Chapter 29

Saturday April 2

Ten of my wives, and our reporter and cameraman, joined me as we flew to Yellowstone this morning. We’d reserved a large cabin since we’d be there for at least two or three days. After making a quick stop on the way, we uncloaked about five km from the main ranger station, slowing down to normal grav sled speeds as we followed the road.

“Can I help you?” the young ranger at the desk just inside the front door asked automatically as he looked up at us. “Oh,” he said when he realized who I was. “Sorry, I’ll let Ranger Pierce know that you’re here.”

It still took him a couple seconds to make his feet work.

“They’re here,” he announced, sticking his head through one of the open office doors a couple meters behind the front desk.

A distinguished-looking man about Don’s age exited the office with a huge grin on his face. “Welcome,” he said as he moved to shake my hand.

“Thanks for inviting us,” I replied and then stepped aside to introduce my wives as they shook his hand.

“With your group here, most of the other rangers can concentrate on completing a census of the other animals so we know how many to cull. It’s been decades since we had the funds to do a proper census and the populations of many of the large or predatory species have grown too big,” he explained.

“We plan to kill two hundred bison, one hundred males and one hundred females. Even though we didn’t have funds to thin the herd each year, we let the nearby Arapaho and Crow reservations hunt a hundred of each. They’ll have hunters out there with you. If you want to keep the hides, their women will skin the bison and prepare the hides for you for fifty dollars each and they do a great job of it. If you don’t want the meat or hides, they’ll gladly take them,” he explained.

“This is Ranger Taylor. She’s in charge of the hunt,” he introduced us to the second ranger who’d exited the room with him. After being introduced to everyone, Ranger Taylor led us back outside where she introduced our group to the Arapaho and Crow hunters, as well as the women that were with them to help deal with the carcasses and hides.

“Is there someplace where I can sight in a rifle?” I asked.

“What are you planning to use?” Taylor asked.

“For most of the hunt, I’ll use a 15 mm rifle. However, I want to use an 1853 Pattern Enfield to bring down one, sort of a tribute to the first Lucky Jim. While I did learn how to load it, the only time I fired it was into a backstop twenty-five meters away, so I need to learn how to aim it. I know that black powder and the black powder substitute I bought don’t provide the same muzzle velocity as modern propellants, so I have to figure out how far to elevate the rifle,” I explained.

“I’m Randall, and Grandfather could show you. He still hunts with an old Hawken rifle,” one of the other hunters offered.

Half an hour later, an ancient pickup truck rattled to a stop at the firing range we’d set up near the camp site. If I hadn’t watched the even more ancient man adroitly climb out from behind the wheel, I’d have wondered if he could even walk.

“Grandfather, thank you for coming. This is Lucky Jim and he wants to use his Enfield rifle at the hunt tomorrow,” Randall explained.

“I’m honored to meet you, and equally honored that you will use such a fine weapon for the hunt,” he said as he shook my hand.

“Thank you. I was just given the rifle a few days ago and haven’t yet fired it, although I did fire an Enfield once. That was at a backstop twenty-five meters away. The men at Fort Savage in St. Louis showed me how to load and fire it.”

As our reporter and cameraman documented it, he watched as I loaded the rifle, making small corrections to my technique. My first shot embarrassed the heck out of me. It kicked up dirt well before reaching the rock outcrop where the target was attached.

“Wow, that bullet really drops fast!” I exclaimed.

“Modern powders provide nearly four times the muzzle velocity of black powder,” my teacher explained.

He then demonstrated his rifle. For a second before he fired, I wondered if his shot was going to go over the top of the rocks. My jaw dropped when it hit near the center of the target.

“That’s four hundred meters, the far end of my rifle’s range,” he commented as he looked at the target. “With practice, you could hit targets at a thousand meters.”

“I’ll settle for four hundred meters for now,” I laughed.

As I practiced, I couldn’t believe how long it took me to measure the correct amount of powder and then load the rifle. “No wonder the first Jim had people make paper cartridges and pre-measure the powder,” I thought.

It took me about two hours before I felt confident enough to quit for the day, which was only about forty shots.

