Dawn’S First Blush

By Ronald C. Beach and Lee W. Pitts

Dawns First Blush with its sparkling glow was still shining brightly through the single dingy window of the building securely tucked away in on of Montanas dense forests, but its warmth brought no comfort to those inside the small building. It only succeeded in chilling their hearts, as this, like other days, merely seemed to bring them closer to an unknown fate. Some of those in the small cabin had been there for over a week while others had been shoved into the building before the mornings first blush.
All but two of the captives wore disheveled street garb familiar to the homeless threadbare clothes that had seen their better days, fingerless gloves and shoes with holes showing through the soles. There were no exceptions of this general rule other than the two men who sat shoulder to shoulder in a corner whispering in low voices. Dressed in what were once fine suits, with white shirts and silk ties, they sat huddled in bewilderment. Their fine suits now disheveled and wrinkled, the shirts no longer white and the ties strained and hanging askew around their necks, Their faces were covered with lacerations, the handiwork of the men who had overpowered them as they approached the gate leading to the camp.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9781493180493

Ronald C. Beach

The authors, Ronald C. Beach and Lee W. Pitts, are natives of Bremerton, Washington, and have been friends from childhood. Both are retired veterans of the US Army, and Ron Beach did his twenty-four years in the military in Armored Cavalry and Tank Battalions and eventually rose to the rank of command sergeant major. Ron served a tour of combat duty in Vietnam in the Twenty-Fifth Infantry Division and later as a civilian volunteered as an advisor to the Eleventh Armored Cavalry during the first Gulf War on the M1 and M1A1 tanks. Lee Pitts served as a combat engineer in the US Army and was also in the Vietnam War and rose to the rank of master sergeant and retired after twenty years of service.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

D AWN’S FIRST BLUSH with its sparkling glow was still shining brightly through the single dingy window of the building securely tucked away in one of Montana’s dense forests, but its warmth brought no comfort to those inside the small building. It only succeeded in chilling their hearts, as this, like other days, merely seemed to bring them closer to an unknown fate. Some of those in the small cabin had been there for over a week while others had been shoved into the building before the morning’s first blush.

For most of those now in this hell it had happened in the dead of night, when men clad in military camouflage clothing, had scooped them off the dirty streets or out of the narrow alleys they knew as home, and carted them off to this desolate spot in the woods. Not caring about the rough treatment they administered in kidnapping them, their captors seemed to care even less about the souls of these unfortunate people. Their food was given to them on wooden slabs and the only utensils they had were their grubby, unwashed fingers which they used to scoop up the unidentifiable mess.

All but two of the captives wore the disheveled street garb familiar to the homeless – threadbare clothes that had seen better days, fingerless gloves and shoes with holes showing through the soles. There were no exceptions to this general rule other than the two men who sat shoulder to shoulder in a corner whispering in low voices. Dressed in what were once fine suits, with white shirts and silk ties, they sat huddled in bewilderment. Their fine suits now disheveled and wrinkled, the shirts no longer white and the silk ties stained and hanging askew around their necks. Their faces were covered with lacerations, the handiwork of the men who had overpowered them as they approached the gate leading to the camp.

Any form of conversation had been forbidden by the men who had hurled them into this bare, wooden building; but it was an order never meant to be enforced, placed there only as a form of stressing the superiority of the keepers over their prisoners. The animated, yet hushed conversation of the most recent prisoners drew no looks from the other inhabitants of the room. Evidently not of their walk of life the newcomers were being shunned as if they were the pariah’s of society.

I told you it was stupid to walk up and start asking questions, the older of the two exclaimed quietly but fiercely.

Yeah, well, carrying our Bureau identification wasn’t too bright either, was the younger, sandy-haired agent’s retort. So when can we expect Russell with the cavalry?

You idiot, it was your idea not to call him and tell him of our destination. For all he knows we’re in Canada. And what do we have to show for the predicament we’re in? We still don’t know what goes on behind the fence.

