Smith's Monthly #22 Read online

  I cut her off before she could call me a complete idiot. “Steven had an alarm on anyone just looking up his building permit. You alert anyone in your department that we’ve found him, mount any kind of raid on that remote place, even as quietly as you can, and he’ll be gone long before you can get there.”

  “You think he’s tapped into all the police agencies?” Annie asked.

  “I know he is,” I said.

  “How could you know that?” she demanded.

  “Because it would be what I would do in his situation,” I said.

  She opened her mouth to answer that, then stopped.

  “We underestimated him once,” I said, “and Paul Hanson is dead. Let’s not do it again.”

  I turned to Mike. “How easy would it be for someone with your skill to know when the police in an area were alerted to a problem, the FBI, even the Secret Service?”

  “Not easy, but very possible,” Mike said. “Very possible, and with this guy, likely. I have to agree with Doc on that part.”

  Annie shook her head and Fleet, who had been sitting on the couch during the entire discussion, did the same.

  “So, even if I give you that much, why the hell do you think you should go in there alone?”

  “To slow him down, surprise him, interrupt his escape plan. Whatever I need to do.”

  “And two or three or a dozen of us can’t do that?”

  I pointed to a map of the area Mike had found and printed out. “The area is as rugged as the mountains in Idaho. I’m used to it. I spend a large part of every summer in country like that. And I only need to get in there before you sound the alarm to slow him down, or if nothing else, see which way he flees.”

  “In poker it’s called a showdown,” Fleet said, still pretending to read. “Head-to-head. The two survivors face off. It’s the only way any tournament ends, and you’re talking to one of the best at this sort of thing.”

  “So you agree with me?” I asked Fleet.

  “Oh, hell no,” he said, looking up at me. “But I do understand it.”

  “So I go along?” Annie asked.

  “And me?” Mike said.

  “Not me,” Fleet said. “Too many snakes, I’m sure.”

  I laughed. “I need you both to get everything ready, so that when the call is turned in, you’ll be on scene very quickly.”

  “You need Mike only for that,” Annie said. “You’re not going in alone and that’s final. Remember who is the detective here.”

  “How quickly do you need someone in there?” Mike asked before I could start the argument again.

  I took a deep breath and made myself calm down. “From the maps and the looks of the roads in that area, I figure he thinks he has ten minutes to get away. Maybe fifteen. He has to really know that area and I’m sure he’s prepared.”

  “He’s not going to push that time limit,” Annie said.

  “How fast can the local police have all the roads blocked, and men on the way?” I asked.

  Annie shrugged.

  “Fifteen to twenty minutes at best,” Mike said. “There are a number of roads in and out of there. But we can have me and maybe a half dozen of my men in a helicopter waiting within eight minutes. I can guarantee he’s not tapped into my communication network, and if he is, I just won’t tell any of my men where we are going.”

  “Why eight minutes?” Fleet asked.

  “That’s far enough away it won’t spook him, or trigger any alarm, but close enough to get there fast.”

  “See?” I said to Annie. “Only eight minutes alone.”

  “No,” she said, staring at me. “Not alone. We’re going in together to slow him down and that’s the end of the discussion. Otherwise, I pick up the phone right now and do what I should be doing and report this.”

  “All right,” I said. “We go in together, Detective.”

  She just stared at me, not at all happy with my tone. I could feel the coldness of her eyes. Ace was right, I was the wimp in this pair, and I’d be damned smart to remember it in situations like this.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  She nodded and said nothing.

  “You know,” Mike said, “you better start working together on this right now. Both of you can get awful dead awful fast in eight minutes.”

  “Oh, thanks for that reminder,” Fleet said.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  Northern California, near Mt. Shasta. September 4

  I RESTED, MY back against a large rock, working to catch my breath. Annie joined me and sat down, huffing hard. She looked to be in great shape, and had kept up with me just fine, but at this high altitude, the climb had to be really hurting her. It didn’t feel that good to me, and I was used to this high altitude.

  She pulled out her water and downed some, then handed the plastic bottle to me. I took a drink and handed it back.

  “You all right?” I whispered.

  “Give me a half minute and I’ll be fine,” she whispered back.

  From here on in, we had to be ready to move in any direction on an instant’s notice. We weren’t more than three hundred yards below Steven’s home. And we had thirty minutes to climb that three hundred yards and get ready.

  Annie and I had agreed that if either one of us ended up facing Steven alone, and he made any move, we would just shoot him, and she would clear it up later.

  With that, I agreed completely. I had no intention of facing him any more than I would face down an angry bear in the wilderness.

  We just needed to do whatever it took to slow down his escape.

  Since there was really no preparation that we dared make for fear of alerting him in some manner, we decided to go early the next morning, before Steven moved out to kill more people, me included.

  Mike had a helicopter that he had bought from one of the local Vegas news stations, and at four that morning told three of his best men they were going on a little mission, but didn’t tell them where.

