Prey (13 page)

The sound of a horn honking up the street caused them to turn their heads. A man and woman walked out of the motel restaurant and paused by Stormy and Ki. “Well,” the woman said, “I guess the Speaker of the House has arrived.”

We must remember not to judge any public servant by any one act, and especially should we beware of attacking the men who are merely the occasions and not the causes of disaster.

—Theodore Roosevelt

Congressman Cliff Madison stopped at the mayor's office for some glad-handing and was immediately surrounded by reporters. Ki and Stormy were there, filming, but Stormy asked no questions. That would come later, for she had already requested and received a block of the Speaker's time later on. That is, Stormy thought glumly, providing the Speaker's time has not run out.

Since the Coyote Network had taken a decidedly conservative stance in news reporting, conservative politicians always found time for any reporter from Coyote.

Stormy had been covering politicians for years, and she noticed immediately that security was very tight. There were agents on rooftops with rifles, and a helicopter slowly circled the area. Looking around, she saw Barry sitting on the tailgate of his truck, and leaving Ki to film, she walked over to him.

“Big doings,” Barry said with a smile.

“Security is tight.”

“John isn't here. I just left him on the lake. He's fishing, and looks as though he plans to stay out for quite some time.”

“You went out there twice today?”

“Yes. The sheriff has two men watching him at all times, and I'll bet that after Don talked to the feds, John will be blanketed with agents. Not that it will do any good.”

“Well, there he goes,” Stormy said, pointing. “Off to his cabin on the lake.”

They stood and watched the caravan of vehicles pull away from the courthouse square and head out of town. Moments later, the town had settled down to its normal routine.

Ki strolled over and leaned against the bed of the truck. “As much security around the Speaker as around the president,” she remarked.

“I imagine the president ordered it,” Barry said. “According to what I read in the papers, they're old friends. But with the president making this surprise trip, the coup planners have had to do some sudden changing of plans.”

“What do you mean?” Stormy asked.

“I told you I thought the president was the main target in this plot. I don't know what the plan was, of course, but let's say it was to hit him at his home in Ohio. Now all that's had to be revised. According to the papers, he's flying to Little Rock directly from Washington, then leaving from this area for his vacation out west. Hitting him here would be the logical choice, considering all that has happened; two birds with one stone, so to speak.”

“You think the feds have put all that together?” Ki asked.

“I would certainly hope so.”

“And if they haven't?” Stormy asked.

Barry shrugged his shoulders. “It's going to get real interesting around here.”

“Perhaps we should tell the Secret Service and the FBI about those suspicions.” Ki suggested.

Barry smiled. “And when you do, they'll be very interested in how you reached that conclusion.”

“Yeah,” the woman said slowly. “I see what you mean.”

“I just hope the president does not take a helicopter from Little Rock up here,” Barry said softly.

“Why not?” Stormy asked. “That's the way he usually travels on short hops.”

“A helicopter is easy to bring down. It would only take one nut with a shoulder-fired SAM to bring down the chopper.”

“I did a report a couple of years ago on how easy it is to get one of those things,” Stormy said. “Jesus Christ, Barry. Do you think . . . ?”

Barry held up a hand. “It's a possibility, that's all. As far as I know, it's never been tried. But there is always a first time for everything.”

“Ravenna could get one of those SAMs, couldn't he?” Ki asked.

“As easily as snapping his fingers,” Barry said. “He's got contacts all over the world.”

“And has had a thousand years to develop them,” Stormy said drily.

“You want to hear more bad news?” Barry asked.

“Why not?” the women said.

“Some of those contacts are immortals.”

* * *

The feds got a search warrant and served it on Victor Radford. When ten agents in two cars and a van pulled out of the motel parking lot, Stormy and Ki followed them straight to Victor's compound. Ki jumped out filming.

“Just stay back, ladies,” one agent shouted.

“Oh, hell, no!” Vic hollered. “Come on in, ladies. This is my property. You're welcome. Please come in. I want you to see your government at work.”

“Goddammit!” one FBI man muttered.

Inspector Van Brocklen held up a warning hand. “Stay back, ladies. We're in the process of serving a federal warrant. String that tape!” he shouted to another agent, then turned to the Coyote Network crew. “Stay back of the tape, ladies. Please.”

Stormy nodded, and she and Ki remained behind the warning tape.

