Freedom County: The Idaho Trilogy, #3

By Sydney Duncombe

Espionage, counter­terrorism, and civil unrest have been the subject of many novels. Freedom County differs from most other novels in its focus on civil unrest and terrorism within the United States. ... The site is an isolated, under­populated county in Idaho with snowcapped peaks, azure lakes, high altitude forests and sagebrush plains.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ridenbaugh Press
• Release date: Nov 28, 2016
• ISBN: 9781540134530

Book preview

Chapter 1

Saturday, August 6th, 6:00 p.m.

Ray stopped and removed his pack. For a few minutes, he looked back down at the trail they had climbed. He’d be glad to get to their destination. He could have gone another five miles, but his companion, Idaho State Senator Paul Connery, was neither thirty nor in excellent condition. A longtime friend of Governor Bull Hollis, Paul had been around a lot while Ray grew up, but he’d seen him only occasionally during the past eleven years.

On the drive from Boise to the trailhead, he had talked about his work as a systems engineer at Hewlett-Packard in Corvallis, Oregon, and his recent transfer to the HP plant in Boise. He’d told Paul he enjoyed being home again, but had said nothing about his father, Governor Hollis.

As they both sat on a log at the top of the trail to Davis Lake, Paul took off his pack and said, Ray, are you still angry at your dad?

Yeah, I guess. He’s always been a control freak, and that gets on my nerves. But when he had that affair with a campaign volunteer...

Ray broke off, then added, He really hurt Mom. Maybe if he starts treating her right and quits trying to push me into politics, we can make it.

You know. I’ve heard some rumors that your dad might be Madison’s pick for Vice President. If Madison is nominated, that is.

He can have it. I’d rather just think about computer systems.

Ray helped Paul with his pack and hefted on his own. The shade and smell of pine trees invigorated him. They started down the trail.

*

Ray slowed to enjoy the sun gleaming on the snow-covered peaks towering to the right of Davis Lake. He hadn’t used this trail in a decade, and his heart quickened when he saw the sapphire blue lake down the slope. He turned to locate Paul, who had fallen behind, slugging from his water bottle.

Ray, I need your help. Paul paused as he reached him. I think your father’s in danger. There are some violent groups up here in Freedom County.

Oh, Paul, Idaho’s a friendly place.

You’ve been away eleven years. Paul touched Ray’s shoulder with his hand. Things have changed. Especially in the past five years.

It looks the same to me. Ray surveyed the familiar mountain peaks, trying to let their placid beauty occupy his mind. He didn’t want to hear about problems and dangers.

Well, there are eco-terrorists and neo-Nazis in the County. In fact, I’m going to have a serious talk with your dad while we’re up here. Want to join us?

Hey, man, those are political problems, Ray said. I’m a design engineer, remember? Politics is not my bag. A mosquito hovered near his cheek and he swatted at it. I respect you a lot, Paul, but I just moved to Boise, and I’m going to be working sixty hours a week. I’m not interested in politics.

As they started down the rocky, sloping trail again, Ray saw three tents in a level grassy area and the smoke of a campfire. His father and mother stood on the shore fishing. Wally Stearns, his father’s administrative assistant and a state trooper sat on rocks behind the Governor. From a corner of his eye Ray caught sight of a sudden movement on a rocky ledge across a finger of the lake. He looked again, but could see nothing unusual. It must have been his imagination.

His father turned as Ray and Paul reached the campsite area. He saw them and waved vigorously. Ray noticed his mother a hundred yards further down on the lakeside. Conflicting emotions churned inside him: love and admiration for his mother, mixed with distrust for his famous father.

Bull smiled and walked rapidly toward him along the lake shore. The air crackled when his father was only three dozen yards away. Bull clutched his side and staggered, extending his hand. Two more shots and his father fell.

Ray couldn’t believe the scene. Get down, he yelled to Paul, somewhere behind him. He flattened himself on the ground and inched behind a boulder. Lying on his stomach, he peeked over the rock and looked across a finger of the lake to see three men in green clothing carrying rifles. His father still didn’t move.

Rocks rattled behind him and he turned to look. The state patrolman who always accompanied his dad—what was his name? Johnson, Randy Johnson, had jumped behind rocks at his rear. Ray saw Bull’s administrative assistant huddle down behind a boulder. Gunfire popped around the entire campsite. How many of his father’s party of four were wounded or dead?

The sound of gunfire shifted down the shoreline. Ray half-rose, watching his mother. "Get behind a rock, Mom. Lie down!’’ he yelled.

