CHAPTER 26

HANSEN MET AKERS AT the heliport at 2:00 p.m.  The flight to Jackson Hole was never a piece of cake.  The chopper had a range of 175 miles and could, theoretically, fly non-stop to Jackson in a straight line directly over the vast wilderness of the Rocky Mountains.  That would take an hour.  But neither Hansen nor Akers wanted to do that.  Instead, they flew south along the Big Horn River to the mouth of Wind River Canyon where the Wind River morphed into the Big Horn.  They flew above the canyon, across Boysen Reservoir, and refueled at Riverton, then followed U.S. Highway 26 over Togwotee pass into Jackson Hole country, landing at Jackson airport six miles north of the city of Jackson itself.

Charlie Pickens was waiting for them.  Akers didn’t like this at all.  Pickens, he knew, had been in on several “incidents” with the Prophet and Bill Campbell.  Akers had never actually been party to any blood atonement, but he knew the church doctrine and Bill Campbell had told him even more.  He knew what the Prophet was capable of.

Now Akers was a long way from home and alone with the Prophet and Pickens.  After flying the chopper during the Fourth of July raid, Akers knew things were coming to a head for the Prophet.  He also knew that Hansen, in a pinch, could fly the helicopter.  Akers worried that he might not be going back to Basin with the Prophet. The Prophet had been evasive when Akers had asked him what their mission was.  If Hansen even slightly suspected Akers had been in contact with Sheriff Broadbeck and Jan Kucera, he was a dead man!  It was as simple as that.

Akers tongue scraped around in his mouth like sandpaper when they slammed the doors on the chopper and met Pickens at his Suburban.  Pickens’ ranch and six wives were north of Jackson, not far from the airport.  Akers didn’t know Pickens well, but the huge old guy spooked him big time.  This whole thing was really looking bad.

“Charlie!” Hansen said, slapping his disciple on the back.  “How are you?  How are Martha and the others?”

“Just fine, President.  Everybody’s doing well.”  His voice rolled out of his massive chest like a caricature of the voice of God.

“The new wives settling in alright?”

“They’re gonna do fine.”

“Good, good, good!”

Hoyt Akers said, “Howdy, brother Pickens.”

Pickens stuck out his hand and his huge mitt encompassed Akers’ hand.  His grip was as cold as his eyes.

“I want to take you boys to supper in Jackson,” Hansen said.  “I think I’ll ride in the back.  Hoyt, you sit up front with Charlie.”

Akers got in on the passenger side, trying to ignore the sweat rolling down his stomach under his shirt.  He definitely didn’t like the Prophet sitting behind him.  He hoped they wouldn’t notice his hands were shaking.

As they pulled onto the highway, Hansen said, “Hey, Charlie, let’s show Hoyt the Gros Ventre Slide.  You gotta see this Hoyt.  The world’s largest landslide.  Just a few miles off the road.  Happened in 1925.  Dammed the Gros Ventre River.  Two years later, the natural dam broke and flooded the town of Kelly.  Killed six people.  Viewing the Gros Ventre is a once-in-a-lifetime experience.” Hansen laughed.

Pickens turned up the Gros Ventre road.  They drove in silence, Hansen whistling tunelessly in the back seat.  Six miles down the road they passed the little town of Kelly, and six miles further they came to the massive slide and Lower Slide Lake which had been created by the disaster.

The road was totally deserted.  Pickens pulled over into a little stand of quaking aspen.

“Get out boys.”  Hansen said.

It occurred to Hoyt to try to jump in the driver’s seat and take off with the vehicle, but he knew he could never do it fast enough.  Surely both Hansen and Pickens were armed.  He started to say something to Hansen, but he could think of absolutely nothing to say.  He got out.

Hansen was relieving himself at the base of a small white aspen.  Pickens was looking at Akers quizzically.  They were about three feet apart.

When Hansen turned around he was holding a blue-steel Colt 45 Cowboy.  Akers started to scream, but his voice was drowned out by the sound of the firearm as Hansen shot Pickens four times in the chest.

As the shots echoed off the Gros Ventre mountains, Hansen looked at Akers.  “Little jumpy aren’t you, Hoyt?”

Akers stood frozen looking Mountains,

“Can you drag Charlie’s carcass over in those trees for me?  We need to bury him, then leave his Suburban at the airport.  I think we’ll skip supper and head on back.  You OK with that?”