Stormy had no idea what was being said by the federal agents on the other side of the tape, but whatever it was, Vic Radford wasn't taking it well. She and Ki could hear him shouting.

A dozen or so of Vic's followers drove up in cars and trucks, and the federal agents had to warn them repeatedly to stay behind the tape.

“Why aren't you filming this?” one of the men shouted to the Coyote Network crew.

“Yeah!” another shouted. “What's the matter, are we the wrong color?”

Ki started to lift her camera. “Forget it,” Stormy said.

Several of the men started making chicken-clucking sounds.

“On second thought,” Stormy whispered.

“Right,” Ki said, and clicked on her camera as Stormy picked up the mike and headed toward the knot of red-faced, angry men gathered by the road.

The hen-house sounds stopped abruptly as the women approached, and the men began casting wary glances at each other.

Stormy walked up to one pus-gutted man with a mouthful of teeth that looked as though they would be more at home on a well-used garden rake. “Do you know why federal agents are serving a federal warrant on this man, sir?” she asked.

“Hell, yes, I do!” the man blustered. “ 'Cause we won't kowtow to them damn communist politicians in Washington, that's why. 'Cause we believe in the right to keep and bear arms. And 'cause we believe in the purity of the races.”

Stormy knew how easy it would be to make this man look like the fool he obviously was, but Coyote reporters didn't play that game, except with politicians. Before she could frame another question, a shout came from the men gathered by the tape. “Hey, they got Vic in handcuffs!”

Ki swung the camera. A violently struggling Vic Radford was red-faced and cussing the agents. Each agent had a firm grip on Vic, left and right arm.

“Hang in there, Vic!” one of the men by the road shouted.

“We'll get you out, Vic!” another yelled.

The men started chanting,
“Sieg heil, Sieg heil!”

Stormy and Inspector Van Brocklen exchanged brief silent glances seconds before Vic Radford was placed in the van, and two agents drove away with the still cussing and shouting prisoner.

“See where they take him!” a man shouted, pointing at two men sitting in a pickup truck. “Go!”

The pickup sped after the van.

The other agents quickly stepped behind the tape and walked back toward the house, refusing to acknowledge any questions shouted at them by Radford's followers.

After a moment, Van Brocklen walked out of the house and motioned for Stormy and Ki to approach. An agent lifted the tape, and the Coyote crew walked up the hard-packed gravel drive.

“I have a statement for you,” the inspector said. “When you are ready.”

“Go,” Ki said, swinging the camera to her shoulder. Van Brocklen said, “Acting under orders from the attorney general of the United States, agents of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Secret Service, and Federal Marshal's Service attempted to serve a search warrant upon the person and premises of Victor Radford. Mr. Radford became verbally abusive and physically violent and began fighting. He struck two agents with his fists and was immediately taken into custody. He will be charged with resisting arrest and battery upon a federal officer.”

“What were you searching for, Inspector Van Brocklen?” Stormy asked.

“Illegal weapons.”

“Did you find any illegal weapons?”

“We have found several weapons we believe have been converted from semiautomatic to fully automatic.”

“But you don't know that for a fact?”

Van Brocklen's look was not friendly. “Not until we fire them, Ms. Knight.”

“Would you grant us permission to be present when the test firing is performed?”

“I don't have that authority.”

“Where do we get that permission?”

“I'll have to get back to you on that.”

“There ain't no goddamn automatic weapons in that house!” a man yelled from the road. “I know every weapon in that house. This ain't nothin' but a damn setup by the government. That's all it is.”

Inspector Van Brocklen stepped out of the house, carrying what many referred to as an assault rifle. He walked halfway down the drive, stopped, pointed the muzzle to the sky and pulled the trigger. A second and a half later, he had blown a thirty-round magazine into the air.

“Holy shit!” one bystander said. “I never knew Vic had nothin' like that.”

“Them feds must have toted that gun in yonder,” another said defensively.

“No, they didn't,” Stormy corrected. “We watched and filmed their every move.”

“Thank you, Ms. Knight,” Van Brocklen said. “Please don't lose that film.”

“We won't,” Ki assured him.

The women looked at each other. “What happens now?” Stormy asked.

* * *

“We break him out,” Alex Tarver told his group of skinheads. “Then we can start planning the revolution.”

