Crown's Law (44 page)

“You could say that,” shrugged Sam as he
sipped his drink. “I survived, so will Bo. She’s quite a
woman.”

“Yeah, she is.” After a beat, “You’re the
first man she’s brought to one of these shindigs in years.”

“Then I feel honored,” grinned Sam.

Silence.

Finally Sam spoke. “I can tell you’re dying
to interrogate me, Billy, but Bo told you that if you did she’d
kick your ass. Right?”

Billy looked at Sam, finally smiled. “Yeah.
You are a good detective.”

“Elementary, my dear Watson. You’re the big
brother, always will be, and you don’t want anyone causing little
sister any hurt.”

“Something like that. Look at her. I’ve never
seen her this happy. I’d hate to see her lose that glow.”

“Your concern for your sister is admirable,
but probably unwanted by her in this particular case. Tell you
what. Since you can’t question me, let me do it for you. That way
you won’t get in trouble with Bo. ‘Are you sleeping with my
sister?’ Answer: ‘Your sister’s sex life is none of your business.
And mine certainly isn’t.’ ‘What are your intentions toward my
sister?’ A concept that went away in the sixties, but I’ll answer
it partially. I intend to continue treating her as the fine lady
she is. I’m here at this ‘shindig’, as you call it, because she
asked me to come. She said it would please her. Another thing you
wanted to say is, ‘If you hurt my sister in any way, I’ll kick your
ass.’ Answer: The chance of you doing that is nil. I am the
toughest son-of-a-bitch you’ve ever met.”

Smile. More silence.

“Damn!” exclaimed Billy. “You’re something
else! No wonder Bo likes you! Jerry! Another round over here!”

Wednesday, July 4, 2001

Durango, CO

The next day, July 4th, was an all-day
affair. Bo and Sam didn’t get much time alone together. There were
large barbecues—made out of large metal oil drums cut in half
lengthwise—everywhere on the large, grassy field where the aroma of
ribs, chicken, hamburgers, sausages, and hot dogs filled the air.
Also picnic tables, colorful umbrellas, activities aplenty—sack
races, horse shoe tournaments, a horse race, and dancing to a
country/western band in the roundhouse.

In the afternoon, there was a pistol shooting
contest that Travis urged Bo to enter. Bo asked Sam to enter, but
he declined. She knew from his dossier that in the nineties he had
been National Fast Draw Champion three years in a row, and had won
the national pistol shooting contest the two times he had
entered.

Bo gave him a hug and said, “Don’t want to
show me up in my home town, eh? Thanks, Sam.”

Bo won the contest easily. Her father
strutted around like a peacock.

***

Over lunch at
Annie’s Rib House
on Thursday the 5th, Bo told
Sam that she had planned a river-rafting excursion for them on
Friday. They would raft down the river, spend the night on the
bank, then raft down to a place where her brother Billy—or one of
the hands—would pick them up and bring them and their gear back to
the lodge.

“Isn’t that dangerous?” laughed Sam.

“I’m a certified rafting guide. It’s my turn
to teach you something,” she giggled. “We’ll see if you learn as
fast as I did. Doesn’t it sound like fun?”

When Sam had left Vietnam, he had promised
himself he would never sleep on the ground again. His idea of
camping out was the nearest Hilton. But he couldn’t throw water on
Bo’s enthusiasm.

“Sure. We’ll have a ball.”

***

Two tables away, dressed in her new purple
tank top and black jeans, Candy overheard every word of their
conversation. She paid her bill and left. Back in her room, she
made a call on her satellite phone.

“Where the hell are you? I want to get the
hell out of Dodge!” she exclaimed.

“Albuquerque. I brought two choppers in—I
like backup. Anything new there?”

“That’s why I’m calling. The two targets are
leaving tomorrow on a rafting trip. If you want to hit them here,
you’ll have to hurry,” she said.

“Ah! Perfect! I’ll see that they have a
little rafting accident. You’ve done well, Candy! Get your tight
buns out of there. I’ll take it from here!”

***

Since it was Sam’s 49th birthday, Bo
wanted to make it memorable, but since she knew he didn’t want it
publicized, she decided on a quiet dinner for the two of them at
the historic
Strater Hotel
.
The hotel had several forms of entertainment and a choice of dining
venues. First she took him to the hotel’s
Diamond Belle Saloon
where there was a ragtime
piano bar. Costumed dance hall girls entertained and the patrons
joined in on sing-a-longs.

