Chapter 4: Opening Moves

Wednesday, July 15, 2026—NW Montana

The nearly full moon lit up the landscape as he followed the narrow, windy road along the west side of Flathead Lake—the largest freshwater body west of the Mississippi. The Hwy 93 speed limit was 70 mph, which was woefully slow by Montana standards, where everyone was hell-bent on beating everyone else to their funeral. This was evident from the deer carcasses and white crosses lining the shoulders. He left home at 4 am for Whitefish to meet a supplier, then headed back via Kalispell to meet another vendor about changes to their materials. These issues could’ve been handled faster by phone, but James preferred dealing with partners in person.

Aside from official business, he had a compelling reason for the trip. An off-road outfitter in Kalispell offered a unique solution to his winter transport concerns. Mattracks were tractor-style accessories that replaced a truck’s wheels, converting it into a snow tractor with four triangular tracks. He reviewed the product before contacting the outfitter, one of the few dealers west of Minnesota. Once decided, he paid them in advance to order a set for his new truck. He spent the afternoon at the dealership installing the track units and testing them on a 3-acre obstacle course before replacing his tires and loading them into the back of his rig.

Instead of returning to Missoula, he detoured onto Hwy 28, near the lake’s south end, heading southwest to St. Regis. He’d never taken this route before and slowed down as darkness fell. Fortunately, the deer were easy to spot in the moonlight. There was little traffic, and he followed the same taillights for most of the trip, noting a single set of headlights behind him. Soon, he was following the Clark Fork River, winding through the tall mountains.

Approaching a railroad overpass, he noticed a dark shape on the road. He slowed and turned on his high beams to see a small animal. It was larger than an armadillo but smaller than a deer, and he thought it was a dog or coyote. It was the latter, badly injured. It struggled but couldn’t move from the road. He parked the truck but left the engine running as he went to investigate. The creature’s hindquarters were crushed from being run over. It was whining and panting heavily as it regarded him fearfully.

Damn, he realized his solemn duty to end the creature’s misery. He felt saddened as he returned to the truck and took the .22 revolver from his glove box. It was a Ruger Single-Six loaded with long-rifle cartridges. The coyote growled at him as he stepped back over.

“Sorry about this, friend,” he whispered, aiming and shooting the animal behind the ear. It yelped, convulsed, and went still. He holstered the gun, put on deerskin gloves, and carried the creature over to the shoulder. He heard a faint yip as he returned to the truck and stopped to listen. He found a tiny creature shivering in the tall grass, nosing around. Picking it up with his gloved hands, he studied it. Its eyes were closed, and it wasn’t much bigger than a squirrel. “Well, would you look at that,” he said, gently stroking its button ears. Under the headlights, he saw it had a light coat with a brown stripe along its back and a black smudge over its left eye. It shivered and mewed pitifully, so he tucked it inside his shirt to warm it.

The truck stop was closed when he reached St. Regis, so he continued to his property, arriving at the Quonset hut an hour later. He bundled the pup in his shirt near the stove while preparing a fire to warm the shelter. With no other ideas for feeding it, he opened a can of Eagle Brand condensed milk and filled a 10cc syringe by removing the plunger and pouring the cream in. Blind or not, the pup smelled it and cried as it nosed around. When he presented the syringe tip to its mouth, it sucked hungrily until its belly swelled. He limited it to one syringe, unsure of the right amount. The pup seemed content, so he made a can of stew and studied the tiny animal while eating.

As a child, he adored a dog named Sandy. He was 12 when she grew too old to live comfortably. After watching her suffer for days, they decided to put her to sleep, and he swore he wouldn’t grow attached to another animal again. Up to this point, he maintained that stance. The thought of caring for a furry companion who would only live for 10 or 12 years wasn’t something he wanted to do again. He wouldn’t change his mind now—but wouldn’t give up on the helpless creature either. Once he returned to Missoula, he would find a vet clinic to take care of it.

It cried pitifully in its makeshift bed by the stove, so he brought it to bed with him. Once it scooched by his shoulder, it settled down with its tiny nose against his neck and went to sleep. A few hours later, it woke him, demanding to be fed again. It messed up his old shirt, so he prepared a bed of clean shop rags after letting it drink another syringe of canned milk. Once it fell asleep, he tucked it inside his sleeping bag against his face.

The next morning, he had to tend to the noisy creature before stepping outside to relieve himself. It was hungry, loud, and strong enough to defy his efforts to contain it in its bed. He defeated its curious defiance by placing it in a small box of rags so he could unload the heavy tracks from the truck and stow them in the hut.

