Black Tide Rising (25 page)

“This is bullshit, man. How long we going to stay here?”

It was the same voice he had heard the previous night, and it was coming from the other side of the road and a little closer to the water. Dan peered through the bushes, trying to locate the source, but couldn't see anything other than trees and brush.

“Keep your voice down, goddamn it. He'll hear you.”

Dan figured that was probably Sleeman talking. The other voice fit the profile of Rainer: not too bright but good with a blunt instrument.

“He ain't coming.” Rainer again. “I already told you that. And we're screwed anyway. We don't even know where the stuff is anymore. What the hell are we going to tell that guy when he shows up?”

“I'll deal with that if it happens.” Sleeman's voice sounded tense and angry. “All you have to do is watch that fucking road and let me handle the rest.”

There was silence for a couple of minutes, and then Rainer started up again.

“So what you want me to do if he does come? You want me to take him out?”

“Jesus! No, I don't want you to take him out. We need him to tell us what he did with the stuff. He can't do that if he's dead, can he?”

Silence fell again, although now it carried within it a brooding resentment that coiled through the air like something palpable. Dan gazed back and forth between the trees across from him and the bare slash of road spearing up the mountainside, but still nothing moved, and after half an hour he found his attention straying. He had always hated stakeouts—had never been able to deal with the boredom they brought. Patience had never been his strong point, and while the dark of night had helped him pass the time by looking at the stars and rehearsing his katas, the light of day offered both too much distraction and too little to hold his interest.

As he looked out at the endless greenery that lined the road, he wished, not for the first time, that he had Walker's knowledge of nature. Walker would know the names and uses of each tree, while Dan could only recognize the cedar and hemlock for sure; the others he was not certain about. Tamarack, maybe, and perhaps some fir or spruce. No pine, that was for sure. He'd read somewhere that pine didn't grow where there was a lot of rain. And most of the bushes looked like wild roses—there were still some rose hips on the branches—and some other kind of berry bush, probably salmonberry or huckleberry. He remembered both of those from when he was a kid. And those low, big-leafed ones would be blackberries. They always seemed to grow at the edge of something—a road, a fence, a forest—where they could be easily seen by a kid passing by, and where the huge, lush berries could tempt him to try to reach them even as the sharp thorns kept him out.

“What time is it, man? I'm hungry. Them stale crackers we found weren't worth shit.”

Again a voice called him back, and again it was Rainer, and this time the petulance was loud and clear, even if the volume was a little lower than before.

“It's nearly nine.” Sleeman spoke in a hiss that was barely more than a whisper but which carried clearly across to Dan where he sat in his hiding place. “Keep your eyes open. He'll be here any time now.”

“Yeah, right.” The words were an aside, barely loud enough to hear, but Dan heard them and wondered how much longer Sleeman was going to be able to keep his partner in check. If the two men decided to leave, Dan would have to decide quickly whether to follow them or continue to wait for Coffman to appear.

The snap of a twig somewhere in the trees a little higher on the mountain caught his attention, and he turned his head toward it. Walker had tried to teach him to reach out with all of his senses, but that still didn't work for him. He had to rely on logic and deduction.

It was certainly not uncommon for a tree, or even a single branch, to fall without apparent cause, but then there would be the telltale scrape of its passage down to the ground and at least a quiet thud as it hit the ground. He hadn't heard either of those sounds.

It could be an animal—a deer, perhaps, or even a bear—but it didn't seem likely. Deer moved through the forest in complete silence, and bears caused much more noise and disturbance than a single branch snapping. There were no cougars on the island, but Dan had heard there were wolves. He hadn't seen any, but if there were, they also moved silently, and they would never come so close to an active logging camp. That left raccoons and minks and otters, which were all too small to have broken a branch, and humans, who were notoriously careless. Humans often stepped on branches and broke them, but what human would be out here in the bush? No logger would be wandering around, and no tourist. That left Jared and his team, Margrethe, and Jerry Coffman.

According to Walker, Jared's men were like the deer and the wolves. They moved silently. They were also on the other side of the island—or, at least, well away from Kendrick Arm. The possibility that Margrethe had not only survived but also found her way to this particular location was so slight as to be miraculous—and Dan didn't believe in miracles any more than he believed in coincidence, although it would be one miracle he'd be very willing to pray for. That left Jerry Coffman. Things were heating up. It could get interesting.