After a couple of drinks, Bo took Sam
to the hotel’s
Henry’s Chop House
where Sam ordered veal scaloppini and Bo had a favorite of
hers that she hadn’t had in ages, Colorado buffalo rib eye
steak.

Then she took him back to the lodge and took
him to bed. That was his favorite part of the evening.

***

Friday morning, July 6th, Bo supervised the
preparation of her raft. She lashed down the large, waterproof
duffel bag that contained their clothes and personal things; a
plastic, floatable box containing food and drinks; her dad’s
Winchester rifle wrapped in waterproof plastic; and the two-man
tent. Shortly thereafter, they were underway and Bo began teaching
Sam the tricks of the trade.

Bo pulled the raft out of the current a
couple of times to let them rest their arms and backs, and by 3
o’clock she found a spot to spend the night. She could tell that
Sam was tiring, and so was she. She hadn’t used some of those
muscles for awhile either. They pulled the raft up on the shore and
secured it, then flopped down to rest in the shade of a tree before
unloading. Bo lit a cigarette.

“We’re gonna be sore when this is over,” she
laughed as she exhaled skyward.

“More me than you,” he chuckled. “I hope it
doesn’t affect our lovemaking!”

They set up the tent, fixed their bed, and
then Bo set up the small propane camp stove.

“I don’t like open fires this time of year.
This is not as romantic as a campfire, but much safer,” she told
Sam.

She produced a bottle of white wine, crackers
and cheese and they enjoyed cocktail hour under the trees—mountain
style.

Bo laughed, “Well, Sam, what do you think?
Compared to body surfing I mean?”

“I used a few muscles I haven’t used in
awhile—even in Karate. But it has been quite an exhilarating
experience. Especially because I’m with you,” replied Sam as he
gave her a kiss.

“Well, you know I can’t cook, so you are
elected to cook our dinner. It normally would be canned stew, but I
brought some shish-kabobs. My mother skewered them for me.”

Bo took some bamboo skewers out of the
cooler. They had chunks of top sirloin steak, new potatoes, green
peppers, and onions. Sam grilled them on the stove and they had
their dinner under the stars.

They crawled into their tent and had some
slow sex, but exhaustion finally forced them to sleep.

***

Sam heard the familiar sound of a chopper
just after he dozed off. At first he thought it might be a Forest
Ranger, but it was dark. He didn’t like the feel of it. He slipped
on his pants and hiking shoes. As he was pulling on a shirt, Bo
stirred.

“What’re you doing, Sam?” she asked
sleepily.

“There’s a chopper out there. I’m gonna take
a look,” he replied softly.

“Chopper? How unusual,” she remarked as she
sat up.

“I’ll check it out. I’ll be right back,” he
said. “Hand me the flashlight.”

He disappeared into the night.

***

In the black chopper, the man dressed in
black told the pilot, “According to their GPS signal, they’re right
over there. Go to that clearing and put me and Max on the ground.
We’ll catch them asleep in their tent. They won’t know what hit
them.”

“Roger.”

Sam spotted the chopper’s spotlight and
moved a little closer. He saw two men being lowered to the
ground.
Shit!

He used his flashlight and ran back to the
tent. He stuck his head in and whispered, “Get dressed quickly!
That chopper put at least two men on the ground. Hand me the
carbine, my jacket, and a box of shells. There’s a big fallen tree
over there. I’ll go cover the trail while you throw some essentials
in the duffel.”

“OK, Sam. I’ll hurry. Who the hell are they?”
she gasped.

“Not a clue! Did you bring your nine?”

“Yes!”

“Strap it on for easy access. And hurry! I
don’t want us any where near this tent until we sort this out,” he
exclaimed. “It’s like a big bull’s eye.”