Screaming and crying, his mother ran through the barrage of bullets until she almost reached Bull’s inert body, then pitched forward on her face.

Ray started crawling toward her, but a bullet ricocheted off a nearby rock. He wriggled behind the protection of a boulder. His jaw tightened as he realized that his own life was in danger.

Damn you! Damn you! he yelled at the green-clad figures across the lake.

Chapter 2

Saturday, 7:45 p.m.

Ray crouched behind a large rock, weeping. His parents could be dead, and he succumbed to grief until his instinct for survival took over.

He wasn’t carrying a gun, but he knew the area well and felt protected for the moment. Gradually, he raised his head to peer over the edge of the granite rock. Three men, partly obscured behind boulders, stood on a ledge across the narrow arm of the lake, their green coveralls visible. Why didn’t they take better cover? If only he had his hunting rifle with him! The scope on it helped him bring down a deer at 200 yards. And a man in green coveralls—

A short burst of semi-automatic rifle fire came from came behind. Ray and the state patrolman shot at the men in green, and they took cover and fired back. Several bullets pinged against Ray’s rock. He ducked down again, but soon realized he was unprotected on the side and rear.

He heard Paul groan. Are you okay? Ray yelled over his shoulder.

I’m hit.

Crouching low, Ray ran quickly to Paul, and dived behind the same rock.

The Senator lay on his side in obvious pain. Where did they get you? Ray asked.

Right shoulder. Can’t... get my pack off.

Ray tugged off the pack and opened the top of Paul’s shirt to see a bullet wound in the shoulder, oozing blood. He searched for an exit hole in the senator’s back and found none. The bullet’s still in you. I can slow down the bleeding and bandage you later, but you need a doctor. We’ve got to get out of here.

Paul grimaced in pain; fear showed in his eyes. Got a .38 in my pack. Can’t use it now.

Ray pulled the revolver and shells out of Paul’s pack along with some food, clothing, and a big water bottle. He unloaded his own small day pack from his bigger load, and put in his cell phone, knife, flashlight, first-aid kit, some clothing, food, and his water bottle.

The wind rose now, rippling the waters of the lake and moaning around the scrub pines behind him. A few gray clouds appeared in the east indicating they could have rain any minute.

He peered over the rock and spotted two of the men in green.

I wonder who they are, he said as he pulled a T-shirt from his pack and wound it tightly around Paul’s shoulder to slow the bleeding.

Not sure, Paul grunted. They’re dressed like Friends of the Forest. They...

We’ve got to go. You can explain later. Right now, I’ve gotta check the others. Be right back. He looked behind him to his right.

Stay down, Randy Johnson yelled. Ray made a quick dash, drawing a brief burst of fire from across the lake and found the trooper lying face down, his M-16 propped on a rock pointing at the ledge across the lake.

Where’re you hit? he asked the patrolman.

Bullet in my left kneecap, two in my right leg, the patrolman muttered.

Blood stained Johnson’s right pants leg and was oozing onto the ground. Ray tore another T-shirt in half and wound it around the officer’s leg.

Johnson’s lips formed a tight line. I can’t walk. His voice quavered. But I can keep those men on the ledge pinned down ... His voice broke.

Ray saw pain and resignation in the man’s eyes. Do you have a radio or cell phone?

Cells don’t work here. Had a satellite phone. Gave it to your father. The trooper breathed hard, peering through his rifle sight across the lake. Get to the Governor. Try to save him. Can’t believe this.

The campsite was in shadow now, the rocks burnt umber and the grass deep green. Ray worked his way from rock to rock. His parents lay motionless thirty feet away. He spotted one boulder a few feet to their right, and he tried to reach it. The sun shone on the ledge across the lake and would be in the eyes of the gunman, giving him a small advantage.

The patrolman sprayed the ledge with a burst from his semi-automatic. Answering fire splintered pieces off the rock in front of the trooper, and then the gunman across the lake disappeared from sight. Ray used that moment to make a quick dash to a rock close to his parents. Gunfire came again from the ledge, but it was too late and too low. Little spouts of water peppered the shoreline and bullets whined off rocks. He could not see the satellite phone..

Surely one his parents was alive.

Dad? Ray shouted.

The Governor lay face up, his mouth open. Ray’s mother lay with an arm around his father’s neck, her face close to his as though she had been trying to kiss him. Tears spilled down Ray’s cheeks as he stared at his mother.

Mom! Mom! Mom! he called out.

She didn’t answer.

