"What the hell, did they take a rock to it?" she angrily asked as she stood up.

"They probably didn't even know they damaged it."

They both turned and saw Marla standing just out of the woods. She looked fresh as a daisy and didn't have a scratch on her.

"Okay, who in the hell are they?" Ryan asked, his temper starting to rise. "And don't give me any of this mystical bullshit."

The girl looked from Ryan to Sarah; instead of answering, she walked to the creek and took a drink of water from her cupped hand.

"It doesn't matter about the damaged part, Mr. Ryan," she said as she finally looked up. "You don't need it."

"What do you mean?"

"Jason, let her finish," Sarah said, eyeing the young woman closely.

The girl straightened and then pointed. "About a hundred yards in that direction." She stepped into the water and then across the creek and vanished into the woods.

"Jesus, can that girl ever give a straight answer to anything?" Ryan said angrily as he watched Sarah quickly follow Marla.

In extreme exasperation, Ryan followed. The woods were thinner here and for that he was grateful. He saw Sarah's back as she dipped and then straightened to come through the thinning trees. Suddenly, he ran into her backside as she came to an abrupt halt.

"What the—"

Sarah was just standing there, amazed at the sight she was looking at in the large clearing. Jason stepped around her and his mouth wanted to drop open. There, sitting pristine and shining in the bright sunlight were four, brand-spanking-new Sikorsky helicopters. They were the newest top of the line S-76 turbojet models. Their four bladed rotors drooped and swayed in the light breeze. Ryan brought up the M-16 and Sarah followed suit with the AK-47. Marla turned in front of them and shook her head.

"There's no one here. I came upon them just before I found you. These are the same ones those Russians arrived in."

"The pilots must have gone with them," Ryan said as he started to step out from the tree line, but Marla was quick to grab his arm.

"No, the pilots were ordered to stay, I heard that head Russian myself. I just assumed they went back to Juneau or someplace."

Ryan listened, but still couldn't grasp any danger. "Okay, we spare one and disable the others."

"You're not hearing me, Mr. Ryan, the pilots are missing," Marla persisted.

"Okay, young lady, you have our full attention, so I think it's about time you shed a little light on what's happening around here."

Marla looked at Sarah, dropping the restraining arm from Ryan.

"Okay, I fear those pilots may have run into the same thing you and Sarah did last night." Her eyes stayed on Ryan.

"Those gunshots, you mean?" Sarah asked.

Marla just nodded her head once while examining the makeshift landing area where the giant Sikorsky choppers sat. Sarah thought the scene was unreal. The empty helicopters, the wind whistling by the swaying rotors and the open staircases of the four aircraft lent an air of ghostliness to the scene that gave her cold chills.

"Look, Marla, what is happening here?" Sarah persisted with her earlier question.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me," Sarah said still looking around, the AK-47 turning as she did.

"You don't look like the type to believe in myths and legends," Marla said looking from Sarah to Ryan.

Both of them exchanged looks but didn't smile at the foolish statement made by the girl. How could she know what they did for a living or the things that they have been witness to?

"We protect one of those legends here, or maybe they protect us, I don't know. But there are animals in these woods that belong here even more than the Indians that inhabit this area. They were here thousands of years before everyone, and this is their home. I'm afraid those Russians may have done something stupid last night and have paid dearly for it, or soon will. They protect their own."

Suddenly, there was a crackling sound coming from one of the choppers. It was loud in the stillness that now held sway over the clearing. Sarah looked at Ryan and she could tell he was feeling the same creepiness that overwhelmed her on this bright, clear, sun-filled day. Before she had a chance to ask what the crackling sound was, it came again, and then what seemed like a voice.

"Oh, God," Sarah said with a loud exhale, "it's a radio."

Ryan eased his way past the last of the trees and made his way to the first chopper in line. Sarah and Marla slowly followed. Jason leaned into the first of the well-equipped helicopters and saw that at first sight all looked normal. The plastic-covered interior was immaculate compared to the sparseness of the Bell Ranger they had been working on the night before. The windows sparkled and the carpeting on the floor smelled of its newness. As Ryan tilted his head, he heard the radio in the front cockpit come to life with a crackle and then a Russian voice come out of the speakers. It became insistent when there was no return answer.

As Ryan braced his feet to enter the Sikorsky, he felt a crunch under his right foot. He stepped away from the opening of the helicopter and looked at what he had stepped on. He looked from the object on the ground to Marla. The anger was etched in his features and his eyes were blazing. He kicked the smashed microphone from the choppers radio toward the spot Sarah and Marla stood.

"I suppose you didn't destroy the only way we had for calling for help?" Jason asked.

Marla held Ryan's gaze and gave back some of her own.

"I said before, Mr. Ryan, we will not allow the outside world to destroy what we have here. All of the invaders of the high country are on their own. If they're good, or bad, it makes no difference — you or the ones you are looking for don't belong here."

Sarah didn't know what to say, she was dumbfounded that Marla would go to those lengths knowing what the Russian assault team had done to the Mounties and to themselves.

"We have friends out there, and now it's time you let us in on your big secret. Jason, pick one of the helicopters, it's time we go and find Jack and the others."

Lynn was watching the men as they lowered the tents and started placing the expensive equipment into their waterproof cases. The soldiers started placing heavy packs onto their backs as they made ready to cross over. The boats were filled and Sagli and Deonovich looked satisfied that their goal was within sight.

The search for the missing man had lasted all of five minutes as Sagli declared that he would eventually show up, and that seemed to satisfy most of the men, especially the Spetsnaz who weren't too interested in searching for the man at any rate. The others looked surprised that more of an effort wasn't forthcoming and wondered if the same effort would be in place for them if they disappeared. There were a few grumblings, but Lynn knew the men would never show it to Sagli or to the brute Deonovich and their group of hard nosed commandos.

A Spetsnaz came over to where she was sitting on a large stone. His weapon was slung across his shoulder as his dark eyes peered into her own.

"You are now my responsibly and I have orders to break something on your body once we have crossed the river if there is any troubling from you, are we understandings each other?" he asked in poor English.

"Nyet," Lynn said as she stood.

The man looked confused for a moment, and then he saw that the woman was toying with him.

"Good, then I will enjoy the tasking of my duty to breaking your arm sever-ling times."

"Okay, just kidding, pea brain. Shall we go boating?"

The man stepped aside, deciding instantly that he did not like the American and how it would be a pleasure to break her bones.

The last of the larger tents still stood and inside Dmitri Sagli threw the microphone down and it struck the radio operator.

"You mean to tell me they didn't check in last night and you felt it did not warrant informing me?"

The small operator cowered away from the demented eyes of the ponytailed Russian.

"Did it occur to you that we left those helicopters there to be safe, out of harm's way in case we had company arrive here in the form of the Canadian federal authorities? And now they do not answer their radios at all — four pilots and not one of them is monitoring their radio? Gregori, this man is no longer needed: Dispose of him, we do not need fools from here on out."

Deonovich stepped forward and pulled the radio operator from his chair. The other technicians in the room stood.

"You wish to comment on my order?" Sagli asked, eyeing each of the soft-skinned men one at a time. "Very well, let him go. If any of you fail in his duty again, and think that I do not need to be informed of any and every development, small or large, you will remain in this godforsaken place, is that understood?"

Not one man spoke as Deonovich let go of the radio technician.

"Now, get to the boats with that radio and the last of the detection gear, and place them with the rest of the equipment. Once we arrive at the area you have designated, and if we do not find what it is we came for, I will shoot every one of you. Now move, we may have a problem that was totally unforeseen, thanks to you fools."

Sagli pulled Deonovich aside once out of earshot of the others.

"You are sure the helicopters were hidden and the pilots were given orders not to leave them until they were contacted?"

"I am positive, I gave the orders myself."

"Then we must assume that whoever dealt you that blow at the camp has initiated further hostilities toward us. They will be coming, I am now positive of that. And the only thing that eases my mind is the fact that they have company with them that will forestall any attack on us. And our friend undoubtedly has what we need with him."

Fifteen minutes later, the seven Zodiacs, brimming full to capacity with men and equipment, shoved off from the southern shore of the Stikine. The current caught them and took them south for the briefest of moments, but the powerful outboards caught hold and pushed them back to their crossing point.

Lynn watched the men around her. Some seemed calm and anticipatory of what they would find across the river, while others looked around nervously. The day was turning hot, but Lynn got the chills as she watched some of the more veteran soldiers among the Russians. They were the ones that were nervously watching the far shoreline, hands on weapons as they grew near to their destination.

Lynn half turned and saw Sagli watching her. Although she hadn't heard about them not being able to contact their transport at the fishing camp, she knew for a fact that something had changed, and it wasn't to their benefit, and most assuredly wasn't to hers.

The first of the large Zodiacs pulled onto the rocky shore, and as Lynn watched technicians and soldiers start unloading their equipment, she knew they may be crossing into a place they shouldn't be going. It was just a feeling, but like her brother Jack, she was in tune to what those feelings held, and that you should always acknowledge them, for the good, or for the bad.

Jack was leading the group of six men through the woods. Collins and Everett had instructed the rest on how to use the natural elements around them to camouflage their faces and bodies after the loss of their field equipment in the Grumman. Mud was utilized heavily and if it wasn't for the appearance of Charlie Ellenshaw, the whole process would have been mundane and miserable. As it was, Mendenhall and Everett could hardly hide their smiles behind their hands. To cover most of the professor's white hair, Jack had encrusted it with twigs and grass, and that conglomeration was held in place by handfuls of drying mud. Everett thought that the colonel had applied everything a tad too liberally.

Farbeaux followed close behind and Punchy was told to follow the Frenchman. Then came Charlie, stumbling every few steps through the tangled undergrowth, and finally Will and Carl. They had been on foot for the past three hours.

Collins suddenly stopped and held up his right hand with spread fingers, then he quickly gestured to the right and then to the left. As Punchy and Charlie stayed in line, Farbeaux went to the left, and as Will quickly turned to cover the rear, Everett went right. As Henri and Everett covered their flanks, only Alexander and Charlie were left to watch Collins as he became perfectly still and watched the area immediately to their front.

Jack heard what sounded like talking and knew they were close to where the Russians could be. The plateau had risen in their view since they started making their way north on foot and Charlie had confirmed it was remarkably like his memory said it would be. The main landmark described in the Lattimer entry in the journal indicated that they had arrived.

As he listened, the voices ceased and boat motors started. Jack, running bent over at the waist, moved silently through the woods, easily stepping over and around the tangle-foot that would trip up most men with the practiced art of stepping, and then sliding the foot back and inch or two in case the toe of his boot had hooked on an obstacle. Collins moved until he could see the river through the trees. He saw the last Zodiac shove off from the south shore of the Stikine. His eyes clearly saw the other six boats as they fought the swift current and angled toward the far shore. He held his ground and waited. Then he saw what he was looking for when the third boat touched the far rocky shore. A large Russian manhandled Lynn out of the rubber boat and shoved her toward a group of men standing and looking into the woods. Lynn shrugged the man's hand from her and moved forward.

Jack closed his eyes for only a moment to give into the relief he felt upon seeing his sister. He took a breath and then removed the filthy ball cap the old woman had given him.

"That's her, huh?"

Collins turned and saw Charlie Ellenshaw kneeling behind him looking across the river. Jack angrily looked back at Punchy, who in turn looked at him and shrugged his shoulders, as if saying he tried to stop him.

"Doc, from now on, you don't move unless you're told to do so, is that clear?" Jack whispered.

"Oh, uh, yes, I just…"

"Don't worry about it, Doc. Get back with Punchy; we're going back into the woods about two hundred yards and wait until well after dark before we cross."

"Oh, we're going to swim the river?"

"You can swim, can't you?" Collins asked, worried about what the professor's answer was going to be.

"Oh, yes, I was on my high school—"

"Fine, Doc, that's fine. Now come on, we better rest up."

"But if my memory serves, there is a spot just to the left of their camp that is shallow, and even has a sandbar at its midpoint."

"Good, we need to hear things like that, Doc. Now go back with Mr. Alexander."

Jack watched Charlie go and then turned back and watched the men standing next to his baby sister. He hated to see her in the position she was in, but for now there was nothing he could do about it. Even after they crossed, he knew they were outgunned twenty to one. He replaced the baseball cap and then used his hand signals to order the others to fall back. As he did, he was thinking about why the Russians were keeping her alive and now it would be an eternity until Jack could cross the river and get his sister back from these men who murdered as easily as asking for a cup of coffee.

The magnetometers started maxing out as soon as they were uncased and turned on. The technicians buzzed with excitement as they pointed northeast and held steady.

"From the signal strength, Mr. Sagli, I would say what we seek is but one mile that way," the small Russian tech said as he held his hands cupped around the LED-lighted gauge to stop the glare of the setting sun.

Sagli smiled and then looked at Deonovich. He then turned and looked at the small plateau rising ahead of them. He knew that the readings would place their goal at the base of the small climb or at its summit. In either case, it was going to be theirs.

"Now, the other detectors. What is their reading?"

Another of the field technicians walked up, almost anxious to deliver the news his employer wanted the most.

"The M-224 detectors are picking up elevated levels, far more than can be accounted for naturally. We suspect that it is near the other denser metals we are detecting."

Sagli felt his knees bend, wanting to fold in on themselves as he heard the greatly anticipated news indicating that their partner had been right all along and they now had the justification for leaving behind albeit a dangerous world, but a rich and fulfilling one. The item they wanted was near, and they would have it in the next few hours.

Deonovich started organizing ten of his best men to start the trek into the bush, he felt they had wasted enough time in setting up a camp that they might never have used if they had gone straight to setting up Sagli's expensive equipment.

"Gregori, we must hold our place here. Our discovery has waited a very long time, so it can wait a while longer; we have instructions we must follow."

Deonovich stopped in his tracks and slowly turned to face his partner. The anger was clearly shown on his features. "It is right there; we can retrieve it and still be following orders. He can examine our find at his leisure."

