HE FRUIT ORCHARD extended at least a half a mile east to ward the mountain from Kate’s house, and north and south almost three-quarters of a mile in each direction along the foothills, covering more than 50 acres of prime development land that had thus far been left untouched. Old roads and trails serviced the power lines running along the easterly border of the trees; homes lined the fence on the west.
One narrow dirt road, two blocks from Kate’s home, accessed the interior of the property leading to the old farmhouse. A locked gate halfway up the road kept traffic from entering. With the exception of using a tractor, the old fruit-grower, who’d built a new house on the south end, still farmed the land the same way his father and grandfather had 70 years before. Migrant workers pruned the trees late in the winter and returned to pick the crop in midsummer.
The property could be accessed from dozens of backyards and from more than a mile and a half of dirt road along the foothills. Stacey had instructed Buseth and his half-dozen agents to wait east of his and Barker’s location until Bingham was on site. Stacey’s trap was more a backup plan, in case the feds failed in the capture.
Bingham, headgear operating, struggled to identify the heat sources in the grassy rows ahead. He approached with caution, analyzing every detail. Crawling along at a deliberate pace, he spotted a rusty cable extending in foot-high coils on top of the damp grass. He’s not very smart.....Must think I’m some kind of amateur.
One end of the cable ran in the direction of a nearby tree, its frayed wires stopping just short of the trunk. Following the cable with his eyes, he could see that the other end ran toward the row of trees to his back. It too stopped short of the tree. It must have been left as a decoy, he reasoned. He warily crossed the cable and continued up the row.
His experience in battlefield strategy gave him an enormous edge over Stacey. The chance for the rookie cop to kill him had come and gone; he should have done it then. The kid doesn’t have it in him to kill! he thought—somewhat gratefully. No guts—that’ll be his downfall.
Bingham was closing in. Barker watched from a distance, pondering what he was up against. This is no game of paintball! he reminded himself. Sure, he was a seasoned police officer with hundreds of hours of training, but thus far in his career he’d seldom needed to draw his weapon. He remembered the fear he’d felt standing on the porch with his gun aimed at Melvin Briggs’s nose. The palms of his hands were moist and cold then just as now.
Barker looked on intently. Bingham was almost to the mark. What if the tractor didn’t start, or if Bingham chanced to go up the wrong row of trees? How many more of Bingham’s friends were lurking in the trees? Stacey was taking some big risks—too many variables in his plan.
A second gunman slipped from the passenger side of Bingham’s Lexus parked at the bottom of the trees, while two more approached from above. They carried sniper rifles and headgear identical to that of Bingham’s. The man from the back seat walked several rows up and started into the trees. Ten rows later he made a quiet call on his radio. “It’s a trap! I repeat, it’s a trap. Pull out. We’ve got feds in the trees.” Bingham listened through his earpiece, raised his silenced rifle to his shoulder and fired a single shot.
Barker’s headgear exploded, folding and collapsing backward, as a hollow-tip bullet smashed into the side of his forehead. He crumpled to the ground, a trickle of blood seeping down his temple onto the side of his nose.
Buseth and his men saw the flash through the trees. “Move! Move! Close the road and don’t let him out,” he ordered his men. Two vehicles pulled out across the road leading to and from the orchard. Federal agents fanned out through the orchard, cautiously examining each tree and stump in their path.
The boy jumped from the porch roof and sprawled onto the grass before springing to his feet, the 10-foot fall hardly slowing him down. Old Mitsy recognized him, and again tugged at the chain, barking.
Danny’s confidence was at a high. He’d successfully taken Melvin down. Now who was this new attacker? Or had Melvin escaped from jail? he wondered. The anxious fear he’d felt earlier in the day returned.