“What revolution?” George Willis asked. George was not the swiftest person, mentally speaking.

“The revolution we've been talkin' about for months,” Jason Asken told him.

“Oh!” George said.

“When do we do it?” Lorrie Morrow asked.

“Tonight,” Alex said. “The feds won't be expectin' anything this soon.”

“People are gonna get hurt, maybe kilt,” Phil Allen pointed out.

“Does that bother anybody?” Alex asked, looking around him at the faces of his group.

The young men and women all shrugged their indifference.

“Fine. We go tonight.”

* * *

“I ain't gonna stand for this,” Tom Devers said, popping open another beer. “I just ain't a-gonna stand for it.”

Noble Osgood stared at him for a moment. “What have you got in mind, Tom?”

“Bustin' Vic out of jail.”

“And then what?” David Jackson asked.

“Vic'll think of something. Maybe even start the revolution.”

Hal Chilton looked at each of the men gathered in the woods west of town. “That ain't for us to say, boys.”

Paul Crenshaw nodded his head. “But Vic's been talkin' about it. He's been in contact with other groups around the nation.”

“We bust Vic out of the bucket, we won't have no choice in the matter. We'll have to start it,” another ventured.

“I got an idea,” Tillman Morris said. “Let's coordinate this with the skinheads. Alex's a reasonable guy and he's got some sense. ‘Sides, he might be thinkin' of doing the same thing. We don't want to get all balled up here.”

“I can't stand them goofy-actin' bunch of nuts in Alex's group,” John Hammit said. “I think they're all about two bricks shy of a load.”

“They're unpredictable, for a fact,” Bert Landers said. “And I don't think they's a one of them that has yet to reach age twenty-one.”

“So we use them for cannon fodder,” Tom Devers replied with a dirty grin.

“What do you mean?” Sam Evans asked. Sam was not real quick when it came to thinking, or anything else for that matter, except for beating his wife, which he did on a regular basis. Whether she deserved it or not, was Sam's favorite saying.

“I'll explain it to you later, Sam,” Tom told him.

“Oh. Okay.”

“When do you want to do this?” Tillman asked.

“I'll go see Alex right now. But the sooner the better, I say.”

“Hell, it might be tonight,” Noble said with a smile. “I'll go home and get my guns.”

“Hell, yes!” the rest of the group shouted, followed by,
“Sieg heil! Sieg heil!”

“We don't want to give these people any excuse to start trouble, ” the attorney general told Inspector Van Brocklen. “Not while the Speaker is in the area and the president is due in a few days. The situation is volatile enough as it is. Bail has been set. If he can make it, release him.”

“Yes, sir.”

It was late in the day when Vic walked out of the local jail, still mad as a hornet. He waited for a few moments, looking around; but none of his people were there to meet him, and that made him still angrier. He hitched a ride to his home, and none of his people were there, either. Furious, Vic began making calls to members of his group. He could not make contact with anyone.

“Well, where in the hell is everyone?” he shouted to a blown-up poster of his idol, Adolf Hitler.

In the woods outside of town, a group of men met, planning Vic's breakout from jail.

Disgusted, Vic fixed a tall, stiff drink and sat down in his favorite recliner. He drank his whiskey and water and fixed another, just as strong as the first. It wasn't long before Vic had a buzz on. After his third very strong drink, Vic grew sleepy and leaned back in the chair. He was soon asleep, dreaming of a nation filled with the master race; all inferiors were slaves, doing their bidding.

* * *

Barry watched John Ravenna fish for a time, then returned to his house. He knew John was aware of his presence and also of the several carloads of feds getting into place at various locations around the lake. He was convinced that John would pull some stunt this day, but he didn't know what. Barry puttered around his house the rest of the day. It was after five when Stormy returned; and Barry fixed them drinks and they sat in the den, watching the Coyote Evening News.

During a commercial break, Barry asked, “And you heard that Vic was about to be released?”

She nodded her head. “He should be out by now. He swears he did not know that rifle was fully automatic. Of course, no one believes him.”

“They probably figured that holding him would only cause more trouble, and they don't want that, with Congressman Madison in the area and the president coming in.” Barry sipped his drink and grimaced at the commercial on the screen, featuring dancing underwear. “Progress is certainly a wonderful thing,” he muttered.

