Bitsy was unconcerned by the lascivious stare she elicited from Cannon. She tossed her wet hair over her shoulder, and her breasts rose and fell. Cannon’s head gazed up and down. Bitsy gave him a smoldering look that rose in temperature as it slipped towards Ramm. ‘I take it that dinner’s off the menu?’ she said.
‘We might have to put it on the backburner,’ Ramm said, ‘but I don’t mind warming it up again.’
Bitsy flicked a glance at Cannon. ‘Maybe I should think about take out. You sure know how to show a gal a good night, Ramm.’
‘I’ll make it up to you. But for now, can you please close the door before my friend here has a coronary?’
Bitsy stood face on, fisting her hands on her hips as she pouted. She was showing Ramm what he was missing, but Cannon wasn’t spared an eyeful either. ‘What’s a hungry girl supposed to do? Start with the finger buffet?’
She was such a tease. Ramm shook his head, walked over and shut the door. From beyond it he heard Bitsy muttering, but he knew her ill temper wouldn’t last. He turned to Cannon, expecting to see the man loosening his collar. Cannon wasn’t quite as obvious, but he slowly puffed out his cheeks.
‘I guess I chose a bad time to call,’ he said.
Ramm shrugged. ‘What’s done is done. I’ll make it up to Bitsy later.’
‘Bitsy? You might say all her bits are in the right place and in the right proportions.’ Cannon quickly lifted a hand in apology. ‘Jeez. Listen to me. I’m sorry for blurting that out.’
‘I prefer a man who’s straight to the point. Don’t worry about it. Bitsy tends to have that kind of effect on people.’ Ramm folded his arms on his chest. ‘But it’s not Bitsy you’re hear to talk about. This is about your daughter, right?’
Some of the light went out of Cannon’s gaze. ‘My daughter, yes. Shelly. I take it you’ve been following the news?’
‘Not avidly, but enough to know that Shelly went missing a few weeks ago and you still have no idea where she is or what has happened to her.’
‘Not exactly true,’ Cannon said. ‘I know where and what is going on, it’s just that I haven’t mentioned it to the police. You see, there’s no real crime involved in her disappearance, so law enforcement wouldn’t really help to get her back.’
‘Tell me.’
‘Shelly was always a willful child. She got no easier to control as a young woman. You might say that she rebelled against me and that was why she chose to take up with one of those nutjob Svengali-types called The Bishop.’
‘She has joined a cult?’
‘Not a cult as such. There is nothing religious about the group she has hooked up with, despite the leader’s adopted name.’ Cannon shook his head. ‘I blame it all on the crazy talk about the Mayan doomsday prophesy and unfounded fears about the end of the world. You’ve heard of these “end of world” groups haven’t you?’
‘Doomsday preppers,’ Ramm said. ‘Yeah, there’s been quite a lot of talk about them in the last year or two. It’s just the latest term for the old paramilitary survivalist movement, if you ask me.’
Cannon nodded in agreement. ‘The Bishop runs his group from a fortified compound out west. He lords over his people with an iron hand, and apparently heaps of charisma. He has gathered quite a following by all accounts, people who are prepared to fight on his behalf should the need arise.’
‘You said that law enforcement won’t help bring Shelly out. If she is an adult and went there of her free will, I can understand why. But you’d think they’d be looking for an excuse to enter The Bishop’s commune, to check on illegal firearms and such.’
‘They’re kind of nervous about that, ever since the Camp Davidian fiasco. And any way, it is common knowledge that The Bishop will not tolerate firearms within the boundary of his land. He once suffered an unfortunate accident with a gun and positively forbids the carrying of firearms by his people.’
‘Seems a gentle enough guy,’ Ramm said with not a little sarcasm. But he’d guessed there was more to The Bishop through Cannon’s earlier comment about the use of improvised weapons.
‘He supports the use of aggression in protection of his land. But he has an old time sensibility about it all. He encourages his people to train in martial arts and all manner of unarmed combat. Some of those he attracts to his movement are tough guys and brawlers. Others are skilled, ex military men, fighters and sportsmen.’
Ramm nodded. ‘The reason you wanted to check me out. You want me to pose as one of these tough guys to get close to Shelly and bring her out.’
‘Exactly,’ Cannon said. ‘And I’m prepared to pay you handsomely for your trouble.’
‘Sounds like a job I might be interested in.’
‘Might be?’
‘How handsomely are we talking?’
‘As handsomely as your girlfriend, Bitsy, and a bit more on top besides.’
Ramm took no time considering the offer. ‘I’m in. When do I start?’
‘Is tomorrow too soon?’
Ramm glanced once at the bedroom door. ‘I’ll be ready as soon as I’m finished my dinner.’
Now…
Ramm brought the large roan to a halt and stared down the hill at the outer fence of The Bishop’s compound. He wore a liberated leather jacket now, but could still feel the chill of predawn. The horse shivered its flanks, snorted, and the steam rising off its back drifted up to join the mist overhead. Since Ramm’s recent fight at the barn the fog had lifted somewhat, burning off as the sun rose higher in the east. Below him he could now see the fence, and a good portion of the land beyond. Most of the trees had been felled on the property, but there was some sparse shrubbery here and there. The buildings that formed The Bishop’s compound were still far out of sight, lying beyond a fold in the land to the east. Earlier on fleeing the place, Ramm had headed south. His ride back had been more circular and had brought him to this place a couple of miles further up the perimeter fence. There was no sign of sentries but Ramm had to assume they were there. Still, apart from them calling in extra support, he didn’t have much to fear from them. One thing he could be certain of was that he wouldn’t be brought down by a sniper’s bullet. Cannon had been correct when stating The Bishop didn’t tolerate any firearms: knives, clubs, swords, even bows and arrows were in evidence but Ramm was yet to see as much as an airsoft gun in the compound.
Riding the roan bareback – he had only taken time to fit it with a rope halter before setting off – he urged it down the shallow decline to the fence. The fence stood eight feet tall and was topped with barbed wire. It would be a formidable barricade to some, but not to Ramm on horseback. As they came alongside the fence, he again halted the horse. Bracing his palms on its shoulders, Ramm hopped up and hunkered on the horse’s back. Then he rose up fluidly to stand on its back like a trick rider in a circus. He ignored the pain in his ankle and thigh from the savaging the Doberman Pincers had given him, while he turned a quarter circle to face the fence. In the next instant he bunched his thigh muscles, allowed his buttocks to dip slightly then sprang up and outward. The jump was little more than three feet and Ramm cleared the barbed wire with ease. Unfortunately a sixteen hands horse didn’t shorten the drop on the other side. He dropped the full eight feet plus and again had to employ a commando roll to save his legs from the impact.
The roan had spooked as Ramm let fly, and it thundered away up the hill, heading back the way they’d come and to the shelter of the barn. Ramm wondered distractedly what had become of the attack dogs. He didn’t think they’d be any threat to the horse. He turned away and began a steady jog across the barren land, ignoring the pain that flared from his right ankle with every step. He’d suffered worse pain. Hell, he’d suffered worse yesterday on his arrival at The Bishop’s camp.