Seeds Of Destiny

by pat weakley

Book One-Britt Reid has accepted long ago that he could no longer be the Green Hornet. Now Kato's son comes into his life demanding that Reid become the Green Hornet one last time to avenge his former partner's death.

2. Death in the Mountains

Chapter Two

Death in the Mountains

I

Ed Lowrey impatiently paced the small anteroom to Britt Reid's office at the Daily Sentinel. "C'mon Jennie, didn't the boss say why he wanted me?" he asked the evening secretary.

"For the hundredth time, no. Mr. Reid didn't say why he want to see you. All he said was to expect you and that he'd be coming in to talk to you about something. I don't make it a policy to grill the boss," she said tiredly. "Did you happen to get in trouble with him again?" she asked.

"Not that I know of. I've been a real good boy," he said wryly. "Well, I hope it's something interesting. It's been a long boring week with nothing to cover but the Presidential race. Those guys have been conducting themselves like perfect gentlemen. No mudslinging at all. Not that Reid would ever let something like that get into his precious paper. What a drag," he complained.

"If you feel that way, why don't you quit?" remarked Britt as he entered the room with Lee in tow.

"Jeez, Mr. Reid, you know I like working here. The Sentinel's the best paper to work for in the whole country," quickly backpedaled Lowrey, fearing that he had really blown it this time.

"Right, you just like to gripe for the hell of it," Britt said as he opened the door to his office. "Do you want to hear what I have for you, or do you think Dunigan can find something more interesting for you to do?"

Lowrey rapidly shook his head. "No way. I'm all ears," he said, cringing inwardly. He knew that if the city editor found out he had refused an assignment from the boss, his next assignment would be something pleasant. Like counting rats in the city's sewers.

"Good," said Britt as everyone settled into the chairs he indicated before his desk. "I'm glad to see that I have your interest. This young man's name is Lee. His father, Kato, was an old friend of mine. Lee, this is Ed Lowrey and despite his lack of discretion, is the best man I can think of to help you."

Lowrey's brows rose in surprise. "Kato? Wasn't he your valet or something? I though I heard that he had disappeared right after you got shot up some years ago," He questioned. There had been a lot of office gossip about the angry young man who had invaded Britt Reid's office and Lowrey wondered what had gone on between these two. Reid had a reputation of not accepting any kind of flak from anybody. Yet now the two of them seemed to be getting along.

"Kato was much more than my valet. He was also a very good friend. And, before you ask, the circumstances around his leaving are none of your business," Britt said in a tight voice. "That's all in the past anyway, and irrelevant to what I want to talk to you about."

Lowrey quickly dropped the subject, wisely figuring that it wasn't a good idea to press the boss about anything he was still so touchy about, but that didn't mean he wasn't still curious about it. The reporter in him made a mental note to ask the young man about it when the time was right.

"Now if we can get down to the matter at hand," Britt said. "Lee believes his father was murdered and that the local authorities are covering it up. I've promised him that I would help. I want you to look into it. It may lead to a story, or it may not. That will all depends on what you find out."

"You're not going to handle it yourself?" Lowrey asked since Reid often directly covered stories that he had a personal interest in.

"No, not now. I don't think it would be a good idea for the head of the Daily Sentinel to seemed interested in the matter until we find out what's going on. That's why when you're asking around you're not to mention that you work for this paper." Britt shifted his attention. "Lee, I want you to tell us everything that happened and don't leave anything out. Even the tiniest detail might be important."

Lee took a few moments to gather his thoughts then told his story. "After my parents were married, they moved to Wolverton. That's a little town north of here. My Mom found a nursing job at a local doctor's office and my father opened up a kwoon to teach Gung fu. It's a good place to grow up in, or at least it was until a few years ago. Then things started to change. Some guys started coming in from somewhere in the mountains. They'd hang around the local bar and get into fights when they got drunk. As long as they were just fighting each other, people could ignore them. Then they started hanging around the stores and bothering some of the local girls. One of the girls' boyfriend got into a fight with a bunch of them and wound up in the hospital.

Things went from bad to worse. They started acting like they owned the town and people started moving out. Another bar was opened and down the street from it an old movie house started showing X-rated movies. It got so that you couldn't walk on main street at night anymore. That made even more people move out, but my father and I stayed on. One day some of those guys came to my father's place and demanded that he teach them Gung fu. He told them no and kicked them out. After that we started getting a lot of threatening phone calls and the front window of the kwoon was broken by a cement block thrown through it.

We used to have some decent guys as deputies, but they couldn't do anything against these guys and a lot of them wound up quitting. They were replaced, but by guys who weren't any better then the people who were destroying our town. People came to my father for help and he did what he could. He got into a lot of fights, but things just kept on getting worse.

There were rumors that these toughs were coming from some secret base in the mountains. Most of the land around Wolverton is federal land and people do a lot of hiking and hunting, at least until people started disappearing or having fatal accidents. It was said that there were guys dressed up like forest rangers who were patrolling the an area with vicious dogs and guns. I don't think that's normal for a forest ranger. We tried to get the state cops to look into things, or even the Feds, but nobody ever showed up to do anything about it.

Then one month a ago one of the few decent deputies left was mauled to death while looking into an illegal dogfight. As usual the guys running the dogfight disappeared into the woodwork and there were no arrests. The deputy's wife came to my father for help. She gave him the name of one of the men her husband had thought had been involved. My father went alone to see the man at his cabin. He never came back alive. He was found dead at the bottom of a steep cliff. The Law claims he'd been drinking and had driven off the cliff by accident.

I don't believe that. My father doesn't drink and he's far too good a driver to lose control. I know he was murdered, but no one will listen to me. To them I'm just some stupid kid who can't accept his father's death. That's why I came to you, Mr. Reid. I want my father's killers caught. I want justice." Overcome with pent up frustration and anger, Lee had risen to his feet as he finished.

Britt eased him back into his seat. "Lee, I'm going to have to ask you some questions. They may be very difficult to answer, but I want you to answer them as fully and as calmly as you can. Can you do that?"

Lee swallowed hard and nodded slowly. "I'm sorry I lost my head. I'll try to answer all your questions."

Satisfied with Lee's answer, Britt continued, "Was there any proof that he had been drinking?"

"No! I said he didn't drink." Lee responded angrily.

"I didn't ask if he drank. I'm asking was there any proof that he had been drinking when he went off that cliff," Britt said firmly, "The operative word here is 'proof'."

"Oh. Well, the cops on the scene said that the inside of the car stank of booze. They must've been lying," Lee answered.

"Not necessarily. I've heard of murders being passed off as accidents by pouring alcohol all over the victim and the inside of the car before. What were the results of the blood alcohol test? The Medical Examiner's office must have done one."

"I was told that the results showed a very high blood alcohol level. That's got to be a lie." Lee answered.

"Perhaps. That's something we can check up on. I have a few friends in the M.E.'s office who can give me some info on that. Was he cremated?" Lee nodded yes. Britt continued, "Too bad. I could've arranged for an independent examination of the body. What about the car? Anything left of it?"

"No. It was crushed and sent off for scrap."

Britt sighed and leaned back into his chair. Another dead end, he thought. "On whose orders?"

"The Sheriff's. He said that it was taking up too much room in the department's parking lot and was a fire hazard."

"Did you get a chance to get a good look at it before it was destroyed?"

"Yes sir. I was able to sneak a look at it before it was hauled off to the junkyard. "The car was completely totaled. There wasn't much to see. I wouldn't be able to tell you if there was anything out of the ordinary or not."

"I want you to think very carefully about what you saw and try to remember the slightest thing that might've seemed out of place," Britt instructed, "For instance, did you happen to notice if there were any streaks or flecks of paint that didn't match the car's color?"

Lee thought carefully. "Yes, now that you mention it, I do think I remember seeing some paint along the roof line that didn't match the car's color. I think it was blue, maybe a metallic blue. Does that help?"

"It could be a very important clue. It may indicate that your father was pushed off the road by another vehicle. Considering the height of the scrapes you describe, I would guess that it was some kind of truck, possibly a 4 X 4. Did you happen to have chance to check out the accident site?" Lee nodded yes. Britt continued his questioning, "Did you see any tracks around where he went off the road and were there any skid marks on the road itself?"

"I didn't see any signs of tracks either around where the car landed or up on the road's shoulder where he went through the guardrail. Now that I think of it, there weren't even any skid marks on the road. It looks like he just drove right over the side of the road without even trying to stop." Lee answered thoughtfully.

Britt mulled over the facts he had at hand, trying to recreate what might have happened. "Were there any side roads? Perhaps hidden from view from the main road?"

"I think I remember seeing a steep road near where my father went off the road. It's actually more like a dirt path. It's very hard to spot if you're heading downhill. I've been up and down the main road a few times and that's the only reason why I remember seeing it all. I didn't think anything about it at the time."

"One last question, from the angle that he left the road, would you say he was going uphill or downhill?"

"He was going downhill, back toward town. I'm sure of that. I remember now seeing some pine needles stuck along the lower edge of the back window. They were from a kind of tree that grows higher up on the mountain. Could that be helpful, too?"

"Possibly," Britt said, "Very good. You've given me an idea of what might have happened. This is how I see it. I think your father did see the man connected with the dogfighting. Then on his way back, he was ambushed from that side road by somebody in a metallic blue four wheel drive vehicle. They probably hit him so hard that he didn't have time to use his brakes. After the crash, they poured alcohol all over the car's interior to make it look like he had been drinking and later swept the area clear of tracks so that no one would be the wiser. A very neat set-up and with all the evidence destroyed, we can't prove a single thing."