Sunday April 3

After meeting at 0900, all thirty of us hunters hopped onto our grav sleds, although only our group was using the new style grav sleds. We followed the ranger to the first herd they wanted to thin. I laughed to myself seeing that half of the Arapaho and Crow hunters were women. A second group, this one all women, drove their trucks to where we’d be shooting. Between them, they drove at least fifty trucks, everything from pickups to refrigerated semis.

“Target older males and females, and make sure not to shoot pregnant females. Also, there may be a few females nursing a calf, but most won’t deliver until later this month or next month. Everybody will fire one shot and then wait to see what happens. If the animal you targeted doesn’t drop right away, shoot it once more. Once everyone has killed their first animal, we’ll move up the road a few miles and try it again,” Ranger Taylor instructed.

And that’s what we did. I was proud that each of my women only had to shoot once to bring down their bison.

Two hours later, ninety-nine bison had been killed and I had my chance to use the Enfield. I hit the male I was aiming at but needed to fire a second shot to finish the job.

Once I fired the last shot, we used the grav sleds to convince the bison to move away, which allowed our group to collect the downed animals. The Arapaho and Crow were impressed with the job my wives did skinning and cutting up our bison, especially once they learned that this was their first time.

Once my wives skinned one, they let me help cut it up, but wouldn’t let me help skin any. Laughing, they explained to everyone that I skinned animals to get to the meat, not to save the pelts, making everyone laugh. Helga and I each wanted to keep one of the skins from a bison that we shot. I wanted the one I shot with the Enfield. Idania wanted all three of hers so she could send them to her family.

I called in help from some of Tensas Parish’s hunting teams and they carried the thirty-three buffalo we shot back to the parish to help feed everyone. Half of the one I shot with the Enfield became dinner for the hunters, skinners, and rangers. Several rangers had supervised the last three days while the Arapaho and Crow hunters gathered downed trees in the park. Some of that wood became the bonfire over which our thick buffalo steaks were cooked. I was excited when they just threw the steaks on the huge bed of coals to cook and loved just how good they were.

The second half of my bison was cooking on a similar bonfire about three miles away. That one was for park guests who had paid extra to attend. Normally, the Arapaho and Crow donated the half that was cooked for guests and they received half of what the guests paid. I agreed that they should still get their share of what the guests paid.

Monday April 4

Today was the second half of our hunt. This time we were thinning a different herd. Aside from me not using the Enfield today, it went the same as yesterday, including the two cookouts.

Tuesday April 5

We had just reached Tensas parish where I planned to meet more people when I got the feeling of danger. “Damn it!” I hissed, and warned the girls about what was happening.

The vector from Tensas Parish was to the northeast, through Indiana, and most notably, Indianapolis.

Zooming east until I was over the Lucky J Meridian, I took a second vector. This one confused me. It followed almost the same angle as the previous one but went through Ohio. I wondered if the danger was moving to the east. I decided to move north and west, stopping above Libertyville stadium. The vector from here went to or through Minneapolis.

Smacking myself mentally for assuming that the danger was located inside the United States, I minimized the map I used until all three vectors met--in Moscow.

“Interesting,” I muttered, and then commed the girls. Rather than stop in Tensas Parish, I continued home where I warned Don. The girls met me there.

Thursday April 7

It took two days for the danger to move away from Moscow. My vectors showed it to be in Berlin late this morning. By evening, it was in London.

Friday April 8

When I checked this morning, the danger had reached Atlanta. By afternoon, it was in Mobile where it remained for the rest of the day.

Saturday April 9

Early this morning, the danger began moving again, this time, south by southwest. That had to mean it was in the Gulf. Gearing up, I flew on my grav sled towards the danger. The danger was a lone man aboard a small powerboat. When he went below to eat lunch, I placed several bugs aboard the boat, especially around the cockpit. They would transmit what he said and would allow our security guys to follow the progress of the boat.

Max Cooper commed me to let me know he had two of our men who spoke Russian who would listen to anything the guy said. We got lucky late in the afternoon when he sent a progress report back to Moscow via a laser satellite transmission.

He reported that he expected to reach Grand Isle by nightfall. He would refuel in the morning and would head out, planning to look like he was fishing off the coast just to the west of us. That night, he’d land and make his way ashore to where he’d find a place to take his shot from.