"That is not following instructions, my friend, because there is a reason for waiting. Someone is coming who can verify our find; until that man arrives, she is not to be touched."

Deonovich turned away from Sagli and saw one of the pinpoints of his continuing ire — Lynn. He raised a hand and slapped her onto the ground and was about to bring his tree trunk of a leg back to kick her, when suddenly Lynn had had enough. She kicked out with her own booted foot and struck the large Russian directly to the side of the knee. Deonovich grunted in pain and went to his back, immediately reaching for his throbbing leg. Lynn pounced as if she were part cat, landing on his chest, and then brought up a stick she had found on the ground and took it straight to the side of the Russian's throat.

Sagli watched from a distance and a smile stretched across his face. He saw the men Deonovich had been organizing to go into the tree line start forward to take the angry American off their boss, but he held up a hand, indicating he wanted to see how this played out.

Lynn placed pressure on the small stick and held it in place just over the pulsing throb of the Russians jugular vein. She pressed even harder when he made a move to try and dislodge her. With black hair hanging in her face, and her cheekbone throbbing where she had been struck, Lynn Simpson was at a point where she didn't care what the outcome would be, but knew she would make sure this bastard never touched her again.

"That is the last time you'll take out your inadequacies on me. If you ever raise a hand or one of those fucking hooves to me again, I swear to God the last thing you will ever see is me punching a hole in your throat." For emphasis, Lynn pressed the dull point of the stick into the thin layers of skin at Deonovich's throat until she had a nice flow of blood.

"Someone kill this goddamn bitch!" Deonovich hissed as he froze under the onslaught of the smaller woman and her stick.

Without removing the pressure she was exerting on the stick, and without moving her face from the angry eyes of Deonovich, Lynn flicked her own green eyes over to where the smiling Sagli still held his commandos at bay with a raised hand. Sagli just tilted his head, as if he were awaiting Lynn's decision.

Lynn angrily poked the stick one more time and at the same moment removed her small amount of weight from Deonovich. The man grabbed for his neck and rose as if shot from a cannon. He started reaching for his holstered weapon.

"No. That will not do, old friend. Too noisy and far too premature. We still need her."

Deonovich still went as far as to pull the weapon. Lynn braced for the bullet that was surely coming her way, still holding the stick as if it were a magic talisman that would ward off the giant ogre. As Deonovich turned and started to raise the weapon, the sound hit them with a force of a hundred loudspeakers.

Sagli turned, forgetting all about the humorous confrontation he was witnessing. The other men bent low as if they had been ambushed for real, other than just audibly assaulted.

The roar of an animal reverberated against the tree line as far away as the southern shore of the river. The sound bounced back and sounded as if the entire camp was surrounded by a herd of whatever it was that made that horrendous sound. The animal cry was unlike any of the men from Russia had ever heard before. Some of the Spetsnaz hailed from the cold and hearty region of the Urals and it seemed to affect these men the most. Unable to think clearly with the continuing echo of the cry coming from the plateau to the north, the technicians, although armed with handguns, backed away from where they had been setting up tripods with motorized metal detectors on them. They watched the bright sunlit woods ahead of them, but still backed away nonetheless.

"What in God's name is that?" Sagli asked as he turned away from the trees. His eyes fell on Lynn, who was just standing there stiff, just watching the sun-dappled tress before them, her antagonist Deonovich no longer a concern. The small stick she used as a weapon slowly slid from her fingers. The look in her eyes told Sagli she had been taken as far off guard by the roar as they had been.

The men had gone silent with every set of eyes turned toward the tree line. Deonovich forgot all about the assault on his neck and used hand gestures to get his commando team to move. He gestured right and left and then used both hands to point straight ahead, the blood still dripping from his fingers. The Spetsnaz immediately broke into two-man teams and entered the woods at a trot. Deonovich clearly understood at that moment the reason for restraint before entering an area that they basically knew nothing about.

Sagli broke the spell by walking over and taking the American woman by the arm and pushing her toward her small tent.

"From here on out, you are to remain inside. You have now become far more important than you would ever believe."

Lynn was shoved ahead of the Russian and she decided that she had no desire to be outside with the sun falling lower and lower in the sky.

Sagli turned to Deonovich.

"I should have let that woman cut your throat. You are never to question my authority again or threaten the American. You could allow this whole operation to fail if you continue your unthinking ways. It will not be tolerated by me, or by our partner, I assure you. Is that clearly understood?"

Deonovich holstered his weapon, but made no move to voice an answer. Sagli decided not to push the larger man at this time because he had sustained enough embarrassment delivered by the very much smaller woman.

"Now, we will press into the woods a hundred yards before dark, no farther. We cannot afford to stumble upon our quest in the twilight as that could be fatal. Do you understand?"

Deonovich tuned once more to face his old friend. This time he nodded once and turned to join his men on the perimeter of the camp with the camps doctor walking beside him, trying in vain to place a bandage on his neck.

"Gregori?" Sagli said, looking down at his feet.

Deonovich stopped walking, slapping the hands of the doctor away, and then he turned to look back. Sagli finally looked up at him.

"You are originally from the Urals, as are some of the men. Have you ever heard anything like that before — that animal cry?"

Deonovich looked around him slowly. He knew Sagli was never more than three miles away from Moscow growing up as a child, so he had never before heard the sounds that emanate from the forests. The way they can play tricks on your brain, the direction could be totally opposite of where you thought the roar came from, or the sound itself could have been any number of animals. Instead of saying this, he decided to let Sagli stew in his own confidence of being master of his domain and a slave to his false bravery.

"No, comrade, I have never heard such an animal cry before. It was if a thousand lions roared at the same moment."

As Sagli watched Deonovich turn and walk away, hiding his knowing smile, he turned and watched the sway at the top of the large pine trees as the wind sprang up. The blow was coming from the north and it brought a sour, primitive smell with it; but of the horrific sound, they heard no more.

"Holly shit, what in the hell was that?" Will Mendenhall asked as he held the cold MRE dinner out to a stunned and staring Charlie Ellenshaw. The beef stew was cold and since a moment before when the sound of the animal reached them across the river, was much anticipated by the cryptozoologist.

Charlie finally lowered his eyes from the trees surrounding their once-again cold camp. He swallowed and turned and looked at the offered freeze-dried ration as if it were a cow patty being held out by Mendenhall, who finally lowered the Meals-Ready-to-Eat package, and then looked into Ellenshaw's eyes.

"I assure you, Lieutenant, I never really witnessed the animal that lives in these woods, so that noise was as mysterious to me as you. As much as my natural inquisitiveness compels me to investigate, my common sense says to wait until a fresh sun has risen."

"Doc, do you know what could have possibly made that sound?" Everett asked as he stepped back into the small clearing they were calling camp for the evening with Farbeaux in tow.

Ellenshaw was about to answer, when Jack and Punchy Alexander entered the clearing from the opposite direction as Everett.

"Okay, we need to talk," Jack said as he took the cold meal from Will's hand and started eating.

"I would think we would talk about what made that cry across the river, Colonel," Farbeaux said as he knelt and rummaged through the small box of MREs looking for something palatable.

Jack tossed the bag of cold stew over to Mendenhall, who caught it on the fly, but not before spilling some of it on his green plaid hunting shirt. He shook off some of it by shaking his hand, and then looked at the colonel who acted as though he didn't even notice what he had done.

"That's what the doc is along for; I'm sure he'll come up with something to put in his report," Jack said, watching the others, his eyes finally falling on Punchy Alexander and then moving on. "You will all be staying on this side of the river tonight." Jack held up his hand as Will and Everett started to protest. "At ease. This is my thing, my sister, my mission."

"And if you fail to bring her back?" Everett said as he stepped toward Jack, "We're supposed to pull up stakes and go home?"

Collins smiled. "No, I want you to kill every one of the sons-a-bitches — but not until I and my sister are dead. After that, you do what you want. Personally, I would avenge your colonel's death."

Everett shook his head and Mendenhall looked away.

"I can't accept that, Jack. I was there when your sister was taken by these bastards and I want in on going after her. I've come too far for you to take that from me," Punchy said, finally speaking up. "Besides, this is all happening on Canadian soil. It's my bailiwick."

Jack eyed the large Canadian without saying anything. He then tossed Everett a small chunk of something.

"What do you make of that, Captain?" he asked.

Carl caught the lightweight material in his large hand. It was crumpled and looked as if it had sat in the sun for years. The aluminum was once painted black, faded now to a dark gray.

"Could be anything," he said.

"May I?" Farbeaux asked standing with his MRE in his hand. He caught the piece of metal when Everett tossed it.

"Aircraft aluminum," Henri said as he looked it over. "I found several more pieces myself; it's not gold, and so I didn't care to report it."

Jack watched Farbeaux and saw that he didn't meet his eyes, which meant in Collins's opinion the man was lying, but ignoring it for the moment, nodded his head and then looked at his watch. "Punchy, in answer to your request — denied, you'll stay on this side of the river with my people."

Alexander didn't say anything, he just shook his head.

"May I presume, since I am not under your command, I may accompany you in the pursuit of my payment?" Farbeaux asked as he opened his plastic MRE and poured a small amount of water inside to mesh the dehydrated food into the mashed conglomerate that it was.

"If you attempt to come across that river before I return with my sister, Colonel, Mr. Everett will shoot you in your head until you are convinced to stay put."

Farbeaux looked at Carl as he mashed the contents of the MRE together as Everett just nodded his head as if to say Jack was not lying.

"I'm sure that would break the captain's heart," Henri said, finally opening his meal.

The sun had about fifteen minutes until it disappeared over the western edge of the plateau above them. Sagli was pleased so far with the artifacts they were finding. Small pieces of metal that his non-Spetsnaz men had yet to notice were gathered and placed inside of a pack so the rest of his men couldn't see. As most of the trusted commandos stood guard around the perimeter of their search area, Deonovich kept regaling the mercenaries from the regular army about the tales of gold and diamonds to be found. The Spetsnaz pretended not to listen, even though they would prefer the stories of gold over what they knew to be the real truth. To Sagli, none of it mattered as he looked through the direction finder at the next signal that the detector had picked up.

"We keep picking up these trace amounts of aluminum and steel, nothing of a major volume. Have you thought that maybe the trace amounts of uranium we are picking up is just residual, and that what we are looking for may not be intact?" the radiological technician said as he looked at the LED readout as Sagli looked through the directional scope.

"My concerns are that you keep within your parameters of expertise. Do not go into territory that is none of your business." He finally looked up at the tech. "You are being paid handsomely either way." He watched the man until he returned to his clipboard. Satisfied, he returned his right eye to the scope. As he refocused the lens that shot a laser across the hundred yards ahead of him, he caught what looked like a shadow through the scope mounted above the laser. The darkness was large and seemed to disappear into the shade of the giant trees. "What?" he said as he tried to find the strange shadow once more.

As Sagli was searching for his phantom shadow, a Spetsnaz standing near a technician's small field table looked up just as a warning beep was heard. He watched the technician move the laser he controlled left, and then right.

"What is it?" the former Spetsnaz asked.

"I don't know; our passive motion detectors have picked up movement, about a thousand yards ahead."

"Where exactly?" the commando asked as he waved Deonovich over.

"I'm not sure — everywhere I think," the technician said anxiously.

"What do you have?" Deonovich asked.

"Possible movement ahead of us, we don't have an intruder count yet."

"Silence that weapon and take a man forward, only a hundred yards, take our little friend here with you," Deonovich said, slapping the tech on the shoulder and tossing a silencer to the Spetsnaz.

The experienced soldier smiled as a look of apprehension came across the tech's face. He removed his handgun from a shoulder holster and then started screwing the silencer onto it. The man next to him did the same, and then the first man reached out and took the tech by the arm and made him rise from the small field desk.

"Gather your sensors and let's go."

The movement caught the attention of Sagli who had failed to see the shadow again. He nodded his head at Deonovich in approval of his action. Once he saw the three men walk forward of their line, he leaned back to the scope. After all, if they ran into something, it would give them far more knowledge than they had at that moment.

Ten minutes later, the technician had not recorded the same motion as he did earlier. The trees ahead were still and the area totally silent as he swept the area with his handheld detector. He shook his head at the nearest man. The sun was now gone and twilight had set in.

Just as the lead Spetsnaz was going to motion them back to the rest of the group, he caught wind of something on the breeze. It was a pungent odor, an earthy smell that came from all around them. Then he strained his eyes as he caught sight of a large tree ahead of them. He had sensed it more than actually seeing movement. He raised a hand and caught the attention of the other commando on the far side of the technician. He waved him forward. As he approached the large pine, the shadow broke free of its cover. It moved so fast that the Russian couldn't react. He brought the automatic up and shot three times, but he knew his silenced bullets struck nothing but the tree and the air. The shadow shot back into the trees in a frenzy of dark motion.

The commando eased forward and then leaned against the same tree where he had seen the strange shadow. He saw a bullet hole where one of his rounds had struck, and then he looked down. His eyes widened when he saw the soft sand around the base of the giant tree. The footprint was larger than two of his feet, in width and length. He kept the pistol's aim outward as he kneeled down to examine the impression. The toes were distinct and the heel had been planted hard enough to leave a depression eight inches deep in the soft earth and had actually crushed one of the thick, exposed roots of the giant pine tree. He looked up in more wonder than fear. Whatever had made the print had to weigh in access of a five hundred kilos. He straightened, and then he saw a darker area on the tree where he had seen the shadow. He touched a finger to the spot and it came away with rich, copper-smelling blood. The soldier wiped the redness onto his pants and then motioned the others back toward the camp. His weapon never wavered from the area to their rear as they moved south toward the very welcoming sounds of men.

The forest was silent as the men moved. The breeze didn't seem to penetrate the woods on this side of the river as much as it had on the south side. The absence of wind made the forest seem depressive.

As the three men finally turned away and made their retreat faster than before, twenty more of the shadows broke free of their cover and went north. The forms were large, twice the size of most men, and they moved with an upright gate that made them swift and confident in their long strides.