Conversation ceased as the door opened and two of their captors entered with food.

Surprise, one of them said, laughing wickedly, you’re having meat and vegetables for the next three days. You’re going to need your strength.

Steak, potatoes, carrots and fruit were served on the same unwashed wooden slabs as previous meals, and still no utensils, but by now that no longer mattered. The only thing that mattered was that this was real food and not the unidentifiable slop they had been given previously.

The hostages eagerly took their food, oblivious to the last comment, immediately wolfing it down, stuffing it in their mouths with dirty fingers.

The two FBI agents had been conspiring to jump the food bearers the next time they came, so they leaped from their position in the corner, only to be deterred by two more men carrying automatic rifles who materialized in the doorway.

All except for you two, one of them said. You don’t eat today and maybe not tomorrow either. We don’t like Feds around here and, by the way, here’s some company for you.

From behind him he grabbed a beaten figure that used to be a man, and threw him to the ground.

Laughing, the brutal captor said, You guys never learn, do you?

The other guards joined in his laughter as the two agents rushed to the side of the crumpled figure.

Russell, is that you? the older man asked.

Receiving no response from the new resident of hell, and with a resigned look on his face, the sandy-haired agent murmured, Looks like there’s no cavalry for us. The last scout has arrived.

CHAPTER ONE

The FBI Intervenes

C ARL, SPECIAL AGENT Russell Schmidt announced over his intercom, grab Jeff and both of you come into my office.

Schmidt had recently been promoted and placed in charge of the FBI’s branch office in Helena, Montana. Working with him were junior agents Carl Simmons and Jeff Blake. Simmons had been with the FBI for almost as long as Schmidt, but Blake was a newcomer and had only graduated from the Academy two years ago.

The three agents had been mandated to investigate a surge of organized militia groups being established, in the northern regions of Montana, Idaho and Washington. Schmidt reported directly to Terry Jones who was the Director of the Bureau’s Northwest Region and maintained an office in Seattle, Washington.

Shortly after being summoned the two agents walked into his office, and Carl asked, as he collapsed in one of the chairs in the austere office, What’s up, boss?

Come in and sit down, Schmidt said, a bit irritated at the agent’s familiarity. I’ve got a job for the two of you.

When both men were seated he looked at some papers on his desk and once sure he had their attention Schmidt began, I’ve received several reports that something funny is going on around the town of Eureka, a small town in northern Montana close to the Canadian border. Most of the complaints are from a man named Jeremiah, who owns a hunting lodge outside of town. As a good map reference the town is about one hundred miles north of Kalispell.

Breaking in before he could continue, Blake asked, What do they say is going on?

Carl grinned at Jeff’s interruption of Schmidt, thinking to himself, ‘Oh, oh, if I know Russell, he’ll not look kindly at being interrupted, so that means Jeff is about to catch hell.’

The station manager said nothing for several seconds, only glaring at the young agent, staring so long and hard that Jeff became uncomfortable and began to squirm. Russell let him squirm for awhile as he continued to stare at him then he finally said, Agent Blake when I am speaking you need to keep your mouth shut and your ears open. I heard a judge on TV once say, ‘God gave you two ears and one mouth for a reason,’ and that reason is so you could listen more than you talk. And that applies doubly when I’m speaking.

Turning his eyes away from his boss’s stare, a red-faced Blake apologized, Sorry sir, it won’t happen again.

Acknowledging his apology with a nod, Russell continued, Now to get on with it; actually I don’t know what’s going on and the caller was never very specific. But all of them generally said the same things that there’s a lot of strange activity in a place call the Flathead National Forest, which is close to Eureka. Again, according to these same callers, a lot of men have been coming into town, all of them from the same ilk, and are described as rough, militia types, carrying guns and causing a lot of problems with the local residents. I want you two to pack your bags and head out for Eureka in the morning, snoop around and see what you can come up with. Make sure you stay in contact with me at least once every day. Do either of you have any questions?

