RUNAWAY TWINS and RUNAWAY TWINS IN ALASKA: BOXED SET (30 page)

When it began, the action wasn't related to the bomb scare, for out of the darkness, heading for the emergency room door, stumbled two weasel-faced men, one with his arm around the other. "My brother's having a heart attack! Can someone help me?—please!"

The doctors and nurses rushed to help the two men, and the teenagers, still in their hospital attire (and new jackets), were left standing by themselves.

"They're going inside," said Rachel. "What about the terrorist threat?"

"Can't let the guy die," said Justin. "Got to get to the oxygen and equipment."

While he was speaking a white van with smoked windows pulled up beside them. Out stepped Paul and Timothy, the two Yukon men who had volunteered as members of the Yuktapah rescue team.

After greetings all around, Paul said, "We were with the troopers when word of the bomb scare came in. They want you three to come to the detachment where they can keep a closer eye on you—at least until they can sort out what all of this means."

Rachel said, "Isn't it kind of late? We're not even dressed."

Paul smiled. "They have everything you need—even a dormitory. They'll see to it that you're warm, snug, and most of all secure. Hop in, we'll run you over there."

Timothy held the van's rear door open. The girls looked to Justin who shrugged and motioned for them to get in. "Troopers know stuff we don't," he said. "Guess we'd better see what's on their minds." He turned to Paul. "But I'd better go in and tell someone here what our plans are." He helped Janie to her seat beside Rachel and then added, "There's some doctors and nurses in the emergency room, I'll—" But before he could take a step or finish his sentence, Paul took a blackjack (provided by Bo) from his hip pocket and brought it down full force on the back of Justin's head.

In the van both girls gasped and tried to jump from their seats, but Timothy was too quick for them and prevented their escape by blocking the doorway with his body. He then pushed his way inside and wrapped his long arms around their waists. They pounded him on the head and shoulders, but he ignored their blows and waited for Paul to scoop Justin off the pavement and shove him through the door. Paul then entered by the same door and shut it behind him. They were all now in the back of the van, and Paul took out a snub-nosed .38 and pointed it at Rachel and Janie. Rachel ignored the gun and reached desperately for the lock on the other rear door. It wouldn't open. It had clearly been disabled from the front console.

Paul waved the resolver. "Sit still, girls…or I'll put a bullet in the boy's brain right now. I'd rather not because of the noise and the mess, but I will if I have to."

Rachel said, "But you men came to our rescue. You're on our side. Why are you doing this?"

"Orders," said Paul. "We serve a higher power."

"Oh, God," said Janie.

In the warehouse two of
the mining equipment crates had been pried open near their bases to reveal the areas reserved for the twins. The four conspirators examined the available space carefully.

The three teenagers lay unconscious on the warehouse floor—Rachel and Janie from powerful sedatives and Justin from the crushing blow to the back of his head in the hospital parking lot.

Bo Bradshaw, newly recovered from a myocardial infarction and newly vanished from the Fairbanks Memorial emergency room, rose from his knees next to one of the crates. "There's room for the boy in this one," he said. "Can't leave him around here."

"Shall we drug him?" asked Charlie.

Paul said, "I think I ruined his skull. Doubt he'll ever wake up."

"Don't have enough syringes anyway," said Bo. "Joe took most of them with him. We might need what we got left for booster shots for the girls later." He walked over to Justin and got no response when he rolled him with his foot. He then kicked him in the same area on the back of the head where Paul had struck him. Justin didn't moan or move in any manner. "He's done for," said Bo. "Probably die on the plane on the way to Erik Nielsen. Better to deal with his body in the Yukon. Should've thought of it before. No evidence around here—nothing to tie any of us to Alaska."

31
Triumph

J.J. Flack felt his blood
coursing through his circulatory system at light speed. He was convinced God was preparing his body for good things to come. He inhaled deeply. He could almost taste the clean, fresh air waiting for him on the outside. And there were other things he could almost taste as well.