“Did you say something?” Stormy asked.

“Ah ... no. Is Ki coming over for dinner?”

“No. She's beat. Said she was going to take a long, hot bath, have an early dinner, and hit the sack.”

“My goodness,” Barry said with a smile. “Whatever will we do to pass the time?”

“I'm sure we can think of something.”

“No doubt.”

The ringing of the phone cut into the growing mood like a hot knife through butter. With a sigh, Barry rose from his chair and picked up the receiver. “Hi, Don. Oh? Well, I told you that would happen. You sure about this? Okay. I'll be ready.”

He hung up and turned to Stormy. “Ravenna has slipped his watchers, just as I said he would.”

“And the sheriff wants you to find him?”

“You got it.”

She smiled. “I'll be waiting.”

“Definitely a point to keep in mind.”

* * *

Barry looked up at the sky as he stood on the front porch. About an hour and a half of good daylight left. Ravenna's sudden shaking of the feds didn't alarm him; this was still only a game to John. He was playing with them.

It was deadly play, to be sure, if the agents got too close to him. But still just a game to John.

Before leaving the house, Barry had spoken silently to the hybrids. They would guard Stormy with their lives. He drove into town and linked up with Don at the sheriff's office, climbing into Don's unit.

“Ravenna's playing with you, Don,” he said, closing the door. “He knows you're onto him, and this is his way of showing you his contempt.”

The sheriff looked skeptical.

“Believe me, Don. I've seen him do this many, many times over the years.”

“Macabre sense of humor,” the sheriff grunted.

“Oh, more than you know, Don. Much more than you know.”

The sheriff pulled away from the lighted parking area and into the road.

“Did you tell the feds anything about me, Don?”

“Good God, no! But I did tell Chief Monroe.”

“And what was his reaction?”

“Unbelieving, at first. But now I think he's about half-convinced. Says he is.” He cut his eyes to Barry. “Where do you want to start?”

“Where was he last seen?”

“In his backyard. One second he was visible then he was gone. Agents entered the home, but he was not there. He just vanished.”

“Shape-shifted.”

“You said he doesn't, ah, shape-shift into a wolf. What does he change into?”

“Something very unpleasant. But something very dangerous. Very strong, very quick.”

“Sheriff?” the voice jumped out of the speaker.

Don picked up and keyed the mike. “Go.”

“B10 reports, ah, well, he's on Haney Road just south of 375. You'd better get over there. I don't want to get on the air with this.”

Don hesitated, then said, “That's ten-four. Rolling.”

“What is it?” Barry asked.

“Something dispatch doesn't want the scanner freaks to hear. And that usually means it's grim.”

It was a body, lying just off the blacktop near a clump of woods, and it was worse than grim. The face was gone, the throat had been torn out, and the stomach had been ripped open, leaving the intestines scattered about. One young deputy had already lost his supper at the sight.

“Go over to your unit and sit down, Jimmy,” Don told the young man, as he pulled on a pair of rubber gloves. “And puking at something like this is no disgrace. We've all done it.”

The other deputies glanced at Barry, wondering about his presence, but said nothing. Who the sheriff hauled around in his unit was his business.

“What the hell kind of animal did this?” Don asked, kneeling down by the mangled body. “It looks like the neck was broken.” He gently touched the head. It wobbled loosely.

“It was done within the hour,” a deputy said. “Rigor mortis has not yet set in.”

“A pack of wild dogs?” another deputy ventured.

“No,” Don said, shaking his head. He pointed to the ground. “Just one set of tracks. But if it's a dog, it's got to be the biggest damn dog I've ever seen.” He glanced up at Barry. Barry's face was expressionless.

“There was no ID on the body, Sheriff,” the first deputy on the scene said. “And I couldn't find any wallet in the first search.”

“Does anybody have any idea who this might be?” Don asked, standing up.

“Hard to tell without a face, Sheriff. But what the hell happened to the face? It looks like it was just ripped off.”

“Maybe it was eaten?” another deputy opined.

“Oh, shit!” The young deputy who had lost his supper had returned to stand with the others. He hurriedly exited the scene. Again.

Don looked up at his chief deputy, who had been the second officer on the scene and so far had said nothing. “What do you think, Steve?”

