Blood Appeal Page 21

“We’ll have to move quickly. Their next weekend gathering is coming up,” Kuhl said.

  “Anna, see what you can find out about where the animals will go. What else do we have?” I asked.

  “It keeps getting better,” Kuhl said. “Remember Leigh’s 1990 Ford motorhome?”

  “It’s there?” I asked.

  “Oh yeah and it was easier to get into than the building. From the condition inside the RV, I’d say they parked it when they returned from their trip and haven’t touched it since. It’s a mess inside. I’d call these guys pigs, but it would give pigs a bad name.”

  “If it hasn’t been sanitized, it will be loaded with forensic evidence, assuming they had Dawn inside,” Anna surmised.

  “It’s loaded all right,” Kuhl said. “Like Walter said, these guys are a taco short of a fiesta plate when it comes to covering their tracks.”

  “What? I never said that. I don’t even know what it means.”

  “My point is they aren’t very smart.” Kuhl placed a set of latex gloves on and reached inside his bag. This time, he retrieved a gallon-sized plastic bag containing a small stack of photographs. “Don’t touch these,” Kuhl said, as he laid the prints on the table. It took Kuhl a minute to arrange the twenty-six photographs into two groups. “These come from a Polaroid Spectra 1200 which is an instant film camera.”

  “Wow, that’s amazing you know the type camera by looking at the photos,” I said.

  Kuhl grinned. “A drawer in the motorhome has the camera stashed.” He continued, “As you can see, we have pictures with more than one native female victim in them. I suspect these photos represent trophies in some manner for these guys.”

  One photo caught my eye almost immediately. I pointed it out and said, “That’s Duke Dixon and Ponytail.”

  “Is that Dawn?” Anna asked.

  I compared the girl in this picture to my memory of the ones Jay showed me of Dawn. “I’d say it’s her.”

  The graphic nature of the image and the appearance of pain on Dawn’s face made my blood boil. The prompting by Destiny, the visual image of her torture, and the blood’s appeal in my dreams, made a strong impression. Killing Duke would be easier now than before. Kuhl isolated another picture from the stack only this time Pug was the principal actor. With any photographic evidence, it can only tell you so much. In this case, it spoke plenty. Pug was sprawled naked on top of a young native female who looked unconscious. Was he having sex? I didn’t care. She looked to be underage and unconscious; he’d already crossed the line. Another photograph showed Pug with a leather belt in hand and a different native girl cowering naked in a corner of what appeared to be a bedroom. Two things were now certain, the pictures weren’t all taken in the motorhome and there was more than one victim involved.

  “One guy is missing from the pictures,” I said. “Flattop.”

  “Maybe he’s the cameraman,” Anna said.

  “That’s good work, Kuhl. The brutality I’ve seen in these photos is as bad as I’ve encountered on any project,” I said. “Anna, you’ve done this once already, but I want you to go through your notes, use whatever means necessary, to check for other missing or murdered children in the Glennallen area. Then expand your search along the entire road system. Dawn was from Palmer and these guys lived in Anchorage and Moose Pass. Check everything that fits.”

  “I’ll have to travel to one of the cities for internet and telephone service,” Anna said.

  “Take the Avenger and go. Now that we have pictures, I want to take them down before they have another opportunity to strike. No more victims,” I said. “Let’s rendezvous here tonight at ten. I’m going to hop a ride with Kuhl and check out this compound for myself.”

  “Don’t forget about the dogs,” Anna said.

  With a resounding, “Roger that” from Kuhl, we started a weapons check. Anna prepared for her road trip.

  Chapter 14

  “As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

  I shall fear no evil. For the shadow is mine and so is the valley.”

  —Unknown

  Kuhl slipped behind the wheel of his van while I took shotgun. Literally. Kuhl handed me his new tactical Saiga-12 semi-automatic 12-gauge. I tingled all over and could hardly wait to give it a whirl. We’d traveled south for less than a half hour when Kuhl pointed to a driveway on the right that led to the training camp. We crossed over a small stream that ran under the roadway at the bottom of the ravine adjacent to the dirt access road. When we crested the knoll, Kuhl pulled the van off the hard surface and onto the road’s shoulder before he stopped.

