Necessary Evil (34 page)

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

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

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

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

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

"I should go now," Grandfather said.

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

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

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

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

Another snap came, much closer.

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

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

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

"They'll save us," she said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"For once in your life trust the government."

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

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

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

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

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

A man knows the goodness of life when he would sacrifice his own for the village.

—Tilok Proverb

"
I
wish we had more time, Kier. I'd enjoy giving your girlfriend a little thrill. But the old man seems to have vanished. For some reason, the heat-seeking stuff hasn't picked him up. Leaves us with a big problem." Tillman spoke above the noise of the landing helicopter. "Putting federal bureau of investigation on the chopper was another great Doyle suggestion."

Doyle still grinned, but there was something about his eyes. Like he wanted in the worst way to send a signal. Kier ordered himself not to believe it. Then he asked himself what exactly he had to lose.

"Hang her in the tree," Tillman said.

There was an oak not twenty feet away. Three strong men shoved Kier to the ground and dragged him to it.

"I want you to watch this very closely," Tillman said.

Kier lay on his back, immobile, as they hung Jessie by her hands, then tied her feet to the base of the tree so that she was stretched taut against it. Her breathing was labored. It was like a crucifixion. If she hung that way long enough, she would suffocate under her own weight.

"Begin with a toe," Tillman said casually.

Kier just stared, hating himself for trusting Jessie's judgment. They brought out a giant pair of bolt cutters. It would take off the toe like a twig. A man thrust an iron into the newly lit fire.

"That's to cauterize it after it's cut. We want her to last a long time. Without that, she'd lose one hell of a lot of blood. Unless, of course, you want to tell me where the old man is and get me the book."

"The book's on its way to the
New York Times."

Now they had her shoe off. Kier glanced at Doyle and something came to his mind.

"Doyle told me you were cloning babies for research and then destroying their minds."

"Enough," Tillman said, turning to Doyle with a shocked expression.

"You mean your men don't know that you're destroying babies' brains to get rich? They don't know that in a few days the whole damn country is gonna know, and they're going to be accessories? They don't know you're going to turn a virus loose that'll make AIDS look tame, just so you can get rich on the cure?"

"He said shut up," Doyle cut in. He reached down and grabbed Kier's coat. "Shut up or die now."

Kier could see Tillman's men looking at each other, edgy but not yet agitated.

"Did anybody tell these men about the virus they were exposed to as a result of the plane crash? Any of you guys—"

Doyle clubbed Kier with the butt of his gun, but not hard enough to do any damage.

Sensing what Doyle was doing, Kier curled up fetally and feigned unconsciousness.

"Wake him up," Tillman shouted. "We aren't gonna get anything out of him this way. Damn it, Doyle, I thought you were smarter than that."

"He's talking too much," Doyle shot back. "You want the whole world to know?"

Through half-closed lids, Kier saw Tillman coming closer. Then he felt Doyle leaning over him. Doyle put something in his hand. A key! Could it be . . . ? Was this another—

"Have you fucking lost it?" Tillman was in Doyle's face. "Nobody knows anything. But if you don't shut up—"

"It's all in the sixth volume, isn't it? Well, isn't it?"

"Listen, I don't know—" Tillman said.

"And it's on its way to the
New York Times!"
Doyle raised his voice.

Kier had his cuffs loose. Doyle and Tillman were standing right over him.

"Nobody but me is going to see that volume—"

"Because if it's going to the press, we'll all go up for murder, won't we? It's all in there. You let those idiots write it all down."

Kier opened his eyes to see Tillman grab Doyle. All eyes were on the two men. Kier huddled around his knees to unlock the leg irons.

''You work for me, you mother—'' Tillman paused ''I didn't know the bastards were writing it all down until—"

"Until just before you killed Jensen."

"How did you—"

"Know about that?" Doyle finished the sentence for him. The mercenaries had gathered closer, converging on Doyle.

Tillman went for his gun, but Doyle was faster, stopping Tillman's hand at the holster.

To Tillman's left a man pivoted, turning his rifle on Doyle. Kier rolled, catching that man and flipping him with his legs.

Kier had knocked the man unconscious before a single shot was fired. Kier knew that any of the men might have shot him but for the gun that Doyle held to Tillman's head. Tillman's hand remained frozen on his holstered sidearm. A dozen guns turned on Doyle.

Shots from unsilenced weapons rang out from inside the copter. Two men from the copter jumped out and dropped prone, their automatic weapons trained on the group. Two others slumped in the cockpit. Kier's eyes went to the automatic on the ground.

"Don't even think it, Indian," Tillman said. He ordered two guns on Kier.

"You're under arrest," Doyle said calmly. "The two guys alive at the copter are mine."

"Screw yourself. Shoot if he moves," Tillman called out.

"Nobody here has to go down for murder except Tillman here," Doyle shouted.

"Nobody here has to go down for anything." Tillman made his best pitch to his men.

"I've got more guys coming," Doyle said. "Now you men stand down."

But not a man flinched. Kier sensed they were used to taking orders from the man with the money, Tillman. Then, for no reason that Kier could have articulated, he knew Grandfather was near. He could feel him.

