Chapter Sixteen

Brett took a firm grip on the shifter, then moved his hand to the key and shut the car off.

“What now?” Jacie sagged in her seat. The let-down from not storming the fence left her weak. Relieved too, but she wasn’t about to admit that.

“I’m going to try one more thing before we total my car.”

“Too late.”

Brett opened his door.

“You’re no fun, Garrison,” Jacie said.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. No guts, no glory. But no guts on the outside of my body, doesn’t sound all bad. I can live without the glory.”

“Let’s hear the plan.”

“I’ll show you.” Brett got out. There was a clearing on the other side of the fence. On the outside, their side, the brush was cut back in the area they sat and carefully trimmed ten feet on either side of the fence all the way to the tree tops for as far as Jacie could see. She thought of the cost of pruning all this rugged terrain and running that fence through this mountainous territory and decided to march on Washington to suggest a few obvious budget cuts just as soon as she survived her current mess.

The One Woman March.

Brett was rummaging in his trunk, and Jacie wondered how he was going to use a muffler to save them. He emerged with a notebook and a marking pen. Apparently he decided the pen was mightier than the muffler. He walked to the hood of the car and started writing. Jacie got out to look over his shoulder.

In large letters he’d written, ‘We know who killed Bagwell.’ On a second sheet he wrote, ‘Jacie Moreau - Brett Garrison’. On a third he wrote, ‘Going to crash thru fence.’ He grinned at her over his shoulder, then held the first sign up to the video camera.

He stood there at least a full minute, then switched signs. He repeated this until he’d displayed all three of them twice, then he added the word ‘NOW’ to the sign ‘Going to crash thru fence’.

“Stay out, Jace. Stay well back. I’ll knock the fence down and you can pick your way past my sautéed body, and go talk to O’Donnell.”

“Sautéed? That’s French, Brett. Tres chic.”

Brett grinned. “I’ll remember you like French.”

“I hate French.”

Brett rolled his eyes. “I’ll remember that, too. Stand back.”

“This is thrillingly macho of you, Brett,” Jacie said with mock breathlessness as she got in the car.

Brett narrowed his eyes at her. “Sarcasm? Toward the man who’s going to hold your life in his hands for the next few minutes?”

“Why not? If you really understood how cranky I can get, you’d know you’ll always be one wimpy remark away from...” Jacie dropped her voice an octave lower than normal, and did her best Clint Eastwood impression, “...ya feel lucky, punk?”

Brett climbed behind the wheel, then turned to her with a wide-eyed look of worry on his face.

She sighed. “What idiot thing have you decided to be afraid of now?”

“Do you think if a Dirty Harry impersonation turns me on, that means I’m...you know...bent?”

Jacie laughed out loud and buckled up again. Brett switched the car on.

An army-green military vehicle roared up to the fence on the other side. A man, wearing camouflage fatigues, a billed cap and dark glasses, was driving. The military vehicle stopped. The driver lifted an M16 up so they could see it, and aimed it straight at the Camry. An FBI guy, dressed in a black suit exactly like the ones the Long Pine FBI agents wore, climbed out of the military vehicle and unlocked the gate.

“Spears, FBI. Leave your car,” the FBI agent ordered curtly.

Brett muttered to Jacie, “I guess no one’s gonna steal what’s left of it from here.”

“Like you’d be so lucky.” She unbuckled and got out.

They walked through the gate. Spears said, “Up against the car and spread ‘em.”

Brett looked at Jacie and rolled his eyeballs, but he placed both hands on the front hood of the military vehicle and braced his legs apart. The FBI agent frisked him while the driver aimed his gun at a spot between Brett and Jacie.

When the search was finished, Spears said, “Get in the back seat of the vehicle.”

Jacie was next to be searched. Spears ran his hands down her legs, inside and out. Turned her jeans up to inspect her shoes, just like he’d done with Brett. But Jacie knew he was more deliberate, more insulting with his touch.

“While you’re there,” she said, “my back itches.”

The agent slowed his search. She tightened her jaw, and said nothing. She was careful not to look at Brett, because Casper Milquetoast that he was, he had a gallant streak a mile wide. He’d stand up to defend her like a hero and get shot down like a dog.

Jacie, keeping her voice low enough that Brett couldn’t hear, spoke over her shoulder, “Spears, I’m about one overly familiar touch away from throwing in with the Loona-Bomber and blowing this place sky high. Get your hands off of me.”

The agent stood away from her, and shoved her with unnecessary roughness. “Front seat, Miss Moreau.”

She climbed in. Glancing at Brett, she saw his eyes narrowed and angry. He’d seen the whole demeaning search and wanted to punch somebody. And the fact that he’d done nothing made him a wimp, at least in his own mind. She wanted to hug him and assure him she’d administer all the violence for both of them—using only her mouth. Instead she sat down and, when Spears was beside Brett and had the door shut, the driver tore around in a circle in the little clearing throwing everyone hard to the right, kicking up a storm of dust.