The back porch light came on. Danny watched helplessly as the attacker, Christina in tow, disappeared into the trees. He and his friends had played hide-and-seek in the orchard as children, so Danny was familiar with its layout. And the kidnapper wasn’t moving all that fast, what with lugging a 75-pound girl. The picture of the man scurrying away into the trees, carrying all that dead weight, sent a jolt through his body. What if Christina were dead? She hadn’t screamed for help or moved the entire time.
Inside, Kate raced through the house, still turning on lights, now certain that her niece was no longer in the home—and equally certain that her young son was out in the orchard chasing some dangerous lunatic. Awave of lightheadedness passed over her as she thought of the possible danger. One or both of them could be killed or seriously hurt. After calling the police, both she and Alan stumbled out the back door, where Danny was just turning loose the crippled old dog.
“Where is she?” Alan yelled to his son.The sheriff and his men were at a loss as to where to look for their cunning escapee. “Dispatch, Mapleton one twenty-eight.” “One twenty-eight, go ahead.”
“You aren’t going to believe this but Christina Rodriguez is missing again. Her aunt is on the line. Someone just took her from her bed and carried her into the fruit orchard behind their house.”
To Christina, it felt like she was being carried on horseback through a jungle. The back of the horse—or whatever it was—dug into her middle as it went. She felt sick to her stomach. She began to thrash about in a bid to break free.
Her masked, human captor, meanwhile, fought to keep a hold of the girl—and away from her feet and flailing arms and head.The entire corps of deputies was in route from Melvin’s house. The city’s early Sunday morning silence was transformed into an echo of wailing sirens, every officer eager to see the last of Melvin Briggs. The windows and yards on Kate’s street were alive with flashing blue and red lights.
Peering through the small opening at the top of the old salamander, oil burning in its belly, Stacey had seen the burst and heard the muffled report from Bingham’s rifle. Sig, who’d been listening to Mitsy’s barking, resisted the urge to leave his position. Stacey had spread out on the ground to return fire, before spotting Bingham disappearing back down the row of trees. Stacey took out the radio and called out, “Barker, you okay?... Barker!...Barker!” Then he frantically set out crawling to where his friend lay.
Christina’s attacker dropped the girl to the ground and turned to ward off the vicious-sounding dog, which latched its jaws on the darkclad figure’s thigh. A scream, high-pitched and unnatural, wafted out over the orchard. But still the kidnapper struggled, sending a small puff of dust into the dog’s face. Paralyzed by the powerful drug, Mitsy relaxed her grip.
With all this happening around her, Christina began to return to the present. She hadn’t a clue as to where she was or what was going on. She only knew that her hands were tied and that the Jensen’s old dog had its jaws firmly attached to the leg of a howling figure. It only took a moment for her to fathom the danger she was in. She struggled to her feet. Danny came into view in time to see the attacker deliver a swift blow to the old dog’s head. Mitsy released her grip and sagged to the ground.
Danny reared back and hurled himself at the attacker, catching him squarely in the chest. Both tumbled to the ground.
“Run, Christina! Run!” he screamed. Christina staggered to her feet and fled into the unknown reaches of the orchard.
Danny’s intent was to deliver a round of blows similar to those he’d inflicted on Melvin. But this foe was no Melvin. Aviolent slap to the head dropped Danny. As he fell, he frantically glommed on to the dark shirt, still hoping to wrestle the maniac to the ground. A loud snapping sound was followed by a groan of pain as the shadowy attacker brought his foot down on Danny’s lower leg, shattering the bone. Danny crumpled to the ground, letting go of the shirt. Voices moved in the darkness toward him. “Over here!” Danny yelled, his voice hoarse. “He’s trying to get her! Over here!”
Mitch and Olsen heard the boy’s ragged screams. Danny rolled to the side of his motionless dog. She’d never bitten anyone before. “It’s okay girl. Hang in there. Help’s on the way.”
The excitement and fear of the chase had finally taken its toll. The toughest acting boy on the block sank in sheer exhaustion next to his dying dog and began to cry.
