Archangel of Sedona (20 page)

The figure in front of me signaled the other three men. They spread out so that the four of them formed a line. Each stood about five yards from the other. Unlike their earlier movements, they weren’t stealthy. They’d become overconfident.

The leader gave another signal. The assailants paused for a second then rushed our camp firing their weapons on full automatic. Their rounds tore up the sandstone all around us. Their homicidal charge settled our response.

I racked a round, engaging the leader at 15 yards. With an FNH SLP, that’s a gimme shot. Gretchen had counseled double taps. I followed her advice.

I put two shells in the leader’s upper chest. He flew backward.

Less than a second later, I swung to the right to catch the second man. The delay in loading had cost me. The second man had reacted too quickly.

Though I fired twice at my second target, I managed to hit him in his right hip. I couldn’t be sure that he got all eight of the tungsten pellets. It should have been enough to bring him down, but it wasn’t.

He’d aimed his AK toward me and fired a long burst. I could hear some of the rounds hit Fleet’s body. Some hit the boulder over my head and rock particles showered me. I flinched. I wanted to duck, but didn’t.

I fired three more times at the assassin. I hit him at least once. He also flew backward but didn’t go down. He fired another burst, but the shots went high.

Out of shells, I drew my Glock as he turned, rolled, and crawled into the darkness.

I’d focused on my own targets and didn’t see Eddie shoot the other two assailants. I heard him fire four bursts. Eddie later bragged that his trigger control was so good that he could squeeze a three-round burst on full auto. The proof was in the pudding. Two attackers with Kalashnikovs lay dead ten yards from Eddie’s position.

I hadn’t fired live rounds at another human being in four decades. My ears rang from the shots. The smell of cordite from the shells and the pungent odor of my own fear and perspiration stung my nostrils.

The firing woke Father Pat. When he got up, Eddie pulled him down and rolled on top of him. Eddie clamped a hand over the priest’s mouth. He whispered something that I couldn’t hear. Pat stopped struggling. Eddie let him go. The priest remained prone.

I looked over at Eddie. With a wan grimace, he gave me the thumbs-up. I signaled thank you. He mouthed that he had my six. He did indeed.

I looked at my watch. It was 12:20 a.m. Eddie took a bottle of our water and poured it on the flames, extinguishing what was left of the fire. It got dark under the sandstone overhang. It took me a few minutes to adjust to the reduced light.

Eddie crawled to one of the men in front of him. He secured the assailant’s weapon and examined it in the reduced light, as I covered him with my Glock.

When Eddie finished, he covered me as I crawled to the body of the leader. The assassin lay sprawled on his back. I appropriated his weapon. I searched his clothing. He had cigarettes, a lock-blade knife, two 30-round magazines, but no wallet or papers of any kind. I didn’t look under his mask because it was too dark to recognize any facial detail.

I saw a large pool of blood where the second man had been standing. He’d gotten away. I had no way of knowing how badly I’d wounded him.

It was too dark for hand signals. I had to talk to my partner.

“I told you not to come on this jaunt,” I said, as I crawled next to Eddie.

“Should have listened. This is a fine mess that you’ve gotten me into.”

“Eddie, these guys are serious. The leader had on a ballistic vest. I could feel the armor. Some of the triple-ought pellets hit him in the throat.”

“Well, the ballistics on my M14 are better than your twelve-gauge. The vests on these animals didn’t help them.”

“Who are these fuckers?” I asked.

“You think they’re connected to those marijuana growers up in the forest?” Eddie asked back. “Kalashnikovs, body armor. What in the fuck is that? Why would those guys be so well armed? By the way, did you notice that these are AK-74s, not 47s? These 74s are a lot harder to come by.”

“Hate to break it to you, amigo, but the squad leader over there was carrying an AK-103. See for yourself,” I said, as I passed the weapon over to Eddie.

“Holy shit. You’re right. Whoever these guys are, they’re pros.”

“Tony, Eddie, what’s this all about?” Father Pat asked from his prone position.

“We don’t know, Father. But we’re in a bad spot.”

“Maybe that’s all of them,” Father Pat said.

“Don’t fucking bet on it, Padre,” Eddie said. “Our JAG sharpshooter wounded one of his two assigned targets. We have at least one wounded mother still out there. I heard more movement along the creek as the four thugs formed up for the assault. Now, with the shooting, my hearing’s gone for the next hour. Trust me, there are more assholes out there.”