"Then you believe me? You agree that it was murder?" Lee said hopefully.

"Yes, I do." Britt replied, "But I wish I had an idea of why he was killed. It isn't logical to kill someone just to hide illegal dogfighting. Something big is going on and people are being killed to hide it." Britt looked thoughtful for a moment, and then called his secretary, "Lee, why don't you go with Jennie here, for the grand tour of the Sentinel? I think you'll find it very interesting. Jennie, when you're finished, please bring Lee back to Ed's desk. They'll have a few things to discuss then."

"Will I be going back to Wolverton with Mr. Lowrey?" Lee asked as Jennie escorted him out of the office.

"No. Everyone probably thinks you've left for good. Let's keep it that way. For the time being I want these people, whoever they are, to think that their activities are still undetected."

After Lee had left, Britt spoke to Lowrey, "Like I said before, I don't want any connections made to the Sentinel just yet. I want you to pretend you're from the Clarion. You can use your connections there to back up your story. Maybe you could say that you're investigating UFO's or something like that."

"Uh, Mr. Reid, about the Clarion . . . "

"I know all about it, You believed that story had to be printed, so when Dunigan rejected it, you took it to the Clarion and they printed it under a fake byline. We've argued before about the suitability of some of your stories for the Sentinel, but this time you overstepped your bounds. I don't like it when people go behind my back. I could've fired you for that," Britt said firmly.

"But you didn't. Why?" Lowrey asked.

"You're good, Lowrey, very good. I like your work. You have a lot of drive and tackle tough stories like a bulldog. In fact, you remind me of myself when I was younger, but I have certain standards for the Daily Sentinel. I won't change them for anyone. I demand that every story printed is completely supported by provable facts. I won't allow broad unprovable accusations or any kind of exploitive stories in my paper. The Clarion and others of its kind can do that if they want, but not the Sentinel. I sweated blood to build the Sentinel's reputation. I won't risk it for quick profits. Anyone who reads the Sentinel, knows that what they read is the truth. I plan to keep it that way."

"I understand how you feel,"Lowrey said. "I should've accepted Dunigan's decision not to print my story, and I shouldn't have gone to the Clarion with it. I know saying this could get me canned, but damn it, sometimes you have to take chances or the paper will petrify from its own inertia."

"The decision to take what chances and when is mine and mine alone," Britt answered. "You give me something that's worthwhile and I'll support you with everything I have, but you must work with me and not go behind my back. I won't tolerate any more insubordination from you. If you pull that kind of stunt again, I suggest you seriously consider whether you want to continue working for the Sentinel."

"Okay, Mr. Reid, I get the message. I'm glad you're giving me another chance. You won't regret it," said Lowrey, painfully aware of how close he came to being fired. Reid had made it perfectly clear that he was the boss and Lowrey made a mental note not to forget that

The sentinel was entirely Britt Reid's. He had no one, no board of directors, no stockholders, no one, to answer to, except his own conscience. Lowrey had to admire Britt Reid's personal style of managing the paper, but he could be a hard man to cross. Lowrey decided it would be a lot better to have Reid for him than against him.

II

Lowrey groaned in relief as he stretched his long legs from the cramped seat of the subcompact he had rented at the airport. The long ride through the heavily wooded countryside had been pleasant enough, but he could not understand why anybody would actually live so far from everything. He found little to recommend Wolverton. Its main street had only a few small stores, a simple church and the local sheriff's office. It was a typical drowsy little town sleeping peacefully in the warm late afternoon sunshine. He could not imagine how anything sinister could be going on.

He had stopped in front of a primly neat white two story house that was trimmed in old-fashioned gingerbread along its eaves and porch. The neatly printed sign on its front porch said: Apple Bed and Breakfast Inn, Miss Emma Mae Apple Prop. Lee had recommended the place and it looked like fairly nice place. A tiny, bird-like woman, dressed in white lace and lavender opened the door and smiled sweetly.

"May I help you, young man?"

"Uh, yeah. My name's Ed Lowrey. I called earlier about a room," replied Lowrey.

"Oh, yes. You're that nice man from the Clarion. I read that paper all the time, you know. I'm so glad that they finally sent someone after all my letters about the UFO's that have been flying in the mountains around here."

"UFO's?" asked Lowrey, bewildered.

"Why, yes, of course. They're the ones responsible for all of the disappearances and deaths that have been happening around here lately. Surely that's why you're here. Aren't you?"

"Yeah, sure. Why don't you tell me all about it?"

Pleased to find such a willing listener she began to talk about the mysterious deaths and disappearances that had been occurring. Lowrey had already heard about them from the boy, but he hoped to find a new angle if they were described by somebody else. The UFO story sounded like a dead end, but he listened patiently to the old lady's animated storytelling.

"Have you seen them for yourself?" he asked when she paused for a breath.

"Oh, yes, I most certainly have. You surely wouldn't tink I'd talk about such things without having seen them with my own eyes? I may be an old woman, but I'm no fool I didn't believe in them before, but I do now. I've seen them flying right over Wild Dog Ridge only a few miles away from here. I've tried to tell those forest rangers about it, but they just laugh at me. But I tell you, I've seen them and I know they are for real." She said positively.

"Couldn't there be some other reasons for what's been going on around here? This looks like the kind of town where everybody knows each other. Haven't there been strangers around here since you started spotting those UFO's?"

"Strangers? Well, let me see . . . There has been an awful lot of the wrong kind moving into town lately. They've been scaring a lot of the decent folk out of town. They even got into a few fights with that nice fellow with the martial arts school. Pity when he went off the road. I feel really sorry for his boy. He's all alone now, you know," she said, shaking her head sadly.

"Yeah, that is too bad," Lowrey agreed, "Do you think it was an accident?"

"Yes, I'm afraid I do," she said, "Now, people have been saying that he was drinking, but I don't believe that. He wasn't the drinking sort. I think it was just a simple accident. The road up there is terribly dangerous. Oddly enough though, it is higher up on that same ridge where I get the best view of those UFO's. I wonder if there is a connection with that," she said thoughtfully.

"What about those strangers you mentioned earlier. Do you have any ideas where they might come from, or what they're doing around here?" Lowrey prodded, more interested in the strangers that in flying saucers.

"Well, I think they're a bunch of loggers or something. Maybe they have something to do with those secret agricultural research stations people are saying that's scattered around in the national forest near here."

"Secret agricultural research? Huh? I wonder if they could have something to with the strange lights you have been seeing. Maybe they aren't really aliens at all."

"You know, young man, you could be right. I have never thought of that, then that wouldn't explain the disappearances. Would it?"

"No. It wouldn't, but it does bear looking into. Have you seen anything or anyone else that seemed out of the ordinary?"

"Now that I think about it, I saw a big car drive through town a few weeks ago. When they stopped at the stop sign at the corner there, I kind of peeked in. There was a very swarthy gentleman dressed in some kind of uniform with his whole chest covered in a lot of very fancy looking medals. He looked like he was some sort of Mexican general or something. I don't think he was Mexican, but he was definitely something like that," she paused, realizing that they had arrived at Lowrey's room, "My, my, I certainly have talked your ears off. Dinner will be served at five. Why don't you get some rest and we can talk a little more then?" she said, handing Lowrey his room key after unlocking his door.

Lowrey shook his head after the woman had closed the door behind her. She had given him a lot to think about. He didn't believe in UFO's and he was sure they weren't the cause of what had been happening around there, but Reid and the boy were right. Something very odd was happening in the towering mountains that surrounded the little town.

Supper was a leisurely affair with the long dining table filled to capacity with a greater variety that most all-you-can-eat buffets that Lowrey had seen, especially considering that he was the only guest. He ate until he was afraid to eat another bite.

"My, my, Mr. Lowrey are you sure you won't have another piece of pie?" clucked the solicitous innkeeper. "You must be a bachelor. A good wife would have fattened you up a long time ago," she said referring to Lowrey's long, thin frame.

Lowrey smiled broadly as he wiped his mouth with a linen napkin. "Madam, if you were only a few years younger, I would surely ask you to be my wife. I have never met a better cook. Or housekeeper, for that matter. I'll have to make sure I recommend your place to anyone who might plan to visit Wolverton."

"Mr. Lowrey, you're too kind. But I love it anyway," she said with a girlish giggle, "It's a pity you aren't a bit older or I would consider you a prime candidate for marriage myself."

"Tell me, Miss Apple, do you think tonight will be a good night for watching for Flying Saucers?" Lowrey asked, settling back into his chair.

"Well, tonight is going to be very mild and clear and there will be a lovely full moon out too. They seem to favor such nights like this, especially this time of the year, when they seem to get very busy, like they have a lot to do before the snows come."

"Sounds like this isn't been the first year they've been around," Lowrey commented.

"No, it isn't. This is about the third year, but it seems like there's getting more and more of them each year," she said as she stood and began clearing the table.

"Why don't you tell me where the best spots are for watching them while I help you with the dishes," Lowrey offered as he rose and picked up his plate.

The high mountain air was clear and refreshingly cool, a relief from the steamy summer heat that had not yet released its hold from the southern part of the state. The light from the full moon was extremely brilliant and helped Lowrey negotiate the tight mountain switchbacks. The road was becoming progressively worse and he was having serious doubts about pushing his rented car further up the steep incline. Only for the sake of a story would he have dared the treacherous roadway at such an ungodly hour.

