Then she heard the helicopter in the distance. This time it seemed to be coming nearer. It grew progressively louder, finally flying directly toward her. The big buzzing bird came into view from behind the rock face, flying overhead.
But as it turned, glinting and reddened in the failing sun, heading back up the mountainside, her hope turned to bitter despair.
Janet Morgan pointed to where they had stowed the German behind them in the van. "Would he hurt us if we just let him go?"
"Damn straight he would," Jack said. "He said Corey should have killed that little boy."
"She's crazy," Janet said. "The way she just went all nuts and cut that guy, and gouged out his eyes. She was using her fingers."
"I don't think she'd kill a kid. And that guy was…" Jack paused. There was a thumping from the back.
''Hey, asshole," Janet shouted as she drove. ''Child killer. If you don't shut up, I'm gonna spray your ugly face again."
But still the pounding went on. After several more minutes, Janet slammed on the brakes. Grabbing the pepper spray, she walked around to the side door of the van.
"Wait," Jack said, getting out the shotgun. "You gotta be careful." With the gun trained on the entry, he let her open the door and shove the can under the hood. Muffled gagging sounds erupted when she released the spray-then the foot stopped. But the van immediately filled with a foul odor.
"Well, now you know why he was banging his foot," Jack said.
"The German's revenge," she said as she rolled down the windows.
A couple of minutes later, Jack heard Janet gasp.
''Take it easy,'' Jack said. It was a state patrol car turning onto the highway ahead of her. Janet slowed.
"Keep going normally."
A couple of hundred yards up the road, the patrol car turned into what Jack remembered as Corey's place. His face went white.
"That is the place," Jack said. "Just keep on driving."
"Damn!" Janet muttered, speeding past the driveway. He studied the mirror on his side. Just as they entered a bend, he saw the highway-patrol vehicle exit Corey' s driveway and head in the opposite direction.
Jack exhaled sharply. "He was just turning around."
The first patch had been small, with no obvious alarms or booby traps. It was unguarded; Corey passed on.
The second was much larger, and she almost missed the first trip wire. After stepping over it, she heard the voices.
"I'm tellin' you, I saw a second one, dressed for the hike and carrying a gun."
"Make the same pattern you did before, and keep your eyes open this time," an authoritative voice responded.
Corey put the nylon stocking over her face and moved toward the voice. As she approached, she could see the two subordinates moving off through the brush no more than twenty yards from her. One of them held a bloody hand under his arm, the other had a swollen bloody face. Walking when they walked, stopping when they did, she slowly crept upslope and around behind her target. Now she was downstream from the leader, assuming that his attention was directed at the mountainside. She waited, knowing that if she moved closer he might hear her. Carefully she stepped out from behind a redwood stump the size of a small car, stealing a quick look to ensure that he was still facing in the opposite direction.
Tossing a stone in the bushes was a tired trick, but it worked. He immediately started for the spot where the stone had landed. Moving behind some bru^h, Corey raised her rifle. Soon she heard the crackle of his footsteps; seconds later, he walked straight into her sights. He wore a bandanna tied around his head. Tangled red hair hung from under it. Built low, broad-shouldered and squat with long arms, he looked slightly apelike, with a bit of a belly and a flat-looking face like her wooden masks.
"Hold it," she said. "Drop the gun."
The man hesitated, considering his situation. Finally he dropped the gun, cursing.
"The woman you're hunting is a lady lawyer. You give her to me, and I'll walk her out of here and cancel her ticket."
"Go screw yourself."
Corey shook her head. "Turn around and spread-eagle against that tree."
The man just stared at her. She unholstered her army Colt. 45, strapped on the rifle, removed her stiletto, and approached him with her pistol aimed at his chest. A quiet click, and the blade on the stiletto appeared, glinting in the late-afternoon sunlight.
"Do it, asshole."
The man looked at her, gauging her, weighing his chances.
Totally at ease and as cold as an arctic night, she sighed. "I'm gonna kill you."
"All right." He turned and spread his legs against the tree.
"Farther," she said, kicking his legs apart. Frisking him thoroughly, she found a knife and a pistol on his calf. The razor-sharp stiletto cut into the skin of his torso as she began shallow but bloody carving. He groaned and tried to move away. She put the gun hard in the hollow at the base of his skull.
''You're a sixteenth of an inch from having your head blown off."
"Don't shoot," he croaked.
"Don't move," she said, continuing to cut him. "Call your boys and tell them you found me. Make it convincing or the knife goes right into your kidney."
"Get on over here, boys!"
"Now turn and face me; stay on the trail. Keep your mouth shut or you're a dead man,'' she said, stepping behind the stump to hide.
Soon the men came to the clearing. "Hey, Greg, whatcha doin'? You're bleeding. Did you see her?'' Both men walked toward their boss, curious as to his silence.
"You're not pissed, are you?" one man said in a worried voice.
When the two men were within twenty feet of their boss, Corey stepped out from behind the stump. ''Drop the guns or he takes a bullet right in his fat ass."
Startled, the two men dropped their guns.
"Get over by him."
They moved to their boss's side.
"What a sorry bunch of losers. You look like you walked into a meat grinder."
"Fuck you," the leader said. Slowly she approached him. Faster than a rattlesnake, she stabbed his thigh, then removed her knife.
"Oh shit," he groaned, holding pressure on the bleeding puncture wound.
"Did she get one of your guns?" Corey demanded.
"She got an AK-47 from me, but she dropped it. We found it in the brush."
"You got knives or guns hidden on you?"
"No," said the one with the bloody hand.
"Likewise," said the swollen face.
"You're going to strip," Corey said. "If you lied, I'm gonna slit your bellies. Now take 'em off."
"Uh, ma'am," said bad hand, eyeing the boss's bloody shirt and pants.
"What do you want?" she replied.
"I forgot about a knife on my leg and a gun in the small of my back."
"Me too," the other said.
''Get 'em out and throw them on the ground. I don't think you assholes take me seriously." Then without warning, she stabbed their boss in the same leg, eliciting a louder scream. "Don't fuck with me," she said, twisting the knife.
"Please, Holy Jesus." He was gasping in pain.
The two men hurriedly began taking off their clothes.
"Forget the strip show. I haven't got time." She frisked them both.
"How many more trip wires you got?" Corey asked.
"Four on the slope and five on the ridge," one of them answered, quickly pointing out various landmarks.
''OK. Two of you will pick points on the hill fifty yards away from one another. Boss man here will stand in the creek bottom down there at the narrowest spot. We can only cover the bottom portion of the hillside, but that's where she ran from you morons. The odds are she's hunkered down. If she went past this area, she probably would have hit one of the wires. If she stays put, she'll eventually die from exposure. Move in slow circles around your point. Don't get more than twenty-five yards from your spot. If I hear you moving in the brush, or catch you leaving your station, boss man here gets it in the other leg. So don't let me hear you. When she moves, we'll hear her. Now get moving."