I pulled over on the jeep trail and shut off the BMW. Mairy and Robin followed suit as the quiet woods settled around us. Even though the bikes hadn’t made it out of second gear or over 10 mph, the engines were still louder than the forest could muffle. We’d kept to the least traveled trails managing to avoid any hikers, Forest Rangers or forestry woodcutters who would surely have warned us that no motorized vehicles were allowed on National Forest land.
The border wasn’t far off, maybe another mile down the rough track. It was one of the several crossings that were rarely monitored by anyone. It was only when you hit the paved road further down that the border station came up and we would have to check in with Canadian Immigration.
“What?” Both looked at me and started to jump down my throat. “No! You’re not going back for George!”
“I would if it was you,” I said softly. “He’s being held nearby, they know I’ll come for him and they’ll make it easy for me to find him.”
“Lakan, don’t do this!” Mairy cried. “Don’t go after him, if you disappear, they’ll let him go. They don’t want him; he has nothing that can help them to get to you.”
“He saved me. I can’t do any less for him,” I returned.
“Then let us help you,” Robin said. I shook my head.
“I can move faster without you and I need to know that you’re safe. I lost Rachel because Leon wouldn’t let me go back for her. I’m not making that mistake again. Please. Just go down and cross the border. I’ll meet you on the reservation when I’m done.”
Robin pushed Mairy back onto her bike and climbed on his, starting both engines. He searched my face and I could see his fear deep in his eyes as he struggled to keep it hidden from his sister.
“I am coming back, Robin,” I said mildly. “And not in five years, either. Take care of her.” I gave him my backpack, keeping only the quipp and the bow that I had carried since the old cabin in the woods. He gave me his quiver filled with arrows and I slung them across my chest like an old time bandolier.
“You taking the bike?” he questioned. “Back to Bismarck?”
“No. Closer to Kalispell.”
“Why there?”
“Because that’s where the nearest FBI office is; where they’ll transport George, where they have enough manpower to corner me. Leave, Robin. Before she can think to follow me,” I ordered. “Don’t let her follow me, whatever you do.”
He nodded once. “I’ll keep her safe, brother.” Using his bike, he nudged her down the trail and I went the other way, taking the left-hand break off the jeep trail which brought me out on the road. It was faster than their way out and in the opposite direction.
One minute the tires were chewing up gravel and pine needles, the next they were thrumming on macadam that had seen better days. Patched and re-patched, the potholes were winning. Anyone watching me ride the BMW would have thought that I was dancing drunkenly down the road. Luckily, there weren’t any cars or lumber trucks coming either way.
I passed through dense woods with National Forest signs. Even passed a few old Smokey the Bear ones that had been shot through with everything from .22 shells to slugs by the sizes of the holes. The ‘O’s in ONLY YOU CAN PREVENT FOREST FIRES had been carefully sculpted out by bullets.
God. I was so tired of pounding my body on the bike even though she was a sweet ride. I was tired of running, hiding in the woods and most of all, I was tired of being hunted as an object of unimaginable power.
I rolled into a decent sized town called Kalispell on the edge of Many Glacier Campground but what I wanted was a larger chain hotel and found one called Sears Mountain Lodge. Small cabins, they were easily booked, easy in and easy out. I could see anyone approaching from nearly all four angles and no one could sneak up on me.
Surprisingly, there wasn’t a heavy load of tourists yet, it was still too early in the season. In fact, the pass of Chief Mt. wasn’t officially open until May 15th. I knew that where Robin and Mairy had crossed was the Rooseville/Grasmere Xing on US Hwy 93/BC Hwy 93 and it was open year round with up to a four-hour delay when traffic was busy. As usual, there was talk about widening the road to eliminate the bottleneck between the two countries but so far, that’s all it was. Talk.
I didn’t unpack but I did hit the showers before I drove back into town heading for the nearest restaurant which happened to be a Denny’s. There were no big screen TVs playing, nor news like they had in bars and Pizza Huts, nor did the Denny’s have a bar. I didn’t order any beer because I knew that I’d be carded and no matter what my ID said, no one would believe I was 18.
The waitress brought me all American waffles with cream cheese, blueberries and whipped cream along with a carafe of coffee. She was too busy to make small talk and barely acknowledged my presence once I started eating. She left the bill and I left a twenty on it which took care of both the tip and the rest.
Food taken care of, I pulled out the quipp and dialed the number for the FBI office that was just two minutes away from the diner.
“Hello. You have reached the offices of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Kalispell Montana. How may I direct your call?”
“This is Lakan Strongbow,” I said using the quipp as a phone. After all, that’s what it had started out its life. She was silent.