He was almost ready to give up and turn back when he found the half-hidden turn off that Miss Apple had described to him. Carefully he coaxed his car along the narrow dirt road until it became impossible for him to go any further. Carrying a thermos of hot coffee, Lowrey forged ahead through the trees on foot until he found a cliff-side clearing that gave him an excellent view of the heavily forested mountains and the valleys that nestled at their feet. He sat against a rock still warm from the late afternoon sun, pulled out a paper bag full of treats that Miss Apple had packed for him and settled in for what he expected to be a long and fruitless wait.

Lowrey bolted to wide-awake alertness when the soft animal noises of the late summer night suddenly stopped. He crouched behind the rock, furtively glancing around him, trying to figure out what had caused the sudden silencing of the forest. Seeing nothing, he sat back down against the rock and gazed at the black sky with a deep sigh. He was amazed at how brightly the stars shone in the clear night sky so far away from the polluted skies of the more heavily populated parts of the state.

He was wondering whether to call it quits and head back for a more comfortable snooze in the soft bed waiting for him back in Wolverton, when he noticed that some of the stars were moving in a strange pattern. At first he thought they were from an airplane, heading into the airport several miles away but then he noticed that they weren't the lights from a single craft but from several. Perhaps, they were from some military aircraft, he thought, since they seemed to be flying in formation. Oddly though, they seemed to be moving in his direction, and Lowrey wondered momentarily whether the old woman was right. That what he was seeing were UFO's. He shook his head at his brief foolishness.

Lowrey watched in rapt fascination as the lights steadily approached his position, and then they slowly split off one by one, with one of the mystery craft coming straight toward him. Lowrey felt first rather than heard the heavy beat of propeller blades against the thin mountain air. He immediately recognized the sound as that of a large helicopter. He barely had time to dive for cover as a brilliant light flooded his lookout for a brief moment before flashing back into darkness. Lowrey hoped that whoever was piloting the craft had not seen him or his car. As the helicopter disappeared in the distance, he tried to make a mental note of where the helicopters had headed. Tomorrow he would explore some of the roads that led into those mountains.

The next day found Lowrey drawing blank after blank. Those few roads that he found leading up toward the areas he wanted to check out were constantly turning out to be impossible to travel by car. It would take a Daniel Boone to penetrate the secrets of these mountains, and he had no liking for such rugged outdoor activities. He decided to let the Boss handle that end if it became necessary.

He finally gave up and headed back toward town. Halfway back down the mountain, a flash of color among the trees caught his attention. Deciding to check it out, he turned onto a dirt road that was so deeply rutted that his car's oil pan scrapped alarmingly on the high hump between the deep ruts. Soon he found he couldn't go any further. He hid his car close to some bushes and walked the rest of the way along the road. He noticed that the ruts held the impressions from deeply treaded tires that looked more like something belonging to a tractor instead of a car.

He found parked alongside a run down shack a gigantic four wheel drive pick up truck. Lowrey slowly walked around the monster truck, tracing with his hand scrapes along its lower edge which came almost to the height of his chest. Although the truck was a bright metallic blue some of the paint left in the scratches were of an entirely different color. The same color, in fact, as the car that Lee had said belonged to his father. Lowrey had no doubt that this vehicle was involved in the murder of the boy's father.

Behind the small shack were several dog runs. Lowrey suspected this was the place that belonged to the man Kato had gone to question on the day of his death. A horrible stench emanating from the cabin drew his attention. Cautiously, he climbed the rickety stairs and poked his head through the back door. He saw nothing, and crept further in, trying not to trip as he moved between the beer cans and cheap whiskey bottles that covered the shack's worn linoleum floor.

The alarming sight of a decomposed body in the front room sent Lowrey reeling in horror as his stomach rebelled against the body's foul stink. After he had finished emptying his stomach over the railing of the back stairs, Lowrey forced himself back inside in order to examine the body and its surroundings, all the while reminding himself that it was his duty as a reporter to observe every detail, despite the horror and illness that was welling up inside him.

The victim had been dead for a long time, There was little left of it for identification, especially since the head looked like it had been shattered by a shotgun blast at close range. There was no sign of a struggle, although considering the cabin's disarray, that was something difficult to be sure of and the victim had not been bound. Lowrey guessed that the killer had been let in or had sneaked into the place. He decided that he would have to let the local cops know about his grisly discovery, but only after he had called the Boss about it.

Lowrey left the cabin and walked quickly to his waiting car. He had no intention of staying any longer than he had to, but it took him longer than he liked to pull his car from its hiding place. His mind was so busy with trying to figure out the connections between the mysterious helicopters and the dead man that he did not notice that the huge truck was no longer parked near the cabin.

The roar of a powerful engine and the scrape of massive tires on loose gravel alerted Lowrey barely in time as the big truck charged out of hiding. He jerked his car out of the way just moments before the truck swept past his rear bumper. The big truck rocked wildly on its oversized wheels as its driver forced it back into Lowrey's lane. The big truck's engine growled angrily as it charged forward to shove against the bumper of Lowrey's car. The little car bounced helplessly and scrapped against the guardrail with a scream of protesting metal, but the railing held against the light weight of the small car which swerved back onto the road. Again the truck charged upon the car, missing it only by a few inches as it slid around a sharp curve. The truck swayed dangerously as it tried to pursue Lowrey through the curve. Repeatedly the big truck charged upon the rear of the little car only to be foiled as the greater maneuverability of the subcompact helped it gain precious distance through the treacherous hairpin curves.

The little car remained glued to the road as Lowrey raced it down the steep S-curves of the highway. The big top-heavy truck was having trouble staying on all four wheels as its driver pushed the ungainly vehicle to greater speed. Lowrey saw in his side view mirror that the truck was rocking crazily high above its massive wheels as it came too fast around a sharp curve.

Entirely out of control, the truck began to bounce from side to side of the road, first swerving into the mountainside and then scraping repeatedly against the guardrail. Finally it tore through the guardrails like they were made of tissue paper. For a moment the truck hung suspended in midair, its engine roaring thunderously as its huge wheels spun uselessly against nothingness. Then it dropped and bounced like a discarded toy against the steep mountainside until it landed in a furious explosion of flames.

Knowing that it could very well have been him, instead Lowrey felt a surge of relief when he saw the fiery death of the truck far below him, but his relief was short-lived. He pressed the brake pedal down, but there was no response. Although the worst of the switchbacks were behind him, a steep downgrade still laid ahead.

Desperately trying to remain calm, Lowrey removed his foot from the gas pedal and gradually pulled his emergency brake lever up in a effort to decrease his speed. He began to downshift, trying to use the braking action of the engine to further reduce his speed. His car was still going far too fast for his taste, but at least he was still in control. He spotted a runaway truck ramp and prayed that he would be able to make it. The ramp came up so quickly that for a few moments he feared that he would bypass it, but with a quick twist of the steering wheel he was able to get his car onto the ramp. With heart stopping slowness the car began to slow as its tires slipped on the gravel under them. When he finally stopped, Lowrey sat behind his steering wheel, waiting for his wildly pounding heart to resume a reasonable pace.

Lowrey was footsore and exhausted when a deputy from the sheriff's office found him trudging his way back into town.

"Hey, buddy, you need a lift into town?"he asked, slowing his car to stay alongside the reporter.

"Sure," Lowrey said, "Some guy was trying to push me off the road and wound up going over himself instead. Then my brakes gave out. I thought I was going to join him, until I was able to make it to that runaway truck ramp," he explained as he climbed into the car.

"You say somebody was trying to run you off the road?"

"Yeah. You can still see the smoke from the fire where the guy hit the ground. He was using one of those huge monster trucks. It was metallic blue with tires as tall as I am. You know anybody who might own one like that?"

"Can't say that I do," answered the deputy as he drove back into town, "But there have been a lot of new people in town lately. I'll take you in to the Sheriff and you can tell him the whole story."

"Couldn't you just drop me off at the place where I'm staying? I got a lot of phone calls to make. You know, to a mechanic, to the rental agency, and to my insurance company," Lowrey said, not mentioning that he wanted to talk to Britt Reid before he spoke to the Sheriff.

"I don't mind, but it sure would make the Sheriff mad if you didn't see him first," the deputy commented, but dropped Lowrey off as he asked.

Lowrey groaned to himself when he saw Sheriff Tankowski. He looked like the stereotypical red neck lawman with a big beer belly hanging over a low slung gun belt, a florid jowly face and a stinking fat cigar hanging from thick lips. The Sheriff chewed on the smouldering cigar as Lowrey told him all that had happened in the past several hours. When the reporter had finished, he blew out a thick cloud of blue smoke. "What paper you say you're from, City Boy?" he demanded skeptically.

"The Clarion, Sheriff," Lowrey answered.

"That's one of them sleazy tabloids, ain't it? Always out for a story, even if it ain't true. Right?" he said, pulling himself from a too tight swivel chair.

"No. That isn't true," Lowrey protested, "I don't make up stories. And I didn't make up this one either."

"Well, why don't we just go up there and see what this is all about," the Sheriff said as he led Lowrey to a squad car and motioned for him to get into the passenger seat.

Lowrey was shaken. He could not believe his eyes. His rental car was right where he had left it, but of the destroyed truck there was no sign it had ever existed. Even the railing that it had sailed through was now intact and on the roadbed there were no skid marks to be seen. He didn't have to be a mind reader to know the thoughts behind the Sheriff's watery blue eyes.

"You sure the truck went through here?" he asked with a disgusted frown.