No questions were forthcoming so he dismissed them.

Early the next morning Blake took the wheel of the agency’s Crown Victoria and the two FBI agents departed for Eureka. The drive took about five hours so it was late when they arrived and they decided to find a place to stay, locating on the outskirts of town a bed and breakfast called Margaret’s. Parking the car they walked in and rented two rooms for a couple of days and as the evening meal was over, they put their bags into their rooms and went out to get something to eat.

Driving through town they found Betsy’s Home Cooking Eatery, parked the car and walked in. They found a table in the corner of the restaurant and as soon as they sat down the waitress approached their table, saying, Hi guys, I’m Jill what can I bring you?

Hey Jill, I’m Carl and this is Jeff, how about a menu and a cup of coffee for me and a glass of cold milk for the youngster.

Real funny Carl, real funny, Jeff said, looking up at the attractive woman, but he’s right, I’ll take a large glass of ice cold milk.

Returning shortly the waitress, dropped two menus on the table, then set the coffee down in front of Carl and the milk in front of Jeff and then walked off, saying over her shoulder, I’ll be right back to take your order.

The two men looked at the menu and quickly made a decision then Carl waved Jill back over to take their order. As there weren’t many people in the restaurant they got their orders very quickly and started eating.

The two men were almost finished with their food when a group of eight rough looking men walked in. Their appearances were almost identical; long hair, unshaven faces, and all were dressed basically in similar camouflage clothing, with baseball caps as headgear, and heavy muddy boots leaving tracks on the clean restaurant floor. Each man sported a large hunting knife attached to their belt.

Sitting down at a table not far away from the two agents, one of them yelled, Hey Jill, get your ass over here with the coffee and some menus.

Frowning, Jill brought over cups and a container of coffee and dropped menus on the table all the while avoiding the groping hands of the men.

Quickly ordering their food they received it as fast and began eating. One of the men paused between shoveling food in his mouth and looked around, seeing Carl and Jeff sitting in the corner he loudly announced, Well what do we have over there? A couple of city slickers dressed to the nines. Fancy suit and tie along with a white shirt, they probably have never done an honest days work in their life. We should take those assholes out to the Reserve and show them some hard work.

Carl just smiled at his comment then seeing his partner tense up laid a hand on his arm saying loudly, Just let it go Jeff, idiots like that don’t deserve an answer as they wouldn’t understand anything you might say especially if you use words with more than two syllables.

The loud talk laced with many four letter words continued until Carl, fed up with their offensive language, got up and walked over to their table with Jeff right beside him. He stopped close to their table, moving his suit coat out of the way to expose the gun he was carrying at his hip, and he said, You boys need to clean up your language and clean yourself up. Both you and your language are dirty.

And if we don’t what in the hell are you going to do about it, asshole? one of the men responded as the other men around the table laughed. Are you going to pull out that little gun of yours? If you do actually pull it out, we’ll flip a coin to see which one of us take it away from you and shove it up your ass.

This time it was the younger agent who had to restrain the older one, as Carl bristled and would have carried the argument to the next level had not Jeff laid a restraining hand on his arm, so instead he sneered, turned around and walked over to the cashier, paid their bill and walked out.

After the two agents left the restaurant one of the men at the table said, I’ll lay you two to one they’re Feds.

No bet. But if they’re here to snoop around the Reserve we might just end up with two more workers out at the mine.

The next day, after breakfast at the B & B the two agents began walking around town talking to the locals and those operating the local businesses. Most of the complaints had come into their boss as anonymous complaints so they had no one specific to talk to, which meant that they had to talk to everyone they met on the streets and in the stores.

They canvassed the town for several hours and got no new information only getting the same thing they were already aware of; that the town was becoming flooded with a hardcore type of men who were raising hell in town and that something strange was going on somewhere in the Reserve.

