To safely navigate the Z’s first turn required a sharp right turn, and Vince’s guide would have to apply his rudder paddle with exacting precision. Otherwise the bow would hang up in the shallows, causing the vessel to be yanked around and then swept through the gauntlet backward. Ron Wyatt readily met the challenge, and when they safely entered the next chute, Vince found himself venting his anxiety with a joyous yell. Unfortunately, his celebration was cut short upon spotting the VP’s canoe wedged precariously between the two large boulders forming the next turn. It was extremely close to capsizing, the wildly rushing current only inches from entering the canoe and swamping its passengers.
Vince turned to make certain that his guide knew what was happening up ahead. Wyatt calmly nodded that he saw them, and appeared in total control as he expertly maneuvered the vessel down the chute, nosing their bow right up to the formation that had trapped the VP.
“They’re caught up on a snag,” Wyatt observed, having to scream to be heard.
“I’m gonna try to pull in beside them, and we’ll see if we can work them free with our paddles.”
Not having any idea how his guide would ever be able to pull off such a maneuver, Vince nodded that he understood the intended strategy. And the next thing he knew, they were snug up against the VP’s canoe, with Vince now faced upstream.
“Glad you could join us, Kellogg,” yelled the VP, who was obviously enjoying every second of this mini-crisis.
Wyatt was already hard at work, angling the tip of his paddle into the massive snag of tree limbs and roots responsible for this hang-up. Before joining in with his own paddle, Vince found himself wondering how they’d be able to complete their transit of the chute, now that they were facing backward. He supposed that once the VP was free, they’d have to run the rest of the gauntlet with Vince at the rudder position. Such a switch of duties would prove interesting, to say the least, and before he re gripped his paddle to assist his associate, he momentarily glanced upstream.
The first thing that caught his attention was an overturned canoe. It was hung up on the projecting shelf of rock at the head of the first chute, with a variety of floating debris visible immediately beside it. Included in this flotsam was what appeared to be a body, lying facedown in the water. Strangely enough, it wasn’t moving, and Vince tried his best to scan the river farther upstream, his astounded glance halting on something equally unexpected.
Hovering only a few feet above the river at the top of the rapids was a jet-black Huey helicopter. The bulbous nose of this aircraft seemed to be pointed directly toward Vince, a fact that became terrifyingly clear when a pair of rockets shot out of the twin pods set flush against the Huey’s fuselage.
In a terrifying blink of an eye, the missiles struck the roiling water, a mere ten yards upstream from the boulder the men were hidden behind. There was a pair of muted explosions, barely audible over the incessant roar of onrushing current, and Vince found himself soaked by a shower of falling water. The ensuing shock wave caused his canoe to bob slightly upward, and caused the VP’s vessel to lift free from the snag. It shot downstream to complete its transit of the gauntlet, its occupants totally unaware of the newly arrived threat from above.
Ron Wyatt learned of the helicopter’s presence the moment he looked up to signal Vince they were free to continue downstream themselves. The first look that crossed the ranger’s leathery face was puzzlement, then pure horror, as the hovering Huey raised its nose and let loose another rocket. This one detonated near the moss-covered base of the boulder, where seconds ago the VP’s canoe had been trapped. Vince barely had time to duck, and there was a stinging sensation on his cheek when he was struck by splintering rock.
A surging underwater shock wave disgorged the canoe from its resting place, and off they went, downstream. To keep them from smashing against the corridor of boulders forming the last portion of the gauntlet, Vince had to hastily redirect his focus on steering the vessel. He let instinct take over, his shocked thoughts still centered on their mysterious attacker.
Somehow they managed to safely transit the final chute, which deposited them in a pool of frothing white water. The current continued to run swift here, and as they kept on going downstream, his guide was able to turn the canoe around so that Vince was once more the bowman.
From this familiar vantage point, Vince spotted the VP’s canoe some twenty yards ahead. Chapman and Eberly were halted beside a large, partially submerged snag, examining something in the water. Vince hastily glanced over his shoulder, and failing to spot the helicopter, he dug his paddle into the water to warn Chapman.
“What the blue blazes is goin’ on out here. Special Agent?”
asked Ron Wyatt, his concerned tone of voice unmistakable.
Vince held back his response, his attention instead riveted on the object of the VP’s current inspection. Caught in the snag, her soaked body seemingly crucified in the twisted tree limbs, was the lifeless body of Andy Whitworth. Her tattered clothes were partially torn off, and Vince could soon see that a good portion of her face had been blown away. A paddle and the jagged front half of one of the john boats were also caught in the snag, and Vince didn’t have to see any more to realize the mysterious Huey was responsible for this slaughter.
“Kellogg?” murmured the VP, his eyes wide in shocked horror.
“We’ve got to get off this river at once!” Vince replied, his words cut short by an ominous shadow.
The sound of its engines still masked by the roar of the rapids, the Huey swept in from the river’s western bank. It passed so close above them that they could actually feel the downdraft of its rotor wash, and Vince looked upward in time to see a bearded individual dressed in a green flight suit standing at the open fuselage hatchway. He had a machine gun rigged up in front of him, and upon spotting their canoes, he angled the barrel downward and fired.
The shells tore into the water, stitching a long line of exploding eruptions on the river’s surface, a bare inch from the side of the VP’s canoe. Both Chapman and District Ranger Eberly didn’t have to see any more to know the exact nature of the threat Vince was about to warn them of, and they readily pushed away from the snag, to reenter the main channel. Vince dug his paddle into the water to stay as close as possible, while the Huey began a steeply banked turn to initiate yet another strafing pass.
The sloped banks of the river offered little cover, and Eberly was apparently attempting to make the most of the current to round the next bend, where a steep wall of limestone protectively beckoned. It took a full effort from both Vince and Wyatt to keep up with them. The VP’s canoe was establishing a blistering pace, Chapman making the best use of his collegiate rowing experience.
Even then, Vince knew that this valiant effort was futile at best. The Huey could easily track them, and he wondered if they’d stand a better chance of surviving the next attack by leaving the canoes and diving into the river.
Vince seriously doubted that even this desperate measure would save them, and he dared to peek over his shoulder to locate the Huey. He spotted it hovering over the river, a good fifty yards farther upstream. Vince wondered if he should stop paddling, so he could reach into the folds of his nylon windbreaker and remove his 9mm Glock from its shoulder harness.
This was their last line of defense, and he had the distinct impression that the crew of the Huey was intentionally playing with them.
“Will you just look at that!” exclaimed Ron Wyatt, his excited glance focused downstream.
“Here comes the cavalry, my friend!”
Vince broke off eye contact with the Huey, and as he turned back around to see what the ranger was talking about, a formation of two helicopters filled that portion of sky almost directly ahead of them. He knew in an instant that the lead chopper was a specially modified Blackhawk belonging to the Secret Service, with the trailing aircraft sporting the characteristic boxy fuselage and dark-green-and-white paint scheme of Marine Two.