THE GIFT

Chapter 7

Several days had elapsed since Stephens had arrived in Panther Pass. In less than one day he had exhausted everything there was to do in the one-theater (nothing showing worth a damn), three bar (Stale, dank dives) town. The ubiquitous, oversized mega retail store, common to every town in America, had arrived just two years ago, and was still the place to be, along with the sandwich shop and coffee shop that graces every other corner in America.

Oil and cattle. That’s what kept Panther Pass on the map, or at least in business. A large infrastructure wasn’t needed. All the roads except the streets in town and the main highways were gravel…and dusty. Sneaking up on anyone would be tough, during the daytime. But nightfall concealed the billowing dust clouds that followed like contrails behind any vehicle…even a bicycle.

Panther Pass did not have a police force. The county Sheriff and his deputies, and the Troopers of the Texas Department of Public Safety provided law enforcement. But little was needed by the locals. Nothing ever happened, and when it did…they took care of it.

Panther Pass was as crime-free as a small town could be. Sure, they had teenagers and indigent workers, but more than two minor incidents in a week was a crime spree. As far as records go, there had never been a murder in the town…at least not since the old days. A few years back, a couple idiots from California tried to hold up the bank in a small town where farmers carried their varmint rifles on racks in their pickups, and women carried revolvers in their purses for rattle snakes. The county shipped their bodies back to California for burial. No law enforcement was involved in their takedown, nor were any charges pressed against any citizen. The bad guys made the mistake of firing first.

Stephens didn’t know any of that, nor did he consider that he was a stranger, dressed strangely and therefore stood out like a big, glaring 44 neon sign. A few inquiries with the locals only resulted in polite, but stern warnings to mind one’s own business. Okay, pull back. Don’t get the natives riled.

This was going to be more difficult than he had anticipated. Even with the tracking device the IT geek sent him, he was only able to find possible locations. Nothing that said, “she was here”. James had parked his Jaguar in Curtis’ barn, so there was no possibility of a random sighting. He and Melanie used Sharon’s white pickup truck whenever they went into town. It seemed white was the only color pickup trucks came in, but that was because of the blazing Texas sun. A dark colored truck would be an oven…like the black sedan he had rented.

Collins had taken several photos of both James and Melanie in different lighting and from different angles. He studied them relentlessly, imprinting them on his mind’s eye. He was going to find them if he had to look at every face in the county. He haunted the coffee shop and every restaurant in town, his decidedly eastern attire setting him apart. He sat in a church parking lot after services until a couple burly ranchers in blazers, boots and cowboy hats started walking menacingly toward him. Something had to break soon, or the exposure would force him to go to ground and bring in a fresh face for the hunt. He was determined that that was not going to happen. He decided to kick his plan into a higher gear.

“Hey, Sug,” Sharon called to Melanie from the back porch. Melanie was relaxing under a huge live oak tree, beneath a massive branch that had formed a thick, broad arch a dozen feet wide which touched the ground and began to grow upwards, again. Several other branches around the ancient arbor imitated this growth. It was one of the oldest live oaks around, the girth of its trunk was such that three men could not stretch their arms around it. “I’m headin’ into town for a few things. Wanna go for a ride?”

“Absolutely!” Melanie nearly yelled. As beautiful as the ranch was, she needed a change of scenery.

“I’ll buy you a coffee.” Melanie offered, as they rolled down the dusty road. “I mean…yours is really good, but I just…”

“Make it one of those frozen things and you got a deal.”

Stephens needed a cup of coffee, too. He had just settled down to the corner table when the door opened, and his luck changed. Melanie Hart. He pulled up her picture on his phone. YES! I got you now, b***h. He had difficulty holding his excitement in check. Finally. He had his prey in sight. Well, at least part of his prey. James was the catch of the day, but Melanie could lead him to it. He couldn’t keep his gaze from fixing on her.

