Joe was surprised to see that Jammie looked fairly fresh. She had even changed clothes, he noticed as she waded across the stream, a Cordura sports bag in one hand, the AK-47 in the other.
“Ah, the SWAT team’s here,” Joe remarked, giving her a hand up the bank.
Jammie sat down on a rock to pull on her boots, which she’d slung around her neck. She laughed. “Sure you don’t mean TWAT team? Oops, bad joke—that’s what the D.I.s yelled at us in school.”
Joe seemed disconcerted. “What school is that?”
“You don’t want to know,” she said, standing up. “Ready for action, Cap’n.” She saluted like a music-hall sailor.
She looked ready for action, Joe thought. The jumpsuit might ostensibly be military in intent, but the tailoring bespoke a different objective. The effect was unsettling. Joe couldn’t help but notice that the zipper of the jumpsuit had a large ring dangling from the clasp. It had been pulled down far enough to reveal the cleavage of her breasts.
Jammie caught his eye on it and said, in a low voice, “One yank and it’s off.”
Joe’s mouth twitched. It was as much smile as he could muster right now. But unthinkingly, he glanced up at the opening to the tunnel.
“She’s at least a hundred feet up there,” Jammie teased. She set her hands on her hips and arched her back, as if stretching. Her breasts pressed against the nylon, flattening only slightly and revealing the outline of the nipples. “You only go around once, Joe … grab the ring.”
Joe chose to take it as a joke, ignoring the undertone of a genuine invitation. “Helen’s too speedy,” he said. “We’d never have a chance. ’Preciate the offer, though.”
“Never turn down a willing woman,” she said. “Or so my daddy used to say.”
“Daddy probably knows best,” Joe said, “but we don’t have time to play right now.”
Jammie looked momentarily chagrined, but she smiled. “Lighten up, Joe. You work too hard. Why? What’s in this for you? You’re not one of the Lucani.”
“No?” Joe said. “I thought I was. That’s what they keep telling me.”
“You’ll never be one of them,” Jammie said. “You’re an outlaw. They just want to play at outlaws. They’re a bunch of scouts. I think you turn them on—you turn me on—but they’ll never let you in. Not really.”
“They?” Joe said. “How about you?”
“Hey, I’ll let you in,” she said with smirk. “I’m an outlaw myself. Outlaw Love—sounds like fun.”
“Not a Lucani?” Joe said.
“They’re more fun than the stuffed shirts,” Jammie said. “But I’ll never be a Lucani, any more than you.” She had hooked a finger into the big ring and was gently tugging the zipper, first a little lower, then back up. She reached out and took his hand and brought it to her left breast, then suddenly zipped the garment open enough so that it was exposed. It was very full and the areola was large and dark, the nipple standing out. Joe’s hand involuntarily closed on her breast. It seemed to pulse with heat.
Joe snatched his hand away. “I don’t have time for this,” he said.
Jammie zipped up. “No? Well, let’s see … that leaves riches.”
“What are you playing at?” Joe said.
“You’re not concerned what the Lucani think,” Jammie said. “You’re not tempted by a lady’s tender offer. What does interest you? You see, Joe”—she stepped closer, her voice no longer playful— “there’s a lot going on here that you know nothing about. Money, politics, careers, lives even … and you’re the one who seems to be just playing at it. You and Helen. These others”—she tossed her head in the direction of Frank’s house—“they’re just bystanders—innocent or otherwise. So what’s your game?”
“It doesn’t even remotely concern you,” Joe said. “But let’s get back to the present. What’s your thinking? What do you think we should do?”
“I think we should button it up. Time to boogie.”
Joe was surprised. “Just bail? What about … ?” He gestured toward the mountain, his hand sweeping back toward the house.
“What’s the old playground chant?” Jammie said. “Find ’em, feel ’em, fuck ’em, and forget ’em. Eh? You and me and, if you insist, Helen … we just pack up and blow. Bazok … he’ll never get out of there. He’s as good as dead already. Frank and Paulie, they’ll never say shit. Frank’s worried about his dope farm … Paulie vell, ve haf vays to make him not talk.”
“No,” Joe said, “too many loose ends. Besides, I’ve got an interest—which, as I said, is none of your business. I’m not going to leave until I’m sure that Bazok is taken care of. Anyway, you left out Kibosh.”