The forest north of the Stikine River was coming to life.

10

Sarah had convinced Ryan that he would only kill them if he attempted to lift the large Sikorsky helicopter off the ground with only an hour of light left to them. So Marla had started to lead them back to the general store with the promise that whatever had disturbed them the night before would not return to cause further harm to the remaining helicopters. Even more skeptical than before, Ryan relented.

As they walked through the trees, Jason watched as Sarah confronted the girl.

"Now, are you going to tell us what's out there, and how you can guarantee the safety of the helicopters?"

"Because, I think they left here. I believe they started north last night. I just don't know for sure."

"There it is again—they," Ryan said, slapping at a low hanging branch. "Come on, who are they?"

Marla smiled as Ryan caught up with her and Sarah.

"You are not the believing kind, Lieutenant, but I'll tell you. We are relative newcomers to this land. There were animals of every sort here many thousands of years before us. I've studied it as much as I could in the classes I have taken since I was a small child. I also have the stories passed down by my parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents. Even the Tlingit have told me the stories of the old ones who live here."

"You've hinted at that already," Ryan said as he again moved a branch that Sarah and Marla had easily avoided.

"I never told you I am taking anthropology at school in Seattle, with my major being zoology, did I?" Marla asked.

Sarah smiled. "You know, Professor Ellenshaw is the tops in his field. You two should have hooked up."

"I didn't want to say anything to the professor at the time, but I have read every one of his published works. He's really a brilliant man. Too bad his beliefs got him run out of three universities. That shows how the world looks upon certain theories as being heretic in many ways."

"Doc Ellenshaw believes in a lot of things, but we're not as closed-minded as you would believe," Sarah said, reminding the girl of what she told her before.

Marla looked as though she were thinking something over, and then she stopped and faced Sarah and Ryan.

"We have something in the northern reaches that need to be left alone. They are ancient, far older than the men who have followed in their evolutionary slowness. They are animals, and then again they are not." She held a hand up when Jason angrily rolled his eyes and started to speak. "You wanted the truth, so I am going to give it to you the only way I can."

"Go ahead, Marla," Sarah said, looking back at Ryan and shaking her head, indicating that he should keep his personality in check.

"The truth of what's up here has been told since the time of early man, passed down by northern tribes, and even picked up by southern Indians as far south as the United States. They have been witness to the real truth of the Chulimantan for centuries upon centuries."

"Chulimantan," Sarah repeated.

Marla smiled and then relaxed, knowing she had at least one attentive person.

"Yes, Chulimantan, the old folk and Indians around these parts call them They Who Follow. The reasons why they were called this has been lost for millennia, but all the indigenous people take their legends as fact, and they don't apologize for it. They Who Follow once inhabited the great northwest from the Arctic Circle to Washington, Idaho, Oregon, California, and Nevada. They were soon forced out by the growing American population." Marla took a breath. "They have started to decline in their narrow lands now. Nature is weeding them out and, of course, they don't understand their diminishing family state, and lately, at least the last hundred years or so, they have become far more aggressive in their behavior."

"Can you tell me just what in the hell you're talking about?" Ryan asked.

It was Sarah's turn to smile as she finally understood without Marla naming her legend.

"She's talking about Sasquatch, or as we think of it, Bigfoot."

Ryan didn't say anything, he just looked from Sarah and then to Marla. A slow, ever-growing smile crossed his lips and expanded until he raised his right index finger at both of the women.

"Okay, you had me going there for minute," he chuckled. "Bigfoot — now that makes sense."

"Remember the Amazon, Jason. Why is this so much harder to believe?"

Ryan did remember the Amazon, although he never saw the legendary creature, half man and half fish, that roamed in that dark, hidden lagoon. The colonel said it was there, so he himself never questioned the sanity of everyone who had seen it — but still, Bigfoot?

"No… fucking… way." Ryan laughed out loud.

Marla smiled. "That is the attitude we hope the rest of the world takes, Mr. Ryan. With that widespread disbelief it will keep people out and far away from the Stikine."

Before Ryan could comment again, the pounding of wood on wood sounded from miles away.

"You see, they are communicating. That's their way."

"Do you understand what they are trying to say?" Sarah asked.

"Don't have to understand, they only do that when they feel they are threatened. The striking of wood means they are gathering."

"Jack." Sarah only said the one word.

"It would seem the Russians and your friends have attracted some unwanted attention," Marla said as she turned to finish the walk back to the store. "And when pushed into a corner, the beast that legend, your own Professor Ellenshaw, and my family know as a possible link to a prehistoric ape called Giganticus Pythicus, they will prove what a survivor they truly are."

"Will they attack?" Sarah asked as she hurriedly followed, wanting an answer.

Marla stopped and turned.

"Giganticus Pythicus had supposedly died off during one of the most tumultuous and dangerous times in all of history — the last ice age. They are survivors; they have adapted to a violent world, so in defense of their home, Sarah, they will plan and execute, and they will kill anything they deem a threat to their family." Marla wanted to smile at the irony, but didn't. "Almost like a human would react, wouldn't you say? Maybe they have learned very well from watching our species."

Lynn watched the camp as it settled in for the night. Her attention was focused on a large tent that two guards stood in front of. Deonovich and Sagli had gone inside around sunset and had not left. Earlier, she had seen several boxes of articles moved inside, followed closely by the two Russian criminals.

She once more looked around and was about to exit her small tent when a pair of boots came into view. It was the large man who had threatened her small and fragile bones that morning. He raised his boot and not too gently shoved Lynn back inside.

"We's will be bringing your supper sooner, until then I do not wanting to see your face."

"Hey, I heard you guys had a scare this afternoon?" she said, hoping for a reaction.

She didn't see the large man frown, but she did see him abruptly turn away.

"I guess I will be wanting to seeing your face later," she said mocking his terrible English.

Lynn took a deep breath and was about to turn to lay down on her sleeping bag when she saw ten men gathering at the small fire in the center of the camp. They had darkened their faces and were in the process of checking some equipment. One of those pieces she saw were night-vision goggles. While she watched, Sagli finally made an appearance and approached the men. He spoke to them in Russian and Lynn could not follow what was being said. While she watched, she also took note that the men were all Spetsnaz. The other members of the team were standing guard or eating in their oversized mess tent.

Sagli said his final words and then looked at his watch. He nodded and the ten men left the fire, and disappeared toward the river where Lynn could no longer see them. She had a feeling that the commandos were leaving camp for a purpose that would not benefit her or anyone who may be following. The men she had seen were the most impressive of the Spetsnaz.

She only hoped if someone was out there they were alert, because she thought they were about to have company.

Jack was sitting alone. He looked at his watch three times in the last few minutes. The camp was fireless and they had finally forced some of the cold MREs down their throats with Henri Farbeaux complaining every bite of the way and constantly complaining about American military cuisine.

Jack watched as Professor Ellenshaw moved away from his sleeping bag where he had been sitting and watching the others. Collins knew something was on Charlie's mind, but was unwilling to ask him about it moments before he himself was due to cross the river. Charlie approached Jack, rubbing his hands on his pants leg as if he was nervous about what he had to say.

"Hi," Charlie said, not really knowing how to approach a man who still intimidated him even after years of knowing him.

"Hello, Doc. What's on your mind?" Jack said looking at his watch one more time and then pulling an old .45 Colt automatic from his side and checking the clip.

"Before you go, I wanted to say… well… thank you for bringing me along. I know it went against everything you believe me to be." The professor looked around; the others were busy doing this or that, things Ellenshaw had no idea about.

"Listen, Doc, I do pay attention to what you go through with the other sciences at the complex. A few of them snicker behind your back, but for the most part you've become a very valuable asset to the Group. After the things I've seen since being on this job, doing what you do probably makes more sense then what ten PhDs from other fields command."

"Thank you, Colonel. Outside of Niles, and even though you're a military man in the purest sense of the words, and being as I avoided the duty during my formative years, I respect you more than most for what you have achieved."

Jack looked the professor over, and then gave him a small smile and a short shake of the head.

"Thanks, Doc. You know, after the story you told about this place and the detail in which you delivered it, I could see you weren't scared like the others may have thought they saw. What I saw in your eyes wasn't fear, it was excitement. So telling you that you couldn't come on this trip would be like telling Mr. Everett tonight he couldn't go with me on a combat mission. My job is to protect field personnel, Doc; that's why you're here, to do your job and see what you can find out about what kind of animal life we have up here. That's all. You're here for differing reasons than us, but that doesn't make you any less important to this mission." Collins holstered the .45. "You belong here, Doc."

"I don't know what to say, I want—"

Jack stood and slapped Ellenshaw on the shoulder. "Save it, I have to go."

"Colonel?"

Collins stopped and turned to face the cryptozoologist.

"It's real, you know. It's not just a legend, and surely not a myth, but a scientific fact."

Jack rechecked the load in the AK-47 he was carrying, not wanting to look Ellenshaw in the face.

"What is real, Doc?" He finally looked up into the professor's thick lenses. "Can you say it? Believe me, out here in this place, no one's going to laugh."

"The animal is an offshoot of Giganticus Pythicus — the great ape. After many years of thought on the matter, that's the only thing it could be. It's here, Colonel, and very much a viable force."

Collins reinserted the magazine inside the Russian weapon and charged a round into the breach.

"Doc, what is its name? Until you say it, it really isn't real, is it?" Jack persisted.

"Bigfoot… it's… the legend of Bigfoot that's out there, Colonel."

"There, that wasn't so hard was it, Doc?"

Ellenshaw smiled and nodded. The colonel was right; it was far more comfortable once the name was out in the open.

Jack turned to leave as Everett approached.

"You're a damn fool, Jack. You need help."

"A long time ago when a woman was stolen by Indians, rescuers never launched a raid into their midst, they always snuck in at night and stole them back."

"Those men out there aren't Indians, Jack," Everett started to say, but saw something behind Jack that made him stop.

Collins turned and saw Punchy Alexander step into their small clearing. He nodded a greeting as he approached the two men.

"Where is Will?" Everett asked as he heard Jack click the selector switch on his weapon from its safe position. Carl wasn't wary until that moment. He had left his M-16 on his sleeping bag.

Alexander didn't answer. He went to one knee and then looked at the two men before him. Then he saw Ellenshaw, and just as quickly dismissed him. He found Henri Farbeaux lying on his sleeping bag, watching what was happening.

"Colonel Farbeaux, if you would remove your hand from that Colt at your side, you may live through this," Alexander said.

Henri sat up and held up two empty hands.

"What in the hell is this?" Everett asked, wondering why Jack remained silent.

"Professor Ellenshaw, please sit on your sleeping bag and make no silly movements." Punchy then turned and waved to the darkness behind him. "I'm afraid we have company," he said as he looked Jack in the eyes. "Sorry Jack, the bastards snuck up on me after they took the young lieutenant."

There was a grunt and then a man was thrust into the clearing. In the darkness, both Everett and Jack saw it was Will Mendenhall. He landed with a thud not far from them and Carl reached down to assist him to his feet. Mendenhall was bloodied somewhere in his scalp and his nose was broken.

"Sorry, Colonel… Captain," Will moaned, wiping blood from his nose. "This fucker cold-cocked me," Will said as one of the largest soldiers any of them had ever seen stepped into the clearing with his weapon leveled at Mendenhall's back. Then the Russian pointed his automatic at Alexander and gestured for him to join the others.

"I guess I'm getting too old for field work. I'm sorry, Jack." Alexander raised his hands as he stood next to Collins.

The large Russian waved his right hand and then the clearing became crowded with Russian commandos. They stood far back from the Americans, the Canadian, and lone Frenchman, but their weapons were well equipped and they were all aimed at preselected targets. Collins eyed the men surrounding them and then looked at Alexander.

"Will, do you think you're going to live?" Jack asked Mendenhall as he looked over the situation.

Will nodded his head, not liking the way it made him dizzy, but he didn't want the Russians to see how bad he was hurt. "I've been hit harder by my sister, Colonel," he said as he tried his best to stand straight, but kept most of his weight leaning against Everett.

"It's my fault, I was at point, I should have seen—"

"It's time to quit playing the good guy, Punchy."

Everett looked over at Alexander and saw a small smile appear as he lowered his hands.

Punchy turned and walked over to the largest of the Russians, the one that had slammed his rifle butt into Will's face, and reached out and took the holstered automatic from the man's side. Then he turned and faced Jack and the others. He clicked off the safety and then raised the weapon toward his one-time friend with the smile still on his face.

"Nice friends you have, Jack," Everett said as he reached out and steadied Will as he swayed, almost falling down.

Collins remained silent as he looked into the eyes of Alexander.

"I told you, Jack, you shouldn't cross the river tonight. My friends knew we were here and would have been waiting, and for the moment I can't have you hurt. You're far too valuable. However, everyone else here, including young Lynn across the way, are now expendable. Your sister has done quite well at luring you into the open, Jack… let's not waste that."

Charlie Ellenshaw, without warning, reached out and tried to grab a weapon that was in the firm hands of the Russian closest to him while at the same time pulling out the switchblade he kept in his back pocket. Jack and Everett tried to move, but for the first time in their professional lives, found they couldn't.

"Doc, no!" Collins finally shouted out.

Ellenshaw actually did manage to take the Spetsnaz off guard. He grabbed the barrel of the man's Kalashnikov, while at the same time slamming home the small knife into the man's arm, but that was as far as he got. While the Russian soldier screamed at the insult of the knife entering his arm, Punchy Alexander raised the automatic and shot Ellenshaw in the back. The professor, still holding the barrel of the weapon felt the bullet strike. He stumbled forward and fell, the bloody knife still clutched in his hand. The commando, ignoring the small wound to his arm, moved his feet out of the way and Charlie hit the dirt and lay still. The Spetsnaz watched the body go still and then spit on Ellenshaw's back.

Everett lunged but was stopped by Jack. Mendenhall turned and shouted something that was incoherent.

