The Bonner Incident: Joshua's War

BONNER INCIDENT

Book 2

JOSHUA’S WAR

THOMAS A WATSON

MICHAEL L RIDER- RIP

1949-2016

Copyright © AUGUST  22, 2016

THOMAS A WATSON & MICHAEL L RIDER

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Credits

Edited by

Sabrina Jean at Fast Tracking Editing

Cover Art

Christian Bentulan

              This book is a work of fiction. People places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the written consent of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Thank you for acknowledging the hard work of this author. If you didn’t purchase this book or it wasn’t purchased for you, please go purchase your own copy now.

In Memory of

Michael L Rider

8/22/1949-1/28/2016

Acknowledgements

Thank You all for the encouragement in finishing this book, started by Mr. Mike and myself.

To My Friends, Family, and Fans, without you, this book would have never been finished. Thanks for reading, reviewing, and sharing.

To my Street Team: Cora Burke, Yalonda Butler, Leslie Bryant, William Beedie, Deb Serres, Shelley Deuso, Kris Weeks, Jim Broach and  Britta Victoria. I appreciate all you do.

Hope you enjoy the second half of ‘The Bonner Incident: Joshua’s War” This book starts off right where the first one ended, hence the reason for Chapter 23 as the starting chapter.

Chapter Twenty-Three

It was 0950 and Griffey watched the senior staff walk out of the conference room after the first meeting. Sitting at the head of the table and glancing to his sides, he saw Moore making notes on his right and Wagner on his left, reading reports. “Moore, what do you think about this new team that we can’t find?”

Holding up his hand for Griffey to wait, Moore reached up and hit the intercom. “Will you send that game warden from Oregon in here?” Letting the button go, Moore continued writing. “Let me ask him some questions, then I’ll answer,” Moore said glancing up as he continued to write.

Griffey turned to Wagner, “Any updates on the two state troopers?”

“No, Duncan and Lane were model cops according to their records. The only flag is that both served in the military,” Wagner said pulling another folder out. “We’ve questioned their families and friends and started searching locations of where they might be holed up.”

“I read an interview done with Lane’s wife on the internet, saying if Lane had done this, then he saw something that compelled him to act. But she couldn’t believe her husband would do what he’s accused of. You want to tell me why I read that?” Griffey said, grabbing a pen and starting to sign the requisition forms for the mountain of stuff arriving by full semi-trailers.

Wagner looked up, “The interviewing agent asked her not to speak with the press. She was served with a gag order last night, as were all other friends and family.”

“Don’t let that happen again. Last night, we had three agents beaten in Sandpoint when they walked out of a restaurant. We can’t let information like that out to anger the locals.”

Flipping his notepad to a new page, Moore glanced at Griffey. “Sheriff Harper arrested the ones responsible and has charged them.”

Griffey slowly looked back at Moore who was writing again. “And you just now tell me?”

“Yes, they are being punished for assault.”

“I had six agents questioning forty people at the restaurant and not one, said they saw a thing,” Griffey almost growled.

“Right, agents,” Moore said still writing. “The sheriff found out what happened, found the four responsible and charged them.” Moore said glancing at his watch. “They’ve already been arraigned and I was told they would plead guilty. So by now, they’ve been punished and it’s case closed.”

“No, they will be charged by us,” Griffey snapped.

Tossing his pen down, Moore glared at Griffey. “No, they won’t. First, it’s double jeopardy. Second and most importantly, the sheriff has demonstrated that the public can’t attack us without provocation or they will have to deal with him. You realize the pressure that takes off of us?”

“What was the sentence?” Wagner asked.

Shrugging as he picked his pen back up, “Don’t know and don’t care,” Moore said. “The sheriff handled it and I told Sheriff Harper that was good enough for me.”

About to speak, Wagner stopped when Griffey raised his hand. “Moore, you’re that sure this is a good thing for us?” Griffey asked.

Setting his pen down, Moore looked up with a serious face. “Yes, it will give our people an order of protection from the population that we can’t provide. They now know, Sheriff Joey “Buck” Harper will not allow or condone hostile actions against us, without provocation. Now, if those agents had started the fight, the sheriff wouldn’t have done shit, but they didn’t. The lesson here is, unless we are seen as attacking, the sheriff will back us.”

Griffey leaned back so hard in his chair it rolled away from the table. “I assume you are talking about the national security directive that allows us to enter a private residence in pursuit and search of terrorists without need or cause for a warrant?” 

“Yep,” Moore nodded. “I’m sure you’ve read the reports of armed men moving to every private piece of property in the search area. Out of the million plus acres we’ve designated, that’s over two hundred pieces of private property. And I can assure you, they plan to fight at each one unless we can produce a warrant. In following with state law, we will have to notify local law enforcement and they will accompany us when we serve it. I’m telling you now, you’d better stick to that one or we will have a war on our hands. Let me remind you, we are surrounded, and no matter what you believe, we are outnumbered.”

Bringing his hand to his chin as he thought, Griffey rocked back and forth in his chair. “Let them dictate our movements?” Wagner shouted. “We outrank them! They do what we say, end of story!”

Letting out a sigh, Moore looked over at Wagner. “Raise your voice to me one more time, and I swear by the end of the day, you’ll be a prison guard assigned to open and close the main gate.”

Shocked, Wagner dropped back in his chair. “I’m a senior agent. You can’t threaten me like that.”

“Then I’ll do it,” Griffey said turning to Moore. “Washington isn’t going to go for that.”