“Kibosh?” she said, her forehead wrinkling. “The old man? Collateral damage, I’m afraid … Bazok will take care of him, as soon as he’s sure he doesn’t need him. But he was a hermit, wasn’t he? Folks will just assume he got lost in his abandoned mines. I doubt there’ll even be a search.”
It was Joe’s turn to look puzzled. “Didn’t Paulie fill you in?”
“Paulie? What about Paulie?”
“Didn’t you see Paulie?” Joe said. “At the Seven Dials? I sent him over there to relieve you, with the dogs. I thought that was why you came back.”
“I must have passed him on the way back,” Jammie said. “I got bored. The cell phone didn’t work. I think the batteries are dead. Anyway, it looked like it was time to wrap. So … Kibosh escaped?”
Joe explained what had happened.
Jammie nodded. “Well, even better. Bazok is definitely compost now. Kibosh … he won’t be calling CNN, and nobody’d believe him anyway. Party’s over. Let’s sweep the dirt under the carpet and leave the dishes in the sink.”
“What dirt is that?” Joe said.
“Well, for instance, I take it Paulie’s got a camp up the creek a ways,” Jammie said. “That’ll be where he stashed the shit.” She caught Joe’s puzzled look. “You don’t get it, do you? The guy walked out of Kosovo with half a mil in heroin, lists of names, maybe useful evidence. I’ll go check it out, make a clean sweep, and we can catch the stage to Yuma.”
Joe took a deep breath, then puffed it out. “I see. And what do we do about Paulie? The colonel sent me here to get Paulie. He wanted to talk to him. That’s my contract.”
“I talked to the colonel, on my way back,” Jammie said. “Sorry. It seemed wise. Forget Paulie. The colonel’s not interested in Paulie now. Anyway, it looked like you had Bazok cornered. No more Bazok, the job’s done. Zip, zip.” She ran the zipper down, then up.
“The colonel’s not interested in Paulie?” Joe said.
“Franko,” Jammie said. “He doesn’t even know who Paulie is. He’s not interested in Franko anymore. No need for him to know. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Keep Paulie out of it? You can explain it to the colonel, if you like. I don’t know what your deal with Paulie is, but it’s your business, as long as it doesn’t involve the heroin. Me, I’ll go check out Paulie’s camp.”
Joe had listened to her, but now he shook his head. “You do what you like,” he said. “You and the colonel want to forget about Paulie, that’s fine with me. But Bazok … I’m not leaving here until I know he’s—”
“Dead?” Jammie said.
Joe didn’t answer. He started off toward the pines where Kibosh was still snoozing. Jammie stared after him. Then she followed.
“Okay,” she called after him. “I’ll help you take Bazok. Then I’m F.O.B.”
Joe stopped in the shade of a copse of aspens. “Deal,” he said. “Kibosh knows a passage that he thinks communicates with the main drift. I figured he and I would go in, try to get a jump on Bazok.”
“It’s a plan,” Jammie said. “Where do I bat in this lineup?”
“It depends on how it plays out,” Joe said. “Kibosh thinks, and I agree, that it’s a good chance that Bazok will be so demoralized that we’ll be able to simply grab him and lead him out. He may not resist. Even if he does, I should be able to keep him pinned down while Kibosh comes out and gets you. The two of us should be able to handle him. The idea is to take him alive, right? The colonel will want to talk to him, at least.”
“You don’t want to be worrying about what the colonel wants,” Jammie said. “In there? It’s like being tied up in a gunny sack with a badger and tossed down a well.”
“If it gets too rough, I’ll have to take him down,” Joe said simply. “What I’m more worried about, though, is if he gets between us and this exit … you and Helen.”
“We’re just girls,” Jammie said sarcastically. “But if you think we can handle him…. Seriously? How about, Helen hangs at the entry with one of your alley sweepers while I go inside, maybe fifty feet or so, and find myself a good position. If I see him approaching, I’ll backtrack, and we’ll have time to get down the trail. It shouldn’t be a problem. If he’s in his berserk mode, we’ll just stay out of his way. He can’t get far, out here.” She indicated the river, the broad meadow beyond.