Collins gently shoved Carl back and then tossed the AK-47 to the ground. Then he looked up into Punchy's face.

"I'll kill you for that."

Alexander stood and shoved the still-smoking weapon into his waistband as he motioned for the Russians to take control of their new prisoners.

"The days of you making good on threats are over, Jack," he said as he stepped up and whispered into Collins's ear. "Tell me, as little as five years ago, could I have maneuvered you out of wherever you were hiding in the thick recesses of your black world and trick you into following your sister's kidnappers without you suspecting something was wrong?"

"What in the hell is he talking about, Jack?" Everett asked as he was shoved to the ground by a Russian and frisked.

"It was a setup from the beginning," Collins said as he, too, was shoved to the ground and roughly checked for more weapons. His pistol was tossed away and then for good measure, the large Spetsnaz shoved Jack's face into the dirt.

"Now, now, we'll have none of that. Our friend here is about to do us a great service. Let's move them across the river to meet the men they came here to meet?"

"Let me check the professor," Mendenhall said as Farbeaux was shoved into him.

"I'm afraid there is no use, Lieutenant, he cannot be saved," the Frenchman said. "And for that, I am sorry. I was becoming enamored with that quirky little man."

"Professor Ellenshaw is where he wanted to be, surrounded by the very forest that occupied his mind for so many years."

The four men were pushed toward the river. Collins passed close by Alexander and looked at him, but Jack said nothing — his statement on Punchy's future had been made and there was nothing left to add.

Charlie Ellenshaw moaned when he finally came to. His shoulder and the bones beneath hurt in such a way that he knew he had been paralyzed by his stupid action earlier. His line of thinking was a confused one in the moments leading up to his dreadful mistake — what could he do to save the others? Well, he managed to get himself shot and it hadn't made one ounce of difference to his friends, they were now captive and he was as good as dead. He had thought about what the colonel would do, or Captain Everett, if given an opening like he had been given and everything went well until he had decided to act upon his ridiculous thoughts.

Charlie tried to spit dirt and sand from his mouth, but found even that feeble effort too much for his overly taxed system. As his thoughts swirled around the fact that he was dying, his mind eased somewhat at the prospect. As he lay there he could hear the river and the voices of his killers as they moved about by the water's edge. The sound of a boat motor and then more shouted orders. Ellenshaw took a deep breath and wondered how long it would take to die. His pain had eased somewhat as his mind came to grips with the small factoid that here is where he would stay. At that moment, Ellenshaw realized he was no longer alone in the small clearing. It wasn't so much that he sensed it, but actually felt a heavy thud next to his head. Then he smelled that same gamey odor they had caught on the shifting winds coming from north of the Stikine.

Charles Hindershot Ellenshaw III smiled. Then he thought back to a time when he wasn't in pain, when he still thought the world made some sort of sense, and in his mind he was almost an immortal that summer of '68. His memory came into play and he started in a low and halting voice to sing "Crimson and Clover" by Tommy James and the Shondells. When the words became too much to force out of his mouth, he hummed the verses, thinking he was doing it in his head.

When he finally ran out of breath, trying to hang on to a good memory from his youth, the song continued to be hummed. The sound was deep, harsh, but it was humming, and had all the nuances of the song from the sixties. He realized that something was mimicking his own version of a moment before. Then the humming stopped and silence permeated the empty camp.

"I'm ready," Charlie whispered.

As he said those two words, he felt the ground actually shake and then something touched his tousled hair. As his eyes fluttered open, he felt something tapping on the right lens of his thick glasses. He tried to focus on the large finger and thick black nail as it almost pushed his glasses into his face with the force of the tapping. He heard a grunt and then felt pressure on his back where he thought he had been shot. Something probed his wound, and then the feeling disappeared. Then he heard a smacking sound as if something were tasting him.

Ellenshaw, repulsed at the idea of being eaten before he had actually passed over to the great beyond, or the last great adventure he had always told his students, tried to turn his head and look up. He managed with a tremendous amount of shaking to get a few inches off the ground. That was when he realized he was looking at the largest foot he had ever seen. As his eyes traveled upward he saw a set of knees as whatever was about to eat him was squatting next to his prone body. He finally managed a few inches more, and then he saw the face that slowly surveyed him from far above, seemingly a mile or so to Charlie's wounded mind.

"Oh… my," he said as the last vision he thought he would ever see faded to black.

The great beast rose to its full height of eleven and a half feet. It stood perfectly erect and raised its head and sniffed the air. It grunted deep in its chest and then looked back down at Professor Ellenshaw. The animal held a large wooden club about eight inches in circumference and six feet long. It raised it into the air with its muscled and powerful arm and then savagely swung it at the large tree three feet away, the long arms easily connecting through the distance. The beast struck out six times and then stopped and listened, its long brown and black hair blowing in the breeze that had started a few minutes before. Far off to the north the giant heard a response. It seemed satisfied, sniffing at the air once more. It grunted as it surveyed the area around its massive frame.

When Charlie moaned, that drew the animal's attention back to the wounded man. With its large self-illuminated brown eyes still watching the woods around it and its small ears listening to the sound of men and their boats leaving the south shore, the great beast reached down and took Ellenshaw by the right leg and lifted him free of the ground as easily as a man would pick up one of his child's toys. With a last grunt the animal turned and left the clearing with Professor Ellenshaw dangling from its grip.

As the Zodiac pulled onto the north shore of the Stikine, Jack, Everett, Mendenhall, and Farbeaux watched as Alexander was the first one out of the boat. He was met by two men, one of average size and one large and brutish looking.

"Sagli and Deonovich, I presume," Everett whispered, and then he received a sharp poke in the back by an AK-47 from a Russian seated behind him.

"No talk," the Spetsnaz said in the slow drawl of a man who knew only enough of the Americans language to get by.

Everett turned and looked at the man as the others started to rise from the boat.

"No fucky talky English? You piece of shit."

Everett quickly found out that the man spoke enough to understand the insult and he received a slam of the gun barrel into his kidneys for confirmation.

Jack grabbed Everett and assisted him out of the boat. Mendenhall was a little slower moving, and that worried Collins somewhat.

Will felt a set of hands take his arm; it was Farbeaux.

"In case you didn't know it, Lieutenant, you have a severe concussion."

"Is that your professional opinion, Colonel?" Will asked as he stepped over the high wall of the rubber boat.

Jack watched the greeting ahead of them as Punchy shook hands with first Sagli, and then when Deonovich extended his hand, Punchy instead of taking it, raised his .38 again and pointed it right at the face of the large Russian.

"I think I'll kill you right now for being far too great a fool. You almost killed me twice — as it is you got a very expensive team of my men killed at the fishing camp, and not only that you failed in your mission."

"How was I to know you were on that aircraft?" Deonovich asked, as his partner Sagli watched the confrontation with interest. We should have been contacted and warned that you were arriving with the enemy to our cause."

With that, Punchy lowered the weapon. "The only reason you are going to live is the fact that I have accomplished all I set out to do, and as luck would have it I have secured the one man that can finalize our plans." Punchy turned and gestured the Americans' way, eyeing Jack Collins as he did. "Now, have we found what we are looking for?"

Sagli stepped up and smiled. "Indeed we have, about a mile ahead, either at the plateau or in it. We have waited as per your instructions before claiming it."

"Not bad. I believe we can salvage this mess for the better." He looked at the large Deonovich and then the three men walked a few steps away. "Have you sent in another team to take care of that damnable fishing camp? We cannot have them sitting in our rear."

Sagli looked nervous for the first time since their new partner in crime had arrived. He shifted his weight from foot to foot and then looked into the Canadian's eyes.

"I sent another attack element back downriver to finalize our exit area."

"That was very intuitive, comrade," Punchy mocked.

"I'm afraid there was a reason for doing so other than my intuition, Mr. Alexander. It seems we have lost contact with our helicopter pilots."

Alexander closed his eyes and then he opened them. "Well, I can fly us out of here if the need arises." He looked around the camp. "However, we may need to lighten the load somewhat," he said looking at his commandos.

Sagli finally smiled, feeling far better than a moment before.

"That should not be a problem. When and if that situation comes to pass, Gregori and I will arrange for" — he lowered his voice and smiled—"some accidents to befall some of our current personnel — adjusting for aircraft space, of course."

Collins watched as the Russians and Alexander spoke and laughed, and then turned back and watched as Jack, Everett, Will, and Farbeaux were escorted up the riverbank under heavy guard. It was Sagli who approached.

"I would have thought you might be somewhat more formidable than your sister, Colonel." Sagli watched the larger Collins as he released the quickly recovering Everett. Jack tilted his head in thought as he took in the man before him. He was small and thin, but Jack knew the eyes of a killer when he saw them and he saw that this man was a survivor — having almost the same look to him as Farbeaux.

"Is my sister still alive?" Collins asked, never letting the Russian know his very life hung in the balance, because if Sagli informed Jack that Lynn was indeed dead, Collins had decided to reach out and slowly tear the man's throat out.

"Yes, she is, Colonel. For how long is now totally in your hands. Do as we say, and she may survive her small side trip to Canada. If you do not do as we say, or fail in your instructions and reason for your being here, you will both be buried in this very lonely place, along with your men, and then everyone you left behind at the fishing camp."

Sagli was about to turn back toward the spot where Punchy Alexander and Deonovich waited, when they heard the sound of wood on wood start again. This time it came from the exact area where his men had captured Collins and his men across the river. Sagli watched and listened as the drumming was answered on their side of the river, and by more than one drummer.

When Sagli looked at Jack, he saw that the colonel was smiling at him, and for reasons he didn't understand, that smile made him look away.

"Did you catch what was said, Jack? Everett asked.

"It seems we have company out there in the woods," Collins said as he took Mendenhall by the arm, relieving Henri of the duty.

All together they were led into the Russian camp.

Ryan was restless. With his M-16 slung around his shoulder, he paced in front of the store. From just inside the store, Sarah watched him and shook her head. She knew the navy pilot was chomping at the bit to get airborne and to find Jack and his friends. She decided that she had to placate Ryan to get him to settle down, even though it went against Jack's orders. She eased the front door open and stepped out into the cool night air.

Ryan stopped and turned. He saw that it was Sarah and then he visibly relaxed.

"Good, it's you; I don't think I could take one more bullshit explanation about what's happening here from either that very strange girl or her whacked-out grandmother."

Sarah smiled and walked down the wooden steps. She looked down at her shoes and then looked up at Ryan. His face was framed by the most brilliant veil of stars Sarah had ever seen. Even with the rising of the three-quarter moon, the stars shone as they never could have down below the border.

"You know, Jack never does anything blindly."

Ryan didn't say anything, but he did stop his pacing.

"Oh, this time he really didn't have a plan, because he really didn't expect his sister to be in the bind she is in. But Jack knows what he's doing. We have to be patient and wait."

"Wait for what, Sarah? For their bodies to come floating down the damn river?" Ryan didn't flinch away from Sarah's look.

"Look, Jason, all I know is—"

That was as far as Sarah's explanation went as a line of bullets thumped into the rocky soil just to their front. Then another line stitched the storefront, shattering the window glass in the doors and the lone surviving plate-glass window next to them. Sarah dove and hit the ground, bloodying her lips as her face hit the rocks. Ryan removed the M-16 from his shoulder and then reached for Sarah as more bullets struck around him, one clipping his sleeve as he reached down.

"Get into the store!" Ryan shouted as the silenced rounds continued striking the ground, the store and the surrounding trees. They both realized this was a murder raid; the Russians had finally returned to see what had happened to their pilots, an argument Ryan now wished he had used to leave the camp earlier rather than later.

Suddenly, shotgun blasts started flaring from the upper windows of the store. Either Marla or Helena had begun to give Ryan and Sarah covering fire to get into the store. Ryan seized the chance and pulled Sarah up the stairs. He got as far as the top step and then he felt something bite his right calf, he stumbled but stayed upright, and it was Sarah who was now pulling him up the stairs.

As they reached the door, a small hand reached out and pulled them inside. Marla slammed the front door closed and then hit the floor as more bullets streamed inside, striking canned goods and a line of fishing poles on a rack on the wall. Wood chips flew everywhere.

"Well, I guess we have to do exactly what Jack said not to do," Sarah shouted. "Let's get to the damn helicopter!"

Ryan placed a hand to his calf and felt from front to back, realizing that the bullet that had hit him went through the muscle without hitting anything vital and then exiting the other side.

"I'm for that!" he said as he rose up and let loose a ten-round burst through the smashed window, knowing he wouldn't strike anything but sky.

"Get to the back door, I have to get my grandmother," Marla said as she crawled on hands and knees to the middle of the floor. She hit the stairs running just as two more shotgun blasts sounded from upstairs. More automatic-weapons fire hit the store, sending wood and plaster in all directions. It seemed the attackers were now concentrating their fire on the upper floor.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Sarah yelled. "I don't think these assholes will accept us waving a white flag here!"

"Get to the back door. I have to get the girl and the old lady!" he shouted over the din of the one way gun battle.

Sarah flinched as more rounds struck around them. She saw that Ryan would no more leave anyone behind than he would run away from anything. She nodded and started using her hands and knees to crawl toward the back.

As Ryan limped toward the stairs, he stumbled and fell onto the first step. He was attempting to stand when Marla's small hands took his arm.

"Come on, I hope you can still fly with that leg."

"Wait, wait!" Ryan said as he hopped around on his good leg. "What about your grandmother?"

Marla pulled at Ryan as they made their way toward the back door.

"She's dead, and it won't do any good for me to fall apart about it now. I have no intention of dying here. Now come on!" she shouted with tears spilling from her eyes. Ryan quickly got over the shock of what he had just heard about Helena, and then grabbed the girl's arm.

As they made it to the door, the shooting stopped and silence filled the night.