He stared up at the ledge. Now that the sun shone directly into the gunmen’s eyes, he wormed his way along the ground toward his parents. To his surprise, he attracted no fire.

He felt for his mother’s pulse. No sign of life. He did the same for his father. No pulse. Turning his mother’s head slightly, Ray kissed her quickly on the cheek, breathing in the familiar fragrance of her cologne. He patted his father on the shoulder. Tears came again to his eyes as he clambered back behind a boulder.

Ray saw three men on the ledge now in the setting sun. Randy let loose another burst of fire and they disappeared behind the rocks. Ray scrambled back to where the Governor’s assistant lay. We’ve got to leave, he said. I forgot your name.

Wally Stearns. I’ve been with your father six years. Wally had wedged himself between three rocks giving him protection from the sides as well as the front. Some blood stained the sleeve of his shirt. How bad’s your arm?

Just a flesh wound.

Better come with me, Wally, Ray said.

Fear danced in Wally’s eyes. I’m safe here. Don’t want to stand. They ... they won’t kill me. I ... I ... think they were after your father. I’m safer here till help comes.

Don’t be a fool. They’ll come around the lake and shoot you.

I’m not going to stand up and get shot, Wally retorted.

Ray shrugged his shoulders. He couldn’t force Stearns to come, even though the man could have helped with Paul. Ducking low, he made it back to the state patrolman.

The Senator and I are leaving now, he said. Come with us.

No ... I’ll keep you covered as long as I can. Still have two clips left. Johnson’s voice cracked and Ray could see tears fill his eyes. Will you tell my wife and the kids I love them?

You’ll tell ‘em yourself, Ray said as he put his hand briefly on the trooper’s shoulder. Help will come. Maybe Stearns has a satellite phone.

No, I asked him. Mistake to give mine to the Governor. It’s probably somewhere along the shore. He must’ve dropped it after he was hit.

One of the men on the ledge stood up, but the patrolman drove him back with a burst from his weapon while Ray scuttled over to Paul.

The shadow had almost reached the lip of the ledge across the lake. In another two minutes, the gunmen wouldn’t have any sun in their eyes. How could he leave Randy Johnson and Wally Stearns here? But he couldn’t carry the trooper, and Stearns was adamant about not leaving. After a few agonized moments, Ray knew he couldn’t wait. He grabbed the Senator’s hand, raised him to his feet, and they staggered, heads bent, into a small clump of scrub pines. Shots whined and buzzed in the tops of the stumpy trees. Soon they were behind a low ridge where they found a dried-up stream bed and a small trail beside it. Letting Paul lean on his shoulder, Ray led him on the trail away from the lake.

What are you doing?’’ Paul panted. My car’s the other way."

Trust me, Ray answered. I explored this area when I was a kid. I know where I’m going. We have to move fast.

They climbed the trail steadily for half an hour as the light faded. Sporadic gunfire erupted down by the lake. Several lengthy bursts of fire were followed by silence.

I wonder if they’ve killed the others, Ray said. God bless that trooper. He gave us at least thirty minutes.

Paul stopped and took a deep breath. They’ll be coming fast. You can’t outrun them with me along. Leave me here.

You’re coming with me, Ray said. There’s a place we can hide, but we can’t let them catch us on the trail.

He grabbed Paul’s good arm and led him up the narrowing path. He could hear Paul’s boots scraping on loose shale and had to help support him twice when he stumbled.

Where is it?

At last, Ray saw the sign, a triangular gouge he had hammered from the front of a large boulder more than a decade earlier. Surveying the slope on the other side of the trail, he found one flat rock on top of another about twenty feet away. The markers he and a friend had left as teenagers still stood in place.

Leaving Paul puffing and panting on the trail, Ray climbed the slope. There it was—the entrance to the cave! Thank God.

Muffled shouts came from the campsite area as he climbed back down to Paul.

We have to hurry now, he said. They’ll be up here soon.

Pushing and shoving, he propelled Paul up the steep slope and through the entrance. Once inside, he shone the flashlight around, making sure that the cave was empty. With a narrow opening and a scrub pine partially shielding it, the entrance would be difficult for any pursuer to spot.

The cavern was deep but narrow and only five feet high, so they both had to stoop. Its musty smell and rock floor would create a less- than-comfortable place to spend the night.

Not the Hyatt, but we’ll be safe awhile. Hardly anyone knows about this cave, Ray said. He handed the water bottle and flashlight to Paul. Relax if you can. I’m going to see what’s going on. He crawled to the opening.

