The Daisy Ducks Read online

  "Shame about Daisy, Doc. But don't worry, we'll get her back. She means a lot to all of us. Only thing worries me is Royce. If he crazy, he might hurt her. But I don't think so. Daisy's special. Fact is, that's how we got our name."

  "She told me. I think Jusuelo's the one who nabbed her though, not Royce."

  ‘Jusuelo's here?" said Roantis, turning to face me.

  "Looks that way. I thought I recognized him, and Daisy confirmed it just before she vanished."

  "Shit! Worse than I thought."

  I felt a big slap on my shoulder and heard a booming voice to go with it.

  "Oh my Jesus! How ah yah, Dawk?"

  "What the hell are you doing here?" I asked Tommy Desmond, who towered even over Summers.

  "Figured I got nothing better to do. Between jobs again."

  Tommy Desmond, the laughing, lovable Irishman from Street in South Boston, was another friend from the BYMCU club. He spent most of his time fighting off women, or failing to. In and out of work, on and off the bottle, he sailed through life like the briny wind off Galway Bay. He could brighten up hell. And it was damn good to look up into his smiling face. I needed it.

  Roantis finished his business and joined us.

  "The car will be laid up a few days. Doc, we've got some stuff to unload. Can you pull your rig closer to the car?"

  I helped them transfer their gear. There were duffel bags, a small grip for Tommy, and two backpacks. Then Roantis and Summers swung out the rear seat and began handing Tommy and me long bundles wrapped in brown rust-inhibiting paper. The bundles were heavy, and it didn't take a genius to figure out what they were. We loaded all of them as quickly and discreetly as possible. Then we boarded the camper rig and rolled out of the station. At the first shopping center, I pulled into an isolated parking spot. We all gathered around the dinette table. I put on coffee and spread out the road map of North Carolina. Roantis said he was familiar with the western part of the state.

  "They used to airlift us out here from Bragg for survival training in the Pisgah wilderness," he said. "It was a long time ago, though." He sat with his chin on his thumbs, staring at the road map. "Speaking of Bragg," he continued, "I've got an old friend on Smoke Bomb Hill. Maybe I'll give him a call."

  I then explained everything that had happened during the previous four days: every detail concerning the plane crash, the murder of the pilot, and our visit back to the Royce farm. Roantis took notes on a napkin; I'd never seen him so serious. Summers and Desmond listened intently, too, giving low whistles of amazement several times. The conference lasted forty minutes, at the end of which Roantis lighted a cigarette and let the smoke dribble out of his nostrils, like a dragon.

  "Here's the way I read it," he said softly. "I say there's at least six of them, judging by what Doc has told us. And that includes Jusuelo, who's fierce as hell and smart. I don't know how many of the rest are trained military men and how many are punks. But I think, considering Royce knows the country like he does, that we need more help."

  Summers nodded. Tommy and I stared at our coffee mugs, not knowing what to say.

  "I say this cause Doc's had no combat experience. You, Tommy, it's been since Korea for you, right?"

  "Yeah, but I've had some street combat."

  "Don't I know it."

  "Also," I chimed in, "I thought I'd let you all know that while I'll do everything to help, I am not planning on getting any combat experience in the near future. I say that just so you'll all know."

  But Roantis proceeded as if he hadn't heard me. This was disquieting.

  "Now," he continued, "I think one of two things has happened. One: they've taken her with them on the highway and are using her as a hostage to protect them while they get away. I don't think they've done this. It's dangerous and amateur. And Royce and Jusuelo woun't run like that. Whatever else they are, they're not cowards."

  Summers nodded.

  "The other thing is maybe that they're holed up in some canyon or mountaintop hideout. They discovered both Doc and Daisy on their tail—fucking things up—and they dint like it. So they've taken one out—a real pro—and they'll hold her to buy time. We don't have anything they want. So no ransom money. See? They want time. Time to get whatever incriminating stuff they've got out of the way. They know I'm their greatest danger, and they know how I feel about Daisy. If anything would make me back off`, it's her life in danger. They figure with Daisy they've got that protection, at least for maybe a week. Thing is, they don't know I'm down here now, ready to go. They won't expect anyone nudging their perimeter wire right away."

  He snubbed out his Camel and hissed out the bluish smoke. "But . . . if they have taken off, then we've got to tell the police. If they're on the road, we can't trail them without police help. So, first thing is, we go to the police."

  "And . . . ?" I asked.