"Of course I'm sure. I know it looks like I'm lying, but I'm not. I swear. Look down there," Lowrey pointed to the spot where the truck had crashed in flames, "See, some of the trees are burnt from the fire."

"Could be from an old accident. People fly off this curve all the time," the Sheriff answered, not even bothering looking where Lowrey pointed. "I think it's time we check out that body you claimed to have seen."

Lowrey was not surprised to find that there was no body in the cabin. It too, had been whisked away by the same unknown agent as had the truck. A powerful stench still filled the shabby cabin, but the carcass of a long dead animal provided the logical explanation for the horrible odor. The Sheriff glared at Lowrey with naked contempt.

" Mind telling me why you took me out here on this wild goose chase?" he demanded.

"Honest, Sheriff, I'm telling you the truth. There was a dead body here. Somebody, I don't know who, cleaned everything up. The truck, the body, everything. I don't know how it was done. You've got to believe me." the reporter pleaded desperately.

"I don't care for reporters. I think they're just a bunch of busy bodies nosing into people's business. I especially don't like guys like you who work for those damn tabloids. You guys will print anything even if it's a pack of lies. You don't care who you hurt. I oughta throw you into jail for wasting my time. And I will if you don't get the hell out of town as soon as your car is fixed," the Sheriff growled, his face livid with barely suppressed rage.

Lowrey shrugged, giving up on trying to convince the lawman. There was no hope in convincing this hick town sheriff. As far as he knew the guy could be in on the whole scheme. From here on he would let Reid take care of things.

III

High up on the same ridge where Ed Lowrey had watched the mysterious helicopters a few nights ago, Britt dismounted and pulled out a map from his saddlebags.

"Lee, why don't you get down, grab a few sandwiches and stretch your legs a bit. I'm going to have to figure out where we're going to go next. Those last two places were complete busts," he said as he tried to compare the points that the reporter had shown on the map with the heavily forested land stretching out for miles away from their vantage point. He studied the scene with a pair of binoculars.

"Unfortunately," he commented, "Lowrey was right. None of these places are accessible by car or even by a 4 X 4. I should've insisted on him coming with us. Even if he had to walk most of the way," he said, remembering how much Lowrey had protested about having saddle sores from the last time he had ridden horseback with his employer.

Disgustedly, Britt stowed the map and the binoculars, poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down beside the young man who was silently eating a ham sandwich that Casey had made the night before. Except for a few muttered answers whenever Britt had asked him a direct question, Lee had barely said a word during the entire trip. The silence was starting to bother Reid.

"Have you heard a word I said?" he asked.

"Yes. I heard you," Lee answered, only briefly looking up before going back to his sandwich.

"Then say something. I feel like I'm talking to a damn wall."

"I'm sorry. What do you want me to say?"

Britt sighed tiredly. "Dammit, I don't know. I know you've got a lot on your mind, and we haven't exactly gotten along very well so far, but I had hoped that this might be a good chance to get to know you better. That's why I didn't insist on Lowrey coming with us. This past week I've been so damn busy at the Sentinel, that I've barely had a chance to eat or sleep. And you've been busy trying to fix the Black Beauty, an exercise in futility if I ever saw one, so we haven't had a lot of time to talk. I thought at least now we might get a chance to get to know each other better."

Lee shrugged. "I don't really have much to say."

"I think you do, young man," Britt said quietly, "I think you have a lot on your mind and it's all about your father's death. I'm not a social worker or a psychiatrist. I'm a newspaperman. But I'm also a father, and more importantly, I've been where you are. I know what it is to lose someone you love violently and unjustly. I found a constructive, if unconventional way to deal with my grief . . . "

"A way you have closed to me," Lee interjected bitterly.

"You're right. I have closed that avenue, and I don't want to rehash my reasons for doing so again," Britt said more harshly than he had meant to. He softened, placing a fatherly hand on the younger man's shoulder that stiffened at his touch, "I just want you to know that I'm here whenever you're ready to talk," he offered, already sadly knowing that Lee was not yet ready to confide in him. He hoped that Casey would have better luck when they returned home.

After he had finished his own brief meal, Britt walked to the edge of the overlook. Even though it was not yet Fall, some of the trees were starting to change color, and in the long, late afternoon shadows he could feel a chill in the thin mountain air through his heavy sheepskin coat.

"It's going to be dark soon. There's one more place I want to check out tomorrow. We'll find a campsite about halfway there, and turn in for the night. We'll take a look at it in the morning. If it's a bust like the other ones, we'll head back home." He took one last look before mounting his horse. "It's hard to believe that there's something in these mountains that someone is willing to kill for."

Lee had barely touched his plate of beans and biscuits that Britt had cooked over the campfire. He studied Britt in the flickering firelight. The man bore little resemblance to the well-dressed newspaper publisher of the Daily Sentinel. From beneath the battered, sweat- stained cowboy hat, his silver grey hair, allowed to grow shaggy, halfway covered his ears and scraped the collar of his sheepskin coat. The coat made his shoulders appear as wide as a fullback's and an untamed salt and pepper beard obscured the lines of his square jaw.

"Do you think there's going to be some trouble?" he asked as Britt cleaned and loaded his rifle.

"I hope not, but it's best to be prepared just in case. You never know what you might run into in an area as remote as this," Britt replied, "You seem to handle yourself pretty good on the trail. It looks like you've done some packing into these woods before."

Lee nodded and stared thoughtfully into his coffee cup before replying, "Yeah, my father and I used to do a lot of hiking around here. Sometimes we'd borrow some horses from the stable where I had a job for the summer and ride deep into these mountains, far away from the more popular trails. I used to like to think we were the only ones to ever see some of the places we went to. It was like we were stepping back into time when people didn't even exist," he said wistfully.

"You really miss your father. Don't you?" Britt said, understanding Lee's loneliness.

"Yeah, I miss him a lot. It was just the two of us after my mom was killed by a drunk driver when I was real little. He was all the family I had, and now he's gone too." He rubbed in embarrassment at the annoying dampness at the corner of his eyes. "I guess I sound like a sissy."

"No. You don't," Britt said gently, "It's okay to miss those you love. I still miss my own parents even after all these years. The pain gets less, but the ache, the feeling of emptiness will always be there. You can't let it destroy your life, though. You have to keep going. That's what they would've wanted you to do."

"It always seems like bad things only happen to good people," Lee said. "Never to those who really deserve it. Why does it happen that way? It's not fair."

Britt shook his head and sighed. "I wish I knew the answer. I don't. That's something philosophers and clergymen have argued about throughout history. That's the way life is. All you can do is the best that you can."

Lee stared into the leaping flames of the fire. "Mr. Reid, your wife said that you were shot up very badly and that's why you stopped being the Green Hornet. Do you think it was worth it? I mean, you and my father did your best to fight crime and yet do you think you really accomplished anything? After all people are still being ripped off and killed. Things seem to be getting worse, not better. Why should anyone risk their life when it seems to be so useless. You know what I mean? Have you ever thought about that?"

"I had a lot of time to think about it when I was in the hospital," Britt said, rubbing his left leg that was starting to ache from the long day's ride. "At first I thought the Green Hornet was the biggest mistake I had ever made. I had risked my life continuously and had denied myself a normal life, a wife, children. And for what? I never received any thanks for the risks I took. I would have been treated like a common criminal if I had been caught," Britt smiled wryly, "Or rather an uncommon one, but I would have most likely wound up in the electric chair or knifed in the back by any one of the many men we double-crossed and sent to prison.

"But now, after all these years, I realize that what we did was worth every hardship or loss that Kato and I suffered. You se, we made a stand, and we did make a difference, however small it might seem now. We were able to put some very dangerous people out of circulation, and save some lives as well. We didn't just stand around and complain about how bad things were. We did something. We acted. Everyone should; maybe there wouldn't be so much crime and misery then. Criminals are like bullies, if you don't stand up to them, they'll keep on taking from you until there's nothing left of you. You must fight back. Everyone must. Each in their own way, or there will be total anarchy.

"I'm no longer the Green Hornet. I'll never be the Hornet again. I'm not physically up to it. That's something we both must face up to. But that doesn't mean I don't care, that I don't do anything about the mess the world's in. I still fight crime and corruption through the Daily Sentinel. It's different from the Green Hornet, but it's still something worthwhile and effective in it's own way. It's not even less dangerous. Maybe it's more so. After all, my father was murdered because of his work through the Daily Sentinel, and I wouldn't be surprised it that becomes my fate as well."

Lee reluctantly shook his head, not fully convinced. "Maybe you're right about people needing to do something themselves about crime, but what can I do? You're completely against reviving the Green Hornet, and that's the only way I can think of to do what I need to. I'm not rich like you. I don't have the pull in high places that you do. What can I do?"

"There's a lot you can do, if you put your mind to it, instead of bugging me all the time about the Green Hornet." Britt tiredly threw the rest of his coffee into the fire. "It's getting late. Why don't you hit the sack?"

"Aren't you going to get some rest too?" Lee asked.

"No. I want to stay up for a while."

"Why don't we share watches? You could get some sleep while I stay up. Then we could switch," Lee suggested helpfully.

"That won't be necessary. I won't be able to sleep tonight, so it's better if you turn in for the whole night."

"You still don't trust me, do you?" Lee asked angrily.

"It's not a matter of trust. It's just that I don't have any idea of what you're capable of yet."