“Why?” Father Pat asked, as he gestured at Fleet’s slumped corpse.

“Beats me, Padre. We need to haul ass before first light. In the morning we’ll be sitting ducks in here,” Eddie said.

“Let’s think this through. If we can get away from this overhang, we can’t go back east the way we came. Whoever is out there will expect us to go for the ropes and get to the ATV. Even if we could get past them, we can’t get up that cliff in the dark. In the daylight, even our climbing expert from Ireland would be an easy target,” I said.

“We can’t go south down Hansen’s favorite trail because it’s flooded. If we get away and the flood recedes, we don’t know how many will chase us. I’ve looked at the trail map. It’s too narrow. We’d get picked off as we tried to get away. Somebody out there has a silenced sniper rifle,” Eddie said, as he looked over at Fleet.

“We can’t go very far north. We’d have to climb up the rim without equipment. We’d be in the same spot as our first option,” I said.

“Agreed,” Eddie said. So we have to go west.”

“Maybe we can reason with them,” Father Pat said.

“Padre, if I hadn’t been awake, we’d all be dead. These guys, and whoever is with them, came to kill us all,” I said, as I pointed at the dead men.

“Tony—if Fleet died before he woke you to relieve him—why were you awake?”

“Had to pee.”

“Classic!” Eddie said. “We owe the rest of our lives to an old man’s bladder.”

“I’m in Dublin. I’m asleep. I’m having the worst nightmare of my life. Must be Divine retribution for my addiction to Bushmills. I’ll wake soon. I’ll get good psychiatric care. I’ll never drink Protestant whiskey again. It’ll be Jameson from now on,” Father Pat swore. “Look,” he continued. “Let’s give diplomacy a try. What do we have to lose?”

“Our lives, and maybe our immortal souls.”

“Your souls? What are you talking about?” Father Pat demanded.

Eddie summarized my conversation with Claire Weston-Ostergaard. Although it was dark, I could see a look of complete disbelief on the priest’s face.

“You two are daft. Listen, I volunteer to talk with these people. How can it hurt you? In any event, I’m not going to take up a weapon. I’m expendable.”

“Father, you know how many of us there are and what our weapons are. The bad guys don’t know our capabilities. They do know that we got the upper hand in the opening gambit in this homicidal melodrama,” I said.

“I agree. Father, cool it. You stay with us. Tony, tell me, how do we get away from this site without stumbling across whoever is out there?” Eddie asked.

“When we gathered wood earlier, I noticed that there’s a little path along the rocks; it tracks north. Those scrub cedars and manzanitas camouflage it, but we could squeeze by if we’re very quiet. We’ll have to go slow,” I said. “By the way, what’s west of here? How far is it? What do we have to climb over to get there?”

Eddie thought about it minute. “Let me have your windbreaker,” Eddie directed.

I pulled it off and gave it to him. He found his trail map and then hunkered down behind the boulder. Father Pat and I held the windbreaker over him while Eddie examined his trail map by the light of the flashlight app on his iPhone. The boulder and windbreaker blocked all of the light.

“That was neat,” Father Pat whispered when Eddie finished. “Did you learn that in the Airborne?”

“Sort of,” Eddie explained. “In the second episode of Band of Brothers, the actor playing Dick Winters used a raincoat for the same purpose. I can’t imagine that any Paratroopers jumped raincoats into Normandy. It was a cool scene anyway.”

“You got that trick from a movie?” Father Pat asked.

“Mini-series episode, actually,” Eddie said.

“I’m doomed,” Father Pat said.

“Stick with us, Padre; we’ll get out of here,” I said.

“Tony, we have no chance. Face it,” Eddie said.

“OK, Eddie; maybe you’re right. Father, will you give us absolution? I have a ton of mortal sins on my soul. I haven’t confessed in thirty years.”

“I can give absolution to Eddie, if he needs it. I can’t give it to you.”

“Are you serious?” I whispered. “We’re about to be overrun by madmen, and you’re withholding absolution?”

“Tony, you’re living in an unsanctioned marriage.”

“Fuck!” I said too loud for our tactical situation, as the priest blessed Eddie and whispered something to him.

“Dan was right. My soul’s in peril.” I sang “Can’t Get No Satisfaction” under my breath.