The older man shook his head. “I've never seen anything like it. I don't know what to think.” He pointed to the ground. “Those tracks belong to the dog family, for sure. Only different. Look how they're sunk into the ground. This animal must weigh close to two hundred pounds. There are no dogs around here that size. I've never even
seen
a dog that large.”

“All right,” Don said. “Steve, use the cell phone in your unit and call Inspector Van Brocklen at the motel. Ask him as a favor to come out here ASAP.”

“Right.”

Don cut his eyes to Barry. “You want to stick around?”

“Might as well.”

“You don't seem too upset by this.”

“I've seen worse.”

“Jesus, where?” a deputy asked.

Where indeed? Barry thought. How about hundreds of men and women impaled on stakes by Vlad the Impaler? How about human beings drawn and quartered until their limbs were torn from them? Men and women dragged to death. Name it, young man, and I've damn sure seen it over the long and bloody years as the world made its slow march toward more civilized behavior.

“Van Brocklen's on his way,” Steve called.

Don nodded. Deputies began taking pictures of the mangled body, and Don and Barry leaned against the sheriff's unit, waiting for the Bureau to show. They didn't have a long wait.

The inspector took one look at Barry and said, “What's he doing here?”

“He was riding with me when I got the call. He's all right.”

Van Brocklen grunted and walked over to the body. “Good Lord! What happened to this poor bastard?”

“It looks like some sort of animal attack,” Don said.

“What kind of animal, a man-eating tiger?”

“We were hoping you could tell us.”

Van Brocklen shook his head. “Have you established the identity of the victim?”

“No. And there was nothing in the pockets. There have been no carnivals or circuses through here; no reports of missing animals.”

“Anyone reported missing?”

“No.”

An ambulance moaned up, and the county coroner stepped out. He took one look at the body and said, “Jesus Christ!”

“I have to ask this, Dr. Varner,” Don said. “Do you recognize the man?”

“No. What the hell happened to him?”

“Some sort of animal attack, we believe.”

The deputies had taken both casts and pictures of the tracks around the body.

“Just one animal?” the doctor asked.

“Only one set of tracks around the body.”

“Are you people through here?”

“Yes. You can have the body.”

Dr. Varner was kneeling beside the mangled corpse. “An animal with very strong jaws and large teeth did this,” he said. “This arm has been crushed, the bone shattered. No domestic animal did this. This was not done by a dog.”

“A wolf, perhaps?” Van Brocklen asked. He looked at Barry. “Or a hybrid wolf.”

The coroner shook his head. “No. I doubt that very much.” Using tweezers, he was carefully picking strands of very coarse hair off the body and putting them in a plastic bag. He closed the bag securely and held it out to Don. “Can you dispatch a deputy to the university with these? See Professor Garrison. He'll identify the hair.”

“Right now,” Don said, taking the evidence bag and handing it to a deputy. “Go.”

Inspector Van Brocklen pulled the sheriff off to one side and spoke in low tones for a moment. Then the inspector walked to his vehicle and drove off. Sheriff Salter returned to the knot of men around the body.

“Still no sign of Ravenna,” Don said to Barry. “The man just vanished.”

“Not really,” Barry told him. “Are we through here?”

“Oh, yes. My deputies will secure the area and begin an evidence search. Why?”

“Let's take a ride.”

“Why? You know something I don't?”

Barry smiled.

“Forget I asked that,” Don said wearily. “Of course you do. Come on.”

Rolling away from the death scene, Don said, “What's on your mind, Barry?”

“Ravenna killed that man back there, Don. I don't know why; perhaps the man startled him while he was his Other. But that was Ravenna's work. No doubt about it. I've seen his work many times before.”

The sheriff looked doubtful. “The coroner said it wasn't a wolf that killed him.”

“He's right. Ravenna does not shape-shift into a wolf. He can only become a hyena.”

Don almost ran off the road at that. He quickly corrected his path and cut his eyes to Barry. “A hyena? You mean one of those big ugly African things? A scavenger?”

“Yes. Very big, and very dangerous. Capable of crushing a large bone with one snap of his jaws.”

“This Professor Garrison will be able to identify the hair, won't he?”

“Very quickly.”

The sheriff sighed. “We've got to sit on this. News of this gets out, every redneck in three counties will be out in the woods blasting away at anything that moves.” He was silent for a mile. “Barry? When this is over, will you do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Would you consider moving?”