The Hawker Siddeley was now in the air with instructions to fly below ten thousand feet because of sensitive plasma screens on the mining equipment in the cargo hold. The twins were his again and would be waiting in Whitehorse when his Helena lawyers greased enough palms and cried freedom of religion often enough to convince the court of appeals to toss out his conviction and grant a new trial.

He'd sent a message to Seth Lemon, the girls' father, that all was well and his daughters were enroute to the Yukon. He'd emphasized absolute discretion on the part of Seth in discussing the twins' location because even though they had agreed of their own free will to travel to Whitehorse and wait for the release of their bridegroom, they were still (in the eyes of the law) too young to make such decisions. Elder Lemon sent back word he was delighted with the news—surprised, but delighted. Did this mean they were going to change their previous testimony as well? Surely it must. The Prophet hadn't responded.

J.J. Flack had brought Elder Lemon somewhat up-to-date to preclude any unnecessary conflicts or unwise comments, but he didn't invite the girls' father to the celebration in his cell. Flack wished to gloat, to brag about bending the twins to his will…and about destroying the boy in the process. And Lemon, while subservient, might be squeamish about the details.

Elders Biggars, Riggs, and Mobly laughed uproariously as the Prophet recounted the double distraction at the Fairbanks hospital, the snatch in the parking lot, and the crushing blow to the back of Justin's head.

"Still some good men up there," said Biggars, "—even though Idaho Joe's in custody and Montana Mike and the others dead."

"Yeah, that's Joe's report," Flack said nodding. "But I'm surprised and pleased by the performance of the two new men from the Yukon. Never expected this kind of support from them. Elder material for certain."

Biggars asked, "Will Joe talk? Can we trust him?"

"A career criminal always looks to his own interests," said Flack, "but I told him he'd have the highest-priced attorney in the area, and he should keep his mouth shut. No one can prove any of the charges against him…and he'll have a sizeable bonus waiting for him when he's released."

Elder Riggs shook his head. "Not exactly according to plan, but satisfactory, I suppose…as long as Canadian customs aren't a problem."

Flack laughed. "As I've said before, no one smuggles narcotics from Fairbanks International to Erik Nielsen in Whitehorse. No reason for anything but a cursory exam."

The two Rolls Royce turboprop
engines hummed smoothly, lulling Justin back into unconsciousness. He had awakened briefly, opened his eyes to no light whatsoever, experienced a piercing pain in the back of his head, closed his eyes and tried to determine where he was and under what circumstances. But he was unsuccessful. He couldn't sustain clarity of mind, and he sighed, rolled slightly and gave in to the sound of the engines. Wait a minute, he thought—engines? What engines? But he lost the question and faded away.

One of the pilots of
the cargo plane entered the cabin and said to the four passengers, "We've got clearance to twenty-three thousand—save time, fuel. You guys sure about those plasma screens?"

Bo spoke for the rest, "Absolutely sure. Researched it carefully. The life of the screens is shortened by high altitude flight. You have no idea how expensive they are. Keep it at ten thousand and below."

The pilot shrugged. "Okay, just thought I'd check. Lot of mountain peaks down there, but we'll cruise a bit north of the big ones—fly down the groove. Should get you guys a good view of Mount Logan off to the southwest."

"We're not interested in scenery," said Bo. "Just fly the plane."

"Yessir," the pilot said.

When he had gone back to the cockpit, Charlie said, "Moneyman wouldn't pay much for a couple of dead fourteen-year-old girls."

Idaho Joe sat in the
interrogation room at the Alaska State Troopers Fairbanks Detachment. His attorney sat next to him, answering most questions for him and instructing him not to respond to anything that smacked of information gathering.

Joe had denied everything the interns had accused him of, suggesting perhaps that nature's fury had so unhinged them, they were imagining things. "It was rough out there—terrible. Kids didn't know what happened to them or what they saw. A bear tearing off Ernie's head? Ridiculous. The hunters were lost in the quake and eruption, so were my friends, and the teenagers temporarily lost their reason."

His attorney nodded with satisfaction.

The trooper major leaned across the table. He was nearing retirement age and his hair was white, but his face was unwrinkled, his expression fierce. "You're full of crap, Joe, and you know it."