  "And while they're watching the roads, we'll be tracking 'em in the bush."

  "We will?" I asked.

  "Yep, and that includes you, Doc. We need every man we can get."

  I found myself nodding in agreement. I hunched over the table, feeling a flush of excitement sweep over me.

  "Now, here's what we'll do. We'll go first to the highway patrol. Then I'm going to make a few phone calls. After that, we'll head out there. Doc, you still have Freddie's phone number?"

  "Who? Kaunitz? You're calling him? Listen, Liatis, we'd better have a talk. I think he might be involved with Royce."

  He stopped and thought for a few seconds, then shook his head.

  "Naw," he said, half under his breath. "Okay then, let's get moving."

  * * *

  By nightfall, a lot had happened. First, I rented a motel room on Patton Avenue. We stowed some of the conspicuous hardware under one of the beds there. The room would hold two men while the other two shared the camper. Next, Roantis and I went to the Buncombe County courthouse and found the sheriffs office, where we explained Daisy's abduction and Roantis gave them a snapshot of her. I also explained, as diplomatically as I could, my connection with the various recent events in Graham County. The desk officer was courteous and cooperative, but told us to stay where we could be reached. He promised to get in touch with the proper officials in Graham County. I could just imagine their reaction.

  Then we all went to a sporting goods store that sold rock climbing gear and hiking equipment and bought maps. We also bought gear from big bins of army surplus clothing. Roantis was all set, but the three of us needed bush pants, jackets, field boots, floppy bush hats, and backpacks. All the clothing was soft, comfortable, and cheap. Roantis seemed to spend every spare second on the telephone. He told us that the next afternoon Fred Kaunitz was going to arrive at the Asheville airport. Roantis's old buddy from Fayetteville, a certain Sparkles MacAllister, was due shortly thereafter.

  "Why's he called Sparkles?" Summers asked.

  "You'll see."

  So that evening the four of us were sitting around a table in the motel room. Spread out on the table and beds were eight USGS topographic maps of the region around Robbinsville. These maps, used by experienced hunters and hikers, are very detailed, with all the elevation contour marks and landmarks that would enable a skilled woodsman with a good compass to penetrate the thickest mountain forest or most remote cove or valley and find his way out again. From even my brief encounter with the area, I realized we would need all the help we could get.

  Speaking of needing help, I knew that sooner or later Mary and the Concord contingent would have to be notified of my upcoming trek through the mountain wilderness. This call to her was going to be dicey, to say the least. It seemed that each time we talked, I had worse news.

  When I finally called, Roantis, as promised, helped me out by positively assuring Mary I would be in no danger.

  "Listen, Liatis," I heard her say as he held the phone slightly away from his ear, "if anything goes wrong—if Charlie gets even a skinned knee—I don't care how many people you've killed with your bare hands, you
're going to wish you were dead."

  "Uh, sure Mary, I understand. Do you want to speak to him again?" He handed me the phone.

  "Listen Charlie: I don't know exactly what's going on down there, but I don't like it. This is sounding more and more like a bad dream. When he was driving me home from the airport, Joe said he was taking some time off. He asked if I wanted to drive down to the Carolinas and make sure you don't get your ass in a sling. I told him no. But now that the cops are making you stay put there and you're planning some hare-brained rescue mission, I'm calling him back. You can expect us tomorrow."

  "But honey, it's a two-day drive."

  "Then we'll fly down and rent a car at the airport. We'll arrive by tomorrow afternoon. You'd better be there, buddy. I mean it."

  I returned to the men at the table. Roantis and Summers were going over the maps inch by inch.

  * * *

  The next afternoon, we watched a light plane circle and approach the Asheville Regional Airport. The Flying K Ranch's Mooney touched down on the tarmac and taxied over to the tie-down area. Fred opened the cabin door and motioned all of us over with his arm.

  "Lend a hand, guys—I can't carry all this stuff." he said, removing his mirrored aviator glasses. We leaned into the cabin. Piled lengthwise along the tiny cabin aisle were four gun cases. These we put into the camper. Then there were several heavy canvas rucksacks and a long package wrapped in cloth. Fred grinned as he peeled the top of the package off I saw a long, pointed cone of metal peeking out at me. It looked like a steel ice cream cone. It looked nasty.

  "What the hell's that?" I asked him.

  "Soviet rocket launcher. RPG-Seven."

  "Where'd you get it? How'd you get it?"