When Lee began to protest, Britt raised his hand to silence him. "I know you're a fine martial artist. You've proven that already, but sparring in a gym is a lot different from taking on somebody who wants to kill you. I have no idea of how you'll handle yourself in an emergency."

"But how can I ever prove myself if you don't give me a chance to show you what I can do?"

"If there is actually some connection between your father's death and those helicopters that Lowrey spotted you'll have plenty of chances in the future to prove yourself. I'd just rather not push things too soon. Okay?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Lee answered dejectedly, "It's just that I want you to know that you can rely on me."

"I understand, but you can't go blindly into something, thinking that just because you know how to fight you'll come out on top. I think you're expecting too much of yourself and you're expecting too much of me. Dammit, I don't know what Kato told you about me, but that was a long time ago. I'm not the same man I was then."

"Then you should be willing to let me take a watch, so you can get some rest," Lee argued.

"That's just it. I'm too keyed up to get any sleep. You might as well turn in for the whole night and get some rest while you can. You can never tell when you'll be able to again."

"Yeah, but . . . " Lee began.

"Enough," Britt interrupted impatiently, "I'm more experienced in these things than you are. Just trust me in this. I know what I'm doing. Do exactly what I tell you. If you don't want to, we'll just consider this a pleasant camping trip and head home in the morning. What do you want to do?"

Reluctantly, Lee nodded his agreement. "I'll do what you say. I guess that even though I lost my father, I've gained myself a teacher. I just hope someday that I'll be able to live up to your standards."

Britt smiled, "I'm sure you will, young man."

Lee rose and started toward their tent when he heard the sharp crack of a stick breaking somewhere in the cool darkness of the forest. He turned to Reid, but saw that he had heard it too. "Maybe it's just some wild animal prowling around," he ventured.

Britt gestured sharply for silence, his sharp eyes probing the thick shadows that surrounded their tiny campsite. Close by the horses nervously stamped their feet. "Go check the horses," Britt ordered in a taut voice. As Lee passed by, he added in a low tone, "It might be nothing, but keep yourself hidden until I tell you."

Lee nodded eagerly. "Yes sir," he whispered. Once he was far enough away from the small pool of light cast by the campfire, Lee looked back to see that Britt had returned to position by the fire, the rifle close by his side. After calming the horses, Lee moved silently to a spot where could keep an eye on the campsite without being spotted.

A short, squat man who seemed to be almost as wide as he was tall, clumsily shoved his way through the underbrush and stepped into the firelight. In one hand he held on a leash a one-eyed, ragged-eared pit bull. It strained against the leash with a low growl rumbling in its throat. His other hand held a rifle trained steadily on Britt. The rifle in his oversized hands fitted him far better than did the dirty, ill-fitting uniform. "What're you doin' here, buddy?" he snarled.

"What does it look like?" Britt answered testily. He cradled his own rifle in a casual embrace as he rose smoothly to his feet. "I'm camping. I filled out all the necessary papers and got the required permits back at the main headquarters in Wolverton. You have no right to bother me. Go away and take you damn mutt with you. It's spooking my horses."

"I gotta bring you in. Yer in a restricted area," the ranger said, raising his rifle in implied threat.

"What if I refuse to go with you?" Britt challenged.

The ranger grinned nastily. "People have been known to vanish in these here mountains. You wouldn't want that to happen to ya? Would'ja?"

Britt tensed and brought up his own rifle and pointed it at the ranger, "I don't think I want to go. How much are you willing to bet that you're a better shot that I am?"

"I'm willin' to bet that Charlie here can make sure that I'm gonna win any shoot-out with you, old man," the growl in his voice matching his dog's deep-throated rumbling.

"If you let the dog loose, it's not the one that'll catch my bullet," Britt warned harshly.

As the two men angrily glared at each other across the campsite, a low voice came from the dark edge of the clearing, "And if he misses, I won't."

The ranger scowled as he tried to keep an eye on Britt and still spot the voice's source.

Its owner spoke again, "Don't move. Stay just as you are."

Cornered, the confused ranger tried to talk his way out, "Hey guys, look, ya got me all wrong. I ain't gonna hurt you. I jest meant that there's been a lotta bad things happenin' round here. It ain't safe. That's why this place is restricted. I jest wanna getcha outta here, 'fore somethin' bad happens to ya. That's all," he said forcing a gap-toothed smile as he moved further into the center of the clearing.

"Hold it right there," Britt warned, "Don't plan on making yourself comfortable. You aren't welcome here. I want you to leave immediately. But," Britt added, "Since you have said that this area is restricted and since we don't want to get into any kind of trouble, we'll leave in the morning after we've had some sleep," he said, lowering his gun.

"Hey, that's great guys. I'm real glad that yer seein' things my way. How about I stay help ya pack up, so's you can get an early start in the mornin'," the ranger said with false friendliness.

"No thanks," Britt said, distrust naked in his voice, "We can manage just fine by ourselves."

The ranger grinned broadly and shrugged his shoulders. "Have it yer way then." He turned and walked back the way he had come. As he moved away, he tried to catch sight of the second man over his shoulder, but he couldn't see anyone.

Britt waited a few minutes, then returned to his seat in front of the fire. A short while later Lee spoke from the camp's edge, "Can I come out now?"

"Yes," Britt answered. "How far out did you tail him?" he asked as Lee approached the fire.

"Only until I was sure that he wasn't going to turn back and jump us when we weren't watching." Then he stopped, open mouthed in surprise, "How did you know that I followed him?" he asked.

Britt shrugged offhandedly and smiled. "I just figured you were smart enough to think of it."

"Then you're not mad that I spoke up?" Lee asked.

"I should be, but I'm not. Your timing was perfect and you kept out of sight. You did well." Britt was glad to see Lee smile at his compliment. Then rising to his feet, he said, "I think it's time for us to get moving."

"Then we're not going to give up?" Lee asked.

"Quite the contrary. In fact, we have a long night ahead of us. We'll stow everything and take the horses with us. We'll trail that so-called ranger to where he came from."

"So-called? Then you don't think he's really a forest ranger?"

"He's no more a forest ranger than I am. I don't know who he is, but I've seen his type before. He's nothing but a hired thug. Who knows? If we're lucky, we might find whoever murdered your father at the end of that man's trail. Or at least a clue as to why he was killed."

"If you're right, he might backtrack and kill us when we aren't looking," Lee pointed out.

"Usually I would agree, but I have a feeling that he's going to his base camp to get some extra muscle. People like him prefer to have his victims outnumbered."

For several hours they followed the ranger's trail as it meandered through the night darkened forest. The man made no attempt to cover his tracks and they were easily seen in bright moonlight. Although Britt's buckskin plodded along calmly, Lee's piebald mustang repeatedly shied at the slightest sound that echoed around them. Britt pulled them to the side of the trail, "We're going to have to leave the horses behind. Sooner or later that pony of yours is going to give us away."

"I guess you're right, but maybe you should stay on your horse while I walk beside you," Lee offered.

"No. That won't work. I'd have to go too slow for you to keep up with me. Don't worry about me. I'll do just fine," he reassured the younger man, "Besides, it would be better for us to go on foot anyway. We can move a lot more quietly and not have to worry about controlling the horses."

After making sure that the horses were safely hobbled in a small meadow that was still lush with late summer grasses, they continued to follow the ranger on through the forest at a rapid ground-covering pace. "Uh, Mr. Reid, you mind if we take a break?" Lee asked, trying to catch his breath.

Britt impatiently looked back at the younger man as he leaned on a walking staff that he had made when they had left the horses behind. "Is it really necessary?" he demanded. "I don't want him to get too far ahead of us."

"Yeah, I gotta take a leak. Okay?" Lee answered, not wanting to mention that he had noticed that the older man was staring to limp and thought that he needed a break.

"Okay. Take a break," Britt said, "But don't take too long. And be careful. I don't know how much further we have to go or whether they might have some guards nearby," he cautioned.

Lee's reply was drowned out as a large helicopter thundered its way over them. Britt grabbed up the heavy staff that Lee had cut for him and struck out directly toward where the huge craft was headed. Lee shook his head in amazement at Britt's determined stride and charged after him, fearing that he would lose him in the darkness.

They found the helicopter settled in a large clearing, and saw several forklifts loading heavy bales into the squat craft. "How are they getting that stuff through that clearing without tearing up the grass?" Lee whispered into Britt's ear, "The ground should be too soft to bear that kind of weight. And how can they see where they're going?"

Britt shrugged as he studied the well-organized loading. "There," he finally said, pointing to the tiny points of light that seemed like fireflies among the long grass. "They're using those lights to guide them. It looks like they're formed in some kind of grid pattern. Let's go. I want to take a better look," Britt said, moving from the shelter of the forest's edge.

"But . . . " Lee began, but gave up and followed Britt into the open. Lee followed Britt as he walked purposely along, taking advantage of the heavy traffic that swirled around on their various errands, too busy to notice that strangers were in their midst. Beneath his feet he noticed that the lights were indeed organized along a metal grid that stood about a foot above the ground, providing a sturdy surface for the heavy equipment, and as a landing pad for the helicopter. The grass growing up through the grid provided and excellent camouflage. As they passed the helicopter Lee and Britt heard its crew talking to one of the workers.

"Hey, buddy, this is our last run. Is there a chance we can get some grub in the mess hall?"

"Yeah, sure, just follow me," the worker said, checking the clipboard in his hands, "Loading's gonna take a little longer, so you guys might as well get some chow before you have to leave."