The sound of a boat engine swelled from the south, came closer, and then stopped. It was the right direction for someone coming from Gold River. Dan risked a glance up at the sky. Had it been two hours? Yes, it had. He had left the logging camp just before seven, so the boat was probably bringing the backup he had asked for. The knowledge was reassuring. If he was right about Coffman having arrived, then there were already three men to deal with, and there might still be a fourth. Stephanson had yet to make an appearance.

—

“Hey, Pat! Carl! You boys waiting for me?”

The voice rang out from farther up the mountain, piercing the morning air, startling the birds into silence. There was still no one visible on the road, and Dan couldn't see or hear any movement or disturbance in the forest, but it had to be Coffman, and the guy obviously knew how to handle himself in the bush: Dan hadn't heard or seen a thing since that one twig snapping, and he'd thought it had come from a different direction.

“Hey, guys, I know you're there. Aren't you going to talk to me? It's your old friend Jerry. The guy you left behind in Gold River for the cops to pick up.”

The voice was loud, nasal, taunting. And Coffman had just confirmed that he was involved with Sleeman and Rainer, although it seemed there had been a falling-out among thieves. Too bad he didn't have some way to record this, Dan thought. It would be nice to have it all on tape.

“You boys been over to the cove lately?” The words were followed by a high-pitched giggle. Coffman sounded like he might be more than a little crazy—not a good thing when he was also known to be quick with a knife. Dan fought the urge to pull out his weapon. He didn't want to make any movement that might cause Coffman to mistake him for Sleeman or Rainer, both of whom had so far remained completely silent. That suddenly changed.

“Jerry?” Sleeman stepped out onto the road almost directly across from where Dan was hidden. “Damn, it's good to hear your voice. We were worried about you. Those damn cops were right there when we left the house. We had to move real fast or they would've caught us.”

“Right there, huh?” It was Coffman, and he had moved again. “Funny; they weren't around when I left.”

Sleeman shrugged and spread his hands. “Guess they must have been following us. Carl and I lost them down near the old mill site. Guess they didn't know you were there with us. Where the hell are you anyway? What are you hiding for?”

“Never mind where I am. Where's Carl? He waiting around somewhere to bash my head in?” The voice had turned sulky, the inflection oddly childlike.

“What? That's nuts. You're our partner, Jerry. Carl's down at the boat, waiting for Stephanson to show up. Come on down and join us.”

The reports had been right, Dan thought as he listened to Sleeman talk. The man was smooth, and quick on his feet. No doubt he was the brains behind any plan this group had come up with.

There was no answer from Coffman, and for a minute Dan wondered if he had moved again, perhaps trying to get nearer to the boat to see if Rainer was really down there, but suddenly the man stepped out onto the road. He was maybe thirty feet above where Dan was hiding, a small, dark figure on the pale gravel.

“You ain't got a boat, Pat. Don't pull that bullshit with me. Carl ain't down at no boat. He's right there in the bush with you.”

Sleeman smiled and shook his head. “Come on, Jerry. We're partners, for chrissake. We're in this together. We've got a boat. How the hell you think we got here? We took it from some old geezer in Tahsis who doesn't need it anymore. It's right down there, if you want to take a look.” He turned and pointed to the water, then started walking back into the trees. “I'm going to go back down and join Carl. I need to be there when Stephanson arrives. You're welcome to join us.”

Dan watched Coffman as he watched Sleeman disappear into the bush. The man seemed to be talking to himself—at least, his lips were moving, although Dan couldn't hear any sound. He was also jerking his head from side to side as he patted his thigh with his right hand. Crazy for sure. And dangerous.

After a few minutes Coffman started down the road, stopping every couple of steps to peer into the forest. Sleeman was still moving down the bank, making no attempt to be quiet. In fact, Dan thought he might be working hard to ensure he made enough noise for Coffman to easily follow him. He was also moving slowly, wandering openly between the tree trunks so that Dan, still hidden in his rough blind, had no problem seeing him.