Once back on the road, the furry little tyrant complained incessantly about its cell, and he had to tuck it inside his jacket to drive in peace. By the time he reached French Town, he’d found an animal clinic and called ahead for an appointment, eager to hand the fragile thing over to someone more suited to care for it.

Twenty minutes later, his hopes were dashed. The elderly veterinarian, wearing jeans and a plaid logging shirt, had finished his brief examination. “I’ve never seen a coyote pup with markings like this,” Dr. ‘Bob’ remarked as he handled the protesting creature. “You might have a mix here.”

“A dog-coyote mix?”

“It happens. That’s the most likely scenario, given what I know about them. When coyotes mate, the male helps raise the pups. If you found the female wounded on the roadside, the mate would’ve taken the pup away, and you’d have been none the wiser.”

“Interesting,” Jim replied dismissively. “Can you give it some shots and find it a good home?”

The old man looked at him over his glasses like a stern Santa. “Son, we are an animal hospital, not a shelter.” A young strawberry-haired woman grinned as she prepared a fecal slide from the cotton swab they had used to violate the poor beast.

“This little girl is too young for shots,” she advised. “She’s not even a week old.”

“So ... where’s a shelter I can take it to?” he asked, sensing the situation was spiraling out of control.

She laughed at him again as she placed the slide under a microscope and stepped aside for the doctor to examine it. “Yeah, good luck with that,” she smirked. “There ain’t a shelter or foster program equipped to handle a newborn like this.”

“No parasites,” the vet stated calmly. “And Meriam’s right. This pup needs to grow a bit before vaccinations if she survives.”

“What do I do with it ... her?” he balked in the exam room. He felt outnumbered, and the pitiful antics weren’t helping.

“What did you do to feed her since you found her?” the girl asked as she swaddled the tiny pup and held her beside her chin.

“I poured some Eagle Brand into an empty syringe and let her suck it out of the tip.”

She flinched at his description. “I’ll give you an A for effort ... but don’t give her that anymore.”

Dr. Bob scribbled some notes and handed the paper to him while Meriam gave him the sleepy pup. “This is a ready-to-drink puppy formula available at Murdoch’s. They will also have the softer nipples you’ll need for now,” he offered. “She should open her eyes in a day or so. Expect them to be bright blue initially. If she’s a crossbreed, she might develop heterochromia.”

“Say what?” Jim asked as he reluctantly took the bundle back.

“She’ll have different colored eyes,” Meriam explained. “She weighs just over 12 ounces, so keep her fed and warm, and she should double that in a week. By two weeks, she should weigh about two or three pounds.”

She led him back to the lobby and rang up the examination and test fees. “$135, sir,” she smiled. He fumbled for his wallet and handed her his card. “Bring her by anytime, and I’ll help you monitor her weight. In about three weeks, she should be fully mobile and energetic. I can’t wait to see how she turns out.”

Jim grumbled about the unlikelihood of that happening as he left the clinic. A Murdoch’s Ranch Supply was three miles away and opened just as he arrived. Upon asking for directions to the puppy formula, young women in brown vests mobbed him, taking turns holding the puppy.

“Oh my God! She’s adorable!”

“What’s her name?”

“This collar would look cute on her!”

“You’ll need a soft bed and a few blankets.”

When he escaped, he had every imaginable toy and accessory and three cases of puppy milk replacement and nursing kits. He was also $300 poorer when he returned to his truck and fled toward the EBK building.

“Congratulations,” he muttered to the sleeping blob of fur and belly inside his coat. “You cost me nearly $500 in a single morning.” If he expected any sign of contrition, he was disappointed.

He felt ridiculous stepping out of the elevator on the second floor carrying the sleeping bundle and a cloth bag of essentials. Janice stepped out of her new office, smiling. She wore a loose-fitting cotton embroidered top with her typical dress and sandals.

“What’s that?” she asked as he set the bag on her old desk, now occupied by Roberta Kelso, her new secretary and old friend.

“It’s a dog,” he answered, handing the fussy furball to the middle-aged brunette, “I think.”

She took it with a stunned expression and gasped when she pulled aside the blanket for a better look. “Oh my God!” she exclaimed. “Mr. Keller! This thing is barely born! It’s too young to be separated from its mother!”

“Yeah, yeah. So, I’ve been told,” he muttered, fumbling with the blister pack of bottles and nipples.

