David Dun: Necessary Evil

"Where is the case that has the medicine for the cure?"

"James Cole has half of the medicine-the other half I hid. James is on his way to the New York Times with the diary and half the medicine-he went where the man on the plane told me-to a reporter in San Francisco."

"Do you know anything of Claudie?"

"She is safe in a cave. I am now a godfather to the two boys. Claudie and her boys are very strong."

"We've got to save Jessie. Somehow I need to fake a trade for Volume Six. And I have to have something in my hands to prove I've something to trade, to stop him from hurting Jessie."

"Let's go get her."

"How?"

"Come on. I'll show you."

Although the horizon was now exploding with the red dawn, the light remained low, darkness holding itself fast in the shadows where Grandfather and Kier moved soundlessly. As he went, the old man called out occasionally like a chickadee.

Once, when he must have seen or felt Kier's frown, he said, "It is so that if there are any watchful ones, they might mistake the spirit of the one who passes."

Since they were making no sound, Kier took him to refer to some spiritual sense. He only shook his head and wished he had a gun. Then he recalled his pack, and reached a hand to Grandfather's shoulder.

"I have a gun off that way, at the head of the pasture."

"I don't think there is time if we are going to do this before full daylight," the old man said.

They made their way to the edge of the forest. At then-closest, the trees were a good fifty feet from the house. Kier wondered how they would get across the opening in the gray light of the dawn. When they reached the last patch of brush, they lay flat and looked over the foot-high bunch grass. Two men were visible, one at the edge of the front porch, the other by the back door. Each had an M-16. Without guns, it was hopeless. Kier glanced at Grandfather, who simply nodded before turning and grabbing the nearest Scotch broom. It had been uprooted and fashioned into a hedgework that a man could hide behind. Back on his belly, Grandfather moved it out into the grass, then motioned to Kier, his first two fingers making a walking motion; then he pointed to himself. Obviously, he intended to show himself in the clearing as a distraction.

"When I get inside, you turn out the lights at the fuse box," Grandfather said. "White men see nothing anyway. But you must move in your spirit."

Inwardly, Kier winced. Nobody is invisible, not even Stalking Bear, he told himself. Still, he would keep himself so flat to the ground he might as well be a spirit.

"I will also make you invisible," the old man whispered, trotting off into the forest.

Kier waited. The odds of this working were miniscule. Grandfather was the stealthiest man he had ever known, but he still had to lug around a body susceptible to a bullet. Once inside the house, lights or no lights, everyone but Grandfather and him would have a gun.

However insane it was, there was no time to ponder it, for Grandfather was now out in the open. About one hundred feet away, he had emerged from the forest. But he didn't just walk. Instead, he danced and chanted. It was an elaborate pantomime that told the story of a great hunt.

"What the hell?" The man on the back porch by the fuse box advanced toward Grandfather, while Kier began to crawl.

The man went for his radio. "We've got some old Indian out here, crazy as a coot."

"Repeat, did you say old?"

"Wrinkled as a prune. Just dancing and chanting."

"Bring him in," Kier heard Tillman say.

Both men now walked quickly to Grandfather, while Kier crawled as fast as he dared toward the rear door. More men came out of the front door, walking around the kids' toys, and another man came around back just an instant after Kier had slipped under the back porch.

Kier hunkered down while the new man took up position above him. His eyes peered through the space between the planking. From the shadow of the man's feet, he knew he was standing well back toward the house. No solution came to mind. Damn. He was stuck. Crawling out from under the porch was out of the question. He would be dead before he got over the porch railing. And now Grandfather was captive, waiting, helpless-like Jessie.

The chair was from Europe of all places. Before this Jessie had thought it was comfortable. It was unbelievably stout, but even if it hadn't been, she would have had no opportunity to free herself. A man stood next to the chair, guarding her. Periodically Tillman would appraise her from a distance, like a dog checking its dinner bowl. It was only a matter of time before he tried to complete what he had started in the forest, she knew. His humiliation burned in his eyes. Now it was a contest.

Incredibly, she was starting to believe that the man Doyle was not really one of Tillman's mercs. He had signaled her twice with an almost imperceptible nod. She wondered if he could be FBI. It could easily be some elaborate trick, just as Tillman had said.

Pain shot up her back through her shoulder blades, and her knees felt as though they had needles in them. Being immobilized was far more painful than she would ever have imagined. She couldn't move anything that counted, and the only time she could get up was to use the bathroom-and each time she did, they retaped her more tightly than ever. Although caked in blood, the cuts on her face appeared superficial in the mirror.

Her first indication that something unusual was happening came when she heard about the old Indian over the radio. She was almost certain it would be Grandfather. Then they were bringing him in. Two men picked up her chair and put it close to the wall dividing the kitchen from the living area so that she could not see or be seen.

When they got the old man inside, Tillman wasted no time.

"What can we do for you?"

"I did not know there was anything you could do for me," the old man answered.

"Why'd you come?" Tillman sighed.

No reason." There was a pause. "You're here with a lot of men. A lot of fancy guns. You have reasons?''

"What's your name, old man?"

"Chunk Tawa."

"In English."

"Chunk Tawa."

"What's it mean?"

"You would say 'Stalking Bear.' "

"Do you know the one they call Kier?"

"The animal doctor."

"And do you know somebody whom they call a Spirit Walker?"

"You believe in that stuff?" The old man chuckled.

"Do you know him?"

"Broken-down old man like me."

"Where is he?"

"Who knows? Tavern in town, maybe."

"I don't think you're telling me the truth. Now why did you come here?"

Tillman's voice had become a snarl, and Jessie wondered if he had hold of Grandfather.

"I like Claudie and Jessie. Do you like them too?"

"How do you know Jessie?"

"She's been here a few days. I heard about her. I met her in my dreams. How do you know her?"

"Shut the hell up and answer my questions, or you'll die. Now where in the f-"

The lights went out. Jessie heard a shriek, followed by a choking sound that she imagined was coming from Tillman's lips. Frantically she began rocking in the chair, but in an instant she felt a gun at her temple. Then, inexplicably, the gun dropped. There had been a silenced shot.

"FBI, remember Dunfee?" someone whispered in her ear.

Then they were gone. Shots from next to her sprayed the room around her.

Doyle.

Desperation clawed at him, tightening his throat. He knew he had to move quickly or they would kill Grandfather. Feeling around on the damp earth for any kind of weapon, he came up empty. Then he remembered. Under the front porch, there was a pike pole from a logging pond that the Donahues used for pulling down fruit-laden branches when harvesting apples. He scurried under the house to the front porch. As he went, he could hear Tillman firing questions at Grandfather. In less than two minutes he found the pike pole and brought it back beneath the back porch. A gap between each of the porch's board stairs allowed ferns to grow up through the steps. Moving under, Her aligned the pole with the openings in the steps. He made a rustling sound with his hand, then waited. The guard didn't move. Again he did it. Still the sentry didn't come. Next he tried a snake's angry hiss. But it was as if the man were deaf.