The first of the two-man teams of Russians to show themselves had arrived only minutes before Sarah had stepped out onto the porch. They had been sent out early that morning by Sagli to discover the problem with communicating with their air support. They had made good time coming down the river at full throttle and made it to the camp just before the sun had set. They didn't hesitate when they came upon the two Americans standing in front of the camp store. Now the first two started forward as they received no more fire from the inside. The second team made their way around the back of the store and icehouse.

As the first man knelt by a tree and waited for the second to cover the ground ahead, he saw a flash of movement and then the man he had been watching vanished in a split second of brutal motion. His eyes widened as a darkness, unlike anything he had ever seen before came from the surrounding trees and struck his partner, lifting him like a child and running back the way it had come. The wind had come up and that was when he was hit with a fine mist. The Spetsnaz swiped at his face and was shocked to see that his hand was covered with blood. Whatever had struck the man had done it so hard that blood had been forced out of the man's body.

The commando was so shocked that by the time he realized what was happening, he was late in raising his AK-47. He tried to fire, but the blur of motion was gone. And that was when the screaming started. He stood and ran toward where the man and his giant abductor vanished and went headlong into the brush of the tree line.

The soldier that had been taken sounded as if he was being torn limb from limb. The second Spetsnaz was quickly losing his nerve, and just as soon as the thought struck that he should return for the other two-man team, he ran into a dark object that stopped him cold. He rebounded with a bloody nose and lips, and fell and struck the ground. He shook his head to try and clear it, thinking he had stupidly struck a tree in the darkness of the forest, and then he saw the animal standing over him. The man's eyes widened in terror as the features of the beast became apparent in the three-quarter moon glow filtering though the trees. The face was like that of a man, but far hairier. The lips were wide and thick, the brows were large, and the eyes glowed a fierce yellowish-green that was brighter than anything the man had ever seen before. The beast growled from deep within its massive chest. The man saw the giant's left hand flexing at its side, and in the right he saw a club that had to weigh at least fifty pounds. As the trained Spetsnaz fought to bring up the AK-47, the beast easily lifted its left foot and brought it down on the weapon, slamming it into the man's leg, snapping the thigh bone in two.

The commando screamed in agony hearing the loud snap of his own leg. He reached for his leg, crying out in Russian. "Please, please," the soldier whimpered, trying to say the words and at the same moment trying to catch his hitching breath. The beast tilted its large head as if it was listening to the smaller man's plea. It grunted and then raised its head to the night sky and roared. It raised the club and struck its chest, a blow that would have caved a normal man's ribs in. It struck its chest three times and then roared again, this time even louder. It then looked down and fixed the man with its burning eyes. The thick brows arched and then it growled that low, menacing, and bone-chilling sound. The soldier could see the teeth that were flanked by the six-inch canines. The animal roared again, raising its head back to the sky, spreading the sound about the forest in triumph. Suddenly, the beast stopped and looked for a final time down at the struggling human before it. Then it raised the club and ended the man's pain with a sudden and vicious blow, burying the head and the yell for help a foot into the ground, so the only thing left twitching in the moonlight were the man's torso and legs.

Sarah and Ryan, flanked by Marla heard the roar of the animal. Ryan suddenly realized that the shooting had stopped. He looked around as the cry of the beast subsided. As he did, Marla screamed as something flew through the night to strike the rear of the store with a loud wet sound. Sarah turned away as she ran, realizing it was a man's body that hit and then fell over feet first from the wall of the store.

"Run, Ryan, run! They're here!"

Ryan didn't care a whole lot for that "they're here" remark. He knew the girl wasn't talking about the Russians. "Oh, shit," he said as he limped along, finally helped by Sarah. "I think I owe the girl an apology!" he screamed out of breath as they finally made it to the trees.

As the bruised and battered Sarah, Marla, and Ryan made the tree line, the forest became alive with movement and they were seeing for the first time the landlords and founders of the great northwest.

The Chulimantan was no longer a mere legend.

Jack, Carl, Will, and Farbeaux had their hands wire-tied behind their backs. The commandos joked as they followed their orders, with Jack and Henri the only ones to pick up most of what they said. They joked on how easy it had been to capture the highly regarded Collins and his men. Jack kept his temper in check as his eyes roamed the camp, looking for any sign of Lynn.

As he looked around, the four men were unceremoniously pushed to the ground. Will still being weak from Alexander's blow to his head, fell completely over onto his side.

"Damn it," Everett hissed. "Will, are you still with us?" Carl frowned when he saw a small trickle of blood coming from Mendenhall's right ear. "You hang in there, Lieutenant; we've been in worse situations."

"We have?" Will hissed through clenched teeth as he struggled to sit up.

"Stay down," Collins ordered. "We'll be here for a while."

As Jack spoke, he saw a small tent just at the back of the clearing. There was a rather large guard watching it, standing only a few paces in front of its zippered flap. His eyes moved on, but kept coming back to the small blue tent.

"Are you seeing the same thing I am seeing, Colonel?" Henri asked as he tried to make himself more comfortable and failing miserably.

Before Jack could answer that he noticed the lone blue tent, the zipper of the very same enclosure lowered slowly and then the face Jack had been waiting to see appeared in the glow of the fire light. Lynn nodded her head quickly, letting Collins know she was alright. Before she could duck her head back inside after delivering her silent message, the large Spetsnaz in the front of the tent turned quickly and delivered a savage blow with his combat boot directly into Lynn's face, throwing her three feet backward.

Farbeaux and Everett knew what was going to happen a moment before it did. They tried to catch Jack in between their large frames, squeezing as hard as they could, trying to keep Collins wedged between them. Jack would have none of it. He was standing in a flash of movement; one minute he was sitting, the next he was on his feet and moving the thirty-five feet toward the tent where his sister had just been brutally assaulted.

The guard, smiling after making sure his charge wasn't getting up for a while, turned and saw a split second too late the American colonel as he approached. He tried to get his weapon unslung but Jack was much too fast for him. He struck out with his own boot, first knocking the AK-47 away and then with a second hop and kick, caught the guard squarely on the chin. The motion took a split second to happen, freezing the other commandos who had been totally caught off guard. They started moving in force toward Collins.

"Look out, Jack!" Everett called out, starting to stand but being knocked flat by others who contained the situation before they had to shoot the three men Collins had left behind.

Sagli, Deonovich, and Alexander stepped from the technician's tent. They saw what was happening and then saw the fifteen men heading toward the lone American.

"Stop them," Alexander ordered Sagli.

The Russian stepped forward and held his men at bay. "Nyet!" he shouted.

"It's time your mercenaries find out just who it is they are dealing with," Punchy said as he watched the large guard gain his feet.

The Spetsnaz spit blood from his mouth and then felt the cracked chin bone where Jack's boot had connected with it. The man slowly grinned through his pain, putting it aside as he glanced at Sagli. It seemed his boss was going to let him dispose of the American regardless of his importance.

Collins looked behind him at the fifteen others who stood watching and not advancing on him, then took a quick glance at Alexander, who stood silhouetted in the light streaming from the tent he stood in front of.

"Don't let me down, Jack, I'm risking a lot here," the Canadian said.

The Spetsnaz slowly reached to his web belt and removed a large hunting knife. Its edge gleamed in the light of the rising moon, and tinted red by the blazing fire at the center of the camp.

Collins watched the man's feet first, then he raised his eyes to the arm holding the pointed and very sharp weapon. As his eyes climbed higher, he saw the man's eyes. They were dull and expressionless, and Jack knew immediately the man was far too confident of the kill. With his hands tied behind his back, Collins slowly turned in a wide circle, his eyes never wavering from the large brute before him.

The guard — standing at least six foot six inches — towered over Jack even though he was slightly bent at the waist. He smiled through his blood-stained teeth and spit again.

Farbeaux watched Jack closely like a future adversary that he needed to study. He admired the calm way Collins took on the man before him. He saw that Jack could have struck out at anytime he wanted, but he knew the colonel wanted to make this man suffer for his assault on his sister and knew the Spetsnaz would eventually make the move that could possibly get him killed.

The large guard lunged at Collins, who easily stepped away from the knife and the man's heavy body, then he brought his leg high into the air and the boot once more came down — this time on the man's arm, the one not holding the knife because that was the arm Jack knew the man used for balance. Everyone in camp heard the forearm snap as the large Spetsnaz fell to the ground, immediately rolling and regaining his feet. The useless left arm dangled before him. The man became enraged as he charged again; this time Jack stood his ground and at almost four feet away he once more jumped and kicked out with his foot. This time the blow caught the Russian squarely on the side of his face, the roughness of Jack's boot ripping the man's right ear away and sending it into the night.

The Spetsnaz watching couldn't help it; they started laughing at their comrade's predicament as his ear took flight. They were acting like this was a prize fight put on for their amusement.

Jack tired of the game. He thought quickly and knew that no matter what just happened to Lynn, he was not a sadist. As the large guard turned, grabbing the right side of his face as he did, Collins lashed out one last time, spinning horizontally in the air, the heel of his right boot catching the man solidly on the cheek bone, sending him flying to the left and down to the ground where he tried to rise, and then flopped into the sand and rock. For his part, Collins hit the ground, unable to balance himself with his hands tied behind his back. He slammed into the rock and sand, and then just lay there, face down, trying to get his thoughts and breathing under control once more.

Alexander started clapping, slow and loud from the tent, making sure everyone of the Spetsnaz mercenaries saw him do it.

"Damn, Jack, my money is still on you when things get tight." He looked from the downed man to the other Spetsnaz around him. "I hope the lesson here has been learned," he said, turning toward Sagli and Deonovich. It was Sagli who stepped away from the tent and interpreted what Alexander had just said. The commandos just watched and listened with their newfound respect for the American.

Punchy Alexander said something to Deonovich that the others could not hear. The large Russian raised a brow, but followed his orders. He pulled out a German-made Glock nine-millimeter automatic and quickly stepped up to the man Jack had so ruthlessly put down. Just as Collins rolled onto his side, finally under control, he watched as Deonovich aimed and placed a bullet into the back of the Russian's head, slamming him back to the ground from where he was attempting to rise.

At that moment all inside the camp heard the drumming of wood on wood. It was quick and sporadic across the Stikine and just to the north. Alexander chose to ignore the strange sound, not wanting to lend credence to it.

"Stupidity will not be tolerated," Alexander said loudly and waited while his words were delivered in Russian. "This is not a game and you are not dealing with fools." He turned and watched Sagli say his words. Then he said something to the smaller Russian and watched as he went to the tent and checked on Lynn. He stepped out and nodded to Alexander that the woman was okay. "Allow the colonel five minutes with his sister, then return him to his men."

Sagli started to reach for Jack to help him to his feet, and then he thought better of it. He nodded toward the tent and Jack, for his part, rolled and sat up. He watched Sagli as he waved some men over to remove the body of their fallen comrade. With one more respectful look at the restrained Collins, Sagli smiled and moved away; as he did, a sudden flash of lightning streaked across the sky and that was soon followed by a massive thunderclap.

Alexander looked over at Everett and Farbeaux and smiled, and then he looked up at the sky where fast-moving black clouds blotted out the moonlight, and then he finally turned away and reentered the large tent.

Jack didn't stand up, he just tried to get his breathing under control. Hands were on him, around him, and he could smell his sister. It was the same smell she had always had since childhood: one of roses in late summer. Even through the sweat and grime of captivity and the strong odor of antiseptic, he knew it was her, and he buried his head into her body as she hugged him. For the briefest of moments, that hug was enough and they stayed that way for a full minute as the first of the raindrops started falling from a sky that was fast becoming angry.

"You have never ceased to amaze me as to how you can get into so much trouble. How are you doing, little sister?" Jack asked as he finally looked into the bruised face of Lynn.

Both lips were swollen and her left eye was closing from the kick to the face she had just received, compliments of the late Spetsnaz guard just now being tossed out near the river.

Lynn smiled back down at her brother and placed a hand on his cheek. Jack saw the bandage covering her missing finger, but he chose not to dwell on it because of his anger being so close to the surface.

"It's good to see you, Jack," she said, shaking her head. "By the way, this is one hell of a rescue."

"Hey, we have our moments, although this isn't the best advertisement for us," he said as he sat up with some effort.

Jack again wiggled toward the front of the tent and made himself as comfortable as possible. He once more took in the appearance of his sister. She was in rough shape, but he knew it could have been far worse with the bunch that had taken her.

"Sorry about Punchy Jack. I knew you two were close."

"I should have acted on my instincts, sis, the stupid bastard gave himself away in Los Angeles, but I just couldn't get myself to believe it. You were right all along. Now, if the rest of what you and your bosses think is happening is true, we may have a mess on our hands."

"Okay, everything we believed about Alexander back at the Farm is true. The trail he left in his computerespionage led us right to him. But what in the hell is he doing out here, Jack?"

"I had a feeling I had screwed up at some point and blown my cover, Jack, where was it?" Punchy asked. He had caught them off guard as he eased himself behind them while they spoke.

"Well, Lynn figured you for one of the bad guys over a year ago. When she told me I was alerted, as one of your closest friends, of course, to watch for Providence that you were as she said: a lying, dirty, treasonous son of a bitch. But to answer your question, confirmation of you going rogue came in L.A. It was the vest. You refused wearing bulletproof vests for fifteen years, swore you would never wear a safety net, that if agents were dumb enough to get shot, they deserved the consequences." Jack looked up and eyed the larger man. "Personally, I think it was because it made you look fatter than you are." The words were delivered slow and cold, as was Jack's way.

"Damn, I should have remembered that you had a memory to beat all hell." Alexander raised his coat collar as he examined the sky. Then he looked down at Lynn, who wanted to be sick with him standing so close to her and Jack.

"Why the murder in Seattle, Punchy? I know it wasn't for a damned diamond, or wagons full of gold. Hell, in your position you could steal half the treasury of the Canadian government and get away with it, so why?" Collins asked.

"It's called covering our tracks — black operations class 101 at MI-5, Jack, you know that. We didn't need anyone out there who could lead your intelligence apparatus or Canada's to us before we had our prize."

"What about Doc Ellenshaw?"