Under the circumstances, they really couldn’t make much more of a plan than that, Joe thought. He had a vision of Bazok, pinned on the cliff trail, with Jammie and Helen covering him below and Joe above and behind him. He’d have to throw it in. It would be a neat conclusion, only Joe had no illusions: it was bound to go differently. But at least they had a notion of how to proceed.
“Okay,” he said, “I’ll get Kibosh. You can brief Helen.”
“No good-bye kiss, Joe?” She tugged at the zipper again. “Last chance.”
Joe shook his head at her levity and disappeared through the trees.
“Hey, girl,” Jammie called as she arrived at the mouth of the mine, her breasts heaving slightly from the climb. They were all but entirely exposed, the zipper drawn down almost to her belt.
Helen stepped out to greet her, blinking against the bright sun.
“Dispatches from Napoleon,” Jammie said.
“Napoleon?”
“The Little Corporal,” Jammie explained, gesturing over her shoulder.
“The very same. We have a plan of battle. He goes in down there.” She pointed—they could see Joe and Kibosh making their way up the talus slope toward some caves. “And I go in up here. Classical pincer movement, right out of Clausewitz. Bazok is all but maggot-munchy.”
“What about me?” Helen said.
“You stand guard,” Jammie said. “Just in case Bazok gets by me.”
“That doesn’t sound like much of a role,” Helen said.
“I’ll trade ya.” Jammie extended the AK-47 she carried.
Helen ignored the gesture.
Jammie nodded and said, “I don’t blame you. Why risk your ass for these pricks? There’s nothing in it for you, is there?”
Not as much as I’d like, Helen thought to herself, but she wasn’t about to admit it to Jammie. “Joe is in it,” she said.
Jammie nodded. “Yeah, he is. The question is, Why. What’s in it for him?”
Helen was not about to go into the details of Joe’s rebuilding schemes. It didn’t concern anyone but them, and it seemed unlikely that Jammie would understand. “Joe has a contract,” she said. “He likes to carry out the contract. It’s a point of honor.”
“Oh, how I love honor,” Jammie said with a little laugh. “It’s the old fallback position when an operation has lost its focus. You guys should have bailed on this one days ago. Well, you anyway. Joe has his own reasons, I’m sure.”
“What?” Helen said.
“Gee, you haven’t given it much thought, have you?” She regarded Helen thoughtfully. “Maybe Joe and the colonel left a few things out. There’s a lot of money involved. Didn’t they fill you in?”
Helen looked dumb.
Jammie shook her head. “Your newfound friend Paulie walked with a lot of goods, money too. Joe didn’t say anything about that? I wonder why? Maybe it’s just between him and the colonel … and Dinah Schwind, of course.”
“Schwind!” Helen said.
“Oops … gotta learn to keep my mouth shut,” Jammie said, then sighed. “What the hell, why should I cover for them? You and me are bath buddies, aren’t we? Naiads of the natatorium? You’re out here riding shotgun, you deserve to know. Joe and Dinah … how should I put it? They’re a little tighter than agent and control. Didn’t you dig that?”
“I could see she was interested in Joe …”
“But not the other way ’round?” Jammie shook her head with a slight smile. “Well, I’m sure he’s not really, really into her … except about six inches, anyway. But that’s how men are—as long as they can wet the wick, the banns can wait.”
“What do you know about it?” Helen said. She kept her voice even.
“Just what I heard from Dinah, before I got roped in on this goofy badger game. I know her from old school days. That’s where we first met the colonel. Dinah was very good on the oral exams—that’s how she got into the Lucani.”
“How did you get in?” Helen said.
“Not that way,” Jammie said. “Dinah’s special at that. I think she’s one of those gals who find the missionary position oppressive. Although, I dare say she can tolerate a little man-on-top, now and then—and your Joey’s not so heavy, is he? But it’s a little late for gossip. Time to soldier.” She stooped to pick up her gear bag.
“What’s in there?” Helen said. She was trying to distract herself from these malicious jibes.
“Just some toys, in case I get bored,” Jammie said. “Wish me luck.” She slung the AK-47 over her shoulder.
“I don’t believe that stuff about Joe and Schwind,” Helen said.
