Bonner Incident (25 page)

When he was finished, he was looking at six bandoliers of 5.56 ammunition and two boxes of forty caliber bullets. “That’s a bunch of ammo,” he mumbled.

Turning the pack on its side, Joshua emptied the two side pockets, pulling out two hard cases. He opened the first one and pulled out NVG goggles that had four tubes. Not understanding why, he laid it down and opened the other case and found a scope. It wasn’t that big and looked rather puny, coated in thick rubberized plastic as he rolled it over in his hands, but then he looked back in the case and found a pamphlet. ‘FLIR System Scope’ was printed on the pamphlet.

“Oh yeah,” he said and put it back in the case.

Looking at the crap around him, Joshua figured if these guys would’ve left this shit behind, they would’ve moved a lot faster. Leaving out what he wanted, he repacked the backpack. Going through the others, he found they were similarly packed, but the two Idaho Troopers were packed the smartest. Also, neither of them had night vision or thermal gear. Two of the men had binoculars, but Joshua’s were much better.

He looked at the feds’ backpacks, then over at his. Theirs were top-of-the-line expedition packs in a cool camouflage pattern called A-Tac, like the vest. It was printed on the packs, pants and shirts that all of them were carrying, but none of them were wearing. His pack was a good pack that he’d bought several years ago. He knew from looking at packs, the ones the feds were carrying were almost a grand.

Pulling his pack over, he grabbed one of the FBI packs and started unloading it. When he repacked it with his stuff, he put it on and didn’t regret his decision. This pack distributed the weight much better and he didn’t feel like he was carrying forty pounds anymore.

Taking it off, he put what he’d wanted to take from the group in, mainly the electronics, but only one set of the weird night vision goggles and thermal scope. He left the others in their packs, he had plans for those.

After he was done, he looked over the weapons. The feds’ weapons all looked brand new and they had magazines like the troopers had. But the troopers’ ARs looked well used. Inspecting the feds’ weapons, he looked at the suppressor attached and saw it had a ratchet system to hold it on. “H&K” was stamped on the side and he wasn’t surprised to see the full auto setting.

Taking it apart, he confirmed the weapon hadn’t been fired much and soon found out, it was one of the newer AR type rifles with the gas impingement system. When you shot the gun, gas didn’t travel back to the bolt, it was diverted to a piston that moved the bolt. It kept the bolt cooler and cleaner.

“I’ll see what you can do,” he said laying it to the side.

Looking at the stacks of A-Tac camouflage clothes he’d pulled out of the packs, he wondered why none of the group were wearing it. All of them had been wearing tan tactical pants, short sleeve shirts and such. With the exception of high-top, everyone else had three complete sets in their packs.

Having already looked, he took the three sets from the FBI guy’s pack that he’d gotten the boots from. He took the helmet from the other FBI pack because it fit much better. All his life, Joshua had worn hard hats, but a hard hat wasn’t a helmet. Reading ‘Fast Assault Helmet Level III ballistic protection’ on the inside and putting it on, he realized it wasn’t a normal soldier’s helmet.

It fit snug and he could tell from the attach points on the side and front, he could mount gear there. Leaving it on, he repacked the backpacks and used his in the place of the one he’d taken. All the packs had a folded-up long gun scabbard that he took out and placed four of the ARs in and attached them to the packs.

Using the waterproof bags that the guys’ sleeping bags had been stored in, Joshua loaded up what he was taking to the cabin. He looked at the six-packs of coke and tossed them in as well. If they were going to deliver soda water to him, by God, he would drink it.

Gathering the ‘shit’ electric toothbrushes and such, Joshua carried them out and found a hole, tossing them in and covered them up. Loading the packs back up, he realized how much lighter they were, and he had put the other three vests, ARs, pistols, and that weird chest harness high-top had worn in them, and they were still lighter.