Sunday April 10

Petr’s day didn’t go quite like he planned. Once he was offshore fishing, he was the target of a tranq dart. Three of the security guys went with me to collect Petr. Once he was well secured, one watched him while another took the new power boat he’d purchased, with Petr and the other security guard aboard, back to Port Fourchon and then up through Blanc bayou until they docked in our boathouse.

Needless to say, when Petr awoke, he was surprised to be looking at his target. He was more surprised to find that the tooth with the cyanide capsule had been removed.

His interrogation could have been brutal. However, thanks to Vasily from Karamay, we had the truth serum used by the FSB. Our cameraman recorded Petr’s confession about his mission to assassinate me and that it had been ordered by the head of the FSB who said that the order had been from the President himself.

Once we had the recorded confession--and a translation--Petr got to drop in on some of my favorite alligators. Afterwards, a copy of the confession was sent via courier to President Talbot, along with a copy of the news clip I wanted to release. The courier returned with a verbal agreement from the President, so Don sent a copy of the interrogation, as well as my response, to his INN reporter friend Eric Harkins.

The evening news that night was headlined with both the confession and my response, which was:

“The Russian government has sent an agent to assassinate me. This time, I will turn the other cheek. If, however, it happens again, I will reply in kind and will feel justified in returning the favor to those who issued the order. I wish to make it abundantly clear that my retaliation will be personal, and not supported by the government of the United States.”

Tuesday April 12

“Damn it!” I hissed when I awoke. Yet another danger vector had appeared. Sure enough, when I verified it, the vector originated in Moscow. I warned Don and kept track of it.

Friday, April 15

Grigory took a different route, entering the States in New York and then flew to Houston. In Houston, he purchased a new car and drove here. He wasn’t expecting to be shot with a tranq round as he unlocked the car in the motel’s parking lot just before dawn.

His interrogation went the same way that Petr’s went, and provided the same answers. He’d been sent by the head of the FSB, supposedly at the insistence of the president. Grigory also met the same congregation of alligators that Petr had.

While we sent a copy of the interrogation to President Talbot, we didn’t release it to the press. Instead, I geared up and loaded my grav sled aboard a Talon. My sled tender was loaded aboard a second talon.

The Talons dropped me off in Belarus just a few miles from the Russian border. Once I attached my sled tender, I cloaked and headed for Moscow. Anticipating this, I’d done my due diligence and knew where both the FSB headquarters and the Russian government buildings were. I also had pictures of both the head of the FSB and the Russian President.

My flight to Moscow was a quick one and I homed in on the danger vector I was feeling. Since the only evidence I had on the Russian president was hearsay, for now, I concentrated on the head of the FSB. I watched as he left work at the end of a long day and drove home in a car that appeared to be armored. Aside from his driver, there were two other men in the car with him--armed men.

Saturday April 16

After making preparations during the night, I spent the rest of the night sleeping on my sled, waking when the sled’s sensors alerted me to movement inside the house.

The first thing I did was order the sled tender to release the ten-meter metal pole I’d cut down last night. It had spent the night slung beneath the sled tender, right above one of the main Moscow electrical substations. When it fell into the towers and wiring beneath it, there was a massive flash and much of Moscow went dark.

I’d flown to the FSB headquarters and moved directly above it. Half an hour after the blackout, I pointed the nose downward, unleashing an EMP at the building, frying any secondary generators they’d managed to bring online.

Rushing back to the home of the head of the FSB, I still had to wait half an hour before he left for work. Two blocks from his home, another EMP killed his car, and a large area around the car. When the bodyguards exited the car, they fell from tranq rounds. Since they’d left the door open, I also hit the driver and the head of the FSB.

Him, I dragged out of the car and tied to the sled tender before making a run for the Belarus border. The two Talons were still waiting for me and had us back home before Aleksey woke up.

Like the two agents he’d sent, Aleksey was both surprised to see me, and surprised that his tooth with the cyanide capsule was missing.

His interrogation went the same as the previous two and he identified the Russian President as the man who ordered the two assassination attempts. “He somehow blames you for foiling our plans to capture Mongolia and part of China,” he admitted. He also admitted to Russia’s part in fomenting the MEW and that Russia’s plan all along had been to capture Kazakhstan, as well as Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan, and Kyrgyzstan.