Britt and Lee slowed their walk just enough to allow the helicopter crew and the worker to pass them, and then fell into a step behind them. They entered a well-hidden compound of prefabricated buildings that were scattered beneath huge pines that sheltered them from any aerial observation. More of the tiny firefly lights indicated pathways between the buildings and over the door each building was a shielded light fixture that illuminated the doorway, the steps to it, and little else.

As the helicopter crew entered a building from which came the tantalizing odor of cooking food, Britt pulled Lee alongside the building. "That must be the mess hall. It should be a good place to find out what they're doing here," he whispered, leading Lee around the boxes and crates that were piled around the building.

For a long time they listened to scattered snatches of conversation that seemed to revolve mostly around women, food and booze. Dissatisfied with what he had so far overheard, Britt slowly rose from his position to peek through the window above them. "So," he breathed. Inside he saw a tall, painfully thin man, with thinning red hair vainly combed over a rapidly receding hairline, seated at the head of a long table. Beside him was seated a darkly handsome man in the uniform of a South American country. Upon the swarthy man's chest multi-hued medals glittered in the light. While not a Mexican general, he could have been mistaken for one by the uninitiated.

Noticing an open window behind the redhead and the South American, Britt gently tapped Lee on the shoulder and motioned for him to follow. They moved silently, dodging stacks of boxes and barrels that had been placed next to the side of the building. Once beneath the window they were able to easily overhear the men's voices through the half-open window in the stillness of the windless night.

Britt watched with interest as the ranger who had invaded their campsite made his report to the two seated men. "Mr. Miles, General de Garza, there was something' really oddly about the old guy. It was like he wasn't afraid at all. It's kinda scary, I feel like I've seen him before. Did'ja ever hear that I met up with the Green Hornet once? Well, this guy kinda reminded me of him. This guy acted the same way. Like he was afraid of nothin'. And he had those same kind of light eyes, like he could see right into my soul."

The redhead's green eyes narrowed behind thick-lensed glasses. "If I remember correctly, the Green Hornet was killed a long time ago," he said.

"Yeah, well, nobody ever saw the Hornet's body. There ain't no proof that he's really dead. 'Sides a while after the Hornet disappeared, a bunch of old man Jackson's goons got knocked off. An' on each one'a them was left the Hornet's mark. An' Jackson, himself had a stroke that left 'im a vegetable. Word was that he was scared stiff by the Hornet's ghost."

"Martinez, if you don't start controlling your imagination, you'll start seeing ghosts yourself," warned his leader. "Leave us," he said with an imperious wave of his hand.

"I still think your man should have returned to kill those two," said the military man in heavily accented English after Martinez had left them.

"Nah, if he didn't kill them when he first saw them, it's best to leave them alone. For now at least. Besides, both of them were armed. It might have been some kind of police plant," said the balding redhead.

"Your man only saw that one of them was armed. The other one stayed hidden. He could have been bluffing. Your man should have returned and waited until they had gone to sleep. Then they could have both been easily eliminated," asserted the South American.

"Hmph, I think there has been entirely too much killing already. People are starting to ask too many questions. They are beginning to doubt what we have been telling them. Letting those two survive will not affect our operation," the other man insisted.

"You are getting careless, Miles. One slip, just one, and our entire operation will be jeopardized. Those two must be found and eliminated before they see something they shouldn't," the South American warned.

"Come on," Britt whispered into Lee's ear, "I've heard enough. The compound is almost empty, now that they've finished loading the helicopter. It's a good time to get a close look at the other buildings."

Lee nodded and followed Britt as they ghosted across along the buildings, always taking care to remain in the shadows. One of the buildings, a baling and storage shack was still half full of the bales that they had seen loaded into the helicopter. Britt dug into one of them, crumpled some of the dried material between his fingers and sniffed it. "Marijuana," he said, "They're probably growing this stuff all over these mountains, and then shipping it out by 'copter after it's been harvested and dried. It looks like they have only a few more trips ahead of them before they're completely finished."

"So it looks like they're going to be done in a short while then," Lee commented.

"Yeah," Britt agreed. "We don't have much time. We'll have to make the most of what little time we have left to get as much proof as we can."

"It sounded back there like you know the guy who's running this set up."

"I do. He's Matthew Miles, but I doubt that he's running this operation. He's nothing but an unimaginative lackey, who only got his job in the federal government because his brother-in-law is Senator de la Culebra."

"The Presidential candidate?"

Britt nodded.

"Do you think he might be the real brains of this outfit?" Lee asked.

"That's a very distinct possibility, but I'm going to have to get a lot more proof before I can even start making any accusations. Otherwise I could lose everything I have including the Daily Sentinel in a lawsuit and have nothing to show for it."

They continued their search and found in another building agricultural chemicals and fertilizers. Britt removed the label from an empty canister and made a mental note of the brand name and quantity of each item. "There has to be a record somewhere of who purchased this stuff in the large amounts necessary for an operation this size," he said to Lee, "I think I remember reading something about De L Culebra running a chain of nonprofit plant nurseries as part of a rehab program for ex-cons, when we get back I'll have Casey look further into it, and find out who supplies their chemicals."

"There's not enough cover near that helicopter, but I'm going to take the chance while there's nobody around to get a good look at it. Lee, I want you to stay here out of sight." When Lee started to protest, he firmly added, "Remember, you agreed to follow my orders."

"Yes. I remember," Lee said unhappily. He had serious misgivings about Britt going alone, especially since he was limping worse than before and he didn't want to be left out of any possible action.

Once the bulk of the helicopter blocked Lee's view, Britt took a few precious moments to try to knead out the painful cramp that had developed in his left leg. He was starting to have serious doubts about his whole outing. True, they had uncovered something of vast importance, but he was getting too damn old to be slinking around in the middle of the night. Should have sent Lowrey, despite his protests, with the boy instead of going himself, he scolded himself.

Britt forced his mind away from the pain in his leg and concentrated on the business at hand. His examination of the fully loaded helicopter would have to be as thorough as the limited time he had would allow. He recognized it as a UH-1, or Huey, the kind of helicopter that had seen heavy service during the Vietnam war. After the war, many of them had been sold to foreign countries or pressed into civilian service. Its serial number would have been useful in tracing its owner, but that would have required a closer examination that he was willing to risk, but he did note that it was armed with an M-60 machine gun. The thing was not merely for transporting freight, but could be deadly dangerous as well.

He studied the helicopter for a few minutes more and then on a sudden impulse, reached into an inner pocket in his coat. He drew out a heavy gold pocket watch. It was an old family heirloom that had been handed down from father to son for several generations. Britt hoped that someday he would be able to give it to his own son. A long time ago, he had removed its badly damaged original workings and had replaced them with much smaller modern ones. In the space left he had added miniaturized electronics, so that the watch had once served as a signaling device and radio during his days as the Green Hornet.

He gently lifted the back of the watch to expose a hidden compartment, slipped out an oval piece of sticky-backed paper and pressed it to the helicopter's door. The paper bore a green hornet, its wings outstretched, and its stinger boldly poised downward to strike at its enemies. Why he did this, Britt couldn't say, perhaps it was out of a subconscious wish for the Green Hornet not to be forgotten. Or perhaps it was a way to confound and confuse the enemy. Which, Britt didn't know himself.

Suddenly a bright light lanced out from nowhere and pinned Britt to the helicopter's side. Quickly he moved to hide the seal he had just placed there.

"Okay, buddy, take off the rifle and put up your hands," a gruff voice demanded as the man raised the light to shine directly in Britt's eyes. "Hey! Whatcha doin' here? You shoulda left when you had the chance. Yer gonna be in a lotta trouble. Drop the stick too!" Martinez demanded noticing that Britt had dropped his rifle but had kept his hold on the walking stick.

Britt shielded his eyes, trying to see the man if front of him. "I need it. I got a bad leg and I can't walk without it," he protested.

"Ain't that just too damn bad. Drop it or I'll blow yer head off!"

His mind working furiously, Britt quickly did as he was told. He would have to make a break for it; he could not allow himself to be brought before the ringleaders. Although his currently shaggy appearance would prevent his immediate identification, his anonymity would not remain once the seal he had left was discovered. It would be tragically ironic if the connection between the Green Hornet and Britt Reid would be made after all these years of retirement.

"Move," demanded Britt's captor with a wave of his gun. Britt led the way toward the mess hall as ordered, exaggerating his limp. "C'mon, buddy, step it up. We ain't got all night," Martinez ordered.

Without warning Britt stumbled and grabbed his left leg as he fell to the ground. Carefully keeping his distance, the gunman growled, "Get up!"

"I can't," Britt groaned, clutching his leg, "My leg's given out. I can't stand up. Give me the staff so I can get up."

"Hell," grumbled the gunman, kicking the stick toward Britt.

Panting with effort and pain, Britt grabbed the stick and lifted himself up to one knee. "Give me a hand, please," he begged. The disgusted gunman swore as he approached Britt. Then Britt abruptly swung the thick staff low over the ground and caught the gunman behind his shins, knocking him down to the ground. Britt threw himself over the man, pinning him to the ground wrestling for the gun still in his hand. Martinez drew up his knee and shoved it into Britt's stomach.

As Britt rolled in agony, the gunman rose to his fee and aimed his gun at Britt's head. "Get up! Now! Or you won't get up again. Ever!" he threatened, Suddenly Martinez grasped his arm in surprised pain, dropping the gun. Britt launched himself at the man's knees, knocking him to the ground and quickly dispatched him with a single well-placed blow.