“He’s crazy, Eddie,” Father Pat said, as he pointed at me.

“Padre? Who’s crazier? Is it the guys who search for the Christus or the priest who comes along to observe the crazy guys?”

“I didn’t say you were crazy, Eddie.”

“I have to be fucking insane. If I get out of this, I’ll get my daughter to commit me.”

Since we had a plan—I know it wasn’t a good plan, but it was a plan—Eddie and I made Father Pat hunker down in a corner. Eddie stood watch, while I crawled around the campsite in the dark gathering the gear that we’d need. I’d searched Fleet and his bag for his satellite device. I couldn’t locate it. He must have left it in the ATV.

A lot of good it’ll do us up there, Captain Air Assault,
I thought, though I regretted my rancor at once.
You were a good man, Fleet. I wish we’d been more careful.

I reloaded the shotgun, chambered a round, and slipped the eighth shell in the tube. I didn’t care if the noise carried. Maybe that sound would give our attackers something to think about. I stuffed the remaining shells in the side pocket of my vest.

I continued to pull together the gear that we needed for our trek. While I worked, Eddie briefed us on our goal. He’d discovered that a place called White Horse Lake lay about 12 miles to the west, northwest, as the buzzard flies. He said it was a small body of water, but looked like it had a campground and maybe a small store.

While there were no trails from Schnebly Tank to the lake, the terrain would not be too difficult once we got over the canyon walls to our west. Eddie said that if we went north up the canyon and away from the ruins, in a mile we’d encounter a saddle. The saddle looked negotiable. It formed a pass of sorts over the canyon to the west.

We’d try to sneak out to the north, then head west. We’d escape and evade our pursuers. We’d go as fast as we could manage, back track, lay false trails, and use every trick we could think of. We’d stand and fight, when we had no other option.

We’d have to travel light. After weapons and ammunition, water was the primary item. I had at least four-and-a-half liters. Eddie had a similar amount. We took another two from Dave’s kit. Father Pat had two.

I carried a device for water purification. The recent rain would have filled tanks between our campsite and White Horse Lake. Water would not be our problem. If we didn’t reach the lake in two days, we’d be dead anyway.

I told the priest that as a non-combatant, he’d carry as much of the water as he could bear. I thought about it for about 20 minutes. We’d take the AK-103. I’d carry it, an extra magazine, the shotgun, and my handguns. It was a load, but I could manage, if Father Pat helped with the water, medical kit, and food.

In the dark, the shotgun was the better weapon. I locked and loaded the AK-103, engaged the safety, folded the stock, and strapped it to my pack. I removed the magazine from my Glock, checked it, confirmed that it was loaded, and reseated it. I re-holstered the automatic in my vest. I stuffed Gretchen’s .38 into my waistband.

We could do nothing for Dave Fleet. I didn’t want to leave his body behind, but we had no choice. If we got out of this ambush, I’d come back for him. I grabbed my rosary and said a decade for his soul.

Eddie secured Fleet’s pistol. He disassembled the other weapons and scattered the parts around the campsite. He unloaded the magazines for the other AKs. Right before we left, he tossed all the rounds that we weren’t taking into the coals of the fire. They wouldn’t cook off, but they’d be too hot to reload.

I had a Trimble Outdoors GPS map application on my iPhone. As I waited for Eddie and Father Pat to adjust their gear, I used the phone’s GPS satellite technology. So far, it had operated flawlessly on the earlier hikes. I found a dark corner, knelt down, pulled the windbreaker over my head, and I took a moment to view the map of Northern Arizona. Since it was digital, I could zoom in and out. I checked out the path that Eddie claimed would get us over the canyon walls and onto the terrain to the west.

The Trimble confirmed Eddie’s analysis. If we could get away from Schnebly Tank, we had a fighting chance to get to White Horse Lake in two days. Either our cell phones would work there, or other campers with vehicles would be there to assist us. I asked Father Pat to say a prayer.

Eddie and I had iPhones. We appropriated Fleet’s smartphone as backup. To preserve the battery, I turned Fleet’s off. Father Pat had a Blackberry of all things. I’d brought a small, portable phone recharger. If we kept our phones off most of the time, and used the recharger, we’d be OK.

We could check our position from time to time, and communicate if we ever found phone service. Otherwise, our fate was in the hands of the rusty map reading and patrolling skills of two long-retired grunts.

God save us,
I thought.