Mosquitoes circled around him, whining. The cave was high enough on the slope that he could see both the ledge area across the lake and some of the campsite along the near shore. In the fading light, he could make out the shadowy figures of three men on the ledge. Why hadn’t they come around the arm of the lake to join the attack on the state patrolman?

Suddenly, flashlight beams fanned out from the campsite area— six, seven, eight circles of light. Other less distinct beams shone on the trail that led back to Paul’s car. He hoped, with a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach, that no one would take the trail by the cave.

He saw men coming up the trail he and the Senator had just left. He pulled Paul’s revolver and shells from his day pack and loaded the .38 in the dim light.

In a few minutes, three men in green coveralls, wearing flesh-colored masks and carrying rifles, swept the sides of the trail with their mag lights. Their rubber faces looked sickly pink in the glow of their flashlights. Ray crawled six inches further back and tried to hear what the men said as they passed on the trail below the cave.

Let’s go back, the first voice said

We can’t. The Governor may be dead, but those other two got away.

Come on, man. They’re wounded. Probably dead by this time.

We’ve got to find ‘em, dead or alive. Boss wants ‘em dead. Ray heard a stumbling noise on the trail and somebody cursed.

Yeah, those two were witnesses, a third voice said.

More than that, the second voice replied. Ray listened intently for further explanation, but by now the three had moved beyond his hearing range. He watched while the flashlight beams moved up the trail and around a bend. He was about to crawl back into the cave when gunfire erupted across the lake.

Looking toward the ledge, he saw the beams of at least seven lights. Gunfire continued until several flashlights went out. Good God! Were they fighting each other now? Did that make sense?

Ray lay still, counting flashlight beams: four across the lake, six in the campsite area, and two or three in the brush off the trail to the main highway. Adding the three men on the trail, there could be at least fifteen trying to find and kill him and the Senator. Ray groped his way to the back of the cave, his limbs shaking with fatigue and terror.

The good news is that the guys who followed us passed without stopping, he whispered.

You know the area. Paul kept his voice low. Do you think they’ll come back down the trail?

Ray rubbed a mosquito bite on his chin. They’ll probably hike another mile to Little Davis Lake and then either turn around and come back this way or follow Little Davis Creek down to the trailhead. It’s about eight miles. I think they’ll follow the creek. They’ll think we’re trying to get to the highway.

Paul groaned and Ray put his hand on his arm. Are you hurting? Let me look at that shoulder, he said.

He shielded the flashlight with his hand while he dug with the other one for the first-aid kit in his daypack. Then he peeled off the blood-soaked T-shirt he had earlier put on Paul’s shoulder and unbuttoned the shirt to discover the bleeding had nearly stopped. He stroked antiseptic cream onto the wound. Paul bit his lips in pain. Ray then made a big bandage from gauze and tape, cut strips from another T-shirt, and improvised a rudimentary sling to stabilize the Senator’s arm. This oughta do it, he said, handing Paul three naproxen tablets and the water bottle.

Paul gulped the pills down and sighed. I think I can stand the pain, but it’s going to be a long night.

And a hungry one. Ray pulled a bag of trail mix from his daypack and turned off the flashlight.

You saved my life, Paul mumbled. But this has been a terrible day for you!"

Ray sat silently in the dark, remembering Bull striding toward him, hand outstretched, and his mother running to his father. He suppressed the sob that tried to well up in his chest and whispered, Who did this, for God’s sake?

I think maybe it was those eco-terrorists, Paul answered in a weak voice. Friends of the Forest. They’ve been getting more and more militant, blocking roads to forested areas, and nailing spikes into trees. A logger was killed last month by one of those spikes, and some mill operators have been injured. They’ve also been accused of setting fire to the Watkins Creek Ranger Station.

But why would they kill my—my mother and father?

Friends of the Forest opposed the state sale of timber in the Watkins Creek area, but your father didn’t cave in under pressure. As Governor of Idaho, he chaired the Land Board meeting and broke the tie with his vote.

Okay, maybe this group thought they had reason to assassinate my father. Hot acid rose in Ray’s throat and he swallowed hard. But why’d they kill my mother? She never hurt anyone. Why didn’t they leave after they gunned Dad down?

Witnesses, Paul grunted. She saw.

Could there be another group involved in this? We have environmental fringe groups, tree huggers, in Oregon, too. They block timber sales by living in trees and blocking roads. I’ve even got all kinds of environmentalist friends. But they don’t murder people.

For no reason, a picture flashed into his mind of his mother’s driving him to a Cub Scout meeting and singing Do-re-mi from The Sound of Music.