  I had left Carson’s home at a little after four as well in one of Mike’s special limousines, picked up Annie at her place, and then headed for the airport. We were taking no chances that Steven had people watching me, or both of us. My jet dropped us both off in Redding and then went on north to wait in Portland for the call to return.

  I rented a car in Redding and we drove just over two hours north and east to where we figured would be the easiest and safest place to leave the car. From there, we had gone in on foot, doing our best to avoid any of Steven’s security systems.

  There had only been two fairly obvious ones that I had seen, and we had managed to go around both without losing too much time. But I had no idea if he knew we were out here or not. I sure hoped not. He was a sniper. We wouldn’t even know what hit us.

  We had had three hours to make Steven’s place from where we left the car, meaning we would arrive at the manufactured home by two if it worked out right, and we had read the maps correctly.

  It was now one-thirty. We were doing fine. I just hoped the rest of the crew were as well.

  At one, Mike’s team, in the helicopter, planned to move north to a staging place just eight minutes flight time from Steven’s property.

  It would be from there, at exactly 2 p.m. that Mike would alert the authorities as to Steven’s home.

  All of them.

  So, from two until eight minutes after two, it was up to us to slow Steven down in any way we saw fit.

  And, as Annie had said, “Preferably without getting killed.”

  I looked up the hill. I could only see a small patch of the home through the trees and over the rocks, and no sign of any window.

  I didn’t want to get into any line of sight from any window.

  I studied all the trees ahead of me, looking for any cameras. I couldn’t see anything, or even motion sensors. More than likely, deer would trigger them too often to have them down here, but I had no doubt he had them in the immediate area around his home. I didn’t plan on getting that close. I figure
d we didn’t need to.

  I had one walkie-talkie with a very short range, and I hadn’t turned it on.

  And I had a pistol with two extra magazines and Annie had her standard pistol.

  Annie had been surprised when she had learned I was a damn good shot, and practiced regularly during the summers, both with a pistol and rifles, even though I never hunted. The practice always just relaxed me. And being from Idaho, handling a gun was sort of expected. I just hoped we wouldn’t get into a gunfight, but if the situation warranted, we both had the ammunition we needed to keep him pinned down while help came.

  It was one of our options.

  “You ready?” I whispered to Annie.

  She took one more drink, put the bottle away, and then stood. “I am.”

  She looked a little pale, but she was strong enough to make the last three hundred yards. This was all going to be over with fairly quickly, one way or another.

  “We’re going slow from here. Stay close to me and watch your footing.”

  She nodded.

  It took me twenty minutes to pick my way up the hillside, staying behind any cover I could find.

  Annie stayed with me like a shadow.

  About fifty yards down the road from the manufactured home, we finally crested the hill. We lay in the dirt and took turns just poking our heads up enough to get a lay of the land.

  The home had been placed in such a way that the front door and windows faced the other side of the ridge, where I knew the remains were of the dam Steven and his father had built. Why anyone would want a view of their worst mistake and biggest tragedy was beyond me.

  The ridge had been flattened, more than likely back during the construction of the dam, and there was almost no cover besides some boulders along the edges, a few dry weeds, and a large, recent-model Ford pickup sitting in front of the house. From what I could tell, it seemed to be his only means of transportation.

  “Only one car,” Annie whispered, ducking back beside me after taking a moment to look things over.

  “That’s Steven’s mistake number one,” I said, then checked my watch. “If I can get close enough, a few flat tires might really slow him down. You stay in this position and I’ll work my way down along this side to get closer to the truck. That way we’ll have him bracketed.”

  “Stay close to cover,” she whispered.

  “You do the same,” I said.

  “Planning to,” she said.

  There were still ten minutes until the entire world started in this direction.

  I eased back away from the ridgeline and moved as carefully as I could along the steep hill, working to get closer.

  I finally went back up to the edge about fifty paces from the Ford. That was as close as I dared get.

  I couldn’t see Annie’s position from where I was so I couldn’t signal her that I was ready.

  I again glanced at my watch.

  Four minutes.

  All we could do now was wait. As a professional poker player, I was real good at waiting.

  The next four minutes were the longest wait I had ever had.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

  Northern California, near Mt. Shasta. September 4

  STEVEN HARRISON STARED at his computer screen, not believing what he was seeing. Not only had the FBI been alerted to his home’s location, but the California Highway Patrol and the local police down in the valley.

  “God damn it all to hell! How the hell did they find me?”

  He slammed his fist on the top of the computer, then took a deep breath and made himself think.

  He had planned for this.

  It would take a while for the Feds to arrive, but the local police would have the roads closed off in less than fifteen minutes, and if there was a cop car close, or one of the helicopters standing by or already in the air, he had less than ten minutes.

  He swore at the computer, shut it off, then grabbed a big industrial-sized magnet and set it on top of the hard drive.