After eating lunch at a small drive-in the two men discussed the information they had received during the morning hours and came to the same conclusion. Carl summed it up, saying, It looks like we’re going to have to check out the Reserve. Let’s check the map and see if we can find a good way in.

After a half hour of tracing routes on a map of the local area they found what they were looking for and started out of town turning down State Highway 163. Soon they came to a hunting lodge called Jeremiah’s and as they passed it Jeff said, I think Russell mentioned the name Jeremiah when he briefed us, so this is probably the road we’re looking for.

Continuing on down the small road for several miles they came to a closed gate across the road with a high fence stretching in each direction. There was an armed man standing in front of gate signaling them to stop.

Jeff stopped the car and Carl got out and walked up to the man, pulling out his identification as he walked. This turned out to be a mistake, for when Carl got close the man without warning brought his rifle up and slammed Carl alongside the head knocking him unconscious. Jeff sprang into action, pulling his pistol out he opened the car door but before he could swing his legs out someone shoved a rifle in his face saying, Now you wouldn’t want to do anything stupid would you? Slowly hand me the gun before I put more holes in you than are in a piece of Swiss cheese.

Seeing he had no choice Jeff reluctantly handed the man his pistol and after he did he was pulled from the car, thrown up against it and searched.

The man, who had knocked Carl out, searched him looking for more weapons and then grabbed him by the collar of his coat and pulled him over to the car where he was thrown into the back seat. Jeff was ordered into the back seat along with Carl and then a man slid behind the wheel as another man got into the passenger’s seat facing the rear with a pistol pointed at the two agents.

Carl, starting to regain consciousness moaned and then started to say something but before he could the man with the gun said, Shut your damn mouth. I’ll tell you when you can talk.

It wasn’t too long of a drive when they arrived at an enclosure consisting of several buildings behind a barbed wire fence with a guard at the gate.

When the car stopped Jeff and Carl were pulled from the rear seat and once again searched with one of the men holding up their FBI credentials saying, The boss isn’t going to be too happy about this, it looks like the Feds know about us.

Throw them into the holding cell, the man at the gate said. And you, pointing to the man holding the identifications, go talk to the boss and tell him what we’ve got.

Carl and Jeff were then led, actually pulled, into the enclosure and then thrown into a small cell-like structure.

For the next several days both men were individually questioned but refused to give their captors any information. Carl, being more belligerent ended up getting the brunt of the beatings as he attempted to cover for his younger partner.

During the times the two men were together Carl, even with his split lips and painful bruises, would tell the young man to, Keep you head up Jeff, Russell will realize we’re probably in trouble and will bring in the cavalry. He told us to contact him every day and we haven’t been in contact with him for two days.

Carl’s pronouncement to his partner was correct as far as it went. Russell did come to realize that something was wrong when he didn’t hear from them but the problem was that he had acted on his own and hadn’t discussed the deployment of his two agents with his boss, Terry Jones.

After having no contact with them for two days he felt he had to right the wrong so he placed a call to Director Jones. When he got his boss on the line he said, Sir, I think I’ve made a big mistake. He then explained about sending his two men to Eureka, ending with, Now I haven’t heard from them in two days and I can only assume they ran into some kind of trouble.

Damn it Russell, you know better than that, you’re going to put both of our asses in a sling, Jones angrily replied. Pausing for a few seconds he continued, Well what’s done is done. I want you to drive up to where you sent them and being extremely careful see if you can find out where they’ve gone or what happened to them, and make sure you keep me informed.

Their conversation was terminated and it was only a few minutes later that Russell was on the road headed for Eureka. He drove straight through only stopping for gas, so it was late in the afternoon when he came to the small town and pulled into Margaret’s B & B. He walked in, showed his identification and began asking the woman about his two agents.

She told him they had come in, made reservations for two days, slept in the room for one night and never came back. After two more days, I removed their bags from their rooms and put them in storage in case they came back.

No problem. They work for me so could you please get their stuff and then I would like to rent a room for a couple of days.