"Are you okay?" asked Lee as he separated himself from the shadow and trotted to Britt's side.

"I'm fine," Britt said, "I'm lucky he felt cocky enough about taking on an old man that he didn't bother raising an alarm."

"I was afraid you weren't faking it."

Britt took a deep breath. "I wasn't faking. At least not entirely," he said through clenched teeth, "Can you give me a hand up?" he asked. Lee quickly helped him up, deeply concerned about Britt's condition. It had to be more serious than it appeared for the older man to make such a candid admission of weakness.

Looking at the unconscious Martinez, Britt spotted something familiar imbedded in the man's arm. He bent down and pulled it free. He twirled between his thumb and fingers a slender throwing dart. It was slightly similar in shape to those used in dart games, but instead of fletching at the end opposite from the point, it had a pair of collapsible wings slightly above the point. Its body was striped in shades of light and dark green with the wings a darker hue of green. Britt had seen such darts many times in Kato's hands.

Lee responded to Britt's raised eyebrow. "When I was cleaning out the Black Beauty, I found a few of these stashed away. I thought they might come in handy," he explained.

"And lucky?" Britt asked.

"Yeah, and kind of a reminder too. I guess," Lee said, reaching for the dart, but Britt drew it out of his reach.

"No. Leave it here. It'll give them something to think about," Britt said, deliberately neglecting to mention the seal that he had left behind on the helicopter.

"A reminder?" Lee asked, trying to follow Britt's line of reasoning.

"Perhaps. Or a warning," Britt replied grimly as he dropped the dart beside the fallen gunman. "We better get out of here before someone else spots us," he said as he moved back toward the forest.

Lee followed a few paces behind Britt as they walked along the narrow trail. Even with the staff that they had retrieved, Britt's normally long strides had deteriorated into a serious limp that slowed their pace dangerously. Cautiously Lee broke the silence that hung over them like a heavy cloud, "Uh, Mr. Reid, why don't I go on ahead and get the horses and our gear?"

Britt stopped and looked ahead to the trail before them. His pride rebelled at the thought of allowing to younger man to go ahead. He was also worried about allowing him to go into a situation that might be too dangerous to handle alone. Yet, common sense and long experience had taught him that pride could be very costly. With his bad leg hurting so badly, he was a serious liability on foot. Tight lipped, he nodded his agreement.

"Sounds like a good idea." He pointed to some large rocks half hidden by trees and underbrush. "I'll rest there, out of sight, until you get back. And Lee..."

"Sir?"

"For God's sake, be careful. We've been lucky so far, don't push it." he warned firmly.

Britt watched Lee until he was swallowed by the dark forest. Then he sighed, making a silent prayer that the young man wouldn't get lost. He consoled himself with the thought that after a short rest, he'd be able to make the rest of the way back to the truck just fine.

Much later, Britt impatiently checked his watch for what seemed to be the hundredth time. He was growing restless as concern about Lee began to eat at him. Hearing the crashing of underbrush, Britt moved into hiding. He knew that Lee would not make so much noise. Britt saw a sullen Lee walking behind a man in a ranger's uniform who was leading their horses. Although a different man from the one that had invaded their campsite, he was made from the same mold.

Britt gave a short, sharp whistle and his buckskin reared up on its rear legs, throwing the stranger to the ground. Taking advantage of the confusion, Britt leaped onto his horse's back. Lee followed Britt's example and jumped onto the mustang's back. Screaming in fear at the sudden weight the pinto wheeled on its back legs, pulling the reins out of Lee's reach before he could grasp them. It tore off in a blind panic into the forest with Lee desperately clinging to its back.

Britt kneed his buckskin forward after the frightened horse. He clung tightly to his own horse, keeping his head down low, avoiding low hanging branches that threatened to knock his head off. Desperately he strained to keep the mustang in view as it charged headlong through the moon-dappled forest. With agonizing slowness, Britt gained on the horse ahead of him.

The mustang was starting to tire as it climbed up a steep embankment along a stream. Britt urged his horse forward after it. Finally alongside the mustang he could see Lee hanging on with white knuckled desperation. Britt stretched forward, half out of his saddle, straining to reach the pinto's bridle. His fingers barely brushed it when his horse stumbled under him as the earth beneath its feet crumbled. Britt tightly gripped the saddle horn as his horse trying to stay on its feet twisted and slipped down the steep slope. But the saddle horn twisted free from his grasp and he tumbled helplessly from his horse's back and slid downward to land in the soft sand at the base of a shallow ravine.

He painfully rolled to his side and watched the buckskin hefting itself back up onto wobbly legs. "Come here Dusty. Come here old boy," he said softly. He watched with concern as the horse limped to his side. "Steady boy, steady," he said soothingly as he grabbed onto the stirrups and pulled himself to his feet. Britt took a deep breath and flexed his arms and shoulders. Outside of a few bumps and bruises there were no serious pains, outside, as usual his rotten leg. Worried about the buckskin's limp, he began to very carefully examine its leg. Finding a stone lodged in its foot, he dug it out with a knife and continued to gently examine its other legs. With a sigh of relief, he walked the weary horse around a few times and could spot no other signs of injury. If the horse was not able to carry his weight, he would have had no chance of finding the boy.

After several hours of skillful tracking at a slow walk, Britt found both boy

and pony in a small meadow. After the wild violence of the frightening ride through the woods the scene before him was amazingly serene. The pony was heavily lathered but seemed unhurt as it nibbled on the long late summer grass. Lee was resting his head on his forearms and seemed to be unhurt as well.

"A good horseman always gives his horse a thorough rubdown after it has had a hard run," Britt remarked.

Lee jumped to his feet. "Mr. Reid! I'm sorry about everything, but that guy was waiting for me when I got to the horses. He had a gun on me and there was nothing I could do."

Britt dismounted with considerable effort and began rummaging through his saddlebags until he found some soft rags. After throwing a few of them to Lee, he began to unsaddle his horse. Almost absently, he asked, "Do you think he was part of a search party?"

Lee looked at Britt and then at the cloths in his hand. With a shrug, he followed suit. "No. I think he was just some outer guard who just happened to spot the horses and decided to wait for somebody to come back for them. I'm really sorry I messed up." He was having a hard time with Britt's strangely cavalier attitude about what had happened. "You know, I thought you were going to be really mad at me. You were counting on me and I failed. It feels like I'm always messing things up."

Britt stopped what he was doing for a moment. "I see no point in getting angry at you. You feel bad enough about it as it is. You realized you've made a mistake and I'm sure you'll remember not to repeat it. We all make mistakes," he said charitably, "The idea is not to make too many of them and to learn from those we do make." He folded his cloths and scratched his horse between its ears. "We're on borrowed time. We have to get out of here and get as much distance behind us as we can. Are you up to it?" he asked.

"I'm fine, but what about you?" Lee asked. "We've been on the trail for almost two days now, without any kind of rest. How much longer do you think you'll be able to last?"

Britt took a deep breath and wearily shook his head, and for a moment Lee could plainly read the exhaustion in the older man's face. "Okay, I admit that I'm pretty beat and that my leg is killing me. I could use a good night's sleep right now, but at the moment that's not possible. But, you don't have to worry about this old man. I'll hold up just fine," he assured Lee. Hi lifted his saddle onto his horse and tightened the cinch belt. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah. I guess I'm ready if you are," Lee said.

"It's a good thing the sun's starting to come up now," Britt said, noticing that the night sky was starting to fade into the pale rose of dawn. "It'll make it a lot easier for us to find our way back to the truck."

"Do you think they'll have discovered the guards we knocked out by now?" Lee asked.

"You can count on that," Britt answered. "We'll have to move as fast as we can while trying to cover our tracks. Since you've been in these mountains before, you take the lead," Britt said as he drew out his rifle and checked it.

"You're not worried about pursuit by horseback, are you?" Lee asked.

"No, I'm not. We're far enough away that I don't think that will be any real threat, but that doesn't mean we can forget about it either."

"Could the helicopter be a problem?"

"Yes, it could. It was armed with machine guns and since it's almost daylight, we'll be visible from the air. Unless we can keep under cover, we won't have a chance in hell of getting away from it."

Britt's words kept on echoing in Lee's mind as he led them down out of the mountains. Britt suddenly charged up to his side, shouting, "Move. Get under the trees before they see us!"

Above the thundering hoof-beats of their horses Lee could hear the heavy whomp-whomp of helicopter blades above his head. They galloped wildly through the forest, weaving through the tall pines and oaks, trying to keep the trees between themselves and the chopper that hounded at their heels. Lee gritted his teeth in fear as he heard the metallic clatter of the helicopter's machine gun as it ripped through the leaves over them. At any moment he expected his body to be shredded by the bullets that bit at the ground behind them. He tried to keep his eyes on Britt's broad back, hoping that the older man somehow had an idea of how they were going to escape the terrifying harpy that flew after them.

"Shit man, keep after them!"shouted the door gunner to the helicopter pilot, "I can't get a good shot at them!"

"I can't get any lower! Not unless you wanna wind up eatin' bark!" the pilot shouted back as he tried to follow the fleeing riders. "I'm havin' a hard time followin' them. Half the time I can't even see them through those damn trees!"

"Shit! There they are! C'mon man, get after them! They're gettin' away!" the gunner screamed in frustration. He suddenly grabbed for a handhold as the helicopter swung after the two horsemen. "Shit! Watch whatcher doin' asshole! I almost fell out on that last damn turn!"