  “Let’s put our ears on.” Kuhl made his way to the console in the rear of the van where he kept his electronic gadgetry.

  “You planted bugs?”

  “Only two on their phony cameras. There are no telephones or computers so we can’t run wiretaps. It’s a bare bones operation inside. The wireless voice transmitters I planted are our only monitoring devices. The scope and range are limited.”

  “At least we have something.”

  “They have a pick up range of approximately thirty-five feet in the open areas of the building. They are passive until it senses noise. At that point, they are good for less than eight hours continuous activation. In the event the Alliance has their gathering this weekend it’s conceivable we’ll only be able to monitor the first half of one day.”

  I stepped out of the van to get my first impression of the area layout. The camp lay hidden from view underneath an impenetrable canopy of trees and thick underbrush. The Copper River Delta was a never ending maze of rolling hills that spanned an area the size of West Virginia. The vastness of the valley was spectacular. Seeing the terrain answered a gnawing question I had as to why the Alliance had gone unnoticed by law enforcement.

  The people of the Copper River basin were fiercely independent when it came to government control. Both the Feds and State officials had a keen interest in the region. Properly developed, there was money to be made from minerals to tourism. These were opportunities the government wanted to share with locals, but development of the area was slow and not the reason most inhabitants sought refuge in rural Alaska.

  Copper River locals were self-reliant. Survival was a way of life. I hadn’t found any indicators that residents in the Delta Basin were anything like the trio representing the Alliance. The fact was, the Alliance weren’t area residents and they had nothing in common with the people.

  With the salmon run in full swing, vehicle traffic was plentiful on the hardtop arteries. It suited me fine. Blending in with my surroundings was an art I practiced—chameleon-like. I was adept to the customs and behaviors of rural living. However, engaged in our present operation, it wasn’t the people of Copper River I needed to imitate, it was the hordes of visiting fishermen. Locals knew their Copper River neighbors. What they expected to see in a visitor was visitor behavior.

  One side of the van’s back door cracked open. I turned to see Kuhl rapidly gesturing with his hand. “C’mon—quick!” He had my attention.

  “Someone is at the compound.” I waited while Kuhl continued to listen through his headset. Out the back window of the van, I could see the driveway where it intersected with the pavement. I grabbed a set of binoculars and trained my view on the access road.

  Minutes passed slowly causing anxiety to build. Suddenly I caught a glimpse of color dodging in and out through the tree covered access road. I alerted Kuhl, “Movement!” I adjusted the focus to a crisp view as the object emerged from the dense coverage. By this time, Kuhl joined me with a set of binoculars; a white four-wheel drive vehicle had emerged from the thick growth at the edge of a highway.

  “It’s a Scout. I’m sure of it.” Not many vehicles on the road looked like an old International Scout. I had firsthand knowledge of Scouts having owned a ‘66 version and there hadn’t been much change in body style. The vehicle turned north on the Richardson Highway. Kuhl looked in my direction and said, “Should we go?”

&
nbsp; “Pug had a white Scout. Let’s put the tail on.”

  We hurriedly took our positions in the van, spun it around and rolled northbound.

  “Let’s not tag too close.”

  Kuhl laughed. “Thanks for the tip,” and curved his lips into a smile and laughed again.

  At the Glenn Highway, the Scout pulled into the only gas station at the intersection. Unofficially the juncture was the central hub for traffic in this neck of the woods. Kuhl circled the van around next to an eatery in a corner of the gas station.

  Kuhl leaned back and using one barrel of his binoculars read the license plate aloud, “Alaska, GOR 622.”

  I scrambled to look up Woolf ’s vehicle registration in Anna’s files. “It’s a match,” and read the plate number back to Kuhl.

  “Roger that.”

  We could see a man refueling the Scout. We weren’t able to identify him until he entered the Mom and Pop store at the station—it was unmistakably Woolf.

  Less than ten minutes later, Pug had jumped into his Scout and pulled out behind a tractor-trailer rig. When he’d driven passed us in the lot, we confirmed he was traveling alone. We waited a minute and allowed two other vehicles to pass in front of us before we continued north behind our target. We loosely followed for miles, catching little more than a glimpse of the Scout on the winding hills of the delta.