Coffman paused briefly when he reached the point where Sleeman had left the road, then stepped in after him. He was obviously nervous, his head swiveling back and forth as he crept cautiously from tree to tree. Looking for Rainer, Dan figured, as well he should. There had been no sign of Rainer since Coffman announced his presence. Either he had gone down to the boat while Sleeman and Coffman were talking, or he was still out there, waiting.

The answer wasn't long in coming. When Coffman had moved a few steps into the trees, there was a sudden motion in the brush, and Rainer burst out onto the road. He was four or five yards from where Coffman was standing, brandishing what seemed to be his favorite weapon, a baseball bat.

Dan fought his way out of the bushes, straining for balance as he pulled his gun out of its holster.

“Freeze. Police!” he yelled, wishing he hadn't told the backup guys to wait at the log dump. “Drop your weapon.”

Another death was not what he needed. If Rainer took Coffman out of the picture, they might never find out what had happened to Margrethe, and Sleeman might get away altogether. Dan moved out onto the road, where he could plant his feet firmly. He had aimed the gun at Rainer, but he switched to Coffman as he caught movement and saw a glint of metal appear in the man's hand. A knife was a much greater threat than a baseball bat in close quarters, and Coffman was much quicker on his feet than the lumbering Rainer.

The two men stared at him, immobile with shock, but Dan figured it wouldn't take long for them to make a move. It was two against one, and they were already in the forest. Time to call in his backup. He raised his arm and aimed his gun up the road, feeling his finger tighten on the trigger. One shot was all he needed.

A shot rang out, but it was not fired from Dan's gun. And whoever had fired it knew what he was doing. Dan's hand was hanging uselessly by his side, his finger still hooked on the trigger of his own weapon. The bullet had come out of nowhere and had hit him just below the shoulder. The force of impact spun him around. Pain blossomed and flared, freezing his muscles and tendons, and he could feel the liquid warmth of blood coursing down under his shirt sleeve. In the brief second before his brain registered where the shot had come from, Dan thought it might have come from his backup, but then he realized it had to have come from somewhere below him, down near the water, not from along the road.

He threw himself forward and sideways, twisting his body as he fell to try to cushion his landing. A bullet tore the air overhead, slicing through the leaves and twigs and showering him with debris. Shit! He was a sitting duck. He scrabbled forward, using his good arm and his feet and legs to burrow deeper into the vegetation. He didn't care about the noise he was making. As long as the guy couldn't see him he had a chance, but it wasn't a good one. The shooter only had to walk a few feet down the road and he would see where Dan was lying. His only chance was if the guy thought he had scored a direct hit.

Dan willed his body closer to the ground, trying to sink deeper into its embrace. He could hear his heart thudding as it pumped the blood that was pulsing out of his wound and pasting his shirt to his body. Moving would only make it flow more freely, and the noise he would create would only make him easier to find, so he lay still and braced himself for the next shot.

It never came. Instead, he heard the sound of someone crashing through the bush, and then the whine of a boat engine starting. Goddamn it, they were going to get away.

Ignoring the pain that stabbed down his arm, Dan pushed himself up and stepped back out onto the road. There was a movement to his left, a little farther up the road. Snapping his head around, he caught a glimpse of a man disappearing into the forest. Coffman. No point in following him. There was no hope he could catch him now, but he would damn well find him later. He would lock down the island if necessary.

He turned back toward the water. The blood had reached his hand now and was dripping off his fingers onto the ground. He needed to staunch the flow somehow, or he could be in trouble, but first he had to find out who had fired that shot. He pushed into the trees, weaving and dodging as he tried to see down the bank to the boat. Behind him he heard feet pounding down the road toward him. His backup. Too late to help. A root caught his foot, and he pitched forward, biting back a scream as his arm jarred against the forest floor. The engine revs picked up. They were leaving. Dan pushed himself back up and staggered on. There was a sudden surge of noise as the pilot cranked the gas, and the old inboard howled in protest. Dan caught a flash of churning white water as a seething wake boiled up behind the boat, and then a flash of blue as it leaped forward, heading north toward Tahsis Inlet. There were three men in the cockpit, Sleeman and Rainer and a man who stood staring back up at the land, one hand resting on the coach roof and the other holding a rifle. He was tall and angular, and his white hair shone as it reflected the sunlight. Stephanson. Also known as the Reverend Steven.