Chapter 19: Deception and Evasion

The charter helicopter lifted off with Yavinsky and two team members. Yavinsky sat beside the pilot; two sat behind with AK-47 assault rifles in scabbards stowed under their feet. The pilot was told they were flying to rendezvous with a vehicle carrying rich ore samples. Yavinsky had a pistol in his pocket should the pilot become suspicious and need convincing to engage the chase.

“Do you know the desert road from that Silver City ghost town to the Oregon village ... Jordan Valley, I think it is?” Yavinsky asked the pilot.

“Yes sir, no problem. In fact, we should land there and wait for the people you’re trying to contact. There’s a good landing area along the highway on the edge of town. It’s convenient and a much safer place to set down,” the pilot suggested.

“Yes, yes ... I’m sure it is, but we must intercept them as soon as possible, in the desert, away from any settlement or houses. Our business with them is most confidential, and we wish there to be no intrusion or interference from outsiders. This is most important. Will you do this?” Yavinsky countered.

“Yes sir, I understand. We’ll approach over the western slope of the mountain and we should spot them as they come out across the lower slopes. I recall there are several large, open areas where we can set down right along the road.”

The pilot was wishing he’d listened to that nagging little voice that tried to warn him that this charter deal was a really, really bad idea despite the extravagant bonus the Russian had paid up front as a retainer, part of the agreed price for maintaining a 24-7 on-call flight status. Their story sounded bogus, and he’d tried to bail out of the deal when Yavinsky showed up with two assistants carrying rifle cases. All had obvious shoulder holster bulges under their windbreaker jackets.

“What’s with all the firepower?” he demanded of Yavinsky. “You said you were meeting some people to hand off ore samples. How do those rifle cases figure into this flight?”

Yavinsky stared at him with cold eyes and tight lips. In a moment, he relaxed his gaze slightly: “These are extremely rich samples. We dare not risk theft; the rifles are simply a precaution. You remember, gold is insanely priced on the market, and many unscrupulous people would do violence to learn the source, isn’t that so?”

The pilot stared back, inwardly flinching. He’d seen rattlesnakes with kinder eyes than this man. “Very well. Keep them unloaded and cased, and on the floor under their feet. I don’t want any accidents in flight.

The Jordan Creek road emerges from the timbered area of the Owyhee Mountain western slope into a series of high, barren foothills. The road crosses over the hills and winds down in lazy switch-backs before running out into the desert. It runs through the irrigated hay fields in the valley lands adjoining the Owyhee River where it winds northward to its confluence with the Snake River. Yavinsky spotted a dust trail along the top of a foothill.

“That vehicle ... fly from behind and to the side so I can see into it. I must see who is inside,” Yavinsky ordered the pilot. Swooping down parallel to the road, Yavinsky was able to get a good look at the driver and passengers.

“Excellent! That is our people ... fly ahead and land in the road ... fly well ahead but not so far that we cannot see them.”

The pilot looked ahead and picked a clearing, roughly a quarter mile ahead, swung the chopper around to face the on-coming vehicle, and settled down into the two-track dirt road. As soon as it set down, Yavinsky and his two men jumped out and began running ahead and to the side. The two men uncased their weapons and took positions on each side of the road; Yavinsky pulled his handgun and waited on the road center.

“Awwww, shit!” the pilot muttered. “I’m not getting my helicopter and myself shot all to hell for these assholes. I’m outta here!” He applied power, lifted and spun and flew away down the road as fast as he could get the ship to lift and accelerate. Yavinsky spun around and shouted a string of curses. He popped off several shots with his handgun, but it was a useless gesture. The helo stayed low to the road, following it down the hill. In moments, he was out of sight of the armed men. One 9mm slug did hit the landing skid strut, and another punched a hole in the tail boom, both harmlessly enough, but that was the final straw for the pilot. He pulled out his cell phone, punched the “911” code and asked to be put through to the Oregon State Police.

“Turn around!” Michael shouted, as he saw the armed men several hundred yards ahead. “Turn around and get off the road! We’ve got to find a way around those guys out of rifle range. If we can get around them, they can’t follow. It looks like their ride just flew away!”

Steve spun the wheel and the heavy Toyota 4-Runner lurched around, throwing dust and a spray of dirt and debris. Headed now in the opposite direction, he deliberately fish-tailed the rig from side to side in skidding, sliding movements.

“Hang on! I’m stirring up as much dust as I can so they can’t get a good shot at us!” He swerved back and forth across the track as much as thirty feet either side, accelerating heavily to spin the wheels in the loose desert powder. A huge dust cloud rose behind them, obscuring any view of them from the gunmen.

Yavinsky screamed in frustration. So close, but it was too late. They’d fired several bursts of AK-47 rounds into the dust cloud behind the fleeing target, but it was useless. The cloud was too big, spreading far on either side of the road and the vehicle was too quickly out of effective range. It took several more minutes for him to realize he was well and truly in deep trouble. He and his men were on foot and lost. He had only a superficial knowledge of their location, and no real idea of how far or exactly which roads would lead out to safety. And what of the rest of his team up at the Silver City location? Perhaps he would do better spending his time and energy in a long hike back in that direction to link up with the rest of his team, to plan their escape.

“We must go up the road, up the mountain. We will find the others. Bring your weapons. We may need them. There are enemies in this accursed place!” Yavinsky spat, holstered his pistol, and began trudging up the road.

No water, no food, no flashlight, nothing but what we wear on our backs and carry in our pockets. Well, at least we have cigarettes and lighters. Perhaps we can make a small fire if darkness overtakes us before we find the others, he mumbled to himself.

Five miles back up the road, atop a higher foothill at the edge of the timber, the three gathered around the hood of the Toyota to study a back-country map, looking for a possible track around their pursuers.

“First, we’d better decide which direction those clowns are going to walk before we start trying to evade them,” Steve suggested. “I’m going to assume that the chopper isn’t coming back for them. I saw that guy in the middle of the road raise his hand and point like he was shooting at the chopper as it flew away. That’s a strong hint the pilot won’t be coming back. So ... now that they’re afoot, where do they walk to?”

“Back up the mountain, towards those guys up at Dewey. That’s got to be the other part of their team. That’s the only thing that makes sense. They regroup and call for a ride out. If the guys on this road try to walk out the other direction, it’s too far to Jordan Valley and they’ll have problems there. No vehicle, no way for a ride, and they’ll have to lose the guns. No, it’s too far and too much risk for them to go that direction. I’ll bet they’re walking up the road towards us, right about now,” Michael reasoned.

“I agree,” Marie added. “We must go around them, quietly and without dust, out of sight and out of range of their rifles. We cannot go back to Silver City. The men up there have guns. And the men walking toward us have guns. Is there another way, an old stage road or a canyon route, anywhere near us?”