I saw at least fifteen flashlights out there. There’s a small army hunting us, Ray said.

Who else might want my father dead?

Paul said in a choked voice, Alpine Casino. Manager and staff angry at your father. He opposed the amendment that allowed local option gambling. And ...

Yes? Ray hated to keep Paul talking, but he had to know.

Paul raised up on his elbow and cleared his throat. Obviously making a great effort. There’s ...a Bund. A white supremacist group, apes the S.S. in Hitler’s Thousand Year Reich. Runs a camp for the training of a militia group and foreigners. Angry at the President. But no reason to kill Bull. He lay back down, his head on Ray’s pack. Colonel Bratton says the county’s a haven for criminals," he continued in a husky voice.

Ray pounced on the idea. Has my father ordered patrolmen to raid these valleys?

Private land. Locked gates and armed guards. They’d need a search warrant to go in.

Why doesn’t the Freedom County Sheriff clean up the criminals? Wasn’t he some hotshot California police officer?

Paul snickered, then groaned again. Maybe the Sheriff and Reserve are getting their take ... Gotta try to sleep. Tomorrow, we have to get back to Boise without being killed.

Yeah, and get you to a hospital.

Paul turned on his side and again laid his head down on Ray’s day pack. Won’t be safe for me in a Boise hospital. Murderers saw us, and they’re out there.

Ray shivered, realizing that both Paul and he might be in continuing danger. He heard thunder in the distance and remembered backpacking during a violent thunderstorm.

Paul raised himself up again. His voice sounded stronger and more determined. We’ll have to be on the run for years or stand up and discover your parents’ killers.

Ray said nothing for a long time. He recalled the shooting scene, watching his parents fall to the ground by the lake. He tried to assimilate the information Paul had provided, but couldn’t grasp the enormity of the problem.

I want to stay clear of politics, he said after a time. Politics killed my parents.

Paul lay down, sighing, and Ray stretched out on the bumpy granite floor of the cave, ready for a long night.

Chapter 3

Saturday evening, Watkins Creek Compound, Freedom County

Eva was twenty years old and enjoyed being a spy.

She’d been working as a waitress at the casino when she met Jason Pilchuck and his parents. But the young man couldn’t, or wouldn’t, give her the information she was seeking. Therefore, she wangled an invitation for cards at the Pilchucks’ home, hoping to get information from Jason’s parents.

While Irene and Ben Pilchuck were in the kitchen getting drinks, Eva wandered around the main room of their log house. Checkered drapes gave the rustic room a homey look. The furniture was strictly yard sale: worn brown sofa, the scarred maple dining table where they’d been playing cards, and a half-empty bookcase containing a few volumes on birds, plants and ecosystems.

I’m admiring your nature books, Eva said as Irene returned with two sodas. I haven’t had much time to get to know you two. She liked brown-eyed Irene and hoped she might be able to impart some information.

Ben’s tired and is going to bed. Let’s relax a while, Irene said.  Do you two live here during the winter?

Oh, no. We’re from Arizona. We’re both high school teachers. We come up here when school’s out in late May, and go back around the first of September.

Wow. How did you find Watkins Creek?

Came up here the first time eleven years ago with some friends. We were all botanists, bird watchers, and nature lovers then. We named ourselves Friends of the Forest. Jason was ten when we first came.

What was Jason like as a boy? Eva flashed an encouraging smile.

Irene’s brown eyes sparkled. He played a lot of impish pranks as a child, but he ranked very high in his class. She paused. You like my Jason, don’t you?"

Eva smoothed back her long blonde hair. Yeah, he’s cool. I had hoped he’d be here playing cards with us.

Worry lines creased Irene’s forehead. Jason went out with some people I don’t like. Troublemakers. He should’ve been home before now, she murmured. They went to see the Governor at Davis Lake. They wanted to stop the land sale. Bunch of hotheads.

Oh, I’m sure he’s fine. Eva should go home, but she had to know more. Say, Irene, when was Alpine Casino built?

They started it six years ago when they felt sure the gambling referendum would pass. Why do you ask?

Just curious, Eva replied. Nobody in the restaurant knew for sure. Was the Sheriff here then?

He came after the election. Everything happened in that election. We got new county people, and the gambling referendum passed at the same time.

Maureen at work says this used to be Snowy County.

Irene took a sip of her cola. Yes, our new local legislators pushed through a bill changing the name.

Wow. I guess that was good for tourism. Most people probably liked the change, Eva said.

Well, not cattlemen like McClaren or that newspaper editor we had, Irving Lowenstein.

Eva