  Travelers hauling trailers and driving motorhomes caused an accordion effect in the traffic flow. Thankfully, Pug’s Scout was caught behind the road turtles as frequently as our van. An hour into the drive, Kuhl asked, “How far are we taking the tail?”

  “Like you said, brother, follow the information trail.”

  Kuhl had said, in a roundabout way, we needed more depth in the project. He wanted a better understanding of what we’re dealing with and who were the players. After the photographs had turned up, all I wanted was them dead. Any dismantling of their organization had to occur one target at a time.

  Two bars were showing on my cell phone, enough signal to place a call to Anna and let her know we were on a tail. Anna had easily made Palmer and would have better reception for the call.

  “Hey sweetie, we might be late for dinner.”

  “What have you found?” Her voice crackled with excitement. Every Palatini wanted to be involved with this leg of an operation.

  “We’re tracking a Pug.”

  “Sounds sporting. Keep me updated when you can.”

  Ninety-plus miles north from where we’d started the tail, Pug pulled off and parked his Scout at the Paxson Lodge then went inside. Paxson was a touristy joint at the intersection of the Richardson and Denali Highways. He was safe here.

  Kuhl and I tossed around the idea of a grab and go. What better way to shake things up than snagging our target at a remote stop. An Alliance member’s disappearance, coupled with their recent sighting of me near another member’s house, might create a healthy level of chaos. For the time being we watched and waited for the opportunity. I could hear it knocking.

  Daylight, combined with a high traffic area like Paxson, stacked the odds against us for action. A half hour passed before Pug pulled back out onto the road. We were poised to continue following him north on the Richardson Highway. To our surprise, he took the “Y” onto the Denali Highway, a route that had little notable traffic compared to the Richardson Highway.

  In one sense, we saw our wish come true for an isolated work environment, but it also created complications. We found ourselves having to fall back further on the tail, or he’d pick up on us for sure. The road climbed through a couple miles of brushy, low-lying hills and onto a lengthy flat without a tree in sight. We dropped further back. I kept Kuhl’s fancy shotgun close at hand. If he pulled over anywhere on this stretch of road and the coast was clear, we would ‘jack’ him.

  Kuhl and I hadn’t figured out what game Pug was playing. Maybe it was a fishing trip, but it was hard to believe he’d travel a hundred miles for a salmon when they were in the stream next to the camp. With the minutes ticking away, I’d become interested in knowing his reason for the long drive on a road with only a few insignificant settlements. What was his agenda? I loved the mystery of the unknown.

  From Paxson, we drove a twenty-one-mile leg of broken pavement and frost heaves before coming upon an Inn at Tangle Lakes. Pug’s Scout was already parked in clear view when we pulled into the lot.

  Pug and I had been too chummy when we’d met the first time. It was likely he’d pick me out of the crowd in a heartbeat. This was especially true if he’d been contacted by the others with the possibility I’d followed them to Alaska. Kuhl, who Pug hadn’t seen, was elected for the recon duties.

  Kuhl geared up to go inside the Inn. He gathered a few of his electronic gadgets together. I was sidetracked by Kuhl as he methodically hid items in his clothing. So much so, I barely caught the Scout’s movement from the corner of my eye. Pug’s rig pulled out of the Inn’s driveway, crossed the road and barreled down the dirt access to the lake. Upper Tangle Lake was the largest body of water in a chain of lakes that were connected by streams and a popular fishing area.

  Kuhl and I hadn’t paid much attention to the floatplane as it touched down on the lake. When it taxied toward the dock where Pug waited, we became very interested. Kuhl used binoculars to read aloud the tail number, which wasn’t on the tail at all but inscribed on the fuselage. “Looks like a Cessna,” he said. “It’s white with a two-tone blue stripe on the side.” It was enough to give Anna for a research project. I looked at my cell phone signal; I had nothing.

