Savage Run (20 page)

"I'm sorry, girlie," Joe whispered in her ear as he unlashed a coil of rope from the saddle horn and slipped it down over her head as she ate. Then he circled the coil around her front legs with his right hand, caught the loop with his left, and pulled it hard and fast. With a double hitch, he tied her head down against her ankles so she couldn't raise it.

Lizzie's nostrils flared and her eyes flashed with white. Joe tried to keep her calm, patting her shoulder and whispering to her, so she wouldn't panic and try to buck the rope off. He could feel her muscles tense beneath his hand, but kept talking to her in what he hoped was a soothing voice, telling her he was sorry but it was for her own good, telling her that there would be some good grass to eat at the end of the day

She calmed, exhaling with resignation, and Joe briefly closed his eyes with relief.

When he turned back to the tree and the alcove beyond it, he saw that a tall man wearing a gray Stetson had emerged from the black Ford and was now studying the SUV

Joe considered calling out to him, but something about the man precluded it. Joe watched as the man approached the vehicle, much as Joe had, but the man did it looking down the sights of a semiautomatic pistol he held stiffly in front of him. Joe watched as the man circled the SUV nudging branches away so he could see inside. The man was now on the driver's side of the car. If the man were to look up, Joe thought, he would see Joe in the trees. But the man didn't look up because he was busy smashing in the driver's side window

The Stetson twisted and lowered as the man reached inside the car toward the dashboard. Then Joe heard a small pop and saw the hood of the SUV open.

The old man strode to the front of the vehicle, raised the hood, reached inside, and stepped away with a fistful of loose wires. To ensure the car was disabled, the man bent over and twisted the air

valves out of both front tires with a Leatherman tool he had pulled out of a case attached to his belt.

The way the man moved was fluid and calculating, Joe thought. He wasn't quick, but he was deliberate and purposeful. This man did not hesitate; he didn't stop and think about what he was going to do next. He had dismantled the SUV in a couple of minutes without even looking over his shoulder to see if someone was watching. He knew what he was doing, Joe thought, as if he had done this kind of thing before. Joe realized, with a shiver, that he was watching a professional.

Suddenly the man turned from the car, pliers still in his hand, and a pair of icy blue eyes seemed to bore a hole through the branches into Joe. Joe froze, his breath caught in his throat. It was as if the man had heard Joe thinking, sensed Joe's fear the way a predator sensed prey Joe lowered his hand to the butt of his revolver and felt his thumb unsnap the strap that secured it in his holster.

Only when the blue eyes raised over the top of the trees did Joe realize that the man was following the road, past the downed timber and into the spruce. Joe found he could breathe again and his breath shuddered out.

The man stood staring into the trees above Joe for a moment, then turned and peered through the opening in the alcove at the other mountain, the one on the east side with the granite knuckles. It was as if he were taking a measurement, comparing this mountainside with the other.

The man turned on his heels, without a glance back, and Joe heard the engine of the truck come to life. But instead of proceeding down the road, the pickup turned sharply and started climbing up the other side of the mountain, straight away from Joe. A plume of dirt shot out from the Ford's tires as the black pickup shifted into four-wheel-drive low.

Joe untied Lizzie, ignoring her glare, and swung himself into the saddle. He could breathe again, but the terror he had felt when he thought the man saw him had not yet released its grip.

He could hear the Ford as it climbed, but could no longer see it through the trees. He was surprised there was a road over there because he hadn't seen it.

Then he had a thought, and it chilled him. The man had estimated where the cabin -was located in terms of elevation on the mountain. Joe guessed the man was working his way up the facing mountainside to take a position directly across from where he thought the cabin would be.

Joe had a decision to make, but none of his choices were worth a damn. "Joe," he could almost hear Marybeth telling him, "You have really done it this time"

"Let's go, Lizz
ie.
" Joe barked, turning her and spurring her on so she loped up the mountain road in the direction of where the cabin was supposed to be.