  He had planned this escape a lot while in jail and then over the last few months, but had hoped he would never have to use it. Too bad. He had liked it here.

  He took a large can of gas from the utility room and sloshed the contents on the drapes and chairs and computer. If they were coming for him, why not give them a big signal fire to direct them?

  He grabbed the duffel bag beside the door that contained money and some basic supplies he might need. Then he took the keys off the mantel over the fireplace and put all six in his pocket. He couldn’t let those go up in flames, not after all the work he’d done to get them.

  His plan was to take the truck down the road about a half mile to a side logging road and ditch it in a small cave there, then take a motorcycle he had stashed there and get to another cave down a trail about four miles away.

  No one knew about that cave, not even the engineers that originally did the rock surveys of the area. He could hide in there for a week, since he had enough food and water stored there. Then he could work his way over land toward the Nevada and Southern Oregon borders, and eventually back to Las Vegas.

  It would take some time, but at this point, time was on his side.

  At the front door, he paused, lit a match, then tossed the match in the direction of the soaked couch.

  The fire caught quickly, barely giving him time to slam the front door closed.

  He turned to move to the truck and stopped cold.

  Doc Hill was standing about fifty paces away, a gun in his hand.

  And he was smiling.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

  Northern California near Mt. Shasta. September 4

  I LOVED THE look on Steven’s face when he turned and saw me. I wished I had a camera to share that Kodak moment.

  He paused for just an instant, then moved away from the door and down off the porch as behind him his home started to burn. He must have spread around something to help the fire along because it was already roaring.

  “How did you get here?” he demanded as he headed toward his truck, acting as if I was just someone he expected to meet on the street.

  “Just came to play out your last hand,” I said. “Wish I had brought marshmallows, though. I didn’t know we’d have a campfire.”

  Steven sneered and kept moving. “I have to admit,” he said, “you’re good. Having you in this game was this wonderful extra bonus I got when I killed your father.”

  I stepped away from the edge and stood in the middle of the road about twenty paces in front the truck. “You in a hurry to get somewhere? Expecting company for this cookout?”

  My message was clear. He would have to go over me to leave.

  I had no doubt that right now Annie was cussing under her breath at me. We were supposed to have stayed in cover, not stand up and walk toward the killer like a bad western movie.

  “No company,” Steven said. “I just have a few errands to run, people to kill.”

  He reached for the truck door and I shot out the passenger front tire. Then quickly I put another shot into the driver’s side front tire right near him.

  Luckily for him, I was a good shot.

  He jumped back, stumbled, and went down, dropping the bag and swearing.

  He grabbed a good-sized rock as he got to his feet and turned to face me.

  Annie came up out of cover along the ridge and came forward slowly off to my left.

  “I hear that rocks were your father’s weapon of choice for murdering people,” I said. “Like father, like son, huh?”

  “I am nothing like my father,” Steven said, almost spitting out the words. “He was pathetic and weak.”

  “Yeah,” I said, nodding. “I have to agree with that. He liked to threaten family and friends of his enemies, not face them and kill them like you do. Of course, you didn’t face any of those people you killed with that mess there, did you?”

  I indicated the ruins of the dam below him.

  He turned bright red. He dropped the rock, grabbed his ba
g, and started to fish in it, more than likely for a gun.

  Before I could act, Annie shot him in the leg.

  Steven spun, the bag flying off to one side as he fell.

  Then he came up into a sitting position, spitting dirt.

  “That had to hurt,” I said.

  His leg was bleeding badly as he climbed to a standing position, balanced on his one good leg. He growled at me and Annie as she got closer, then started toward his bag.

  This time I was the first to act. I put a shot into the dirt between him and the bag.

  He kept going, so Annie and I both shot again into the dirt in front of him, the message clear.

  Touch that bag and get shot again.

  He turned and started hopping toward the edge of the road on the dam side.

  I had no idea where he thought he might go. More than likely down a trail there. The burning house was blocking any escape along the ridge, and Annie and I had the other way down the road blocked. The only thing on the dam side of the house was a rock cliff.

  “You know,” I said, moving along parallel to him, “that running is damn hard on one leg. And to be honest, it looks kind of silly.”

  He kept hopping along, his leg bleeding, leaving a red-and-black trail in the dry dirt.

  I followed him, keeping a safe distance.

  At the edge of the rock cliff, he looked both ways.

  I stopped about fifteen paces away, making sure to stay out of his reach.

  Annie moved around to block his retreat, her gun constantly aimed at Steven.

  He glanced at Annie, then turned to face me, as in the distance the sound of a helicopter cut through the silence of the mountain air. His eyes were full of panic and fear.

  “Hear that?” I asked. “It’s your ride. Why don’t you just sit down and put your hand on your leg to slow down the bleeding?”

  His pants leg was completely soaked dark red. Annie must have hit something important, because at this rate, he wasn’t going to last long.