The man stood just above Parker on the path, rifle to his shoulder.
Parker tried to get up on his one knee, the wounded leg stretched out straight. His hand closed around a sizeable rock.
“Get up. It’s over,” said the big man, clearly relishing the words.
“Not hardly.” The voice came from above and behind Parker’s pursuer.
Parker moved only his eyes to gauge the new arrival. To his surprise, he recognized the man: the same Marine who’d been hunting illegally on the property. He had returned to the ledge to hunt the buck in the valley. In fact, he had the same Remington 700, trained squarely on a very different target.
“What?” Abu Umarov turned, pointing his weapon at the hunter. At the same moment, Parker’s rock struck the Chechen again squarely on the temple where he had received the same blow just a few days before. The blow caused him to squeeze the trigger of his weapon prematurely, sending a round into the dirt. The young hunter also pulled the trigger, but his round didn’t miss. The deer rifle lifted the Chechen off his feet, blowing him back against the rocks and leaving him lying in a growing pool of his own blood.
“You still with us?”
James Scott stood over Parker on a stretcher.
“Clark?”
“Yeah, we found her where you said she would be. On the running trail. She’s lost some blood, but they’re bringing her out now.”
The airfield looked like a military encampment, with several Huey helicopters parked on the tarmac. All of the aircrafts were black, with FBI in large white letters on their sides.
“Colonel, I’m Tom Pope.”
A man in a dark blue suit stood over the stretcher.
“He followed us home?” Parker tried to lean up on the stretcher.
“Yeah. Everyone has been wanting this guy for a very long time.”
“I had another chance and thought he was dead.”
“Well, this time you thought right.” Pope smiled.
Parker did the same.
“Lucky about running into that friendly, eh?” said Pope. “In the middle of nowhere.”
Parker took a swig from a bottle of water, trying to rehydrate himself. “Not entirely luck,” he said.
Pope raised an eyebrow. “How’s that?”
“Were you ever a deer hunter?”
“No.”
“Deer hunters never wear blue jeans. The one color a deer can recognize is blue. Mike Hendley would have known that this guy was not a hunter and should not have been there. Period!”
“Damn.”
“Are you a baseball fan, Mr. Pope?” Parker continued.
“Yeah,” said Pope. “The Cubs,” he added, almost apologetically.
“Imagine being offered a chance to throw out the first pitch on opening day at Wrigley.”
“Okay?”
“Would you miss it?”
“No.”
“It’s deer hunting season and our young friend had a personal invitation from me to come here and try to get himself a trophy deer. There was no way he wasn’t coming back.”
CHAPTER 82
“Thank you for coming, Robert.”
The senator rarely used the conference room that was adjacent to his office in the old Senate office building. The old stained mahogany panels and the crystal chandelier set the tone of authority. The Russell Building’s cornerstone had been laid only six years prior to the sinking of the Titanic. In fact, it was in the Russell’s hearing room six years later that senators debated how the impossible had occurred. Later, Senator McCarthy had held his infamous hearings in the same location.
“Senator.”
Robert Tranthan knew that the senator disliked being called “Dad” by his son-in-law. He had never liked Tranthan, particularly after learning the true story of Robert Tranthan’s humble background. It was a relationship of tolerance. Each tolerated the other, barely.
The older man nodded, but not in a friendly way.
He won’t do anything. He wouldn’t even try.
“I have someone here to talk to us.”
The senator had an unpleasant habit of phrasing matters in terms of “us.”
The senator picked up the telephone and hit the intercom button.
“Send them in.”
Tranthan wasn’t surprised by Pope or Sebeck. It was the third one who caught him unawares.
“I understand you have met Agents Pope and Sebeck. And you also know Nurse Cook.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Mr. Tranthan, you are under arrest for the murder of Margaret O’Donald.” Pope held out a set of handcuffs, signaling Robert Tranthan to turn around. “Also, the conspiracy to murder James Scott and William Parker.”
“What?”
“You gave the names of both Scott and Parker to a contract killer. You knew what that meant.”
“You will never prove any conspiracy to kill those two.” Tranthan was wildly looking for his cigarettes as he spoke.
“Probably,” said Pope. “But we can prove Margaret O’Donald’s premeditated murder, which should be worth all the years remaining in your life.”
“Think of the embarrassment this will cause you,” Tranthan said, turning to the senator.
“I’ll take it.”
“What about your daughter?”
“She has already started divorce proceedings.” The senator gave him a rare smile. “Oh, you didn’t know?”
Robert Tranthan’s face turned ashen white.
“She was always smarter than you, Robert.” The senator chuckled as the FBI men led Tranthan out of the room. “She learned the lesson long ago. Sometimes you have to cut your losses.”
CHAPTER 83
Parker stood next to his truck, waiting for his visitors.
They’re early.
The small King Air twin banked over the lodge on the other side of the airfield as it turned the base leg and then entered its final descent.
It was another cold, clear, cloudless day. The hardwoods had all lost their leaves, leaving only the pines to hold the emerald-green color on the hillsides. With the end of deer season, it had become safe again to walk in the woods.
Parker turned up his collar and pulled down the orange-and-blue baseball cap close to his ears. The hat’s Day-Glo orange was a safety feature that helped hunters distinguish between a human and a deer moving through the trees. Even in the off-season, it paid to wear a little orange when walking in the woods.
The pilot stepped on the brakes as the airplane rolled up to Parker at the runway’s edge. James Scott was the first one out the door, followed by Moncrief. Another man followed.
“Well, Colonel, you got your color back.” Moncrief gave him a bear hug, which Parker happily returned.
“Welcome back,” Parker said to Scott.
“Hello, Colonel. And you remember Prince Ali bin Saud.”
“As sala’amu alaikum.” Parker shook the man’s hand, and then touched his own heart. “Your father is now the king?”
“Walaikum as sala’am, Colonel Parker. Yes,” said Prince Ali bin Saud, “my father wanted to express his thanks. And how are you?”
“I’m well, thanks. Recovering, anyway.”
“What about you and Clark?” asked Moncrief, direct as always.
“It’s none of your business.” Parker smiled. “I’ll tell you this much. We have another marathon scheduled.”
“Oh, yeah? Which one?”
“Oahu.”
The plan was for them to heal together, rebuild their strength, and then move on. Running was now in her blood, and she liked the idea. The Honolulu Marathon was now one of the largest races in the world. Given what Clark and Parker had survived, though, a marathon no longer seemed like much of a challenge.