Punchy Alexander laughed as he leaned down and slapped Jack on the back, then he looked over at Lynn.

"Can you imagine my consternation when Jack's little girlfriend, Sarah, walked in with the one man we couldn't find for ten whole years, Professor Ellenshaw? Just who in the hell do you work for, Jack, that you would know a crazy, far-out bastard as that?"

"My new friends are far better than my old ones. By the way, Punchy, you know I'm going to kill you for what you did to the doc, don't you?" Jack said as the rain started falling in earnest.

Alexander became silent, the laughing had ceased and the humor had gone out of the situation.

"Let me guess at your interest in covering your tracks and why the doc was so prominent in your plans to cover them."

"Give it a try, Jack," Alexander said, his smile completely gone.

"Ellenshaw filed a report with the Washington State authorities, or hell, even with Stanford upon his return from Canada in '68, and you got a hold of that report through computer espionage, which my baby sister here uncovered over a year ago and traced it back to you. With the reports the doc filed he became an interest to you. You tried to find him so he could lead you here without the maps and the journal because of his relationship with L. T. Lattimer, but he was with me in a place you could never imagine, lost to everyone but a select few." He looked up into the rain at Punchy. "Just what in the hell are you after, Punchy, that would compel you to commit treason and murder innocent people?"

"It took me years and years, Jack, my boy. Using every avenue I could find, any generated report coming from Canada and Alaska. Every word laid down on paper — until I came across an obscure mention of L. T. Lattimer and a gold find back in 1968." A powerful lightning bolt made Alexander flinch and duck, but both Lynn and Jack saw the smile spread on his lips. "Then my keyword was hit… Keyword — computers made my life so much easier, Jack. One small little word placed into a far-fetched report by a hippy grad student from Stanford University — your Professor Ellenshaw. A guilt-fed report on a missing man in the Canadian wilderness, a man who left behind a description of a place where not only one treasure resided, but possibly two. And tomorrow, I will recover the second item and be off, and you, Jack, will play a large part in the happily-ever-after part of my story. By the way, if that little girlfriend is still at the fishing camp, I'll tell you, Jack, I wouldn't mind getting some of that." Alexander smiled, then that turned into a laugh, and then he turned and made his way out of the heavy rain.

Jack watched Alexander trudge through the rain. Then he saw him turn and face him once more.

"Brainteaser, Jack. Remember our first mission together in 1989, our little foray into the Vancouver wilderness?"

Collins didn't say anything as the memory of that nighttime HALO drop into Canada back when he was a captain came back to him. The search for the prize was a wild goose chase, as the hundred other missions before that had been. That particular search had been on since October 1962, and now Jack finally realized that his worst fears were confirmed, and that Lynn's and her bosses at CIA had been on the right track all along, with only one of their theories about Alexander falling far short of the mark.

Punchy saw the concern spread across Jack's face. He laughed out loud and then turned away, slapping his thighs in laughter.

"Doesn't sound like he's speaking about gold, does it?" Lynn asked.

"The son of a bitch has found it, baby sister. You were right; I should have hit the alarm when you first broached Alexander's actions about the upper Stikine, I just didn't put it all together."

"What's he going to do with what he finds?" Lynn asked.

"If he's doing what I believe he's capable of, there could be a civil war brewing, and we're bound to be caught up in it."

"Jack, when we saw that Punchy had turned bad at the agency, we only thought he was involved in the separatist movement in Quebec. If it's not financing he wants, what in the hell is he here for?"

"Your boss at CIA should have let you in on something that used to be above your pay grade, baby sis. He's after Solar Flare."

Lynn knew the code name. She always thought it was a military myth, something that was used to make agents have sleepless nights during training.

"What does Alexander need you for?"

Collins knew that everyone being held by Alexander, Sagli, and Deonovich were now pawns in a game that Jack knew he couldn't win — at least until he knew the rules of that game. They would kill every one of them, and Collins knew there wasn't anything he could do but cooperate.

"The item he's looking for, the one the president, your boss and mine, only suspected he was after… well, he needs me to use the damnable thing. Jesus, that bomb is here somewhere."

"You and he were on a joint mission to recover it years ago? He knows you have something he needs."

"Yes, he needs me, but he doesn't need you, or them" — he nodded toward his friends—"anymore."

Lynn became silent as she thought about the trouble she had gotten her brother into just because she happened upon Alexander hacking NSA communications two years before. She shook her head in the pouring rain.

Jack leaned against Lynn and just took her in. He was happy she was alive and that was a good starting point.

"Hey, Jack?" Lynn asked through the pouring rain, and hoping to make the situation somewhat lighter.

"What?" he asked as the Russians arrived to take him back to Everett and the others.

"You have a girlfriend?"

Collins rolled his eyes as he was roughly lifted from the wet ground by the angry Spetsnaz and Jack looked down upon Lynn just as she looked up.

"Go back into your tent, at least you have one, brat!"

Marla and Sarah, with Jason limping along in the middle and being supported by the two women broke into the small clearing and saw the first of the four large Sikorsky helicopters. They ran toward the nearest one, stumbling and tripping until Jason literally bounced off one of the main landing gear and then rebounded to the ground out of breath.

"Now's not the time, Jason," Sarah said, out of breath herself, but pulling at Ryan nonetheless. Marla was looking around the clearing, not liking the absolute stillness of it as the far-off lightning illuminated the clearing and cast eerie shadows in all directions.

"We have to hurry, they're here," Marla said reaching up and pulling down the staircase.

That was all Ryan had to be reminded of as he pulled himself up and stumbled over to the folding steps. He crawled inside and then rose in the middle of the tight aisle, using the seats to help support him. Marla followed Sarah, and that was when she stopped and looked back out of the chopper, then she tried to exit the Sikorsky.

"The weapons, I dropped them by the door," she shouted back at Marla.

Marla continued to block her way.

"Leave them, the animals won't differentiate between us and the attackers anymore. They have their blood up."

"Jesus, are they animals or humans?" Sarah asked as she turned away angry.

"They're both," Marla said as she started to get frustrated. Tears were starting to form in her eyes. "They fall back on instinct in violent situations. My father and grandfather have seen them tear a grizzly to pieces."

"Great," Sarah said as she gave up and turned toward the cockpit of the expensive helicopter.

Ryan had managed to squeeze himself into the pilot's left seat. He was studying the control panel when Sarah entered and pulled herself into the copilot's seat.

"Just like old times, huh?" Sarah asked just to take her mind off of grizzly bears getting torn to pieces.

Ryan looked over at McIntire and shook his head. "Attempting to fly a Blackhawk was easy. Look at this thing, it's an executive model Sikorsky that assumes the pilot's an expert. This is fucking nuts… I never have the time to study anything before some idiot asks me to fly it!"

Sarah understood where Ryan was coming from as she looked at the thousand gauges and switches that lined not only the front console but the overhead as well. Still, she was shocked when Ryan reached out and flipped two switches, which produced a loud whine.

"There, at least I got the preheaters online. Okay, we're in the red, turbines are coming up."

"Are you sure?" Sarah asked as everything on the main-control panel started flashing, blue, green, and red.

"No, for all I know I could have selected auto-destruct in that sequence of switches."

Sarah relaxed when she saw through the windscreen that the four bladed rotors slowly start to turn.

"Well, evidently you hit something!"

Marla squeezed between the pilots seats and pointed out of the window to the left.

"Look!"

When Ryan and Sarah both turned their attention on the tree line, they saw one of their Russian assailants break free at a dead run. He was waving his arms wildly trying to get the crew of the helicopter's attention. Then their eyes widened when something stopped just short of entering the clearing. The animal was huge and blended almost perfectly with its surroundings. They would never have seen it had they not been looking at the blank space behind the Russian at that precise moment.

"Should we let him in?" Sarah asked, unsnapping her seatbelt.

"No!" Marla said defiantly. "He may have been the one that shot my grandmother," she coldly said as she pushed Sarah back into her seat. "He may have injured one of the animals by shooting wildly; besides, he'll never make it. Look."

As they watched, another animal bolted from the trees to the man's left. Another streak of lightning brightened the clearing and Ryan and Sarah saw the legend for the first time.

The Russian commando saw the burst of motion from his peripheral vision and tried to veer away from the collision that was imminent, but he was far too slow. The massive beast struck the man and sent him flying, but before he could strike the ground, another of the massive creatures, moving at unbelievable speed, came from nowhere and struck the Spetsnaz again, pinwheeling him back into the sky. Then the one that they had seen standing at the tree line burst from cover and caught the man in its long and muscular arms, and angrily threw him toward the Sikorsky. The three occupants in the cockpit flinched when the man hit the slowly turning rotor blades and caromed off onto the ground.

"Oh, god," Sarah said, "we can't leave him like that!"

Marla again restrained her from rising.

"Leave him, he's our only chance of getting out of here. They are in a blood frenzy, one of them must have been hurt by these murdering bastards!"

Sarah turned away as the first creature slowly ambled into the clearing. Ryan watched in amazement as the engines of the Sikorsky ramped up to idle power. The beast was almost invisible as it advanced with its long strides. The head was large and the torso long and powerfully built. The arms were long and massive, the muscles bristling under the coat of dark hair. The legs were not as short as a normal ape would have been, they were long and well proportioned. The muscles in the legs were that of a well-built man. The Sasquatch walked completely upright and had no slouch at all. The giant's hands and arms swung easily at its sides and the gait was tremendous. It covered the seventy yards in just twenty strides.

"Look at its hair," Sarah said, turning toward the scientist inside of her, more for protection against the fear she was feeling than because of her studies. "It shimmers, like it's taking on the contours of its surroundings."

Ryan was flabbergasted as he watched the beast approach. The hair was thicker in some places more than others. The hair was light in areas, dark in some, and with these natural colors, it took on light and shadow and made it difficult to see against any backdrop — a natural camouflage that any military would have been envious of. If it weren't for the growing light show in the sky, they would be hard-pressed to follow its progress toward them and the downed man.

"That's why they are never seen; they are masters at camouflaging themselves with their environment — the muscle movement below their fur, or hair, ripples at a simple suggestion from its brain, and the shadows created by those differing movements of muscles are able to increase and decrease, creating shadows and valleys, making their outline almost impossible to see."

"I hate to break up this National Geographic moment here, but that thing is coming right for us," Ryan said as he tried desperately to find the collective handle that allowed the helicopter to rise into the air.

"This model doesn't have a collective; the throttle is on the stick!" Marla said as she pointed. "The Mounties told me a little about them a long time ago."

Ryan found the throttle on the stick in front of him and twisted it. With no collective like older models, Ryan tried to apply power. The helicopter started to rise, but he pushed the stick forward too soon and the nose dipped, almost sending the spinning rotors into the hard ground in front of them.

"Oh, shit," he said as he pulled back just as the beast ducked and barely avoided the blades. "Sorry, I didn't try to do that!" Ryan said almost apologetically to the great beast now standing and looking through the glass at the three people in the helicopter.

The Sasquatch roared and then bent down and retrieved the Russian by the leg and lifted the bleeding man off the ground. The animal tossed it into the tree line as easily as a rag doll and then watched as the Sikorsky finally started gaining altitude, rising above the trees.

"Okay, I'm an asshole for not believing you. Later I'll hold still for you and you can kick my ass!" Ryan shouted, getting the cold chills from the closeness of their encounter.

"I'm so glad I could convince you," Marla said as she turned away from the cockpit and sat in the first row of seats.

Sarah looked over at Ryan and patted his arm, and then looked back through the opening and watched as the death of her grandmother finally caught up with the young girl. She was looking out of the window to her left at the retreating fishing camp below, crying into the glass.

11

Jack and the others watched the comings and goings of Sagli, Deonovich, and their newest partner in crime, Punchy Alexander, as they entered and exited the technician's tent. The Spetsnaz, while paying particular attention to the American captives, made ready their weapons and other equipment for their planned foray into the upper reaches of the Stikine Valley from their tents, while some of the more unseasoned regular army misfits walked the perimeter around the camp.

They were all still bound with their hands behind their backs, but at least the Russians had placed a tarp over them that kept all but their butts dry. Will Mendenhall had regained some of his senses, but was in a foul mood because of the refreshed memory of Doc Ellenshaw's meaningless death, and Jack could see it in the black man's eyes. That was the one failing of the young lieutenant — he found it hard at times to place his personal feelings aside and concentrate on what was at hand. Jack knew this trait because he had the same problem at times, as he had demonstrated earlier.

"Will, are you with us or someplace else?" Collins asked, trying to get Mendenhall awake and back to work mentally.

The lieutenant looked up from the fire that was only a few yards away, and fixed Jack with his eyes. Then he broke eye contact and looked at the falling rain.

"I'm here, Colonel," he said and then looked back down at the fire.

There was a tremendous bolt of lightning that struck the ground directly across the river. The flash lit up the entire area around them.

Jack finally decided he had had enough. He wanted to end the cat-and-mouse game that had been going on between himself and Henri Farbeaux, who was obviously dodging the truth behind why he was so adamant about coming along.

"Colonel, when are you going to let us in on why it is you chose to come with us on this little outing, and please don't tell me it's for the Twins of Peter the Great."

Farbeaux turned, the mud beneath him making the maneuver extremely uncomfortable. He smiled at Jack and then looked away.

"Colonel Collins, when have you known me to do anything other than for profit? I am still what you would call, 'the bad guy,' here."

"I have no doubt of that."

"As proof, I advance to you the small fact that I was afraid that when you confronted that rather large Spetsnaz gentleman, you would deprive me of the death I have planned for you when all of this is finished, a death that I have dreamed of for going on a full year. But alas, I should have known you would prevail. I am beginning to call it the 'Collins luck.' "

"Don't worry, Henri, I'll figure it out. You have another scheme going here and I will…"

Jack didn't finish his statement. Overhead, through the thick cloud cover they all heard it at the same time. It was the sound of a helicopter — a large one, much larger than the Bell Ranger that he had left Ryan behind at the fishing camp to repair. As they listened the sound grew louder. Lightning flashed again and they saw Russians running from their tents. Whoever was dropping in on them, it looked as if they wouldn't be welcomed all that warmly.

