Inspector Green Mysteries 9-Book Bundle (314 page)

No gunshots.

He faltered midway to the bend, his lungs on fire. Jethro passed him with ease, his head down, his soft boots floating over the stony ground. He too had shed his heavy pack, but in his hand was his rife. At his heel, tongue lolling and tail straight out, ran Tatso.

“Wait!” Green gasped. “Don’t try anything —”

Elliott placed his hand on Green’s shoulder. “Let him go ahead. He’ll scout it out but he won’t tip anyone off.”

Grateful, Green lowered his head, channelled his breathing, and concentrated on a long even stride. The ground rushed beneath him. Reeds on one side, river on the other, driftwood, boulders, wildflowers, all unfurled beneath his stride.

Before he knew it, the bend was upon them. Ahead, the river ran through a wide valley of beach and trees before narrowing between high canyon walls at the end. The cliff above the canyon walls was the perfect spot to lie in ambush.

They all skidded to a halt, panting. There was no sign of Jethro, nor of the two figures they had been chasing earlier. Nothing but the empty beach and the dense, dark forest. However, at the far end, just before the canyon bluff, three inflatable Zodiacs were pulled up on shore. Nearby, one of the boaters stood under cover of the cliff face. He was looking up, searching the clifftop.

Green was about to call to him when he turned slightly, revealing the distinctive silhouette of an assault rifle cradled in his arms.

Seizing Sullivan’s arm, Green dove into the cover of the woods. Huddled behind the shelter of a large pine, he tried to estimate distances. The forest was only about a hundred metres wide before the land rose in a sharp slope and the trees thinned. The valley looked about half a kilometre long before pinching into the canyon.

Not a large area to search, but with only three of them, a challenge. He dredged up his long-rusty knowledge of search tactics and beckoned to the other two to come close.

“We’ll do a line search straight down the valley floor,” he whispered. “As far apart as we can manage while still keeping each other in sight. Probably thirty feet in these woods. Hand signals only, except in an emergency.” He paused. He’d always hated his firearm and passed his requalification test every year by the skin of his teeth, but now he fervently wished for its cold, alien weight in his hands. For its power to overcome, even to kill.

He picked up a hefty length of driftwood and told Sullivan to get his rifle out. Elliott and Green would walk the perimeter while Sullivan provided cover to both from the middle. They edged carefully through the underbrush toward their positions. At each snapping twig and rustling leaf, Green winced. They stood in position a long time while he searched the silence for sound. Footsteps, whispers, breaths. He heard nothing but the hiss of the river. How could eight people be moving through this forest without a single telltale crack?

There was still no sign of Jethro when Green gave the signal to advance. They inched forward across the spongy forest floor, gently easing branches aside and placing each foot with care. Ears and eyes sifted the stillness. Green felt a surreal calm, as he imagined soldiers felt when they went up over the trench wall into the guns of the enemy vastly superior in numbers, weaponry, and tactical knowledge. He had one goal: Hannah. Find her, shield her, and bring her to safety.

They had advanced less than a hundred yards down the valley when Sullivan signalled and pointed ahead to something bright green lying on the forest floor. A few steps farther on, peering through the overhanging boughs and tree trunks, Green recognized an overturned canoe. Tucked under it, a backpack.

Green signalled to Sullivan to ready his rifle and advance. Elliott slipped through the trees to his side. “Probably stashed there by some hikers,” he whispered. “It could have been here for years.”

“It looks new,” Green said, taking in the shiny hull. Sullivan was just approaching when Jethro materialized at his elbow. Green had not heard a sound, and he nearly swore aloud in shock.

Jethro drew them deeper into the bush. “There was a tent and a campfire here yesterday. “Whoever it is, looks like they went inland. Up that slope toward the pass.”

“How many?”

Jethro shrugged. “A canoe that size? Could take three, or two with lots of gear.”

What the hell did this mean? Green wondered. Were they just a pair of random hikers who’d chosen this time and place for their adventure? Or were they connected to Scott’s group? Rivals? Co-conspirators?

And more important, were they friend or foe?

“Did you see anyone else?”

Jethro nodded. “Looks like the guys from the boat are searching too. They’re doing a sweep this way, like you guys, only they’ve got 308s and assault rifles.”

“Did they look like cops?”

“They looked professional to me, but I wasn’t getting close enough to those assault rifles to find out.”