Stumbling over roots and falling in ruts, Christina lit out through the trees in her wet nightgown, the grass and patches of mud cold on her feet. She could hear Danny’s cries for help. She, too, had played hide-and-seek among the trees. Her willowy body shook violently. The cold, as well as the effect of the hallucinogen, slowed her movements.
Maybe the brief head start wasn’t enough. Spurred both by fear and uncertainty, Christina’s mind flashed back to the tree house roof. She tried to remember what she’d seen in the face of her attacker that night, when the mask was torn off. The eyes, all she could remember were the eyes, dark, lifeless—like her mother’s eyes when she was high on drugs. She knew that if she were caught again, she wouldn’t live to tell about the ordeal.
Her hands still taped, she ran crossways up the hill, away from the safety of the house. She could hear grunts coming from her assailant as he chased her through the trees, leaving a bloody path behind him in the grass.
On the relentless killer came, dodging in and out of the trees. A rush of thoughts surged through his brain. Thoughts, traversing time, went back to the jungles of Vietnam. The enemy is coming through the brush! We helped the allies; the women and children will be raped and tortured, raped and tortured ....I must finish her off before it’s too late.
Christina, even if it meant death, could run no farther. As the sounds behind her grew closer, she searched out a place to hide. There beside her was a low-cut stump—the perfect hiding place. From its base grew a bevy of tall, unpruned suckers. Christina pushed the willowy stems to the side and crawled into the center. The leafy growth gave ample cover.
Mitch reached Danny first; Olsen and three other deputies were only steps behind. The beam of his flashlight rested on the boy lying close to his dying dog. Her tongue hung limp from her bleeding mouth, her ears lay flat, her eyes fixed and cloudy. Danny pointed down a row of trees. “Hurry! She went up there. He’s still after her!”
“One of you stay with the boy,” Olsen ordered as they rushed off.Stacey knelt down near Barker, his unconscious friend. The nightvision gear lay two feet from his head, mangled. It was apparent he’d taken a direct hit. The trickle of blood coming from Barker’s temple appeared more like a cut from flying glass than from a bullet. A large goose-egg protruded from the brow above his right eye.
Wresting the phone from his pocket, Stacey called for an ambulance. Buseth and his men approached cautiously, still unsure of Bingham’s location.
Dear Heavenly Father, Christina prayed, mouthing the words. I know you can hear me. I’m not going to ask for much—just help me be still and not shake. She felt her body slowly relax and a ripple of warmth wash over her. Though the shaking ceased, her heart pounded like drums in her ears. Nearby, a muffled “pop” was heard. Her body convulsed at the sound.
Suddenly, Melvin appeared in the nearby clearing, just 20 feet away. His back to her, he was peering down a row of trees. Lights from the city reflected from the clouds, producing a single, feathery glow like that of a moonbeam dancing from Melvin’s bald head. Christina’s gasp of alarm gave her away. He turned to face her—then both of them turned in the direction of the deep, throaty rumble of a dog moving swiftly through the trees.
Melvin, primed and ready, drew a straw from his jacket. The plant’s pollen would not completely stop the attack, he knew, but, under the circumstances, it was the best way. Boldly he stood his ground, tensed, anticipating the blow.
The shepherd bounded from the trees, his growl escalated to an all-out roar as he made his final leap. Melvin aimed and puffed the powder from the straw. Sig, duty-bound, plowed through the poisonous cloud. The impact took Melvin to the ground. Sig, blood oozing from the bandage, chomped down on Melvin’s arm and held on. Melvin dropped his pistol to the ground and with his free arm proceeded to pry open the clenched jaws of the dazed, disoriented dog. The powerful drug had quickly taken effect.
Like witnessing a high-speed car crash, the scene before her was both repulsive and strangely fascinating. Christina wanted to run, but was frozen to the spot. The violent tremors had returned, and the branches where she hid thrashed through the air above her head. Melvin stood and approached the stump. Parting the vertical limbs with his hands, he pressed his face close to hers and whispered, “It’s almost over.”