Janice peered down at the whining puppy. “Where’s its momma?” she asked, touching its soft, furry head.

“Back on the roadside where I shot it,” he replied absently while trying to fill a bottle without spilling the formula.

“James! You didn’t!” She almost screeched with outrage.

Robby handed off the puppy to her and then snatched the nursing supplies from his hands. “I didn’t have a choice!” he replied defensively. “It had been run over and was suffering.” He watched the secretary fill the bottles and attach the nipples. She handed one to Janice, who began feeding the starving animal. “I discovered this little thing after the fact.”

“Oh, she is precious!” Janice cooed, holding it. “She’ll have an eye patch! Look!”

The desks were empty as a crowd gathered to check out the little package.

“Oh, I wish Bill would let me get a puppy!” Roberta complained.

“I can talk to him,” Jim offered. “I’ll be very persuasive.”

“Oh no!” the woman balked, retracting her words. “I want a Frenchy!”

“What’s going on?” he heard Sully ask, turning to see the man stepping from the elevator. He headed toward the Bagel Bar Janice had started after assuming her new role.

“James got a puppy!” someone answered excitedly.

The balding hunchback sauntered over, stuffing his face with a cream cheese bagel. “Is that a registered service animal?” he mumbled with his mouth full. “We have strict policies regarding pets in the work—”

“Oh, go crawl back under your bridge!” Janice snorted. Then she turned to show him the tiny face sucking on its bottle. “How could you say such a thing about this adorable little girl?”

The new board chairman studied the creature briefly, taking another bite. “Looks like a naked mole rat to me,” he mumbled.

Another secretary rubbed his bald head and quipped, “You’re one to talk.” This caused a chorus of laughter, including a grinning Jim.

“Hmph,” Sullivan grumbled as he turned away. “Make sure it doesn’t crap everywhere. Jim, got a minute?”

He gratefully escaped the mob and followed his friend into the elevator to the third floor. As soon as the door opened, he heard construction sounds above. He followed Sully into his office suite and helped himself to coffee.

Sully plopped down in a recliner and licked the spread from his fingers. “You contacted Penny and Clayborne just in time,” he stated, referring to their supplier in Whitefish. “But we may need to double our orders again.”

“Oh?” Jim turned to face the man. Since the successful experiment with Rob Gallagher’s Gulf Stream, the Department of Defense had been inquiring about subsidizing their product to shield entire fleets of government Lear jets. They began expansion efforts at their main plant to accommodate the increased demand. “Someone else interested?”

The bald man nodded, reaching for his cold brew. “Your boy Gallagher has friends in far places, including a few Saudi Princes who fly larger toys than a Gulfstream.”

That might require building a new plant, which had been discussed recently. Locations like Maine were considered for the ANP compounding process.

“We should prepare an impact statement and discuss it at the next board meeting,” he said while grappling with the numbers.

“This will thrust us into Fortune 500 territory in three years,” Sully replied casually. “I reached out to Sherman to ask him to return and help us navigate this expansion.”

“Is he willing?” Jim asked, hopeful.

Sullivan nodded. “As an outside interest,” he replied. “Without him, we’d need to find a peer group, and I shudder to think about that.”

They discussed the project for almost an hour and created a tentative plan moving forward.

“Oh, one more thing,” Sully added as Jim returned to the elevators.

He turned back. “Yeah?”

“That... ‘Wildling’ you scraped off the floor at MIT ... Riley Jenkins?”

Jim felt a tick in his neck. “What did he do?”

“Oh, nothing I know of,” Sully replied, studying the other man’s expression. “Though he’s been visiting the office a lot lately. It may or may not involve a certain administrative clerk named Carly O’Connell.”

Jim recognized the name and recalled the slight, fiery red-haired woman from Engineering Logistics. She wore simple clothes, knitted cardigans, and little to no makeup. She was exceptionally introverted and shy but pretty in her demure outfits and thin-framed glasses.

Our boy has discovered girls. God help us! “I can’t imagine he’s figured out where babies come from yet,” he remarked.

Sully laughed at his joke and set his cup down. “The thought of their offspring makes me ponder space exploration,” he replied. “But no, that’s not it. Your boy genius has been requisitioning certain compounds that—while not restricted—enjoy particular scrutiny on government watchlists,” he stated calmly. “Several crossed my desk with your chop on them, in lieu of. I wanted to make sure he was operating under your purview—”

“He is,” Jim replied quickly. “They are components for specialized explosives, so their procurement would attract attention.”