Twenty MINUTES BEFORE Joe had discovered the Mercedes SUVJohn Coble had drawn his gun, stepped up on the slat board porch of the low slung log cabin, and kicked the door open. He had entered and had pointed his pistol at the man inside, who was seated at a table eating his lunch. Coble was winded from the climb so he leaned back against the doorframe to rest. The cabin was simple: a single large room with a kitchen, dining area, fireplace, and desk. A darkened doorway led to the only bedroom.

"I know you were expecting your lawyer, Stewie, but let me introduce myself," Coble wheezed. "I'm Mr. John Coble, and I've spent the last two months trying to kill you and others of your ilk."

Stewie Woods was frozen where he sat, a spoon filled with soup raised halfway to his mouth. Stewie's face was hard to see because Coble's eyes had not yet adjusted to the darkness inside the cabin.

Coble paused to take a couple of deep breaths of air and then continued. "What I have to say is simple. Get out of this place as soon as you can and don't look back. Don't ask a bunch of questions because we don't have the time. A manhunter named Charlie Tibbs could show up here any minute. Don't stop until you're out of the country; get yourself to Mexico or Canada or wherever you can get to fast. Get on a plane and go overseas if you can. Contact no one and just flat run"

Stewie lowered the spoon into the bowl. His words were raspy and filled with air when he spoke, as if his voice box was a carburetor that had the mixture set too lean.

"I guess I've been expecting you. I just didn't realize you would be so old," Stewie rasped. "Somehow, that makes it worse."

A woman stepped from the bedroom rubbing sleep from her eyes. "Stewie, I..." she said before she noticed Coble and gasped.

"Britney this is John Coble," Stewie said, looking stiffly over his shoulder at her and wincing in pain as he did so. "He is one of the men I told you about." Stewie Woods is in bad shape, Coble thought.

Britney's face drained of color as she stared at Coble.

Stewie turned back in his chair. "This is Britney Earthshare. She lived in a tree to protest the logging of an old growth forest. She's famous." Coble squinted at her. "Yeah, I remember. I remember I thought that was stupid."

Stewie chuckled at Coble. "Britney's been helping me out while I recover. She's a saint."

Coble grunted.

"Why don't you sit down and talk to me for a few minutes?" Stewie asked politely "You've probably got a pretty good story to tell."

Coble's eyes were still adjusting to the darkness in the cabin. As Stewie Woods's features began to appear, it seemed to Coble like a Hollywood special effect where the closer he looked, the worse it got. Stewie was horribly disfigured. His face was monstrous. His prominent

features had once been a jutting jaw, well-defined cheekbones and languid blue-green eyes, but now those outstanding features -were ragged mutations. One eye was completely closed, the lid concave over an empty, seeping socket. Stewie's nose was flattened to one side of his face, and the exposed nostril burred and flapped like the beating of a hummingbird wing when he exhaled. Coble cringed and looked away Britney took a position in back of Stewie with her chubby hands on his shoulders. Her eyes were still wide.

"I don't blame you," Stewie said to Coble. "I still scare myself sometimes. Especially in the morning when I look in the mirror and expect to see the old Stew
ie.
I used to be a pretty good-looking guy you know"

Coble looked back but focused on a spot somewhere above and to the left of Stewie's head so he wouldn't have to look at him again.

"I don't have time to sit down and chat."

"You're doing a good thing, aren't you?" Stewie asked. "That's impressive."

"I'm not here to save you or protect you. I don't want to be your friend. I still think you and your ilk are shit heels Coble shook his head. "I'm amazed that you are still alive."

"Me, too," Stewie said. "So why are you doing this?"

Coble had a strange thought. He had not yet holstered his gun and it was at his side in his hand. It would take no effort to raise it, shoot Stewie and the tree-loving woman, and return to Charlie Tibbs. He could tell Tibbs he just wanted to finish this job himself. Tibbs may or may not believe him. There -was comfort in evil, Coble thought. It was simpler.

"I'm doing this for me, not you," Coble snapped. "Our job seemed right at first. It seemed like the only way left to strike back. You people threatened our way of thinking and our way of life. All you environmentalists just showed up one day and told us that everything we've done for years was now wrong, and that everyone living in the West was a stupid ignorant criminal.