"Jesus," Everett said shaking his head. "Don't tell me…"

"Ryan and Sarah," Jack said as they heard the distress of the helicopter as it raised and lowered in the wind.

"Yeah, I can tell Ryan's flying anywhere," Mendenhall added.

As they watched in dawning knowledge and the horror of that fact, one of the Spetsnaz went to the center of the camp and while being assisted by another, raised a long tube into the air and aimed.

Pointed directly into the lightning-streaked sky and at the sound created by the misguided Sikorsky was a heat-seeking anti-aircraft missile.

The wind had picked up by thirty knots and Ryan, since sliding the Sikorsky down toward the river so he could follow the terrain, had a difficult time keeping the sharp nose of the helicopter trained in the right direction. The stiff wind was forcing the tail both right and left, which was a usual state for Ryan flying machines he hadn't formally trained in before.

"We're going to have to set this thing down before I kill all of us," he said looking straight ahead.

"We may as well," Sarah said as she held on tight to the side window frame as the large helicopter swung sharply to the right, sliding dangerously close to the trees lining the river. "We'll never see either camp from this low, anyway."

"Okay, see if we can find a clearing, one not too far from the river, I don't want to slam these rotors into the top of any trees. Maybe if we—"

At that moment a streak of fire passed by three feet in front of the windscreen. Ryan, his reactions a split second too late threw the stick to the right, dipping the rotors only fifty feet from the now raging Stikine.

"Jesus, was that a missile?" Sarah shouted.

"I saw when it was fired at us," Marla said as she suddenly appeared between Ryan and Sarah. "The Russian camp must be about a thousand yards ahead!"

"Get back to your seat and strap in," Ryan shouted as he brought the Sikorsky back up into the air. The wipers had a hard time keeping up with the battering rain slamming into the speeding helicopter.

"Here comes another one!" Marla shouted from her seat in the back.

Ryan couldn't see in what direction he should turn — so he quickly took a chance and headed north and climbed. The steepness of the ascent pressed Sarah into her seat and that was when she started praying. Just as Ryan thought maybe they had evaded the missile, the warhead exploded just outside of the rear rotor. Two of the four blades were sheared away in a split second and Ryan felt the Sikorsky veer sharply to the left. He tried to compensate by slamming the control stick as far right as possible while at the same time slamming his wounded leg onto the right pedal.

"That's it, kids, we heading down," he called out just as the Sikorsky started to spin, heading for the trees far below.

As a large streak of lightning flashed across the forest, it illuminated the death plunge of Ryan, Sarah, and Marla as they fell from the sky north of the Stikine.

Everett stamped his feet, willing the missile to miss the poor bastards flying into the makeshift ambush. As the flare of the missile exhaust lit up the camp and the driving rain pummeling it, they watched as the heat-seeking missile streaked toward the shiny new helicopter.

Collins stepped in front of the others and, like Carl, willed the missile to miss. He knew that the projectile was a heat seeker, and he also knew that it would have a hard time locking onto to the exhaust because of the cold rain. The mistake for the Russians was not having radar-guided stingers. As he watched, his eyes never left the exhaust trail of the small warhead.

"Damn, he doesn't even see it!" Collins shouted.

With the luck of a drunken sailor, Ryan caught a break as a strong gust of wind, reaching sixty miles an hour, pushed the missile far ahead of its target, and as luck would also have it, it didn't lock onto the heated engine at all. The missile streaked by the front nose of the Sikorsky, missing it by mere feet.

"Is that your Mr. Ryan?" Henri asked.

"It was," Mendenhall said as he joined the others.

"Turn away, Ryan, turn away," Jack hissed as his eyes went to the fire team as they brought out a fresh weapon from an elongated box.

"He's too close, they won't miss this time," Everett said as he too turned toward the shooters.

Collins and Everett had the same thought at exactly the same time. They both sprinted for the team just now bringing the helicopter into their sights. With hands still tied behind them, they didn't stand a chance in hitting the shooters in time. What they did do was make the Russian aiming the weapon flinch when he heard his comrades shouting a warning. The man assisting the shooter turned and was only able to tackle Collins, but Everett continued on. Several shots rang out through the noise of the storm, but all the bullets missed the large SEAL as he leaped. Just before his shoulder connected solidly with the shooter, the missile left the tube. Carl slammed into the man and they rolled over into the mud.

Alexander, Sagli, and Deonovich ran out into the rain. Deonovich threw himself onto Everett and brought the brief struggle to a stop, and Alexander ran to Jack and gave the colonel a sharp kick into his kidneys. He drew back to kick again, but was stopped by the brief flash of an explosion as the missile hit the Sikorsky at the very tip of the tail boom.

"Damn you, Jack, you're going to force me to kill every one of you. Stop interfering!" Alexander screamed, water and spittle running down his chin.

Deonovich had stood and was also using his boots to explain to Everett the price of interference. The captain was trying his best to roll away from the brutal kicks, but he just couldn't in the deepening mud.

Mendenhall and even Farbeaux started forward to assist Everett, but were stopped cold by four men who quickly showed them the price of foolishness. Will was struck in the stomach and Farbeaux in the back by butts of automatic weapons. They both went down into the mud to join Jack and Everett.

Sagli reached Deonovich before he could deliver his fifth kick into the back and stomach of Everett. He reached both arms around the larger man and held him in place. Deonovich was about to reach back and pull his smaller partner off when the sound from the sky stilled him.

As all looked skyward, the gleaming Sikorsky streaked overhead, barely missing the tree line at the back of the camp. Most of the men ducked and hit the ground, fearing an explosion when the Sikorsky hit. However, the pilot fought the torque created by the sheared-off tail rotors and managed to get the huge aircraft to hop over the initial assault of large pines until he plunged deeper into the woods. Expecting the giant aircraft to strike the trees at any moment, the chaotic assault on the Americans ceased as all eyes watched through the storm the death plunge of the foolish people who tried to come upriver at night and in a powerful storm.

"Your people brought this on themselves, Jack."

Collins rolled over and looked with killing eyes at his old friend. Alexander saw the look just as they all heard the Sikorsky slam into the forest no more than half a mile away.

"Do what's asked of you, Colonel, and those may be the last people you lose."

Collins didn't say anything, his eyes just moved away from Alexander to the smoke and flames now rising up through the falling rain.

Jack didn't know exactly who had been on the helicopter, but knew anyone who was, was now burning inside the crumpled hulk.

As Ryan fought the helicopter for control, the spin increased as the failed tail rotor could not stop the torque placed on the airframe as the four bladed main rotors turned the craft to the right at fantastic speed. Jason gritted his teeth to the point of shearing them off as he saw the trees coming at them in a spiraling nightmare. Beside him, Sarah was being pressed to the side window from the fantastic g-forces being placed on the Sikorsky. She could only close her eyes as the spin increased and pray.

In the passenger compartment, Marla hadn't had time to fasten the seatbelt upon returning. She was thrown hard against the opposite row of seats and was pinned there as the helicopter started settling for the trees.

The S-76 clipped the first tree, sending a spray of water outward and then Ryan felt the fuselage strike, bounce, and then hit again. The second time the main rotors caught in the treetops, sheering them away from the transmission hub. The spin stopped suddenly as the tail boom struck the trees in earnest, shearing it away in a microsecond. Air, water, and the smell of fuel coursed through the doomed Sikorsky as Ryan finally gave up and threw his arms over his face. Sarah bent at the waist as soon as the centrifugal force ceased, holding her against the bulkhead. She bent as low as her harness would allow. The move was just in time as a fifteen-foot piece of the main rotor slammed into the windscreen, passing between Jason and Sarah, and exiting the space where the tail boom had been seconds before.

The helicopter slammed into a large tree and then started its fall with ear-shattering noise. It hung for a moment on the thick upper branches of a huge pine and then started down again. Ryan was inundated with water, pine needles, and fuel as the lines under the engine cowling ruptured. The airframe hit another set of branches that were interlocked between two trees and the fall from the sky had stopped fifty feet from the ground.

At the sudden realization their fall had been arrested, Sarah reached over and tried to find Ryan with just her hands. She was disoriented and finally realized they were almost turned completely upside down. As she finally felt Ryan's head, she heard him moan. At that moment, time froze as Sarah heard a whump from somewhere below them and that was when she again realized the engine was now under them as they hung upside down. As the cockpit lit up with the bright flames, Sarah saw the reason Jason wasn't moving and why he was moaning. A large branch had been launched through the shattered windscreen and had embedded itself in Ryan's shoulder. Sarah reached out and pulled on the limb and Jason closed his eyes in pain. Sarah saw she didn't have enough power to pull it out from her position, so she unsnapped the seat harness that was holding her in place.

The movement of Sarah and the weight of the airframe was still trying to push the bird into the ground — it fell another ten feet and Sarah closed her eyes, thinking they would hit and the rest of the fuel would go up with them in it. Suddenly, the movement stopped as they hung up again, this time on their side. Sarah fought to climb over the center console and found she was stuck. As she screamed in frustration, small hands poked through and into the cockpit. It was Marla.

"Get out on your side. It's a long fall, but you should make it. I'll get Mr. Ryan!" she shouted as she pulled out a large knife and started sawing into the branch pinning Jason.

Sarah watched as she never felt more helpless in her life. The flames were now opposite of where they had been and they were now licking up the side of the cockpit where Jason was trapped.

"Go!" Marla shouted again as she tossed the knife away and started pulling on the branch for all she was worth. All the while, Ryan was silent as he fought back the sheer agony he was feeling.

Sarah raised up and pushed on the crumpled door on the copilot's side, sending the lightweight aluminum up and over. She squirmed until she found a handhold and then pulled herself up. Once out she felt the heat of the flames as they grew. She immediately saw the trunk of the tree they had hung up on. Not hesitating, Sarah jumped down the three feet and grabbed for all she was worth, but she missed. She hit the trunk and tried desperately to dig her nails in but the force of the jump only made her bounce off and then fall to the ground thirty feet below. She hit feet first on the soft forest floor but immediately fell on her back, knocking the wind out of her lungs. As she fought for breath she saw the burning Sikorsky thirty feet over her head.

Suddenly, there was a blur at the pilot's door opened and Jason Ryan fell from the cockpit. Sarah rolled out of the way as Ryan hit with a thud and a snap as his arm broke. While Sarah finally caught her breath, Marla jumped free of the helicopter, hitting with both feet planted firmly. Still, Sarah heard the girl scream as her ankles rolled and she fell.

Sarah rose up and started pulling on Ryan. The helicopter made a loud screeching sound and they all heard the snapping of branches as the flaming Sikorsky started its final plunge for the forest floor. Sarah knew they were had. She pulled but Ryan had passed out and he was far heavier than she thought. In another flash of motion, Marla dove for both of them and pushed them hard. They all fell six feet back into the trees as the helicopter hit. Fuel was forced though the ruptured tank and the woods around them lit up with a small explosion.

With rain pummeling them and their prone bodies illuminated by the roaring flames, Marla, Sarah, and Ryan lay where they had fallen. Sarah finally placed a hand on Ryan, using his shirt to pull herself up. She looked at his shoulder wound and saw that it was bad. Blood was oozing out at a good clip. She leaned over him and placed both hands onto the wound and pressed down as hard as she could. Marla, her ankles swelling, rolled over and tried to focus on Sarah's attempts at saving Ryan. Tears had sprung up in her eyes as she realized Jason was close to bleeding out.

The woods around them were being protected from the fire by the fierce storm that was passing through the Stikine Valley. The heat produced by the fuel-fed fire felt odd in the downpour. Marla leaned over and started lightly slapping Ryan on the face.

"Please, oh, please, don't die, Mr. Ryan. Come on."

"I promise not to die, if one, you stop slapping me, and two, you get off of my broken arm."

Sarah couldn't help it, she smiled. Ryan looked up at her. She had a broken nose, a severe cut over her left eye, and a long scrape down the side of her face. She lifted her hands and saw that Ryan's flow of blood had slowed — not stopped, but she thought if she could get the wound plugged, he would make it.

Marla swiped at the tears that coursed down her face and moved away from Ryan and Sarah. She was so happy that Ryan was talking that she started to get the shakes. She backed away until her sprained ankles came into contact with something large and hard. She tripped backward and again landed on her back. As she rolled over she came face to face with a grinning skull. She screamed and tried to stand. She backed away as Sarah came to see what she had run into. McIntire saw the old ejection seat and the skeletal remains still strapped in it. As she held Marla, who was close to collapsing, a bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, and in that brief moment of illumination, that was when both Marla and Sarah saw it. The thunder roared as if announcing their find and then another zigzag pattern of light creased the sky above them. Sarah, dripping wet and bleeding, held Marla tighter.

The darkened mouth of a giant cave bid the two women welcome as they stared into what looked like a darkened maw of a huge animal.

The ancient home of the Chulimantan had been found once again.

Alexander turned away from Jack as the whump of the explosion flashed across the tree-riddled landscape. With one look back at Collins and his murderous glare, Punchy waved over his partners to the communications tent. The guards allowed a bruised Everett, Farbeaux, and Mendenhall to assist Collins to his feet, and they were unceremoniously shoved back underneath their tarpaulin.

Jack spit blood out of his mouth as he stared at the Spetsnaz until they smiled at him and turned away. He winced as he tried to get comfortable with at least one broken rib.

"For my part, Colonel, if indeed little Sarah was on that helicopter, I…"

"Now's not a good time," Everett said, cutting short Farbeaux's sympathy for Jack's loss.

Instead of being angry at the Frenchman, Collins leaned into Mendenhall to support his rib cage and after he felt he could take a deep breath, he looked over at Farbeaux.

"Henri, tell me the French government has a backup plan to your incursion into Canada."

Farbeaux was silent after Jack had asked the question. He slowly turned his head as lightning flashed, illuminating the stunned look on his face. He shook his head and then caught the looks on the faces of Everett and Mendenhall.