Jammie gave her a glance of pity. “You know what they say— ‘Someone’s in the kitchen with Dinah.’ Stand by your man, honey. But don’t forget—he’s just a man.” She started into the cave, then stopped, turning to look back. “I’ll tell you what … and this is my honest, sincere opinion … if I were you, I’d skedaddle before we come out of here—whoever comes out of here. Just a bit of wisdom from your worldly fellow nymph.”
Helen stared at the woman. Turned sideways, Jammie’s posture accentuated the exposure of her breasts. She didn’t trust Jammie. There was something wrong. But she knew that there was something between Joe and Schwind. She’d sensed it before. Was there something, as well, between Joe and Jammie? She’d seen them standing in the trees, down by the stream, standing very close. But she’d been unable to see much.
“What were you and Joe talking about, down there?” Helen asked.
“Oh, just Clausewitz,” Jammie said. Then she glanced down at her breasts, aware of Helen’s stare. “Oops. Nothing serious, my dear, honest. Joe’s not really a tit man anyway, is he?” Then she vanished into the interior.
Helen stood on the path, fuming. The bitch! she thought. She looked around. The sky was clear except for a handful of puffy clouds. Nothing stirred in the grand panorama except a few birds, magpies she thought, flapping and calling around the trees along the glittering stream below.
What was she doing here? Backing up Joe. Maybe Jammie was right: she ought to scram. But after a few frustrated minutes, running Jammie’s remarks back and forth through her mind, she knelt to rummage in the backpack for a roll of duct tape: Joe had suggested mounting the flashlight on the barrel of the shotgun, just in case. Now she took his advice. Then she went into the tunnel.
She had hardly gone fifty feet, just beyond the point where there was no longer any illumination from the entrance, when she came upon Jammie’s gear bag. It sat, not nearly so full as it had seemed, next to the AK-47, leaning against the wall.
Kibosh was willing but skeptical. “He’ll die in here,” Kibosh said as they made their way into the mountain, “and I might find his bones in a year or two of lookin’, though to tell ye the truth, I don’t reckon I’d spend my Sundays doin’ it. But by golly, I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes neither. It’d be a hell of a miserable way to go.”
“Not as miserable as the one he gave to a lot of others,” Joe said.
It did not take long for them to reach their first serious obstacle. The floor of the tunnel they were in had been gradually sloping upward more quickly than the ceiling. Finally, there was little more than a crawl space, scarcely large enough to admit a man of Joe’s size. Kibosh was skinnier. He crawled forward with the light while Joe waited. Soon he crawled backward out of the hole. He seemed puzzled.
“I coulda swore this was a walk-in drift,” he said. “But it just plumb peters out.”
They were sitting on the floor, and Kibosh picked up a handful of sand and let it run through his fingers. “This ain’t no recent cave-in,” he said. He looked around and picked up a sliver of what looked like wood, sniffed it, then tasted it. “That there’s a bone,” he said. “This has been used by a lion. There’s quite a few of ’em about, more than there used to was.”
“I never thought of these mountains as being like this,” Joe said. “They look so solid, and yet they’re just honey-combed with these passages and tunnels.”
“A mountain’s a livin’ thing,” Kibosh said. “Quite a lot goin’ on in ’em. Lions, bears use ’em, even badgers—though they like to dig their own, mostly. They’re diggin’ machines. Well, we’d best backtrack.”
Soon they found where they had gone astray. A fall had masked off another tunnel. They picked at it for twenty minutes or more, dragging larger rocks away. It was loose at first, then more tightly packed, but finally loose again, and they were able to push through into a man-sized passage.
“Hard work,” Joe said. They paused to drink water. “You seem to have an idea where you are,” he said to Kibosh. “How?”
“Why, I don’t know,” Kibosh said. “I just al’s seemed to have that sense. Ye get turned around, sometimes. But I al’s had that sense of it. Kind of a feel. Where we are now, we been steady goin’ up, an’ a little to the right, all the time. I reckon the main route, if ye want t’call it that, is on a bit more to the right and higher yet. That’d be where Boz orta be, if he ha’n’t strayed off into another whole system.”
They went on. Joe had lost track of time, or would have, but now he was surprised to see by his watch that they had been in the mountain for only a little more than an hour. They investigated several galleries, as Kibosh termed them, to no avail. One passage came to a full stop with a cave-in, quite old according to Kibosh. Another angled back toward yet another exit.