"You people expect everyone out here to suddenly give up the only jobs they've ever known in mines and the fields," he shot a dirty look at Britney, "and the forests. Somehow, all of us are expected to get jobs working out of our homes with computers, telephones, and modems. That's all you've offered up as an alternative, you know. Like lumberjacks and cowboys can just change over to being software programmers."

Coble's voice began to rise, and his face began to flush. "None of you know or appreciate how tough and raggedy-assed it used to be in this country. Hell, a hundred and forty years ago this was still a wilderness out here. Indians ran the show Even thirty-odd years ago when I started working for the state of Montana as a brand inspector, it was rough and it was real out here. There was bad weather and bad land and no water. If you looked over your shoulder the country was gaming on you and ready to wipe you out at any minute. The last thing anybody ever thought of was that they were ruining the earth. Hell, we all thought the earth was ruining us"

Coble gestured to Stewie: "You people want to stop us from doing everything we know You do it just so that if you ever want to travel out here from the East in your new car, you might be able to see a wolf out of the window. You're trying to make our home a real-life theme park for environmental whackos. You don't give a shit how many people lose their jobs or are displaced--just so you can see a goddamn wolf that hasn't lived here in over a hundred years."

Coble caught himself. He realized he was giving a speech, one that had been put together in bits and pieces in the pickup and rehearsed in silence as he and Tibbs drove across the country. Although he believed in what he said, he didn't have time for it. He stood and looked at Stewie Woods. Stewie stared back. The man was grotesque.

"But as Charlie and I began to do what we were hired to do, it didn't seem so damned noble to me anymore. In fact, I started feeling like the worst kind of criminal."

Coble paused and shook his head.

"Not Charlie, though," Coble said, grimacing. "Charlie enjoyed it

more as we went along, and got more and more excited. He got righteous about it. We started getting sloppy, starting with your friend, Hayden Powell, that writer. There was no planning, no strategy, no nothing except Charlie and me turning into animals trying to kill somebody as fast and as nasty as we could. And we had no idea that our first project failed," he said, looking at Stewie, the first project.

"Charlie Tibbs really does think he's doing righteous work, you know," Coble said with caution. "Charlie's lost something in his head along the way Something's malfunctioned. His moral compass is gone, and that fact is very frightening, given Charlie's skills and abilities. Charlie's the best tracker and hunter I've ever seen, and I've seen one hell of a lot of'em. Charlie thinks he's doing this not just for the Stockman's Trust, but for America."

Britney Earthshare was horrified by what she had heard. She covered her mouth with her hand.

"You got paid for this." Stewie said. "You didn't do this entirely for your beliefs."

Coble nodded uncomfortably He didn't like talking about the money "I was going to get three-quarters of a million dollars," Coble said flatly "Two-hundred and fifty thousand was up front, the rest will be sitting in an escrow account for me once the list is cleared. Charlie is probably getting at least double that. We never discussed how much each of us was getting."

Stewie whistled.

"You've got to understand something," Coble said. "When I worked for the state of Montana I maxed out in salary at $30,500 per year. That was the highest annual salary I ever got. My state retirement is half of that a year. Charlie always made a lot more in his work as a stock detective, but I have no idea what that amounted to."

Stewie said he understood.

"It wasn't hard to recruit us," Coble said, challenging Stewie with an arched-brow glare. "But the difference between Charlie and me is that Charlie Tibbs would have done this for free. It's not a money thing

with Charl
ie.
It's never been a money thing, and they knew it when they hired him. I don't see him stopping even when he's sure he's got everybody on the list."

Stewie's unblinking eye had been boring into Coble as he spoke. "So the purpose," Stewie said, "was to eliminate each person on your list in the most humiliating way possible so they would avoid martyrdom, and only be remembered for the ridiculous way they died."

Coble stared back.

"You were pretty successful at that, John Coble," Stewie said.

"Yup," Coble agreed.

"But what is the Stockman's Trust?"

Coble was about to answer but stopped himself and rubbed his eyes. He was absolutely exhausted, completely spent.