“He’s not gonna blow up the plant, is he? An insurance claim for that—”

“He’ll be careful, I promise,” Jim assured him, mentally crossing his fingers.

The next day, RJ arrived at the office with an armful of ice cube trays and a box of coiled wires resembling phone chargers. He was accompanied by the unremarkable Carly, who wore a more flattering dress without her typical sweater. When Jim looked up from the conference table surrounded by department heads and project managers, he sensed she was possibly wearing more ‘product’ than usual.

The conference room was open, and the plate glass windows were free of tinting that could obscure them when privacy was required. A young woman sat off to the side—corralled into sitting duty—holding the pup between feedings to keep it quiet.

Jim had been diligently working with the staff, planning the expansion to accommodate the increasing demand for their shielding products. The discussion halted when he saw the pair approaching. RJ was in character, wearing dirty jeans and a worn Metallica Tour shirt. His dirty blonde hair was untamed, and his steampunk-era safety glasses rested on his big beak. He stepped into the conference room as if nothing else mattered, grinning at his boss as he set the plastic trays on the table and slid them over.

“Here ya go, Jimbo,” he said casually. “My first run. I was hoping you’d let me come to your piece of dirt and try it out—”

Without missing a beat, the demure girl grabbed his arm excitedly, “We bought a tent!”

“Is that...?” Jim remarked blankly as he gazed at the off-color substance in the trays.

The techno-geek shrugged and nodded. “It’s an 80/20 mixture of Semtex and Tannerite.”

Chairs scraped across the floor as the engineers, project managers, and department heads scrambled in alarm.

“Is that an explosive?”

“You brought a bomb here?”

“Should we call the bomb squad?”

Jim felt sweat trickle down his back as he stood and regarded the young man.

“Oh, calm your tits!” the young man retorted, scowling at the fearful faces. “It’s perfectly stable!”

“My brother is letting us borrow his ATV,” Carly added excitedly. She turned to the ‘designated’ secretary as she produced another bottle and held it for the fussing pup.

“Good Heavens,” the woman complained. “Do you ever stop eating?”

“RJ, you can’t bring this into headquarters,” Jim glared at him. “Do you even read the signs out front?”

“Yeah,” the nerd said as his red-haired stalker moved to check out the creature in the other woman’s lap. “No guns, knives, or weapons, yadda, yadda,” he stated. “Nothing about Semtex, C4, TNT, or detonators.” He held up the bag and tossed it next to the trays with a loud clatter that made more than one occupant reach for their nitroglycerine spray.

“Oh my God! How adorable!” Carly squeaked, peering into the bundle of cloth. “Can I hold him?”

“Her,” the secretary corrected as she handed over the bundle and bottle. “Be my guest,” she added, escaping the room.

“Okay ... in the future, please don’t bring stuff like this into the main office, okay?” Jim implored the man. Goddamn! If we were in the Army, I’d have to court-martial him.

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” RJ replied. “Will you be out there this weekend?”

“Most assuredly,” the man replied as he peered into the bag and saw dozens of small detonators coiled in bundles.

“Ah, Riley! Come look,” Carly simpered as she held the bottle for the pup. “She has your baby blue eyes!”

Wait, what? Jim turned to gaze at the slight girl. Forgetting about the plastique and detonators on his conference table, he strode around the room until he stood over the girl and his dog. He felt cross that the ungrateful animal chose to open its sapphire blue eyes for her instead of him. The oddly marked creature glanced back at him unapologetically as it fed voraciously on the formula.

“FIRE IN THE HOLE!”

Jim rolled his eyes beside the two oddly paired youngsters crouched behind a blue 60-gallon poly drum beside the mine entrance. Carly was a distraction for almost any guy—wearing tight khaki shorts and a nonfunctional lumber shirt cut away and tied to cover her surprisingly endowed chest. She wore waffle-patterned hiking boots to finish off the garish display. She giggled as she cowed beside her chosen geek-o-saurus, clinging to his arm as he peered around the barrel at the dark tunnel.

Who would’ve thought she had an ass like that beneath those frumpy dresses?

“Did you hear anything?” RJ asked anxiously. He was covered in dirt and dust from the drilling and tamping of the plastic inside the shallow holes he had prepared. She swept an errant lock out of his face as he turned to peer back at his boss.

Jim yawned intentionally as he reached into his jacket to touch the sleeping puppy tucked against his warm abdomen. “First rule of Ordinance,” he chided. “Expect the unexpected.”

A small dust cloud drifted from the tunnel entrance and scattered in the light breeze.