Kerry dropped his gaze and hesitated.
“Get,” Larson ordered sternly. “Do as you’re told.”
Kerry turned, stepped away, stopped, and looked back, his expression like that of a crestfallen puppy.
“Go,” Larson repeated, more severely.
Reluctantly, Kerry walked away, headed back the way he’d come. Larson watched him for a few minutes before mounting up. He turned the chestnut toward the mouth of the valley, where he had spotted a ledge about two hundred feet up the side of the mountain that would give him cover and a great vantage point. That was where he would make his stand.
He looked back once in Kerry’s direction. He was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he was hiding in the woods waiting to see what happened and would still manage to get himself killed before the day was out.
Larson decided he couldn’t worry about Kerry anymore. For a time, he had honestly believed that killing him would have been as easy as pie. But when he’d tried to work himself up to pulling the trigger, he’d realized that it just wasn’t in him.
The sound of a rifle shot brought Kerney and Clayton to a full stop. The second shot got them out of their saddles and moving cautiously on foot up the jeep track. Just shy of the crest, they dropped down and belly-crawled to a mountaintop shelf shaded by the broad branches of a tall pine tree. They scanned the valley floor and surrounding peaks using binoculars. Below, a small herd of buffalo moved slowly inside a fence that ringed the confined basin. Above, a pair of ravens floated on thermals in the cloudless midday sky.
“See anything?” Kerney whispered.
Clayton shook his head. “Other than a bunch of buffalo in a used-up dust bowl, nothing.”
“Me neither. He could be right below us, or off to one side or the other.”
Clayton put his binoculars aside and turned over on his back. “So other than us becoming targets for him to shoot at, how do we get him to make his play?”
“We could ask him pretty please to give up,” Kerney said as he turned on his side to face Clayton. “Or better yet, we could ask Kerry to ask him to give up. That’s assuming Kerry is still alive after finding his brother.”
“And here I thought you missed those fresh footprints we passed on the jeep track,” Clayton replied with a hint of approval in his voice.
“Not likely.” Kerney returned to scanning with his binoculars. “Let’s assume Kerry has joined up with his brother. That might not be the case, but I’d rather err on the side of caution.”
“Agreed.” Clayton flipped back on his stomach. “So how do we smoke them out?”
“You stay here while I move to the other side of the valley. Once I’m on the ridge across from you with a good line of sight into the basin, I’ll have the chopper bring in the SWAT team. That should get both brothers’ attention.”
“There’s no cover down there,” Clayton said.
“I’ll tell Vanmeter to have the team treat it as a hot LZ.” Kerney pointed to a small clearing outside the fence line, near a stand of trees. “If the pilot lands the bird there, the team can get to cover quickly. Once they flush our targets or draw their fire, we can take our best shots.”
Clayton nodded. “Ten-four. You stay here. I’ll head over to the other side.”
“No, you won’t,” Kerney said as he started to crawl back away from the shelf. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been walking, and don’t tell me it doesn’t hurt like hell. You probably tore a ligament when that horse fell on you. Maybe you even cracked a bone. Stay put and stay alert.”
At the mouth of the cave, Kerry Larson removed the scope from his rifle, stretched out behind the branches of the mahogany bush, and quickly spotted Craig working his way up the mountainside riding the chestnut horse. The trees rose straight up on the rocky, steep slope, and twice the chestnut slipped badly and sunk to its haunches as it scrambled around a tall pine.
Finally, Craig got out of the saddle and led the horse up to a ledge where they disappeared for a minute into heavy timber. When Craig came back on foot, he was carrying two long guns and a bag. He leaned the rifles against a large, jagged rock and took boxes of ammunition and two handguns out of the bag. Kerry couldn’t see Craig anymore after he settled down behind the rock, but he could see the faint swishing of the horse’s tail in the trees behind him; a sure giveaway sign for anyone with a pair of binoculars and a keen eye.
Kerry used the scope to search either side of the jeep track that dropped over the crest to the valley below. It was the only way in, short of breaking a new trail, which would be pretty much impossible to do without chain saws, bulldozers, and a crew of twenty men. When the cops came, they would come that way.
For a moment Kerry thought he saw a quick movement on a shelf off to one side of the track. He held the scope steady on the spot but the only things moving were tree branches in the gusty wind.
The question of what he should do when the cops came pounded through his head, over and over. Help Craig? Help the cops?
Sometimes, when he couldn’t get something figured out, he used a trick he’d learned as a child to clear his mind. He put the scope back on his rifle, crawled into the cave, sat, folded his arms across his chest, closed his eyes, and rocked back and forth.
It took Kerney more than an hour to hike through the forest and find a good location with a sweeping view of the valley. He scanned for Craig Larson and his brother before plugging his headset into his handheld radio and reporting his position to Clayton.
“Okay,” Clayton replied after a brief pause. “I’ve got your twenty. Any sign of our targets?”
“I thought I saw some movement in among the trees behind an outcropping, but I can’t be sure.”
“What if Kerry Larson didn’t come here to join up with his brother?” Clayton asked. “And if he is here, how are we going to tell the twins apart?”
“Good questions. Once SWAT lands and finds cover, we’ll have the team leader broadcast an appeal asking Kerry to stay out of harm’s way. I’m calling SWAT in now. Stay alert. Put down suppressing fire if one or both of them go after the chopper.”
“Ten-four.”
Kerney made the call and Vanmeter gave him a five-minute ETA. When he heard the approaching chopper, the sound of the rotors and the threat of Craig Larson out there somewhere, armed and dangerous, put Kerney back into the Vietnam jungle for an instant. He shook off the flashback just as the bird crested the mountain and dropped quickly toward the LZ.
Larson fired twice at the helicopter before Kerney spotted him on the outcropping he’d scanned a few minutes earlier. He zeroed in his Browning rifle and squeezed off three quick rounds. Across the way, Clayton, who had no line of sight, held his fire.
“Where is he?” Clayton asked.
Larson fired again at the descending chopper and ducked behind the large boulder. Kerney’s bullets ricocheted and splintered into shrapnel off the rock face.
“He’s about a quarter mile on your right and two hundred feet down. He’s on a rock outcropping behind a boulder.”
“I can’t see it from here. I’m moving.”
Larson’s next bullet cut the air six inches above Kerney’s head before it tore into a tree trunk. Kerney scooted back to cover.
“Keep in sight,” Kerney answered, “and I’ll guide you into position. Larson can’t see you.”
“Any sign of Kerry?”
“Negative.”
Larson rose up and fired once more at the chopper as it landed, and Kerney’s bullet creased the boulder next to his head. Larson answered with a shot that blew rock fragments off the spot Kerney had just vacated. He responded with suppressing fire that kept Larson’s rifle silent while the SWAT team made it to the cover of the trees.