  “I’m going to hop out and use a phone in the Inn to call Anna while you keep an eye on the situation.” We knew Pug was up to no good, which meant whoever he was meeting was up to no good. Pug had waved a big red flag, and my gut instincts reacted. Why would a guy have driven out to the middle of nowhere to meet somebody? There were dozens of lakes a floatplane could land on near Glennallen. The only thing that made sense was someone on board didn’t want to be seen in the Glennallen area with Pug. I didn’t blame them. I wouldn’t want to be seen with him either.

  Inside the Inn, the woman behind the restaurant register pointed out the single payphone in the joint. Hanging on a wall between the men’s and women’s restrooms was a beat up black telephone—it wasn’t exactly private. With my back to restaurant diners and a lowered tone of voice, I placed the call.

  Anna was eager to sink her teeth into fresh meat and what I gave her was enough to satiate her lust for the time being. I hung up the phone and turned around in time to see Pug holding the door open for a man I hadn’t seen before. I quickly stepped into the men’s bathroom and locked the door. Now that I’d trapped myself, I looked to my cell phone to get me out of the squeeze. I batted a thousand with bad luck. No signal.

  Pug’s visitor, a gray-haired man, dressed in business attire including a dark suit and tie, looked out of place for Tangle Lakes. He and Pug shared a remarkable resemblance in height and weight, but that’s where the similarities ended. I’d given them a moment to get settled at a table before I unlocked the door and scanned the dining area. Pug was seated with his back toward the restrooms and against a window to my left. Chances were good that I could walk straight out of the restaurant, but I had to play it smart. The first step was the hardest but once committed, the next step came easily. As I passed by where Pug sat, I looked toward the service counter on my right and waved to the waitress. She didn’t know me, but nonetheless smiled and waved back. I didn’t want a big scene. Casual would do nicely. I thanked the woman at the register as I passed. Reaching the door, I didn’t look back. I walked around to the front of the Inn where we’d parked the van. To my surprise, the vehicle sat unattended and unlocked. I climbed into the passenger seat, waited and watched.

  Minutes later, Kuhl opened the double doors at the back of our rig. Without any explanation as to where he was or what he’d been doing, he climbed in, gathered a few electronic gadgets and hopped back out.

  “I’m going
in—wait here.”

  “I’ve got your six.” The van doors closed and Kuhl vanished.

  I’d lost track of time, but not of my target. Although initially out of view, Pug’s Scout crept from the Inn’s parking lot with a passenger onboard and across the paved road toward the airplane. With my binoculars focused on Pugs vehicle, I jumped with surprise when Kuhl opened the van door.

  “Edwin Snuth is the old guy with Woolf. I picked the name up off mail in the aircraft.”

  “I wondered where you’d run off to earlier.”

  “I didn’t have much time at the plane. Boaters approached the dock, so I walked.”

  “What’s his claim to fame?”

  “He’s a businessman that’s found his way to the top of the food chain.”

  Kuhl recounted his steps, “I took a table with a view just like they had by the window. The table I picked put me directly behind Pug, back to back. Kuhl’s lopsided grin showed.

  “What happened then?”

  “The waitress brought the coffee, of course.”

  “What could you hear them saying?”

  “For the most part they kept the volume low-key. But I placed my ball cap and a recorder on the table next to me. With only a foot between Woolf ’s back and mine, and Snuth facing Woolf and my back, I was close enough to make a recording of their conversation.” Kuhl pulled out a small video camcorder and said, “It’s all right here.”

  “Sweet.”

  “The recording might be rough and scratchy at the beginning. But, once I had checked the wireless screen viewer I had in my front shirt pocket and adjusted the angle slightly, the view of Edwin Snuth was spot-on. I checked audio with an earpiece when I was satisfied with the reception I left it alone to record.” Kuhl pushed play and we listened.

  Snuth said, “We’ve played this game too long…(Garbled and background noise). I have my people with the state ready to move on the mineral claims…(Garbled)…the Interior Department and BLM are lined up with their rubber stamps to let this through. These tribal leaders are driving me crazy with their delays. These natives want me to take all the risks and do all the work and they get all the profit. We talked about this, you and your boys were supposed to make life miserable for them. Soften them up. I told you I wanted them harassed to no end. They have to want to leave their tribal grounds. They need to be persuaded to sign the lease.”