She brought him the bags and Russell stored them in his car and then after securing a room he drove to Betsy’s, at Margaret’s recommendation. He sat down in the restaurant and ordered a sandwich, asking Jill, about Carl and Jeff.

Yeah I remember them they were very nice and got into a little argument with some of the ‘bad dudes,’ who have been coming in here lately. Right after that they left and I never saw them again.

After finishing his meal he decided to head for Jeremiah’s in hopes they had stopped in to see him. Arriving there he was shown into Jeremiah’s office where he identified himself and questioned him about his two agents. Nope, haven’t seen hide or hair of them.

Well, while I’m here you might as well tell me what you think is going on.

Jeremiah launched into his story about what he felt had transpired over the last several weeks, ending with, There’s a lot of traffic going down the road in front of the lodge. It runs into the Reserve, but before you get there, about three miles down the road you run into a gate in the middle of a tall fence, which is manned by an armed guard. I really have no idea what’s going on but by the looks of the individuals going and coming, I would say they are up to no good.

When he had finished talking to Jeremiah Russell decided to take a trip down the road to the gate and see for himself. He hadn’t driven far before he came to the gate Jeremiah had told him about with an armed guard standing in front waving at him to stop.

He stopped his car and watched intently as the armed man walked up towards his car. When the guard arrived at the car he reached for his identification but before he could pull it out another man, who he hadn’t seen, opened the passenger’s side door and slid into the car pointing a gun at his head.

The two men then pulled him out of the car and searched him removing his gun and everything else he carried in his pockets. They then threw him into the back seat as two men slid into the front seat, one of them behind the wheel and the other keeping a gun pointed at him.

As with the other two agents the men drove to a small enclosure, where he was removed from the car and thrown into a small locked room.

For some time after that he underwent several hours of interrogation accompanied by beatings. When he refused to answer any of their questions and not ready to kill an FBI agent, they took him out of that small room and threw him into the same room where Carl and Jeff sat in tattered clothes.

When the door opened and Russell was thrown into the room Carl, who had been snoozing came awake with a start and then crawled over to where Russell lay in a crumpled heap. Looking down at his boss he thought, ‘Well so much for the cavalry. Now how do I keep Jeff’s hopes up.’

In the office of the Western Regions Director of the FBI in Seattle Terry Jones sat pondering the dilemma he now faced. He hadn’t heard from Russell, who he had sent to Eureka. Leaning back in his chair he sighed, thinking, ‘Damn it seems like I just compounded the problem I should have sent someone else with him. Now what do I do?’

CHAPTER TWO

An Old Friend Heard From

P HYSICALLY AND MENTALLY worn out from the most recent escapade of the Broken Dreams team, Toby was relaxing at his home enjoying a time alone with his family. The enormity of the task they had faced fighting drug dealers and gangs in Las Vegas had put the private detective agency to the test and he felt he and the rest of the team deserved the much needed rest. ‘ No more missions for me for a long time to come,’ he thought, as he lay semi-reclined on the sofa in the family room, Ruth’s head in his lap. ‘ Now this is what family life is about.’

He was crooning softly to her while Renie and Ben played Parcheesi on the plush carpet. The sudden ringing of the phone in his office spared the children from the off-key crooning, which Ruth herself was enjoying. They all ignored the irritating device as long as they could, but after the twelfth ring it appeared the caller wouldn’t give up so Toby asked Renie to answer it.

Dad, it’s that Mr. Jones from the FBI, she yelled from the office door. He wants to know if you have a minute to talk.

Though he never would have, he wanted to tell the Western Regions Director of the FBI he was too busy and to call back some time next year. Instead he moved Ruth’s head to a sofa pillow and resignedly walked into his office sure there was bad news coming.

Despite the seemingly urgency of the call, Jones asked, Toby, can you hold a minute? I want to make this a three-way conference call with Reggie.

The FBI doesn’t make a habit