David Golemon - Legend

"Who in the hell's out there?" Mendenhall hollered.

Other, much louder whoops rent the night, as now there was shotgun fire opening up on the left. Whoever had come to their rescue had the attackers in crossfire hell. Several pops from handguns sounded and then they heard the sound of a bullhorn.

"This is the U.S. Parks Service, lay your weapons down!"

The attackers didn't listen; they opened fire in the direction of the amplified voice. Jack took the opportunity to sight in on the muzzle flashes and downed one more of the men. And then that was it, he was out of ammunition. Suddenly, screams again made Jack's blood run cold as more shotguns opened up on the remaining men. Then, as abruptly as their rescue had begun, it was over. There was an eerie silence one hears after a firefight that goes against all reason. Suddenly the field was alight as floodlamps were turned on in the cemetery. Several trucks came barreling up and then the bullhorn sounded again.

"In the cemetery, lay your weapons down and place your hands in the air."

Jack tossed his Beretta to the ground and stood. "Don't shoot! Major Jack Collins, United States Army, on government business to the battlefield!"

"Yeah, well, we'll see about that," a voice said without the aid of the bullhorn.

Jack, Mendenhall, and Sarah stood. Nathan wasn't about to stand up just yet; he found the large stone monument and its surrounding fence comforting. As they watched, they saw a large man in a tan shirt and green pants step into the light. He was followed by two more park rangers and, to Jack's surprise, about fifteen Native Americans.

"I'll be damned," was all Jack could say.

The Indians were all carrying shotguns and they followed the rangers inside the cemetery. Additional men were checking on the attackers, who were all down in the grass, either dead or very near so.

The three watched as they were slowly surrounded by the men who had saved their collective asses. Jack had to smile at the deputized protesters, he couldn't help it.

"May I ask what's so funny?" the large ranger asked Jack as he frisked him.

Jack looked at the nodding Native Americans, who were miles ahead of the clueless park ranger, as they alone understood the humor Jack found in the situation; it was one of them who finally pointed it out. Holding a shotgun crooked in the elbow of one arm, the man stepped forward. A black cowboy hat obscured the Cheyenne policeman's two long braids.

"He's smiling at the irony, Ranger Thompson, 'cause the last time we had an American army officer surrounded on this spot, we weren't in the mood to bail his ass out of the fire."

"I'm glad you were on my side this time," Jack said as he held his hand out to the AIM protester.

The man took Jack's hand and shook. "Maybe you're just lucky you didn't identify yourself before the shooting stopped," the man said, smiling.

That simple gesture and comment ended the second battle of the Little Bighorn.

Two hours later, Jack, Mendenhall, Sarah, and Professor Nathan were handcuffed and sitting in a large room facing the county sheriff and an agent from the FBI's Montana field office in Billings.

The four had said little other than to thank the Native Americans who had bailed them out of a tight jam. The FBI agent paced in front of them, stopping now and then to peer at one or the other of them. They smiled and returned the look, frustrating the man to no end. He was in the process of looking at Nathan because the older man had averted his eyes when stared down, possibly a chink in their armor. The fed was about to pull the professor out of the room and question Nathan alone when the phone rang and the bored-looking county sheriff picked it up.

"Interrogation," he said. "It's for you." He held the phone out to the FBI agent.

"Special Agent Phillips," he said into the mouthpiece. "Yes, that's right, we have two National Parks rangers dead and I… well, yes, but you listen here, Mr. Compton, I don't know who you think you… yes? My director?" he said as he swallowed. "Yes, sir; no, sir…I understand… yes, sir, national security, but… but… yes, sir, immediately," he said as he handed the phone back to the sheriff without looking at anything other than his highly polished shoes. Then he adjusted his tie, which hadn't needed straightening, and turned to the sheriff. "Cut 'em loose," he said.

"What…on whose authority?" the sheriff sputtered in protest.

"On the authority of the director of the FBI, and above him, the president of the United States. Do you need any more names?" the agent responded angrily. "Now take those cuffs off."

Jack looked at Sarah and Mendenhall and raised his brows.

"May I borrow your phone, Sheriff?" he asked.

The bemused county sheriff slid the phone over to Jack. "Probably long distance," he mumbled.

Jack hurriedly punched in numbers and then waited as he was connected to the Group's secured phone line. After a series of beeps and static it was answered.

"Compton," the voice said.

"It's Collins. This line isn't secure."

"Confirmed, phone line is not secure. Now, are you all right? Sarah, Will, Nathan?"

"Yes, we're fine. Niles, we have the item in our possession," he said as he turned away from the sheriff.

"Thank God!"

"Listen, the people that hit us, the sheriff's office and the FBI have identified them as Colombian nationals. Did you tell anyone else we would be here in Montana?"

"Commander Everett, remember? He was in on our conference from his location in New Orleans," Niles stated flatly, suddenly knowing where Jack was heading.

"Did Everett use a land line?"

"Yes, his cell had no signal. His end of the conversation was in the clear."

"They must have had a tap, what we call a SATAG on the phone. That means they may have tracked him to New Orleans and, through our conference call, tracked us to Montana. Where's Carl now?"

"Making ready the expedition's transportation in New Orleans," Niles answered.

"Call him and tell him to use only his secure cell and to watch for visitors. I'll send him more security; he may have more company headed his way when the powers that be find out they failed out here."

"You got it, Jack. Get home."

Niles made the necessary calls and the compartmentalized Event Group went into action to prepare hurriedly to get a rescue team down to the Amazon. Departments went through an amazing array of logistics to supply the team with everything they would need for the exploration of Padilla's lost valley and to search for any survivors of Helen Zachary's expedition. The equipment that Everett had ordered could only be partially filled with Event Group stores; the rest had to come from such companies as Raytheon, General Electric, Hanford Laboratories, the Brookings Institution, and Cold Spring Harbor on Long Island. The expedition was officially sanctioned as a rescue operation, but scientific investigation would still be performed.

An Event Group tech team comprised of sixty men and women were already en route by air force transport to Louisiana to assist Master Chief Jenks on finalizing the installation of the equipment and outfitting Teacher for river duty. There would be no time for a shakedown cruise.

The Group's Intelligence Department made arrangements to be a privately funded surveying mission to map the Amazon River depths from the Peruvian government, which was a nice cover to get into Brazil, which had steadfastly denied permission for American military personnel to cross into their territory.

Niles and Alice were busy in his office with a team of assistants, coordinating the paper end of things, and that wasn't going well at all.

"The president," Alice said, holding out the red phone.