Crossing Savage by Dave Edlund Page B

Those guys are done, and I didn’t see a backup team. I’ll call this in when we get to civilization.” And with that Jim leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, running through the day’s events over and over, trying to put it all together, but too many pieces were still missing.
    An hour later, the red Hummer drove into Sisters and stopped at Bronco Billy’s Saloon at the Sisters Hotel. Jim and Peter got out, stretched, and conducted a cursory inspection of the truck. It had absorbed almost a dozen rounds, mostly high on the back left quarter panel and tailgate. Jim figured they were very lucky indeed that no one was hit. The left rear tire was also shot. Peter lowered the spare and together they replaced the rear tire. Miraculously, none of the bullets had hit the spare or punctured the gas tank.
    â€œThe whisky is pretty good here,” said Peter. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink.”
    â€œNo arguments from me,” said Jim as they walked into the saloon. The Sisters Hotel was right out of the Old West, with a classic western exterior. The second floor had the hotel rooms, and the ground floor was mostly saloon and restaurant. The floor was wood, of course, and the bar just to the right of the entrance was made of highly polished mahogany with a large mirror behind the bar. A half dozen dining tables were arranged across the large open floor. In keeping with the western theme, the tables were small, designed to seat four at most, and covered with white-and-red checkered table cloths surrounded by bent-wood chairs.
    They took a table, and Peter immediately ordered Buffalo Trace bourbon for himself and Jim—straight up. Before the drinks arrived, Jim had his phone open, dialing. He got up and walked to the door, stepping out onto the covered wooden porch where he could speak in relative privacy.
    Peter finished his drink just as Jim walked back in. “I just briefed my boss, Colonel Pierson. He wasn’t too happy, especially about the rolling gun fight. Said he would contact the state police and take care of the paper work. I’ve been ordered back immediately—we have a lot of work to do. Seems like our suspicions were well founded.”
    â€œDo you think we’ll learn anything from those two goons?”
    â€œThe guys in the car? No, they’re long gone; they’re pros. By the time the state police arrive at the scene, they’ll find a car that has been professionally cleaned—no personal items, wiped of finger prints.”
    The waiter appeared and Peter ordered another shot. He felt the whiskey helping to calm his nerves.
    â€œWhy were they trying to kill us?” asked Peter.
    â€œI’m not sure. I can only guess that our conversation this morning with your father is right on target—someone is trying to interfere with his work, to silence him.”
    â€œSo why the attack on us?”
    â€œSimple—whoever is behind this is trying to eliminate loose ends. That would be us. Your father also—so he will be under 24-hour protection. I only wish we could have convinced him to cancel his field trip to Alaska.”
    â€œDad has always been rather stubborn.”
    â€œAnd you’re going, too?”
    â€œYes. After all that’s happened today, I have to. If Dad needs help, I’m going to be there.”
    â€œAnd where, again, is ‘there’?” asked Jim.
    â€œChernabura Island, in the Aleutian Island chain just south of Sandpoint. That’s where I have my cabin. If all is quiet, maybe I can spend some time hunting bear.”
    Jim looked hard at Peter. All right. Like father, like son . Some of the best and bravest soldiers Jim knew were like Peter—stubborn, committed to ideals, and above all, loyal to the end. He knew he couldn’t change Peter’s mind. He knew that Peter would die trying to protect his father and his colleagues. What really annoyed Jim, though,