There was a knock at the door and the major excused himself. After briefly whispering to someone in the hallway, he returned and slammed his fist on the table. "Still no word on the missing kids, Joe. What did you have to do with this? They told us what you said about J.J. Flack. What's that all about? Where does he fit in?"

"The poor dears were hallucinating," said Joe.

Customs at Erik Nielsen International
in Whitehorse was no problem. Officials didn't even look in the cargo hold. They read the manifest, stamped it and the Hawker Siddeley was allowed to taxi to an assigned warehouse on the far side of the airport.

The pilots jogged across the field to a favorite restaurant and left the unloading to the passengers.

"Perfect," said Paul. "Smooth as glass. God is watching out for us."

"Whatever," said Bo. "Let's get these crates put away. Should be a skip loader in the warehouse. And there's the SUV parked by the side of the building to haul away the real cargo."

After prying open the crates and administering booster shots to the girls, the four men stood beside Justin's inert form.

"What about the boy?" asked Timothy.

Bo said, "Your problem now. Put him in the SUV with the twins—cover them up. Drop Charlie and me at the terminal. We're heading for Missoula. We're out of this."

Paul and Timothy looked at each other.

"The boy's done for," Bo added. "Bury him out there somewhere. Or leave him for the bears. Doesn't much matter. Just be sure to take him deep into the woods. Don't drop him in an alley in Whitehorse. Now let's finish up and shut this place down. I'm sure your holy man has made arrangements for this mining equipment. Probably make a profit on it—that's how those guys operate."

32
God's Way

The Prophet had given explicit
instructions that the twins were to be treated tenderly and hidden in a specially prepared room deep in the bowels of the Temple complex at Whitehorse. And in case the RCMP came poking around, the walls of the room were to be soundproofed and the entrance thoroughly disguised.

Paul and Timothy and those members of the staff who were fully informed saw to the girls' removal from the SUV and to their comfort in the underground prison; and then after eating in the Temple kitchen, the two candidates for elder status returned to the truck to deal with Justin. Their plan was to drive as far into the wilderness as practical and then bury him as deeply as they could possibly manage. Bo's suggestion to leave him for the bears to devour was unacceptable. And they were also determined to make certain the boy was dead before putting him in his grave. Burying him alive was not an option. After all, they were not savages.

But none of these things mattered, for when they opened the power hatch on the SUV to make certain Justin was still properly covered and hidden from view, they discovered to their horror that he had vanished.

Justin had regained consciousness as
the truck-like vehicle rumbled over the gravel and sand roads from Erik Nielsen Airport to the religious compound. His breathing was ragged and shallow; the pain in his head was almost unbearable; he was scarcely able to move; but he could hear perfectly. He listened while Paul and Timothy discussed the God's Way Temple in Whitehorse, the safe room for the girls beneath the basement of the kitchen, and the men's plans for Justin's internment; and he listened while they congratulated one another on the surety that each would soon be promoted to the rank of elder.

When the truck skidded to a stop in the Temple parking area on the side of the complex, he held his breath, even though he needed every gulp of available air to sustain his lungs. One of the men poked him after they removed the twins, and Justin had no difficulty in not responding. To have uttered a sound or moved in any manner would have required an energy source he didn't possess.

While they were gone he called on his deepest reserves and instincts for one last effort at survival. He moved his neck, causing pain to shoot through his head and arms, but the pain itself seemed to enliven his body. He moved his feet…successfully, and then his legs. He opened and closed his right hand, then his left. He knew he had to hurry. The men would soon return, and then regardless of any minor victories, all would be lost. He shrugged his shoulders and gasped for air at the exertion. Above his head he spotted the switch to the power hatch and reached for it desperately. He fell short and collapsed again, remaining motionless in defeat. Why not just give up and accept what was coming? At least the ghouls had promised not to bury him alive—that was something. As for the bears, they were not a factor. He'd never met a respectable grizzly or black bear who would harm a helpless boy or eat one who had recently died. Bears could be trusted—people, not so much.