  "A friend."

  "That's nice."

  We all went back to the motel so Kaunitz could settle in. He rented the room next to ours. An hour later Roantis, Tommy Desmond, and I went back to the airport to pick up Mary and Joe. I was glad Tommy was coming along; he could charm a cobra out of its skin.

  Mary came down the boarding stairs quickly, as if she couldn't wait to look around and see what I was up to. Her wide, Italian cheeks shook a little with each step. She pranced along on the blacktop with a no-nonsense look in her eye. Joe followed his older sister in that shambling, shoulder-swinging walk that moved his 220 pounds along faster than it seemed to the casual eye. Mary spotted the three of us and put her hand up to her forehead. She trotted over and planted a kiss on me. I hugged her.

  "Pretty down here, isn't it hon?"

  "Uh-huh. I can't wait to leave. Now what's going on? Liatis, what the hell's going on?"

  He told her as we all walked back into the terminal.

  "Daughter? I never knew you had a daughter."

  "Stepdaughter. They took her. We're going to get her back."

  "Not Charlie. He's not going."

  "Yeah Mary. We need him. We need Joe, too. And maybe you."

  Mary glared at him. But he just stood there with that pit bulldog look in his eyes. It wasn't a mean look. It was a look devoid of any emotion. It was all business.

  Mary put her hands on her hips and thrust her chin forward. I knew what that look meant.

  "Then what the hell am I supposed to do?"

  "Help us out. Two, maybe three days. Doc won't be in on any rough stuff. Okay?"

  She didn't say anything, just strutted away. Joe came forward and shook all our hands. Good old Joe. Roantis buttonholed him and told him about our predicament with the state police. Joe shifted his feet and looked at the ground, then asked for a cup of coffee. We all went back to the motel.

  It was when Joe was calling Trooper Hunnicutt out in Robbinsville that I saw the egg truck pull into the motel parking lot. The name on the side of the truck was IDLENOT FARMS—POULTRY AND EGGS. I wasn't paying close attention, and only the appearance of the driver jerked me out of a daydream.

  The man was short, stocky, and rust-colored, both hair and skin. His eyes were a piercing blue and seemed to reflect light back out of them, like airport beacons. He came down out of the cab, walked quickly around to the side of the truck, and leaned back against it, his legs crossed at the ankles. He stared up at our room. I walked out onto the balcony. The sky was turning a fiery reddish gold out over the distant peaks to the west. The man nodded ever so slightly at me, his hands shoved deep into his pants pockets. He had a special aura about him, quick and intense.

  "Hi ya, feller," he said in a scarcely audible voice. "Ya doin' all rhat?"

  "Liatis," I said over my shoulder, "I think your old buddy Sparkles MacAllister has arrived. But did you know he's driving an egg truck?"

  "Huh? Oh yeah. I ordered some eggs. Half a dozen. Doc, come with me while I get 'em."

  We walked down the motel's outdoor metal staircase and strolled over toward the truck. As we drew closer, I could hear the purring and grinding of the cooling unit over the cab. MacAllister snapped his Zippo and lighted a cigarette; the smoke floated around his ruddy face. The eyes flashed at Roantis.

  "Hey sport. How's tricks?" he said, shifting his feet and recrossing his ankles.

  "Okay. How's stuff with you? Got any eggs?"

  Sparkles's face lit up. "Oh yeah. Definitely hard-boiled. You wanted six?"

  "Yep. And the other?"

  "Uh-huh.”

  "How much?"

  "The eggs are thirty apiece. The other . . . cost you eighty bucks."

  "Doc, this here is Randall MacAllister. We call him Sparkles because he's into pyrotechnics. You know, fireworks."

  Sparkles shook my hand and walked around to the back of the truck, exchanging news and pleasantries with Roantis. The men mentioned several names I hadn't heard before. Then Royce's name came up.

  "He was over to see me couple of months ago."

  "What did he want?"

  "I'll show you," said MacAllister as he opened the back of the truck. It was filled with egg cartons and was cool inside. Sparkles jumped up and searched among the cardboard cartons. He drew out three metal rods. One of them he held like a soda straw and tapped it against the metal floorplate so that it pinged like a tuning fork.

  "Thermal lance," said MacAllister. "Hollow magnesium rod. Attach it to the end of an oxyacetylene cutting torch and it catches fire. It can melt concrete."

  "What the hell did he want that for?"