“Do ye want to take a break?” Kibosh asked. “Ye could foller this tunnel here and it’d get ye to a point downstream of where we started, by about a quarter mile or more.”
“How long would that take?”
“Fifteen minutes.”
Joe thought about it, then decided to push on. It was well that they did, for in another twenty minutes they came to a cross drift that Kibosh said was almost certainly bound to intersect with the main passage. But he wasn’t confident how far it was.
“How can you tell?” Joe asked.
Kibosh said he could tell from the size and condition of the drift. It had been worked pretty thoroughly. “Musta found some gold in here,” he said. “I’ll have to ’member this. See, they worked these galleries here and there, laid these old boards … kinda rotted now. See?”
“Why did they stop?”
Kibosh looked at the dirt, inspected some flecks of minerals he pointed out to Joe. “It’s a sign, but not real promising. They had to’ve assayed, an’ prob’ly didn’t find it rich enough. Maybe they jist got tired. Found somethin’ better over yonder. Maybe they got sick. Who knows?”
Joe was weary of being in this hole, but he didn’t say anything. It wouldn’t do to quit now. They pressed on. Within fifteen minutes they were into the cross drift that they’d come upon earlier. But after they had traveled along it for a while, Kibosh remarked that it seemed to be quite a bit farther to the main passage than he’d reckoned.
“Seems like it keeps bending back,” he said. They stopped and reconnoitered a bit, exploring some of the galleries they had passed. At one point, Kibosh paused and sniffed. He said he felt a draft—did Joe feel it? Joe wasn’t sure. They hoisted their gear and went on. Within a short time Joe and Kibosh found themselves in an easy passage, and not long after, they came to a recently collapsed cross tunnel.
“This could be it,” Kibosh said. “It heads the right way.” Together, they managed to clear away enough debris to squeeze through, and from there it was a short walk until they entered a large chamber.
“By damn,” Kibosh said, “this here’s the chamber where I stopped with Boz. An’”—he broke off to cast his light about—“he ain’t been back here. I bet he’s still betwixt us and the main exit.”
All right, Joe thought as they set off. They moved at a good pace, Kibosh as confident of his whereabouts as if he’d been on the corner of Park and Montana, in Butte. They had not gone far when he suddenly snapped off his light and turned to stop Joe. “Up ahead,” he whispered.
There was a faint glow ahead. The two men moved forward softly. Joe took the lead, with the H&K at the ready. They came to a bend and then around it and there, some fifty feet beyond, was Bozi Bazok. He stood hunched, a light in one hand and a pistol in the other, his back humped with the old canvas pack. He wasn’t walking, just standing and talking.
“You little whore,” he muttered, “who the hell do you think you are? Keep walking. Come on.” He trudged forward, still talking. The two men followed, keeping their distance.
“There’s bandits up in these mountains,” Boz said. “Taliban! Ha, ha! I’d like to see them. I’d blow their fucking brains out. I’ll blow yours out too. Come here,” he said, stopping. “That’s it. Get down on your knees. I’m gonna do it right now! Oh, quit whining. Come on.” And he shuffled on.
Kibosh plucked at Joe’s sleeve. They stopped and let the man stumble on, still jabbering—“Balijas! Bozi Bazooks! You don’t stand a chance! Haw!”
“Sumbitch is plum loco,” Kibosh whispered. “But I’m damned if he ain’t found his way. If he just keeps walkin’ he’ll walk right out. The wimmen’ll be up ahead. Hadn’t we orta do somethin’ fore he gits there?”
Joe knew he was right. “Let’s take him. You lay back. He’s in terrible shape, but if he starts popping that pistol it could get dangerous. Stay against the wall, or lie on the ground.”
“I got a better idea,” Kibosh said. “How ’bout I call to him, flash my light? He’ll come. Ye stay back, in the dark, and we might lure him back to the chamber, where they’s a little more room. Ye could take him there.”
This seemed a better idea, Joe thought, but it might be dangerous for Kibosh. The old man was willing, though. He felt that the larger chamber would be less dangerous if bullets started flying. Joe consented and began to backtrack, while Kibosh went forward.
“Boz!” the old man shouted. “Hey, Boz!” He flashed his light down the passage. “This way!”
Boz whirled around. “Wha’? Kibe? That you, Kibe? You come back for me!”