Nodding as he picked up his pen, “Then get ready for a war and make out your wills,” Moore said. “Yesterday, team nine found a group in the search area south of here near Squaw Valley Road. They were heavily armed and carrying extra food and ammunition. After the group showed IDs, the team called local law enforcement and they picked the group up and escorted them out of the area. You know why the group didn’t open fire on them?” Moore asked glancing over at Griffey and he shook his head. “They told the team that Sheriff Harper had told them if they fired without being provoked; he would make sure they rotted in a hole. Luckily, that was one of our smarter teams and didn’t fire on the group because they would’ve lost. They were outmanned two to one.”

“How can I present this to Washington, so they will allow me to get warrants to do private searches?”

Shaking his head, “Unless you can get God to call personally, you can’t. I’ve tried,” Moore said.

Groaning, Griffey pulled back to the table. “What do you recommend?”

“Honestly? Avoid those areas until we’ve searched the wilderness. Then put teams watching them and at the end of this search, hit them. As many as we can at one time so they can only respond to a couple.”

Nodding, “That’s very plausible and soundly tactic,” Griffey said. “With all teams up, how long for the wilderness search to be completed?”

“Four months,” Moore said as a knock sounded at the door.

The door opened and a game warden walked in. “Federal Game Warden Fowler assigned to Oregon,” he said.

“Fowler, can you think of a way that ten people on horseback can all get hurt at the same time?” Moore said leaning back in his chair and pointing at a chair for Fowler to sit down beside him.

“Well, yes sir,” he said moving over and sitting down. “It’s not as hard as you’d believe.” Griffey gave a sigh of relief, almost sliding out of his chair.

Nodding, Moore asked. “Can you give me some examples? Remember, most of this team were BLM and normally moved on horses and in terrain like this.”

“Sir, even the most experienced make mistakes, especially in the foul weather we are having. But they could’ve camped beside a dry streambed and been hit by a flash flood. They could’ve camped beside a taller tree that was hit by lightning and gotten electrocuted. I’ve found four men and horses that died like that. Got caught in a mudslide or avalanche, I mean, sir, it’s very plausible.”

Pulling a map over and pointing from one mountain top while running his finger across a valley to another mountain top. “Is it possible to operate an ATV in this terrain without being seen or heard?” Moore asked.

“Agent Moore, I can show you some poacher ATVs you can’t hear unless you’re within ten feet of them. As for this terrain around here, it’s a dream compared to what I’ve seen poachers traverse with an ATV. These new ATVs are excellent on gas and if he’s a hunter, he’ll have gas stocked up somewhere.”

Moore started jotting down notes as Wagner turned to the warden, “How plausible is it that they could’ve been shot before they escaped?”

Fowler glanced away thinking, “Unless they were complete idiots, it’s not possible. A horse can run pretty fast and it’s hard to hit a moving target. Look at the mountains slopes around us, there aren’t that many open areas so it would have to be close. I’ve seen some of the best shots in the world and believe me, they could only get six before the rest got away.”

Griffey looked up like he had given birth he was so relieved. “Moore, you need anything else?” When Moore shook his head, Griffey looked at Fowler. “Thank you, officer.” Fowler nodded and left as Griffey looked at Moore.

“Finally, some good news on a bad circumstance,” Griffey said leaning back.

“Don’t know how, they’re dead. Joshua killed them,” Moore said writing. “His horses are still at his house so he’s on an ATV.”

Feeling a sharp pain in his stomach, Griffey grabbed his side. “Okay, so how could he be in Spokane yesterday and come back here and kill off a team.”

Looking up, “He drove, and if you want my opinion, he drove right down Highway 57 past us to Spokane and drove past us again,” Moore said spinning the map around to Griffey. “He was operating somewhere in here, but I’m sure he’s moved on,” he said pointing at Nickleplate Mountain just outside of Nordman.

Digging in his pocket, Griffey pulled out a roll of antacid tablets and tossed four in his mouth. “You think he’s that bold?”

“I surmised it, but after talking to someone who knows Joshua first hand, I’m positive now. I think he’s got access to a truck and has it parked somewhere north of Nordman. It won’t matter if we find it because he’s given us the message he wanted to. He can come and go as he pleases. Joshua isn’t worried about us.”

Wagner laughed, “That’s beyond ballsy.”

Ignoring Wagner, Moore stared at Griffey. “Like it or not, we are on his timeline and in his backyard. He will be the one to decide when this war ends, no matter what we say.”

“You heard the game warden, one man can’t kill ten men on horseback,” Griffey whined.

“I’m not an outdoorsman by any stretch of the imagination, but I can come up with a few scenarios that it would be possible.”

Wagner leaned over the table, “If he’s on an ATV, no matter how much he stockpiled he would run out, and that means the locals are supplying him.”

“No,” Moore said flipping pages. “Joshua wouldn’t involve them. This is his war and he doesn’t want anyone to get hurt helping him.”

“You really think he drove within yards of us?” Griffey said chewing up the tablets.

“Oh, I’m positive he’s been closer,” Moore said as a knock on the door came.

“Enter,” Griffey called out and hit the intercom. “Find a bottle of Pepto and bring it to me.”

A man in full tactical gear walked in and sat down at the end of the table putting a laptop down. “I’m sorry, but I wanted this briefing in private,” he said opening the laptop and hooking up cables.

Nodding at the man as he looked at Wagner, “Agent Schmidt, FBI Hostage Rescue Team leader. He’s in charge of all of the special teams here,” Griffey said as a young man came in carrying a bottle of Pepto-Bismol. “Thank you,” Griffey said, ripping the top off and downing half the bottle as the young man closed the door.