The two women sat in a booth across from Stephens, with Melanie’s back to him. They sipped and chatted for several minutes. Sharon noticed Stephens dropping the newspaper down just enough to peer over the top, several times. At first, she thought it was just another hormone-driven guy distracted by her looks. She was used to that. But this guy had a different look in his eye…and he wasn’t looking at her.

After what seemed ages, they rose to leave. Stephens hid behind his newspaper as they passed. He rose after they left and hugged the edge of the window as he observed them getting into their truck. The few other patrons exchanged confused looks at his odd behavior.

“Hey, Sug.” Sharon started, “don’t freak out, but a guy in there was eyeballin’ you pretty hard. Let’s get what we came for an’ head back home.”

Melanie shuddered but held it together. Yes…let’s do that.

He followed them to the mega store next door, but decided it was better to wait for them in his car. He was beginning to feel exposed, so a lower profile was needed. Eventually, they emerged with grocery bags in hand. Their errand run, they headed out of town.

Once their truck was moving, he started to follow in his sedan. The only one of its make and color in town. A local would notice. He would have to follow at a longer distance than he preferred. He kicked himself for not renting a white pickup truck.

That’s more like it. Through his binoculars he saw the truck turn onto a gravel road. According to his onboard GPS, it went on in a straight line for a mile, then dead ended, with no indication of any other roads branching off. He switched from map to satellite on his device to verify the accuracy. Zooming in on the image, he saw the circular driveway of the only house for miles around.

It is common in Texas for a single ranch to have a driveway a mile long that has been given a name by the county or state, usually that of the family that owns the ranch, but sometimes more whimsical, like Curtis’ “Finally Found It Road”.

Who is helping you? He questioned. Time for another geek. For someone who has a low opinion of “geeks”, he certainly used them regularly. This time, he had them do a record search to find out who owned the house with the circular driveway…then find out about them.

Curtis Martin Thornton. Marine veteran…oh… ex-S.E.A.L. No wonder you went scampering to your cousin. Well…I did some S.E.A.L. time, too, so your boy ain’t s**t. Time for some recon.

Around midnight and without headlights, Stephens rolled slowly down Finally Found It Road until he was as close as he dared get. To avoid being seen, he had removed the interior dome light bulb and used his handbrake to stop his car. Though he was unaware of it, he had managed to get as far as he did without alerting any of the security perimeter. He knew that dogs were a possibility, so he crept with great caution to a position where he could survey the situation with night vision.

A large, two-story house. Wrap around porch. Nothing there. A cupola that could be an observation post or sniper’s nest. Several outbuildings that could hide assets. And of course…a dog. A big one. The big yellow barn and corral where potential approaches.

Panning for another approach, he saw slight movement in the shadows. One of the perimeter guards shifted in his position. s**t. He carefully scanned the area further and saw two more guards. Dammit. Who are these guys? This development meant a hitch in his plans. He needed backup. He returned to his car and silently slipped away.

He placed a call to request an assault team. His masters had dangled a hefty seven-figure carrot in front of him. If collecting that carrot meant war…then so be it. He didn’t care for the ideologies of the unwashed masses. He hated politics. All he wanted was never-ending luxury, and he didn’t care how he got it. He would have preferred less violence. Not that it bothered him, but violence is unpredictable and can bring unexpected, and unintended consequences. But he was going to get that carrot…no matter who it killed.

Two days later, three black SUVs, each with four dour-looking men on board rolled into the Panther Pass Motel parking lot.

Really…you couldn’t have driven something else? Stephens lamented.

The men took the six rooms next to Stephens. All twelve men met in Stephens room. Without introductions, he immediately began laying out the plan for the assault on the Thornton Ranch.

Meanwhile, the motel owner noticed the strangers and their odd behavior. The eighty-something-year-old World War Two veteran called his great-nephew, Sheriff Avery Givens…a Phantom…to report what he’d seen. Avery called Curtis and word that “bogeys” were in town got out quickly. Curtis put out a distress message. Within an hour, six more Phantoms were fully outfitted and in transit to Panther Pass.