"Make sure the woman dies," Tillman called out. Two men trained their guns on Jessie. "Put a bullet through the middle of Doyle's head if he so much as moves." A dozen guns locked on Doyle's head. "So, Doyle, I suggest a deal. We all stand down. We all go our own way for the time being. I take Tonto here."

Doyle said nothing. Kier threw back his head and began a death chant. From the trees Grandfather's voice rang out in an eerie reply.

"There's a hundred Tiloks in the woods. Nobody will get out of here alive."

"This is bullshit. There's one old man—"

An arrow sliced through the air and sank into Tillman's throat, cutting off his words. His mouth went wide, his eyes wider.

Doyle stepped back, keeping his gun trained on Tillman.

Tillman stumbled in a slow circle as if he wanted one last look around. Oddly, the wound seeped little blood. Staggering, he knocked over the can of gasoline near the fire. The liquid ran downhill away from the flame. A loud wheeze escaped Tillman's lips, but nobody moved. The flat beat of another chopper could be heard just over the ridge before it burst over the shoulder of Iron Mountain, swooping toward the group.

"Anybody shoots again and it's a war," Brennan, Tillman's senior man, said nervously.

As if in slow motion, Tillman raised his gun from his holster. Doyle tensed.

"I said nobody shoots," Brennan said again.

Seeing Tillman aim at Jessie, Kier tried to move after him. "No," he said. Three automatic rifles poked Kier's chest.

"Put it down, Tillman, and we'll get you to a hospital," Doyle said.

What happened next only a few witnesses saw. A body flew like a projectile out of the trees, leaping between Jessie and Tillman. It was Grandfather. As if he had known the moment when the bullet would arrive, the old man took Tillman's shot full in the chest. Before another round could be loosed, Kier took two giant strides and dived, knocking Tillman's gun skyward.

Nervous trigger fingers twitched all around, but no one fired as Jack Horatio Tillman fell to the dirt.

A
cry escaped from Jessie's throat as Grandfather fell. Through tears she watched Kier kneel and put his ear to Grandfather's lips. Grandfather spoke for maybe a minute. Then Kier threw back his head with a wail that seemed to pierce the heavens with his sorrow. The Spirit Walker, she knew, had gone to the sky.

As they cut her down, her eyes never left the small, elderly man whose calm dignity would remain frozen in her mind forever. Why he had chosen to die for her was more than she could bear to ponder. When Doyle removed the shackles, she stood by Kier, who remained bent over his grandfather.

She put her hand on Kier's back. His hand reached back to join hers. Again Kier began the death chant that she had heard moments before. After a time, she didn't know how long, he stopped. FBI men came for the body, but she and Doyle shooed them away. They didn't need an autopsy. What had happened was plain. Why it had happened was not. When at last Kier spoke to her, she was hardly prepared for what he said.

''Grandfather said to tell everyone that he caught the bullet for his great-grandsons, whose spirits he saw dancing in the sky. They cried out for the life of their mother. Because of the soldiers in the woods he had only the one arrow. He told me: 'I put my life force into my feet and leapt for the sky to save her. It was good.' "

Doyle went to Tillman, who lay on his side, the tip of the arrow having passed out the back of his neck. Somehow it must have missed his carotids. His mouth made the motions of the gag reflex, but only a tiny sound came. He had to be swallowing a lot of blood.

"Kill me." The words formed and died on his lips.

"You must have had some things from your laboratory hidden somewhere," Doyle replied evenly.

Tillman formed the words again. "Kill me."

"It could be a rough ride back in the helicopter. They might even save your worthless hide. Although I'd guess even if they put your throat back together, you'll never talk again. . . What the hell, they'll execute you anyway."

"Please." Tillman gargled the word.

"As an officer of the law I can't kill you. But I could give you this lighter. You're lying in the gasoline."

Tillman clenched his hands. Jessie thought it doubtful that Tillman could actually flick the lighter. But her body moved forward—she couldn't let Doyle give him the chance. Kier's hand took her arm, and she stopped, trusting Kier's instincts.

She wondered if there were more pain for Tillman in the loss of his power than in the hell of having an arrow through his throat. For him, the lighter might be the only power left.

"Before I give you the lighter, tell me where you hid the hardware and the software for electrolytic reassortment. Tell me where the cure is for the RA-4TV mutation. Keep in mind I've got to believe you, Tillman. The helicopter is here. You get one chance."

"Summer home." He mouthed the words.

"Not good enough."

"Underneath."

"Where underneath?"

"Old bomb shelter."

"Bravo. I believe you."

"Now kill me," Tillman choked out again, desperate.

"Sorry, old chap. They'd have my badge if I let you burn."

"It's odd that with our chopper and all the gadgets, it was a simple wooden arrow that got him."

Doyle watched as they carried a ghastly pale Tillman off on a stretcher.

Jessie responded first. "It wasn't the arrow that got him."

Doyle's bushy brows raised in a question.

"It was a Spirit Walker."

"Yeah, well, according to my men, your Spirit Walker never did show on the infrared detector. When he left you two, he just disappeared."

Jessie and Kier looked at each other, and the look grew until it became the beginning of a bridge big enough to span the chasm between them. They both pondered whether they would finish that bridge, and if they did, whether either of them would cross it.