Then he was gone. Bo threw her clothes on,
retrieved her shoulder rig from the duffel and put it on, and
checked her S & W 9mm. She threw some nonessential things out
of the duffel bag and stuffed in two blankets and some bottles of
water, then left the tent, and staying low, headed for the tree log
Sam was crouching behind. She eased the bag down and knelt beside
Sam just as the light of the half moon revealed a man moving slowly
down the trail. The shadowy figure had an automatic weapon leading
the way and he was wearing night vision goggles. Sam handed Bo the
flashlight, then pointed at his eyes, and then to the shadowy
figure. She got the message and nodded. Sam carefully eased the
Winchester forward and nodded. Bo aimed the flashlight at the head
of the wraith and turned it on.

Max Zucor was about 8 yards ahead of the
other man. The man in black never took chances if he could avoid
them. Shooting a man in the back of the head while the victim was
kneeling was more his style. He was happy to lag behind a bit.
Zucor was just making out the dome outline of the tent when the
bright light blinded him. He screamed and ripped off the goggles as
he hosed the area in front of him with automatic fire from his
AK-47. Sam put a bullet in the middle of his chest, levered another
shell, and shot him again as he fell.

“Light off!” Sam whispered. “There’s at least
one more of them out there.”

Bo turned off the flashlight, shaking.

“What’s going on?” she whispered. “He was
trying to kill us!”

“I don’t know. Cover me, I’m gonna go take a
look.”

***

The man in black got out of there fast. He
ran back to the clearing and called the guys in the chopper and
told them to hose down the tent, and anything else they could spot.
The chopper moved toward the tent.

***

Sam crept up to the man he’d shot and found
the night goggles. The man was dead. Sam put on the goggles and
took a look around. Nothing. He heard the chopper moving. It
stopped over the tent, turned on their powerful spot light, and
riddled the tent with automatic fire. Sam ran back to the log where
he’d left Bo, bringing the AK-47 with him.

He handed Bo the night goggles and told her
to watch the trail while he went after the chopper.

“Are you crazy? They’ll shoot you to pieces!”
she moaned, her whole body trembling. She had never been in a fire
fight like this before. Sam had.

“Just watch for that other asshole! I’ll be
OK,” he said as he hugged her, kissed her lips. “Be right
back.”

He ran toward the tent, disappearing into the
forest like a shadow. When he got to a spot where he could get a
good shot, he emptied the AK-47’s clip into the cockpit area of the
chopper. It started to pull up, but then fell off to the side and
exploded in a ball of fire when it clipped a tree. Sam ran to the
raft, untied it, and pushed it into the river; then hurried back to
Bo.

“Let’s get the hell out of here! Is there
someplace we can hide out until morning?” he panted.

“Yes! There are some rocks and overhangs
further up the mountains to the east. There’re some caves up there.
Did you shoot down that chopper?”

“Yes,” he replied. “You know the area and
have the goggles. Lead the way. I’ll watch our backs.”

She started off and he picked up the duffel
and followed her, staying close so they wouldn’t have to use the
flashlight and give away their position.

After 20 minutes of steady climbing, they sat
on a log and rested.

“Are we there yet?” asked Sam.

“God, you’re worse than a child in a car!
I’ll stop at the first decent place. You just watch our backs. It
shouldn’t be much further. In any case, we’ll stop for a rest in
another fifteen minutes.”

Friday, July 6, 2001

Colorado Mountains

Fifteen minutes after crawling into the cave,
Sam was breathing normally again. They hadn’t spoken since entering
the small crevice. The area was dry and was protected overhead by a
jutting slab of rock that was pushed out during an earthquake
centuries ago. Bo finally whispered, “Do you think anyone survived
that crash?”

Sam whispered back, “I doubt it, but there
were at least two of them on the ground before the chopper got to
our tent. I killed one, so there’s at least one survivor. He’s the
one who probably called the chopper in after they spotted our tent.
Someone could still be tracking us.”

“The flames from that crash will be spotted
and bring in the rangers, the La Plata Sheriffs, and who knows who
else. Any survivors are probably long gone. Who were those
guys?”

Sam’s face was only inches from Bo’s, but he
could not really see her clearly. He wished he could see her
reaction to his next statement.

“You really don’t know? Who knew where we
were? Besides your parents, that is?”

There was a moment of silence, then Bo
answered, “My boss knew I was in Durango on vacation, of course.
But nobody knew that we would be camping in that spot. We didn’t
even know. I chose the spot because we were tired. What’s your
point?”