A scream caught in her throat. She struggled to release the sound. None could save her. And this time closing her eyes would not make him go away.
“Buseth, it looks like they’ve escaped the orchard....” The voice crackled over the radio. “A small jet just landed on the Provo runway.”
Buseth’s orders rent the night air. “Sweep the area again before you pull out. He could be anywhere. Send all the men you can spare to the airport.” His next command was directed toward Stacey. “Now, Officer Stacey, give me the pen!”
“Oh? My friend is lying here bleeding and unconscious...Bingham’s escaped...and the only thing you can think of is the damn pen?!”
“You give me the pen or I’ll see you rot in a federal prison!” Buseth shouted back.Mitch knelt and lifted Christina from the stump, where he’d come upon the crying, shivering girl. His strong arms held her tight. “Shhh, it’s okay,” he reassured her. “No one can hurt you now. I’ve got you.”
Olsen staggered into the clearing and aimed his light beam on the dark figure laying in the grass nearby. Seconds later, two deputies approached, guns drawn, lights darting back and forth through the trees. “What do you have?” one of them asked.
“I found the girl,” Mitch said, still holding her in his arms. “You better take a look!” Olsen shouted. The two deputies stopped beside him, staring down at a body in the grass.Stacey answered the ringing cell phone. “You shot him, you s.o.b.!” “You’re an amateur, Stacey! A kid playing games against a pro. Do you think I’d fall for your cute little tree ruse? And your buddy, Lieutenant Barker, waiting to ambush me? If it weren’t for the feds hiding out there, you’d be bleeding to death right now, your throat slit!” Then it was time to make his point. “Now I’m warning you: if I don’t get my property back you’ll wish you were already dead!”
“Shove it, Bingham—or whatever your name is! You’ve killedDeek and now maybe Barker, too.”
“Amber....” Bingham shot back, weighing his words, his rhetori
cal question interspersed by laughter, “isn’t that the name of your
little sister?...The one that used to live in that fancy house with a living, breathing mother and father?”
“I’ll kill you if you’ve touched them! I swear I’m going to hunt
you down and kill you!”
“The time’s passed for you to do that,” Bingham mocked before
hanging up the phone.
“You’ve taken this thing—this vendetta of yours—way too personally, Bingham. I’m pulling my men out. If you decide to stay, you’re on your own.” Chief Anderson, steering his Cadillac through traffic, had made up his mind. He and his none-too-happy associate pulled onto the exit leading to the Provo airport. A small jet idled on the runway just a mile away, waiting for them.
“You’d better not bail out on me now!” Bingham threatened. “Too late, it’s already done.”
“I don’t think so.” Bingham raised his handgun and fired pointblank. As the Caddy lurched to one side and slowed, he reached across Anderson’s slouched body, opened the door, and shoved it out on to the asphalt. The body bounced like a rag doll before skidding to a mangled stop in the middle of the road. Bingham slid over into the driver’s seat.
He found the limp body lying face down in a furrow between two cherry trees. Olsen rolled it over. A single bullet hole in the forehead. Long, dark hair fell in strings across her face and down her slender neck. She’d been a beautiful woman, in her mid-forties, he guessed. Her features were fine, but the lines of time and conflict were deeply embedded in her face.
Mitch waited until Olsen came to take Christina from his arms. She was still shaking from her experience. “You won’t believe it,” is all Olsen could mutter before carrying the girl to the waiting ambulance.
Reluctant to leave her, Danny knelt in the moist dirt at Mitsy’s side. Her breathing had stopped. The last few minutes he’d stroked her side and rubbed under her chin, speaking soft and low. Now she was gone.
He lay his head on her still body, his own leg throbbing with pain. “She’s dead...she’s dead,” he whimpered over and over. Officer Grue lifted him up to carry him back to the house.