Gabriel Hunt - Hunt at The Well Of Eternity

“Let me guess,” Gabriel said. “One of them was a big guy, short blond hair, nose that’s been broken a couple of times, scars on his cheeks and around the eyes?”

Krakowski nodded. “That’s right. Do you know him?”

“We’ve met,” Gabriel said. “Who was with him?”

“They didn’t give me their names,” Krakowski said with a shake of his head. “The other man was older. Gray haired and very distinguished looking, with a narrow mustache and these moles, two of them, right over the mustache, on his upper lip. They left a generous cash donation to support our programs.”

The description of the second man didn’t ring any bells, but he was sure the first man was the same one who had tried twice to kill him in the past twenty-four hours. He said, “They didn’t leave you a card, or any way to get in touch with them?”

“I’m afraid not. I just helped them with their research. It’s why I have all this information at my fingertips. When they came, they had to wait while I hunted it down, took the better part of an hour just to find this book.”

“I’m sure they were glad to wait,” Gabriel said. He reached for his wallet. “I appreciate your help myself, Mr. Krakowski.”

“Oh, I wasn’t hinting for a donation,” the man said hastily. “Of course, anything you want to give will be put to good use, but I just enjoy meeting someone else who’s interested in the war. Anyway, like I said, we’re not officially open today…oh, my God.”

Gabriel looked up sharply. Krakowski was staring at the door. Gabriel glanced that way, too, and saw Hoyt Johnson standing there.

The shocking thing, though, was the man standing behind Hoyt with a gun pressed to the old-timer’s head.

Chapter 6

“You are a stubborn, troublesome bastard, Hunt,” the gunman said.

“You’re pretty stubborn yourself, to escape that airboat flipping over like that and come back for more,” Gabriel replied.

The killer ground the gun barrel against Hoyt’s temple, making the swamp rat grimace in pain. “I’d’ve let go at him with my shotgun, Mr. Hunt, if I’d seen him in time,” Hoyt said, “but he snuck up on me.”

A stunned Stephen Krakowski regained his voice and stammered, “Th-that’s him. One of the men who came here asking about General Fargo!”

“I figured as much,” Gabriel said. He asked the gunman, “What do you want?”

“Right now, just for you to leave us alone.”

“Let Hoyt go and I give you my word—”

Gabriel didn’t get a chance to finish what he was saying. The man pulled the gun barrel away from Hoyt’s head, pointed it at Gabriel, and said, “I don’t trust your word.”

Gabriel flung himself aside as the gun roared. The glass in the display case behind him exploded as the bullet hit it. Krakowski yelled in fear and pain as slivers of glass stung him. The reenactor’s rifle was leaning against the case and Gabriel grabbed it as he rolled across the floor. When he surged up onto his feet the gunman fired again, the bullet shattering another case.

Gabriel didn’t know if the rifle was loaded or not; probably not. But that was the wonderful thing about these old rifles. They didn’t need to be loaded in order to do damage. Gabriel raised the bayonet point and charged.

The guman tried to fire again, but Hoyt picked that moment to make a break for it, twisting and writhing in the gunman’s grasp. He wasn’t strong enough to break free from his captor’s grip, but he forced the man to turn halfway around to hang on to him.

Gabriel struck in grim silence, thrusting the bayonet past Hoyt and into the shoulder of the man’s gun arm. The killer howled in pain as his fingers opened involuntarily and the gun hit the floor. He maintained his grip on Hoyt with his other hand, though, and used it to throw the old-timer at Gabriel. The impact made Gabriel stumble backward. While Gabriel struggled to disentangle himself without hurting the old man, the killer ripped the bayonet from his shoulder, threw it aside, and shoved open the glass door behind him. He lunged out into the muggy sunshine with blood welling between the fingers of the hand he was using to clutch his injured shoulder.

Gabriel scrambled after him, scooping up the gun the man had dropped. While he was at it, he pulled the Colt from his waistband. Armed with both pistols, he ran to the door.

The glass shattered as he started to push it open. Gabriel ducked back. It meant the gunman hadn’t been alone. He had at least one accomplice outside—maybe the second Jet Skier? Gabriel risked a look and saw the injured man disappearing into the pine forest. Muzzle flashes came from the shadowy gloom under the trees, and Gabriel had to dart for cover as several more bullets stitched through the space where the glass door had been.

“Stay down,” he yelled to Hoyt and Krakowski.

“You bet,” Hoyt called from behind a display case. When Gabriel glanced around he saw that Krakowski was crouched there, too.

No more shots came from the forest, though, and after a few moments Gabriel decided that the gunman and his accomplice probably had fled. He waited a while longer to be sure.

“Are they gone?” Krakowski asked.

“I think so.”

“I’m going to call 911 and get the sheriff’s department out here,” Krakowski said. “They’ll know what to do.”

“Hoyt, do you think you can take me back where we came from?” Gabriel was careful not to mention their destination, so Krakowski wouldn’t know where they were headed.

“You don’t figure I’m gonna argue with a fella holdin’ two guns, do you?”

“Wait a minute,” Krakowski protested. “You have to wait for the police—”

“Sorry,” Gabriel said. “I can’t do that.” Pocketing the killer’s gun, he took two hundred-dollar bills from his pocket and laid them on one of the display cases that hadn’t been shattered by flying lead. “That’ll pay for some of the damage, and I’ll see to it that the rest of it is taken care of later.”

“But…but…those men may still be out there! They could shoot at you again!”

“Not likely. The way he was bleeding, that guy will need medical attention pretty quickly.”

“That’s one of them,” Hoyt said. “The other—”

“It’s a chance I’ll take.” Gabriel looked at Krakowski and said, “Quickly, is there anything else you can tell me about Fargo and the Fifth Georgia? Anything you told them that you didn’t tell me?”

“N-no. I can’t think of anything. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You’ve been a big help. I’m sorry to put you in harm’s way.”

Gabriel walked outside, Hoyt trailing close behind, broken glass crunching under their feet as they went. Hoyt cast a few nervous glances at the pine forest, but no shots came from the trees as they hurried along the road toward the dock where the airboat was tied up.

Hoyt heaved a sigh of relief when they came in sight of the craft. “I was afraid those sons o’ bitches might’ve sunk her or shot up the motor.”

“Better check it over before you crank it,” Gabriel suggested. He didn’t think his enemies had had time to plant a bomb on the boat, but it never hurt to make sure of these things.

“Oh, yeah, good idea,” Hoyt agreed. “Those fellas you’re goin’ up against won’t stop at much, will they?”

“From what I’ve seen, they won’t stop at anything,” Gabriel said.

To give Hoyt credit, the old-timer didn’t demand to know what it was all about, which was good because Gabriel still didn’t know. He just checked over the airboat, reported that nobody had tampered with it, and started the motor. They swung away from the dock and Hoyt pointed the craft back toward St. Augustine.