"I think it's time you come clean with us, Henri. We've lost too much to continue to keep secrets."

Henri looked up at the black sky and the pouring rain, he waited until a thick roll of thunder echoed in the valley and then he turned and nodded his head at the American.

"Your perception and intelligence is something that I failed to get my friends at DGSE to take into account. I knew my charade would only last so long."

Everett twisted his head and looked at the drenched Frenchman. He knew the bastard had been up to something but leave it to Jack to have confirmed it somewhere along the way.

"The DGSE?" Mendenhall asked.

"Direction Generale de la Securite Exterieure — The Directorate-General for External Security," Collins said.

"Are you saying that you're back in the spying business, Henri?" Carl asked, amazed and confounded that anyone could talk Farbeaux out of his lucrative retirement.

Another flash of lightning lit up the sky, and Jack could see Alexander looking at them from the large tent across the clearing. He was giving Sagli and Deonovich instructions about something and through the downpour Jack could see that the new orders made Deonovich smile while looking their way. It wasn't good.

"I'm afraid I had little choice in the matter, Captain. It seems my recent activities attracted the wrong sort of attention, and with pressure from your president, and with endorsements I'm sure from your little bald boss at the Event Group, I was… let's say, drafted."

"Niles Compton thought you were dead, Henri, lost at sea. Remember?" Jack reminded him.

"Regardless, here I am," he said as he noticed Deonovich gathering a few of his men together. "I must explain to you, time, I fear, is growing short for some of us."

Everett and Mendenhall saw what was coming as the guards made ready their pistols.

"The DGSE has uncovered an extreme terrorist cell operating in Montreal. They know it was being operated by someone immune to discovery because there was just too much information not being passed back through DGSE contacts. Many agents were found murdered, indicating someone was getting identifications out to the cell. Either we had a traitor in our midst, or the Canadian government had one in theirs. Obviously, being French, my superiors ruled out any DGSE failures, so they concentrated on the Canadian side."

Jack watched as Alexander looked his way and then turned back inside of the tent. Sagli gave the group of captives one last look and then he also turned away. Deonovich was explaining something to the three Spetsnaz he had pulled aside. They all looked their way as he explained something to them.

"Cut to the chase, Henri, our time is running out," Jack said as he took a shallow breath.

"DGSE suspected someone at the top of the Canadian food chain, but soon it was confirmed by the traitor himself. Back in 1962, during your governments' little spat with the Kremlin over the Cuban inclusion into the world of Soviet nuclear weapons, something went wrong. I know this will disturb you to no end, being Americans are thought of as the good guys, but I'm afraid your government was looking at the darker outcome of that battle of wills. Your President Kennedy had issued orders for a preemptive strike against the high command of the civilian and military heads of the Soviet regime. The mission was called Operation Solar Flare. Alexander was caught snooping where he shouldn't have been. However, my former superiors didn't know how far Alexander's treason went, thus, when they learned of this assault in Los Angeles, they sent me."

"Another coincidence, Henri?" Jack persisted.

"Not at all. I know of the importance of the Lattimer Notes and the journal, that's why I had them stolen. It is, as you say, a small world. My associates leaked this information to waiting ears, thus, I was volunteered by my old employers to find out what your Mr. Alexander was up to. I guess my government credentials had yet to expire."

"I don't believe it," Everett said. "If that had been an actual plan, our Group, above anyone in the country, would have the information — secret information to be sure — but we would have access to it."

"You still insist that your nation is morally superior to everyone else, Captain Everett; that is not being a true historian. Oh, Operation Solar Flare was approved by France, Great Britain, and Germany, so you weren't alone in hiding your heads in the sand. But my government made the dropping of the most powerful weapon in human history possible by disclosing the secret location where the hierarchy of the Soviet government would be bunkered. Thus, Operation Solar Flare was taken from fantasy to reality."

"What happened? I mean the mission was obviously canceled since history doesn't show any mushroom-cloud footage springing up in Moscow," Mendenhall said, not believing what he and his commanding officers were hearing.

"Now, Colonel Collins, it's your turn to come clean."

Will looked at Jack, but Everett knew what his boss was about to say as the memory of that brief moment on the boat came back to Mendenhall. The long talk Collins had with the captain.

"Punchy and I were on one of the last attempts to recover the downed weapon. The F-4 Phantom carrying Solar Flare went down somewhere north of the border. The air force never found its transponder beacon back in '62. The mission was a bust; we never found it. Higher-ups then figured that somehow the mission terminated over water."

"I'm afraid the Western democracies don't get let off the hook that easy, Colonel. The aircraft failed to even reach its fail-safe point. It went down either in Canada or in Alaska, and as the colonel just said, they never found the wreckage even though the most massive recovery operation the world had ever seen took place for close to fifty years."

"What was the megatonnage of the weapon and its type?" Mendenhall asked.

"That was a secret your government kept well. But the DGSE suspected it was what's known as a doomsday device, for lack of a better term, maybe as much as five hundred megatons — powerful enough to destroy any bunker in the world, no matter its depth in the earth. The fact that it was an advanced cruise missile designed for supersonic flight in a straight nose-down attitude, and equipped with a solid tungsten nose cone, it would bury itself so deep into the ground that no bunker ever made could survive."

"Jesus, the world really had gone mad," Will said.

"So, Alexander is after the weapon — and now he's found it, so what now?" Everett asked.

"I suspect he has found the Hyper Glide, as the weapon was known, or Solar Flare," Henri said. "The gold and diamonds was actually a ruse. Your Professor Ellenshaw, without knowing it, of course, pinpointed the location for Mr. Alexander in his report to Stanford University and to the next of kin of L. T. Lattimer."

"What are the DGSE's suspicions on why that asshole wants it? To sell it?" Everett asked as he saw the three Spetsnaz coming toward their group.

"No, he wants it for blackmail."

Farbeaux looked over at Collins, their eyes met and they both knew the reasons why blackmail was the obvious choice.

"Correct, Colonel, blackmail."

"The ballsy bastard is trying for a coup in Quebec, that's why Sagli and Deonovich were so quick to give up what they had going in Russia; a safe haven and their own country with Punchy at its head."

"My country believes the weapon in question can be broken up into twenty devices and would all be the equivalent of any high-yield weapon in the modern arsenals of the world—"

"An instant superpower armed with nuclear weapons only a hundred miles from the American border. A power that would be able to dictate terms to Ottawa and to London," Collins explained as he closed his eyes.

"Well, that may not happen. It is my understanding that this weapon can only be armed by a code particular to the Hyper Glide, and this code remains one of the most guarded secrets of your government. Only a few men in the world know how to activate it and disarm it, and these men are more of a secret than the code itself," Henri said trying to make the others see a brighter side to their predicament.

As the guard detail were only feet away, Everett, Farbeaux, and Mendenhall looked to Jack. His silence told them that something was wrong. He was deep in thought and his lips were actually moving with the effort.

"Colonel?" Will said, trying to get him to say something.

"Please don't tell me—"

Farbeaux knew in his heart and when Jack cut his question off in midsentence, he lowered his head and closed his eyes.

"The men who know the codes to the Hyper Guide weaponry may not be as guarded a secret as you think," Collins said as they all instantly realized why Jack was led to the Canadian wilderness.

"Jack, is there something we should know before these assholes shoot us?" Everett asked as the three Spetsnaz stopped in front of their makeshift tarp.

"Punchy knows I can arm or disarm the weapon. That's why as a captain I was a team leader in the search in '89."

"You see, what did I tell you? Everyone has these damn weapons just sitting on their back porch, and if I ever go on a field mission and not run into one, I wouldn't know what to do with myself!" Mendenhall said as he slammed his booted feet on the ground as if he were throwing a fit.

Farbeaux leaned over as far as he could toward Jack as the first guard reached down to pull him off the ground.

"As I said, Colonel Collins, you never cease to amaze me."

Jack knew he had to act and do so without getting everyone shot before he had a chance to say what he had to say to Alexander. Mendenhall, Farbeaux, and Everett were stood up and moved out into the falling rain. They were lined up by the three Spetsnaz and while they were occupied, Jack made a break for the large communications tent. Just three feet from the flap, he was caught and knocked to the ground by Deonovich. He stood over Collins, smiling. His one mistake was straddling Jack as he lay on his back. Evidently the man hadn't learned about Jack's very quick feet. Collins reared his right leg up and brought it up toward the large Russians crotch — that was when Jack found out that, yes indeedy, the big man had learned — he caught Jack's foot and twisted, throwing Collins over onto his stomach.

"I told you to execute his men, not torture the colonel!"

Deonovich looked up at the man standing just inside the tent. Alexander had a murderous scowl on his face. Even Sagli shook his head from the dryness of the tent.

"Punchy, you better listen to what I have to say!" Jack called out through the rain.

Deonovich, ignoring the warning from Alexander, raised his own right foot and slowly smashed Jack's face into the rocky mud. The pressure was tremendous as the colonel's features became totally submerged as he struggled to free his neck.

Alexander looked at Sagli and nodded his head angrily. The Russian stepped out and shoved his partner from Collins. Jack's head popped up and he took a deep breath, shaking his head to free some of the mud. As lightning streaked across the sky, Alexander, without moving from the tent watched as Sagli moved the insane Deonovich away and tried to get him back to the executions he was ordered to perform.

"You have one minute, Jack."

Jack rolled over onto his back and sat up. He looked up into the rain to wash some of the mud away and then he looked at Alexander.

"You kill them, and my sister and myself be damned. I know what you want me for, and I will never free up the weapon with the codes you need."

Alexander was stunned. He stepped into the downpour and stood over Collins. He knelt beside Jack and looked him in the eyes. His large frame didn't move as if he were searching for the lie in his old friend's eye.

"How did you know?" was all he asked.

"Your treasonous game is up, Alexander. At least one intelligence service knows all about your plan to find the bomb and use it to stage a coup in Quebec."

Alexander suddenly stood and shouted at the three Spetsnaz, "Shoot them all now!"

"You know me, Punchy, I'll never give you the codes — so stop this from happening," Jack hissed as he struggled to stand.

"Goddamn you, Jack!"

"No! Goddamn you, you son of a bitch! You won't get a damn thing from me if one more of my people die!" The last words were the first Alexander had ever heard Collins scream out loud.

A hundred feet away, the three Spetsnaz took aim.

"Stop!" Alexander shouted through the storm just as lightning and its accompanying thunder came from overhead.

Jack flinched, thinking his friends were behind him lying in the mud, shot to death by a man he once claimed as a pal.

Sagli and Deonovich were stunned. Still, Sagli reached out and pushed down on the barrel of the weapon of the first man in line. The other two saw this and lowered their own AK-47s. Deonovich looked up and was furious that the American had said something to their new partner and changed his mind all in a few seconds. He turned and stormed away, his heavy boots splashing water and mud as he went.

Mendenhall felt weak in his knees, but remained upright, not giving the mercenaries in front of him the pleasure of seeing him afraid. He just thanked God that the heavy rain camouflaged the tear that rolled down his face.

"It seems I will owe your colonel after this," Farbeaux said in relief.

"Don't be in such a hurry, Farbeaux. Jack just may have bought us time by trading you for us," Everett joked, as he himself still had his heart in his throat.

"In any case, it was worth it to see the expression on that bastard's face when he was foiled from shooting us."

"It was worth me almost crapping my pants for at that," Everett quipped.

Alexander lifted Jack up and shook him.

"Listen to me!" he shouted into the face of Collins. "I have spent over twenty-five years in shit holes around the world; I have planned this for half as many of those years. I will not allow to you to fuck it up for me, Jack! If you don't do as I ask and enter those codes on that weapon, I will not kill your friends, I will skin them alive right in front of you. Then you will watch Lynn as she's taken by every mercenary in this camp, and then you will watch as she's cut to pieces! Am I clear, Jack?"

"Clear, Punchy." The voice was cool and the words said as if he had just been given an order by the president. "One question?"

Alexander had turned away, but stopped. He refused to face Jack again.

"What?" he shouted over the rain.

"Do you think the United States, or Canada will allow this to happen?"

This time Alexander decided to deliver the news himself; it was his turn to shock Collins with knowledge.

"Yes, I do expect them to allow the separation of Quebec from Ottawa, Jack," he said as he slowly turned. Collins could see the insanity coursing through his features, "Because the first weapons derived from this one warhead will be delivered to Toronto, New York, Washington, London, and Paris. Yes, they will welcome a new Quebec, and its new head of state, maybe not with open arms, but they will welcome it, if only publicly. Stranger alliances have happened in history, Jack, you should know that."

Collins saw Punchy turn and walk away. Then he stopped as a sudden shout and angry voices sounded from the camp. Jack turned and saw fifteen of the commandos running for the back of camp, toward the line of tents, in particular, Lynn's tent. His eyes widened when he saw the tent flap open and then his eyes flicked to the line of trees just as Lynn disappeared into the forest.

"Stop, let her go," Punchy shouted. The looked at Sagli and Deonovich, who were standing dumbfounded at opposite ends of the camp. "Gather up your prisoners, get the men to their weapons and the techs out of their tents; we move in tonight. This ends here, now!"

Alexander walked over to the larger Deonovich and grabbed him by the jacket he was wearing and as Sagli watched in shock, the big man actually cowered away from the smaller Canadian.

"You take what you have on you and get the woman back—now!"

Deonovich was released and he cowered even farther away from the insanely bright eyes of Alexander. Then he turned on his heels and ran in the same direction as Lynn.

The maniacal sound of the Canadian's voice startled everyone who heard it. It blasted over the thunder and rain, and it seemed to center on each individual. As Collins watched, men made for their tents and packs, weapons and equipment. The Spetsnaz was going to secure the doomsday weapon, and all Jack could do was watch.

The group would follow Lynn into the northern woods of the Stikine, and two different species of man would meet head-on after a million years of living separately.

The outcome might just decide the inheritors of the new world.