Heading eight miles north to his dugout, Joshua would pause every mile or so and find a place to bury one of the packs. If the guys were so kind to bring him gear, he could now make some caches, in case he lost his gear. Keeping the spots near ravines, in almost identical locations so he wouldn’t have to mark it on his map, Joshua buried them. Since the packs were waterproof, he felt they would last for a little while.

Reaching the dugout just before sunset, he only had to take the pack saddle with the bags of stuff he’d taken from the guys off the mule. Compared to what the mule had been packing, it wasn’t anything. Putting up the rope corral, Joshua fed King and the mule. The corral let them drink from the small stream that ran down the gully beside the dugout.

Putting the six-packs of cokes in the stream, Joshua carried the gear inside and got to work, understanding what he took. Making room for it in the packed dugout was his first chore then, he just tossed it on the floor.

Grabbing the satchel that high-top had been carrying, Joshua sat it on the table and turned on the LED lamp. Pulling out the map, he realized it wasn’t printed on paper, but felt like a type of cloth. Unfolding it, his eyes widened upon seeing it was a topographical map overlaid on a satellite photograph.  The map covered the Kaniksu National Forest which was the panhandle of Idaho, some of western Montana and Eastern Washington. It was 1:126,720 scale map that was standard for the forestry service where one inch was half a mile.

Laying it out, he loved how it felt as he ran his hands over it, but then noticed there were marks on the map with numbers from one to eighty-four and two square mile grids checked off, then other marks across roads and around Priest Lake. Touching the marks, they didn’t wipe off, but Joshua could tell they weren’t printed on. Looking back in the satchel, he found several pins and two markers with caps on both ends.

Pulling one cap off, it looked like a black felt tip pen and he pulled the other off, and it looked like a clear felt tip pen. He tried to write on the map with the clear end, but it didn’t leave a mark. Then, he moved over to one of the marks on the map by Priest Lake and it came off, like the clear end was an eraser. “The things they come up with,” he said putting the caps back on.

Looking at where he’d seen the guys were dropped off and the number eighty-one beside it, he saw boxes checked, leading to North Priest Lake. He pulled out the notepad and notebook and saw the pad had map notes and started reading. When he was done, he looked back at the map in understanding.

The numbered marks were five-man search teams, and the two square mile grids that were marked beside each team was where they had to search. Looking back at where the team he’d hit was dropped off, he chuckled. “You guys were lost the second you stepped out of that truck. You were supposed to head up the draw to the east and over the ridge to the lake, but you headed west following the valley.” Where he’d shot them was six miles from where they were supposed to be.

Studying the numbers on the map, he couldn’t see any pattern or rhyme and reason for them. They started south of Quartz Mountain and then stayed west of Highway 57, seemingly placed at random all the way to where he’d seen high-top’s team dropped off. “I could lie down and they would never find me,” he said, laying the notepad down and wondering if he should change his plans about fighting back.

“No, they could get lucky, but they messed with my family and they killed poor Ms. Ethel,” he said seeing where the next closest team was. Seeing it was south of Blacktail Mountain and they were to move toward Bottle Bay on Priest Lake, Joshua figured they were probably lost and moving toward Washington State.

Opening the notebook up, he saw notes about him, his family, his friends, and the area. He didn’t like that they knew this much about him, his family, and his friends. Reading on, he found that a hundred more search teams would be in place by tomorrow, and the teams were to stay out three days, then rotate back. The goal was to keep sixty teams out at all times. Reading further, he looked back at the map, picking up the special marker and made tics by teams that he’d read were to be on horseback.

“Need to watch for those,” he said, but the closest was below Lamb Creek. In the notes, it said he would stay in the wilderness close to his family or to the south where he had friends. “They got that wrong, and I need to let them know before they mess with them.”