  "Didn't say. But he bought a hundred of 'em. Want to see the eggs?"

  He rummaged deep down and brought up an egg carton cut in half. Roantis hefted it, then opened it for a quick peek. Inside were nestled six shiny brass spheres with ring handles. He shut the carton fast, keeping it out of sight.

  "Hey, those are cute," said Roantis. "From Holland?"

  "Uh-huh. just like I promised. Return 'em if you don't use 'em. I'll charge you just for what you use. Now be careful with this . . ."

  He was holding a long cylinder in his hands, an inch and a half in diameter and maybe ten inches long. It was a rolled newspaper tube covered with some kind of grease and shone gold in the setting sun. The newspaper covering oozed oil with a faint and strange odor. MacAllister produced a red cardboard object in his other hand that resembled a truncated railroad flare.

  "This is the fuse. Heat-sensitive. Affix it to the wand when you're ready, not before. I‘ll also give you an electrical cap. You can take your choice, depending —"

  "Yeah, okay," said Roantis absently. "What about this oil?"

  "Put talcum powder on it until it dries out. Should be all dry and ready to go by late tomorrow. You wanna pay me now?"

  "Doc, will you help pay?"

  "Pay for what? For those metal eggs? Are they what I think they are?"

  Roantis nodded slowly.

  "I'm not paying for hand grenades, Liatis. I'm a doctor, for Chrissake. You know what will happen if you're caught with those?"

  He nodded again. "But I won't," he said.

  I turned and walked back up to the room. Mary asked me who the fellow with the truck was. I said that he
was an old friend of Liatis's, then flumped down on the bed without saying anything else. Roantis came up the stairs, passed our room, and went next door where Kaunitz was staying; I heard his loud knock on the metal door. Soon afterward, the two of them walked back down the staircase. Curious, I rose and went over to the window, looking down into the parking lot. Kaunitz was carrying the long wrapped bundle with the steel cone at the end. This they gave to MacAllister, who accepted it eagerly. After the goods had all been safely stowed, the three men stood talking and laughing softly around the truck. Glancing down at them, I had a hard time believing my eyes. Was this really happening in America? Yes it was. Sparkles MacAllister had carved himself a lucrative niche in the underground economy by dealing military weaponry to whoever wanted it. Now, it seemed, he'd taken the rocket launcher in trade for the items Roantis needed, or thought he needed. What else did he have in that egg truck? Spare parts for a trident sub?

  "Well hon," I volunteered to Mary, who was lying on the bed reading a paperback book, "it looks like an interesting few days coming up."

  She turned her head in my direction. Before she could say anything, Joe and Mike Summers knocked and entered, carrying huge paper cups of coffee. Mike gave one to Mary.

  Joe said, "I talked to Hunnicutt and other officers in Graham County. They told me they got a call today from the Buncombe County sheriff 's office. Oh, they remember you, Doc. Seems like you're already famous here in North Carolina."

  They all stared at me. I pretended I didn't notice.

  "They'll help search for Daisy. But Doc, they feel there are so many loose ends and unanswered questions, they want to interview you and Roantis tomorrow. They said ‘in depth.' "

  "Why sure," I said, turning my head and watching the egg truck swing out of the motel parking lot. "I mean, what have we got to hide?"

  21

  IN THE REGION of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, there are many mountain ranges with distinctive names. Besides the Smokies, there are the Balsams and the Plotts, the Elks, the Swannanoas, the New Founds, the Nantahalas, the Tusquitees, the Cheoahs and the Snowbirds. The last two ranges, the Snowbirds and the Cheoahs, lie in the westernmost part of North Carolina, along the Tennessee border just south of the Smokies. The day after everyone showed up, I was standing at the railing of a forest service lookout tower in the Snowbirds. The tower was ninety-two feet tall, on a mountain that was five thousand feet high. It was quite a view: I could see Tennessee and Georgia. With me at the rail were Roantis, Summers, and Desmond. From this height, the mountains looked less like a frozen sea of giant waves than a massive green velvet carpet that lay around us in monstrous folds and wrinkles. Mountain lakes, cobalt blue and silver, glinted in the clear air. The big impoundment of Lake Santeetlah lay in the broad valley below us. Scars of white against the green were waterfalls and fast rivers. Far out on the horizons, the mountains had a lazy, hazy, smoke blue look. The only sounds to reach us were the distant caws of crows on the wing and the wind-hum sound that you hear in high, remote places.