"Damn, this ain't workin'! They're too damn maneuverable!" shouted back the pilot as he pulled the helicopter up. "There's gotta be a better way!"

The door gunner slammed his hand on his machine gun in impotent rage. He scanned the woods that stretched beneath tem. "There!" he said, pointing ahead of tem toward a broad riverbed that had cut a broad swath between the forest and some steep cliffs, forming a narrow canyon, "We can get them there along the river. That's the only way they can head."

"No way, man!" the pilot objected heatedly, "It's too damn narrow there. I can't fly through that. One false move and we're dead meat. No way."

"It's the only way, man. Hell, they won't even see it until it's too damn late and then we'll have them. They'll have to go one way or the other through the canyon and there's no cover. It'll be like shootin' fish in a barrel."

"You're crazy! You've been smokin' too much of the boss' merchandise," declared the pilot.

"Hey man. I thought you said you were the best pilot in 'Nam. Was all that big talk just bullshit? Yer yella," the door gunner spat disdainfully. "Look," he said, spotting a flash of color heading toward the narrow canyon, "They're headin' right for it. They won't know it's a trap until it's too late."

"Hell," cursed the pilot as he flew the helicopter toward the river. "You got rocks in yer head an' so do I."

"Where'd the other bastard go?" exclaimed the pilot, seeing only one rider bursting out of the woods and onto the rocky riverbed.

"It doesn't matter. Forget him. We'll get this guy on the buckskin first. Then we'll worry about the other guy," the door gunner growled as he aimed for the buckskin's rider. "C'mon! After him before he gets away! Closer!" he urged. He was hungry for blood, but he held off firing. He wanted to get close enough to see the rider's face when his bullets ripped through the man's body.

The pilot kept his eyes glued to the fleeing rider, his eyes bright with the bloodlust that raced through his veins. Suddenly he screamed, "Shit!" as he looked up to see the overwhelming bulk of a mountain ahead of them. His hands and feet flew as he tried to force the fragile craft up away from the massive wall that reared up in front of them. Achingly the helicopter's forward movement slowed as it began to lift upward. Suddenly a strong gust of wind out of nowhere snatched at it like a mighty hand, slamming it into the hillside like an insignificant insect.

Britt reined in and watched the flaming wreckage of the helicopter scatter but a few yards away from him. He took a deep breath of relief. That was close, he thought, too damn close.

"Are you okay, Mr. Reid?" Lee asked as he reined in beside Britt.

"I'm fine," Britt answered.

"Are you sure?" Lee asked as he reached over to examine a large tear in the shoulder of Britt's coat.

Britt took off the coat and checked his left shoulder where a bullet had ripped through the coat and the shirt beneath it. "See, not even a scratch," he said, showing the unbroken skin through the tear in his shirt with a crooked grin.

Lee shook his head in amazement. "I don't get you. Here I was half scared out of my mind and you almost seemed to be enjoying yourself."

Britt shrugged and looked back at the helicopter's shattered remains. He smiled grimly. "Sometimes, I even surprise myself," he said quietly.

As they continued their trip back to the truck, the constant threat of further pursuit weighed on their minds, each man half-expecting a hail of bullets to end their journey. They continued to take great pains to cover their tracks, but they moved more quickly and took a more direct route. The late afternoon shadows were getting long. They would have to get to the pickup and horse trailer before night fell. Lee could hardly believe that they had finally made it when he spotted the truck and trailer. Britt moved his horse in front of the relieved Lee before he could ride out into the open.

"We might not be out of danger yet. Keep an eye out for any signs of intruders. Even though things look safe enough, someone could be laying in wait for us," he warned.

Lee bit his lip in chagrin. "Yes, sir. I understand."

They dismounted and moved cautiously near the parked truck. In the rapidly failing sunlight it was difficult to see if an ambush had been laid for them. Lee could feel his back ache between his shoulder blades from the constant fear and tension. Finally he could see Britt relax. He breathed out in relief, unaware that he had been holding his breath the entire time.

"So far, so good," Britt said. "But we won't be entirely safe until we're back onto the freeway and well on our way home."

They quickly loaded their drooping mounts into the trailer and stowed their retrieved camping gear into the camper. "Why don't you let me drive for a while, Mr. Reid," Lee offered.

"No. I'll drive first. You get in the camper and get some sleep. After we hit the freeway, I'll wake you and then you can take over the driving while I get some rest. Okay?"

For a moment Lee thought about protesting, but he was too tired. "Okay, but wake me up as soon as we hit the freeway," he said as he crawled thankfully into one of the bunks in the back of the camper.

Lee had intended to rest just a few minutes, but when he finally woke up he saw that they were well out of the mountains and were now on the interstate. He shoved his head through the window between the camper and the cab of the pickup. "I thought you said you were going to wake me when we hit the freeway so that I could take over driving," he demanded.

When Britt didn't answer, he reached through to touch Britt's shoulder. "Uh, Mr. Reid?" he said more loudly. "Are you awake?" he asked.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. I'm awake. I was just busy thinking. That's all," Britt finally responded. "I'm sorry I scared you. I'm okay. How about you?"

"Fine. Why didn't you wake me up?"

"I tried, but you were out cold. I figured I'd let you sleep until you woke up on your own," explained Britt.

"Thanks," Lee said sardonically as he squeezed himself into the cab. "Why don't you stop at that Rest Stop up ahead and we can switch over there?" he suggested.

"No. I'll keep on driving. I don't feel sleepy. You can sit there and keep me company," Britt said.

"Even if you can't sleep, you could at least get some rest. We're going to be caught in the morning rush hour soon and I feel fresh enough to handle it," Lee insisted.

"Don't think I could handle it?" Britt challenged.

"You want my honest opinion?"

Britt sighed tiredly. He had a good idea of what Lee's honest opinion would be. "Even if I don't want it. I'm sure you're going to tell me anyway."

"Okay. I think you're dead on your feet, and you're too tired to handle the traffic. I'd feel a lot safer if I did the driving," urged Lee, waiting for an angry outburst, but Britt surprised him by giving in without another word and pulled into the Rest Stop as he had suggested.

For several miles Lee drove in silence, hoping that Britt would doze off despite himself, but when he saw that Britt was still awake he decided to ask a few questions that had been bothering him. "Uh, Mr. Reid, I've been thinking . . . "

"That's dangerous," Britt said wryly.

"Huh?"

"Thinking. That can lead to all sorts of trouble," Britt said with a crooked smile.

"Oh," Lee said lamely, momentarily thrown off balance by Britt's unexpected humor. "Well, anyway. I was thinking about those guys killing my father. It didn't mean anything to them, did it? He was in the way so they decided to get rid of him with no more thought than swatting a fly. Right?"

"I'm afraid so. That 's the way it usually is. The victims mean nothing to them. They're just obstacles that have to be eliminated. I can't count the times I've heard a gunman excuse himself by saying it's nothing personal, as though the victim should understand and not resent being murdered in cold blood."

"In the way . . . " Lee said thoughtfully, "I think my father would've preferred going down fighting instead of being pushed off a mountain."

"Few of us can choose the way we die," Britt said softly.

"I understand. I guess," Lee said. After a few moments of silence he spoke again. "Would you mind answering another question? It's something that's been bothering me for a long time."

"Shoot," Britt said.

"My father was always open about you and his, uh, night time 'hobby', but he never told me anything about his family. It was always on of those things he would ignore or slide over. I know that he came from China, but I never knew anything else beyond that. You can trace your own family way back, and you have a lot to be proud of, but I have no roots, no family even. My mother's folks kicked her out of the family when they found out that she had married an oriental. Even when I was born, they wanted to have nothing to do with us, so I prefer to keep it that way. You know, I don't even know what my father's real name was. Kato's a Japanese name, not Chinese. Jeez, I don't even have a last name. If you know something, could you please tell me?" Lee pleaded.

"I'm sorry, but I never knew Kato's real name either. In the early days of our friendship I would try to drag it out of him, but he always resisted my prodding. Maybe my father knew it, but he refused to tell me and told me to back off. After a while I gave up trying to find out. I learned then that when somebody wants to forget about their past, it's best to respect their wishes."

"I see. It's like you turning away from your past as the Green Hornet," Lee said unhappily.

"Exactly," Britt admitted.

"Then my father's history is lost to me forever. I'll never know who I really am."

"Maybe not forever. There is something I can tell you. I don't know if it'll help you very much but perhaps if you ever have the chance to get to mainland China, maybe what I can tell you will give you something to go on."

Lee smiled hopefully, "Tell me."

"Well," Britt said, easing himself into a more comfortable position, "It's a very long story, but considering how heavy traffic is getting, I think we'll have plenty of time."

"You see, my father and I were the ones who got him out of China. It all began when my father received a very unexpected honor. It was in the late 50's when I was still in college, that my father received an invitation to join a very select number of newsmen of a tour of Red China. The late Chairman Mao was involved in his first Five Year Plan for the industrialization of China and he wanted to show off all that had been accomplished to the Western World. Most of the reporters were from either the major networks or from very big, well-known newspapers. Even though the Daily Sentinel had not yet achieved the reputation it has now, my father had been specifically asked for.

Before he founded the Daily Sentinel, he had worked as a foreign correspondent all over the world. During WWII he had spent some time in Yan'an and had written favorably about the discipline of the Communist troops that were fighting the Japanese. So, years later, remembering what my father had written, Chairman Mao had requested that my father be included in the group. I was surprised when they agreed to my father's request that I be included as a special favor. Yes," Britt reminisced, "It was quite an honor."