This road was only slightly better than the one they’d followed through the woods, but their driver seemed to think he wasn’t a man if he didn’t drive fast. Even at that speed, it was half an hour before the woods started thinning. In an occasional gap in the trees, Jacie could see snowcapped mountains. They passed a stable on which a fortune had been spent to make it look old. A herd of sleek, brown thoroughbreds grazed in a huge pasture behind it. Several armed men moved around the stable.

They drove into a vast sun-washed valley, separating one mountain peak from another. In the center of the valley rested a huge, low-slung log cabin that was so perfectly designed and landscaped, the president could bring all his world dictator buddies here to offer them billions of dollars to stop shooting each other.

The military vehicle was traveling too fast, and the driver waited until the last possible moment to slam on the brakes. When they quit skidding, Jacie unbuckled her seat belt and got out without waiting to be ordered, which felt like living on the wild side. Brett came around the car and stood beside her. Agent Womack came out of the lodge with his normal high energy set on overload.

Brett spoke so Jacie could barely hear, “Whoever ratted us out to the Loona-Bomber would be sure to survive the explosion. I nominate Womack.”

Kaplan came out a few seconds later.

“Or not,” Brett said.

Kaplan strode directly toward them, while Womack stayed back fidgeting. The military vehicle driver was back to aiming at them. Jacie spotted two snipers in a blind, high in a nearby copse of trees.

“So, who killed Bagwell?” Kaplan asked in a voice as cool as his demeanor.

Jacie was busy trying to pick gunmen out of the landscape like a life or death version of ‘Where’s Waldo.’

“We don’t know. I just wrote that to make you open the gate.” Brett crossed his arms and leaned against the military vehicle’s front fender.

Kaplan ripped his sunglasses off. When she saw his eyes she realized that, behind his calm, he was furious. Jacie almost believe he hadn’t set them up to die.

“Weren’t you going to open it?” she asked Kaplan. “I thought we were in protective custody? Were you planning to let us sit out there forever?”

Kaplan lashed out at her, “Three agents died in an explosion in Long Pine. You two disappeared minutes before the blast. We have an APB out on you.”

“We didn’t know...” Brett said.

“You’re under arrest for three counts of premeditated murder,” Kaplan spoke over the top of Brett’s protest.

“Three counts of pre...” Jacie sputtered.

“Conspiracy to commit murder. Weapons charges.” Womack shoved himself in front of Kaplan like he’d been fighting to stay back and had lost the fight.

Brett stepped toward Womack. “Now wait just a minute.”

Kaplan pulled handcuffs out of his suit pocket. His temper was under control, and he started reciting charges with icy reserve. “Assault with a deadly weapon. Possession of a restricted weapon—C4. Crossing state lines while fleeing to escape arrest. By the time we’re done, we’re going to place the deaths of the four researchers directly on your heads.”

He spun Brett around with a force that belied his chilly expression, shoved him against the military vehicle and snapped the cuffs on. Jacie heard Brett’s breath rush out of him with a dull oomph as he hit the vehicle.

Jacie got identical treatment and, when her stomach slammed against the military vehicle’s front fender, she looked sideways at Brett who was right beside her.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Kaplan and Womack were taking turns spewing out criminal charges against them.

Jacie shrugged. “They’ve got a good theory.”

“It’s a stupid theory. Maybe we left the bunker at a suspicious time, but this means they think we killed Ruffing in Austin while we were in FBI custody.” Brett spoke normally, like there weren’t two snarling agents behind him, and Spears wasn’t leaning against the military vehicle’s front passenger’s side door smirking at the rough treatment.

“The Loona-Bomber could be an accomplice, though,” Jacie pointed out.

“So, they think you let him blow you up, knowing you’d land in the swimming pool and survive?” Brett shook his head.

“They’re just mad. I don’t blame them really.”

“That’s no excuse for him...” Brett tipped his head at Spears, “...to touch you the way he did.”

“Don’t go off half-cocked, Garrison. I can take it.” Jacie was jerked around so she faced forward.

“You listen to me when I’m talking to you.” Womack leaned toward her until their noses almost touched.

“You’re a smoker aren’t you?” Jacie grimaced.

Brett laughed.

Womack ignored the question and jabbed his finger in her face, nearly bouncing with fury.

Jacie turned to Brett, who was facing forward now, too. “They can easily check our whereabouts for the Miami and Sacramento murders. Especially you, you see patients all day everyday. They’re just upset about their friends being killed. I had a busy week, too. I’ve got a solid alibi.”

Womack grabbed her by the chin, and forced her to face straight forward. “I told you to quit talking.”

Womack’s clutching fingers tightened in a muscle spasm. His eyes glazed over. His knees when out from under him and he crumpled to the ground. Jacie watched him sink with no idea what happened to him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kaplan collapse. She looked at Brett and saw the uncontained fury on his face.