Too many dangers, too many unknowns, Green thought. “Stay out of sight,” he whispered. “All we want is Hannah. Don’t do anything to jeopardize that.”

They had barely resumed their positions when a rifle shot cracked the silence. All four of them dove to the ground just as an answering volley of shots burst from the woods up ahead. Green signalled to Jethro and Elliott to stay down. Then he rose to a crouch and scurried over to grab Jethro’s rifle. He’d never fired a rifle, but what the hell.

“You and Ian crawl back the way we came, out of harm’s way. I don’t know what the hell this is, but Brian and I are cops —”

Another rifle shot. Green spun around to search for the source of the sound. It had come from up on the open slope. As he watched, a figure raced from one boulder to another in a blur of grey. From down below came an explosion of return fire.

“Stop!” The cry came from another cluster of rocks, a few yards beyond the sniper. It was a howl of panic. Piercing, female …

A chill of horror raced through Green. He didn’t dare call out, didn’t dare put her in more danger. Waving Elliott and Jethro away with a frantic hand, he scrambled on hands and knees to join Sullivan.

The sniper on the slope fired again. This time the bullet slammed into the tree near Green’s head, spitting wood chips into the air. The gunman had spotted him. A responding rifle burst from down below spewed rock and gravel at the boulder. The sniper fired back.

“RCMP!” came a shout from the woods. “Hold your fire, Whitehead!”

A head popped up behind the rocks above the sniper. “That’s not me —”

“Hands where I can see them, Whitehead!”

The man ducked for cover instead. “Holy fuck!” Green whispered. “What the
fuck
?”

“Chris?” A blond figure jumped up beside Whitehead. Screaming Chris’s name, she started to scramble down the slope. Rifle shots burst in both directions. The woman cartwheeled, arms flailing, blond hair swirling, and pitched face down in the gravel. Her body slithered to a stop.

Shouting erupted from the woods below. Automatic rifle bursts tore up the hillside as one of the Mounties raced toward the woman. Green started forward, but Sullivan grabbed him in a powerful vice.

“It’s not her, Mike! The hair’s blond.”

“I don’t know what colour her hair is, Brian!”

Sullivan tightened his grip. In the delay, the Mountie reached the woman and dragged her to safety. The sniper fired once as he raced from his spot up to the rocks where Whitehead was hiding. A moment later he rose from behind the rock, his body shielded and his rifle pressed to Whitehead’s back. Green recognized the blond hair and the grey camouflage jacket.

“That’s Pete Carlyle!” he exclaimed. The pieces of the puzzle realigned. Fucking Pete Carlyle had been the traitor all along. Green shoved Sullivan’s hand away and scrambled to his feet. “The Mounties don’t know who they’re dealing with here. He’s killed two people, he’s got nothing to lose!”

Seeing Sullivan about to protest, Green spun away and began to run forward through the trees. Seconds later he heard Sullivan running behind him. “We’ve got no fucking radio and no fucking ID, Mike. We’re going to get shot!”

Green spotted the cluster of Mounties hunkered down in the trees. They were dressed in black. Two had taken positions behind trees and had trained their weapons on the hillside. Another was crouched on the ground, shouting vainly into a phone. The last two were bent over the fallen woman, doing CPR. One of them had pulled off his helmet, and his young face was contorted with anguish.

“Chris!” Green shouted. “Constable Tymko!”

Two guns swivelled to face him. He held up his hands, one of them still holding Jethro’s rifle. Hastily he introduced himself. The other cops looked to Chris for confirmation, but he was frantic.

“Call for the fucking helicopter!” Chris yelled at the man with the phone. “We have to get her to Yellowknife!”

“No signal, sir!”

The officer doing CPR sat back on his heels. “Chris, she’s gone.”

“You don’t know that! We can save her. We have to save her!”

Green approached to look at the woman on the ground. Long limbed, tanned, and blonde. Not Hannah. “Who is it?” He hoped his voice was calm, unlike the cartwheels of relief in his head.

“A girl who —” Chris’s voice snagged. “Who should never have got involved with that snake!”

Green glanced up through the trees to the slope, where Pete Carlyle stood, defiant with the rifle to his hostage’s head. In that instant, old training kicked in. “Who’s in charge here, Constable?”

Chris looked up from the injured woman finally. Took in the gunman, the hostage, and his waiting colleagues. He blinked. “Me.”