Flipping through the notes, Joshua had to admit high-top took good notes. Joshua found what agencies were helping, the number of men, special response teams (SWAT), radio frequencies, contact schedules, and a whole slew of other useful information. When he saw ‘Radio Function Code’, followed by numbers, he wanted to sigh, since the radio turned on, but without the ten-digit code, the radio wouldn’t function. Closing the notebook, he folded up the map and liked the idea that he could literally stuff it in his pocket and it would be fine.

Walking over to a storage bin from the cabin, he pulled out two wool blankets. “Time to get to work and show them how wrong they were for picking me to rob,” he said spreading them out on the table.

Chapter Fourteen

It was 0600 the next morning when Griffey watched the group leaders leave the conference room, leaving only him, Burrows, and Moore there.

“I told you,” Moore said sipping a cup of coffee. “We have three teams that haven’t reported in.”

Griffey jumped up and pointed at one of the maps that had three white marks where the missing teams had been dropped off. One was at North Priest Lake, another was in the middle of the search area south of Nordman, and the third was at the bottom of the search area near Newport Hill. “You’re not suggesting Joshua took them out, are you?!” he bellowed.

“Don’t yell at me, Griffey,” Moore said in a cold voice. “I’m not one of your lackeys, and I know way more people than you do.”

Taking a deep breath, Griffey nodded. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “But, is that what you’re suggesting?”

Moore set his cup down, chuckling. “No, that doesn’t fit his profile. If he’s backed into a corner, Mr. Anderson will fight but what I told you was that we would lose teams. They are getting lost. We don’t have the communications in the area to keep track of them.”

“Okay, what do you suggest?”

“It’s too late for that,” Moore said. “We needed local law enforcement. They know the area, hell, they hunt and fish the area they patrol. You could throw them out in the woods from a chopper and they could find their way back.”

Turning around, Griffey looked at the map hard and was realizing for the first time, just how remote it was. “I’ll call DC. Sheriff Harper has publicly declared that he’s hostile to this investigation. Legal told me, that can be interpreted as a treasonous act,” he said turning around. “Maybe we could use that to force him.”

With a sigh, Moore shook his head. “Griffey, you do realize that Sheriff Harper’s sister-in-law is a senior partner at one of the largest law firms out here, right? You go after him now, and you’ll lose many friends in Washington. Her firm has beaten us in court every time they’ve taken us on, and she’s already filed motions against us for Sheriff Harper.”

“We are the law!” Griffey shouted. “They can’t do that.”

“Beg to differ,” Moore said.

Throwing his hands up, “Okay, so what else would you suggest?” he asked as his anger built.

“Make your teams larger, for one. It’s fewer teams, but they can search an area more thoroughly and we don’t have to keep track of so many. It’s a proven fact; it’s harder for a larger group of people to get lost.”

Thinking about that, Griffey nodded. “I like that. We’ll increase the size to eight or ten depending on the area,” he said, but was looking at Moore for approval.

“I would try it and if we still have teams getting lost, I would make it twenty.”

Sitting back down, Griffey grabbed a pen and started writing. “We’ll increase before we put the next group out tomorrow. Anything else?”

“First, I would give them classes, thorough classes, on how to use those radios and satellite phones you’re sending them out with.”

Looking up from his writing, “We did,” he said.

“No, your people held them up and told them how to turn it on,” Moore said solemnly.

Almost groaning, Griffey started writing, “And?”

“Get someone in here who knows how to pack a backpack, and give them a small class on how to move, what to wear, how to wear it, and basic survival in the mountains. I’ve seen what some of them have packed and they are carrying way too much unnecessary stuff.”

“I’m not training them to go to Afghanistan,” Griffey said looking up.

“I know. You’re teaching them how to search a wilderness,” Moore said. “You do realize that you’re issuing equipment like thermal sights, M4s and other stuff, that many have never seen. One of the guys you sent out yesterday is a Homeland Agent from Florida. He’s never been in the woods in Florida, and you sent him into the mountains of Idaho with gear he’s never seen. He wasn’t even certified on the M4. In the academy, he was certified on the P90.”