“This way, boy!” Kibosh yelled. He waved his light but, mindful of Joe’s warning, retreated around the bend. He kept calling, always staying out of view as they fell back, careful to keep a bend between them and Bazok, his light flashing on the walls to show the route.
Boz stumbled back toward them, overjoyed. “You came back! You’re a hell of a man, Kibe! Wait up!”
When Joe and Kibosh entered the chamber they doused their lights, waiting on either side of the entry. A moment later, Bazok burst into the room.
“Where are you, Kibe?” he yelled. He stood in the middle of the chamber, the Star automatic in hand, looking around wildly.
Joe was in the act of flicking on his light when the dogs burst into the chamber, howling. Bazok whirled. “Get away! Get away!” he screamed as the dogs attacked. He fired the Star wildly.
“Get down!” Joe yelled to Kibosh, as bullets ricocheted about the chamber.
The dogs snarled, tearing at their quarry. Bazok’s light flew against a wall and went out. In the darkness, Joe and Kibosh could hear the dog’s teeth snapping, the rending of clothing, the screams of the victim. Then it was almost silent, with only the panting of the dogs.
Joe flipped his light on. The dogs stood back from the mangled corpse of the killer, a wretched, torn bundle in the middle of the room. Their eyes glowed in the light, but they didn’t move. Then they padded forward and nuzzled Joe.
Joe shone his light on Kibosh, who was crouched against a wall. His eyes were wide, but now he stood up, cautiously. “Good dogs, good dogs,” Kibosh said. The dogs came to him, their tongues lolling out. They knew him. Kibosh petted them and took hold of their collars.
Joe went over to Bazok. He was dead, his throat and face torn viciously, the blood still spreading around him. Joe had turned to say something to Kibosh when another voice broke in.
“Hold them, hold them,” Jammie said. She stood at the entry, her gun in both hands. She had pushed her night-vision headgear back off her forehead. The dogs were straining in Kibosh’s hands. “If you let them go,” Jammie warned, “I’ll shoot you first.”
Kibosh hushed the dogs. He looked from Joe to her and back.
“Keep them calm,” Joe said. To Jammie, he said, “Well?”
She stepped forward, motioning Joe toward Kibosh and the dogs. “Help him hold them,” she said. When Joe moved over to take one of the dogs, she sidestepped toward Bazok. She glanced down briefly and kicked him. The limp reaction told her what she needed to know. She turned her attention back to the two men and the dogs.
“Kind of a standoff, hey?” She laughed lightly. “If I shoot you, the dogs get loose, which could be a hassle. That stupid Paulie … I could kill him.” She uttered a bark of laughter. “Well, you can’t kill a man twice, can you? Which leaves you guys.”
“So, you’re the cleanup hitter,” Joe said. “Is that it?”
“Very good, Joe. I like that.” She seemed calm, assessing the situation.
“And who’s the coach?” Joe asked. “Tucker?”
Jammie shook her head, impatiently. “Don’t be silly,” she said. “You’re smarter than that … or maybe I overestimated you. It’s all about money, Joe. Nothing complicated. I offered you a chance … but you didn’t bite. I guess”—she lowered her aim—“it’ll have to be the dogs first.”
Helen’s light flashed in Jammie’s eyes. Jammie swiveled, but it was too late. The shotgun roared. Jammie was thrown back like a rag doll, flopping on top of Bazok, arms flung wide.
Joe approached Helen and tried to embrace her, but she held him off with an elbow. She pointed the barrel of the gun so that the light played on the bodies, their blood mingling on the dirty floor.
“Make sure they’re dead,” Helen said.
Joe knelt to inspect the bodies. He stood up. “Can’t get any deader,” he said.
Helen let out her breath and lowered the gun. Joe put his arm around her. She stared down at the crumpled wreckage of Jammie. “My God,” she said. “Why?”
Joe picked up Jammie’s laser-aimed Llama and the NiteOwl headset that had been thrown from her head. He held them up to show Helen.
“She would have killed you,” he said. “She killed Paulie.”
“Why?”
“What does it matter?” he said.
“It matters to me,” Helen said. “She didn’t know us. She didn’t know anything about us.”
“We were just in the way,” Joe said. “She was a determined woman. Dedicated, you could say.”