“What’s your plan?”

“I don’t … I don’t …” Chris took a deep breath. He signalled to his colleague to resume CPR and he hauled himself to his feet.

Green joined him and lowered his voice. “I suggest you radio the guy waiting by the boat. Send him and another officer around the side and up the slope behind Carlyle —”

“Carlyle? It’s not Lasalle?”

Quickly Green explained about Scott and Pete. “Pete had his own agenda to stake the ruby mine. When he met with resistance from the others, he killed them. I don’t know what these two had to do with it —”

“Victor Whitehead, total sleaze. He was meeting up with that bastard from the other side. I don’t give a fuck if he shoots Whitehead!”

“Yes you do,” Green murmured, drawing close. “So send your two men up around the back of him. Let him know there’s no escape.”

Chris nodded. He was deadly pale, but he retrieved his radio and relayed the order. Pete and his hostage were still on the hillside, but Pete was beginning to edge diagonally down the slope, careful to keep Whitehead as a shield.

“I want one of your Zodiacs,” he shouted, “and a full tank of gas. And if I see anyone following me, today or any day, this slimy bastard will get a bullet in the head.”

“Hey!” Whitehead cried. “We’re supposed to be —”

“Plans have changed, partner.”

“The Zodiacs can’t handle the canyon, Pete,” Chris replied. “You’ve only got one way to go — back up toward Cantung Mine.”

“None of your business where I’m going!” Pete yelled. Green saw a flash of movement on the bluff behind him. Chris’s men were about halfway into position.

“You won’t get past the mine,” Chris shouted. “It’s crawling with Mounties.”

Pete and Whitehead reached the edge of the slope against the bluff. Behind them, the two Mounties stepped out into the open with their rifles trained. They spoke too softly for Green to hear their words, but Pete reacted by tightening his grip on Victor and screaming.

“Get them the fuck away from me!”

Chris had knelt back down at the injured woman’s side, but now he tore himself away and stormed to the bottom of the slope.

“It’s over, Carlyle! You’re done! There’s no escape.” He sucked in a deep, steadying breath and resumed, calmer. “We found the Yukon you stashed up on the old road and we immobilized it.”

“Then you’ll get us another one. I haven’t made it all this way for nothing!”

To Green’s astonishment, Elliott emerged from the woods, unarmed and hatless, and stepped in front of Chris. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Carlyle, but that’s precisely what you’ve done. The mining claim, even if it’s full of rubies, is worthless. The government has finally chosen its boundaries for the new park, and the claim lies within it.”

Pete’s jaw dropped. “You’re lying!” He jerked Whitehead’s shoulder. “You told me it would —”

Whitehead looked about to faint. “He’s bluffing,” he stammered. “There’s no decision yet, Pete.”

“I haven’t got where I am without having some friends on the inside,” Elliott said. Chris shot him a surprised look, and very subtly Elliott waved his hand to silence him.

“Then you’re worthless, Whitehead!” Pete raged, jabbing his rifle into Whitehead’s back.

“No!” Whitehead slammed against him, throwing him off balance. Pete stumbled and tripped over a rock. The rifle fired. Whitehead flung himself to the ground. Simultaneously the two officers leaped forward, one to shield Whitehead and the other to pin Pete to the ground.

Seconds later, Pete was in handcuffs.

Pete’s bellows of rage were still echoing down the valley when Green detached himself from the crowd. He wasn’t needed here any longer, but Hannah was still at risk. Elliott, ever calm and focused despite the extraordinary gamble he’d just taken, had taken over CPR and Sullivan was helping with Victor Whitehead. Green could hear Chris up on the bluff, screaming over the phone to his superior, demanding a medical helicopter and backup immediately. Green didn’t think it would save the woman’s life, and from the frantic edge to Chris’s voice he suspected the young constable knew it.

Olivia Manning had been shot through the chest and back, and all around her the gravel was slick with her blood. Green knew that a thorough analysis of the bullet wounds, trajectories, and crime scene would be needed to determine who shot her. He hoped, for the Mounties’ sake, that it was Pete, but in the fog of war anything was possible. The Mounties had probably been trying to provide cover fire for her, but one of their bullets might have gone wrong.

He searched the woods as quickly and methodically as he could, but without making a sound. His senses were alert to unexpected danger. Jethro had said the canoe could hold three people, which meant that an unidentified potential enemy was still out there.