“Are you reporting a crime, sir?”
I laughed. “Lady, I’m the most wanted person in the world and you don’t know my name? Shame on you. I want to speak with your SAIC, Camden Delaney.”
“Special Agent in Charge Delaney is unavailable,” the PR agent said. “Do you know how many fake tips we receive a day, sir?”
I had the answer on the quipp. “Three thousand six hundred and ninety-three,” I answered. “And SAIC Delaney is in a meeting with Agents Peter, Scammers and two men from ATF.”
She was silent, shocked I think. “So, may I speak to Agent Delaney or would you like me to call his boss?”
“You said your name is Lakan Strongbow? Can you provide me with some verbal ID?”
“What? Like my birthdate? Social Security number? I don’t have one, I was born on the reservation. My mother was Agent Rachel Strong and her Federal ID number was G65940B. Michael Hamilton was my father and Sarah Hamilton was my grandmother, I’m sorry to say. Her SS# was 107-98-4951. Director Chase’s private phone number is 076-395-0010 ext. 2100.”
There was silence for about two minutes and then, I heard the subtle click of a technician running a trace on the line. “Don’t bother,” I laughed. “I’ll tell you where I am. The Denny’s just down the road. In Kalispell.”
I heard her murmur something and a man’s voice with a distinctive accent picked up. His voice screamed Harvard and Boston. “This is Assistant Director Anson, is this Mr. Strongbow?”
“Where is SAIC Delaney? Not that it matters, Assistant Director,” I returned. “You’ll do just as well.”
“He’s here, listening in.”
“Don’t bother trying to trace me. One, you can’t pinpoint the device I’m calling from and two, I’ve already told your switchboard where I am.”
“What do you want, Lakan?” he asked. I heard the surprised excitement in his voice. I could also tell that he had put his hand over the receiver and spoke to someone else. I yelled.
“I’m here at Denny’s. In Kalispell. I’m not moving, all I want is for you to let George Little Deer and Leon DeCarlos go free. I’ll turn myself into the FBI if you agree to that but only to the FBI.”
“We don’t have custody of either gentleman,” the AD said.
“I know that. Chase and the NSA does.” I heard the sound of screeching tires outside the Denny’s and most of the diners looked up and out of the front windows that faced the street. Big black Escalades parked on rocking springs, doors flew open and scores of agents bolted out. Four immediately secured all the exits and the rest approached the front entrance. I wasn’t surprised to notice that they had weapons drawn and their arrival inside caused total panic.
One younger man, blonde and a Fox Mulder lookalike called out in a loud voice. “Take it easy, people. We’re FBI.” He held up his badge and ID. “We’re here to pick up a witness.”
Their eyes scanned the crowded interior. I didn’t make it easier for them but he motioned for the manager, spoke a few words into his ear and I was pointed out.
I kept my hands on the table in clear view, the quipp sitting there as innocently as a cell phone. They approached slowly, guns held on me with the steadiest hands and coldest eyes I had ever seen.
His eyes were brown, hardened pebbles but the tie he wore with his neat blue suit had little Kokopelli figures on it. “Lakan Strongbow?” I nodded, I already knew his name and his face from hacking the FBI personnel files. “I’m SAIC Camden Delaney. Stand up. Slowly. Keep your hands where I can see them.”
I did, kicking my pack out into the aisle. Immediately, one of them grabbed it away as another took hold of my wrists and spun me around. I was handcuffed and after that, in full view of the restaurant patrons, marched out to the first SUV and carefully tucked into the back seat between two pissed-off agents.
“My bike?” I raised an eyebrow. “It’s the blue BMW parked in front.”
The one called Delaney snapped an order to one of the other team members. He searched my jean pockets, pulling out the keys to the bike.
“The helmet’s on the seat,” I said helpfully. “I’d appreciate it if you’d pick it up.”
They didn’t wait for me to hear it start but drove off less than five minutes since they’d walked into the Denny’s. Good thing I’d paid for my breakfast up front and left a big tip. Two minutes beyond that, we were pulling into the parking garage of the Kalispell FBI building and I was shoved out, escorted inside and deposited in the interrogation room. There, the handcuffs were removed and I was stripped of everything, inspected by a grim-faced doctor who did not believe my healing wounds and then told to dress in a paper coverall with thin flip-flops on my feet.
After that, I was handcuffed and shackled to the bolt on the floor and table, left by myself seated behind the table with two chairs and a large mirror that I knew concealed the watchers. I let my eyes roam the walls and ceiling, finding all the hidden cameras.
“Have you secured the release of George Little Deer and Leon DeCarlos?” I asked. They made me wait, trying to soften me up. Instead, I took a nap.