Brett leaned through the open window, jerked the M16 out of the driver’s hands, and tossed it about fifteen yards away. He hammered the heel of his hand into Spears’ chest and executed a spin kick that slammed Spears against the military vehicle.

Brett landed on one foot then jumped into the air and kicked the stunned agent in the jaw. Spears dropped like a stone.

It was over before Jacie had realized what was going on.

Jacie remembered the snipers and looked frantically at the treetops. One of them had finally noticed Brett’s stunning assault and brought his rifle around.

Brett waved both hands high in the air and hollered, “Don’t shoot. I just needed to get their attention, I’m not going to hurt them.”

Which, considering they were all three unconscious on the ground, was a flat out lie.

Then Brett turned his back on the snipers, kept his hands where they could be seen by resting them on the top of the window and poked his head in the window like a neighbor taking time to chat. He said amicably to the driver, “We didn’t kill anyone.”

“Now?” The driver shook his head like he was coming out of a daze. “Or back in Long Pine?”

“Well,” Brett said humbly, “neither. But I’m talking about the things they’re accusing us of. We’d appreciate it if someone would do us the courtesy of listening to us, instead of just screaming in our faces.”

Jacie tried to remember actually seeing Brett hit anyone except Spears. She might have caught a blurred impression of his hand reaching between her and Womack, but she wasn’t sure. She’d missed whatever he did to Kaplan completely. How had he disabled three highly-trained federal agents, without bringing sniper fire down on their heads? And what else did he know how to do he wasn’t telling her? And what about...

“Where are your handcuffs?” That was actually about the tenth question Jacie wanted to ask him. But it was the first one that forced its way past her lips.

“I picked them.” He lifted his left wrist and he still had the fastened handcuff dangling from that one.

The driver was out of the car and circling the front of it. He had his sidearm drawn and pointed at them.

“Sorry,” Brett said with a sheepish grin. “They were being too rough with Jacie. I lost my temper. Sorry.”

Jacie sagged against the military vehicle between the driver and Brett. She didn’t know anything about this man she thought she was falling in love with.

Womack groaned and started coughing like he might throw up. From the way he was holding his chest, Jacie thought that blurred image of Brett’s hand must have been a blow landing in Womack’s solar plexus.

“I didn’t care for their behavior myself,” the driver said, holstering his weapon. He jerked his head at the agent near the back of the pickup. “I especially didn’t like the way he treated you, Miss Moreau. I’ve only been on duty with Spears for a few days, so I don’t know if he thought you were responsible for the death of an agent and that prompted his crude actions, or if he’s just a scumball. Either way I’m filing a report. Let’s go inside. I’ll make some coffee and you can tell me what’s going on.”

“Is O’Donnell here?” Brett asked.

“Why?” the soldier asked with a narrow-eyed frown.

Jacie wanted to jump in and reassure the soldier that they came in peace. But she couldn’t take her eyes off the disabled agents. Kaplan stirred and held himself in a highly personal way that answered another of Jacie’s questions about what Brett had done.

“We think O’Donnell may know why these murders are being committed,” Brett said. “We drove here from Long Pine and on the way, we developed a theory that’s a little outside the box. We’d like to talk to him.”

Jacie let him do all the talking because she was busy letting a new image of Brett develop in her mind.

“All right, let’s let the gung-ho Fibbies regain consciousness, then we’ll see about O’Donnell. C’mon in. Wait’ll you see the coffee maker in this joint.” The driver grinned. “Have you had lunch?”

“No, we’re starved. It took forever to drive here.” Brett grabbed Jacie by the arm, her hands still cuffed behind her back, and guided her toward the lodge. “We didn’t exactly hurry after the explosion at the safe-house. We were getting acquainted.”

The driver winked. “Nuff said.” Then he and Brett joined in a hearty laugh.

Jacie was sure she should be telling Brett and the driver to shut up—in the meanest terms possible. Instead she looked over her shoulder at the three agents on the ground. Two of them were writhing now. The third, Spears, who’d frisked her, was still out cold.

The driver stopped suddenly on the top step of the porch, and turned to Brett. “You drove here? Man, there’s no road to this place.”

“Tell me about it,” Brett shook his head. “My Camry’s toast.”

“Brett?”

“What, honey?”

She tore her eyes away from the injured men. She pointed over her shoulder with her chin. “That wasn’t very nice.”

He rubbed her arm as if he thought she might be cold. “Did I mention Gormantech gave out yearly martial arts, boxing and hand-to-hand combat medals? I was champion both years, including all around.”

Jacie went back to staring behind her as Brett dragged her along. “I think I would have remembered that.”

“Two time champ?” The driver whistled.

“Did they give you perfect tens?”

Instead of answering, Brett pulled her up the porch steps.

“Brett, you still haven’t taken my handcuffs off.”

He arched an eyebrow at her, then towed her through the door, kicking it shut behind them.