Minutes to Burn

Walters nodded. "And everything else. The chopper's due in Sac end of the day. They weren't exactly gonna make a special outing to pick up a jailbird. Since I was headed out anyway, I landed the lucky task of transporting you. But first, we're making a detour. You get to wait."

Savage nodded ever so slightly. He glanced down and wiggled his big toe, protruding from a hole in his sock. "Any way you could see about getting me a boot?"

"Like I said, you get to wait."

The helicopter pulled in tight to the land, running along the top of an elongated gorge. Below, rivulets trickled along icy banks. Through the thick forest, Savage could make out only occasional spots of ground, white splotches showing through the patchwork of trees.

Walters scanned the forest with a pair of high-tech binoculars. They whirred, electronically focusing as he swung them back and forth. "Glacier National Park. We had three campers killed here last week by a grizzly sow. One guy survived the attack, staggered back to a logging camp. Severe head wounds. Said he was batted around like a soccer ball. He did the smart thing though-curled up, covered his vitals, refused to panic." Walters lowered the binoculars, and Savage was surprised by the intensity in his eyes. "Said he could hear the grizzly's teeth clinking against his skull." His top lip pulled up in the start of a sneer. "Park ranger stuff."

Savage feigned a shudder, though his face kept its sardonic cast. "Bad news bear."

"It's a different kind of death," Walters said. "Wild animal. At least in a war, you know what you're getting. Bullet to the head, grenade in the gut-you go down and out. Not like this. Not like being eaten."

Savage looked at the rifle across Walters's lap. A. 300 Win Mag, single action, equipped with a 10x scope; the weapon was a punisher-one of the few that had the stopping power to drop a full-grown grizzly. "Fought a lot of wars, have you?"

Walters ignored him, leaning forward to set the rifle on the deck by his feet. "The governor of Montana personally sent two trackers into the woods to hunt down the problem bear last week. One returned after four days with no sighting. We lost contact with the other. Presumed dead." He formed a fist and tightened the fingers of his other hand around it. "They needed it handled. Call went in to me. I booked the chopper, even promised I'd drop you off in Sac personally to make sure I got it." He ran his tongue across his teeth. "Figured we'd use the last place the second tracker established radio contact as the center point, then sweep the area in an expanding spiral."

Savage took a long drag off his cigarette and flicked it out the open door. He watched it fall, a red glowing dot twirling in the wind. "Good thinking," he said, just the right amount of sarcasm easing its way into his voice.

Below, a river fought its way around bends and over boulders, finally cascading down a twenty-foot drop. Savage couldn't hear the noise of the waterfall over the rotors of the Blackhawk, but he imagined it perfectly, sensing the pulsing water as if it were running through his veins.

Just a few hours ago, the guards had signed him out in full. Battery, cruelty to animals, assault with a deadly weapon, possession of illegal firearms-they'd all vanish if he agreed to participate in the mission, whatever it was. He had known that there was a shortage of U.S. troops with all the trouble down south, but until now, he'd had no idea how serious it was. He'd been in the Gulf, but the last war he'd seen action in was Nam. He hoped that he'd been targeted for his record; if they were trolling county jails indiscriminately for anyone with military training, then they were in a lot more trouble than he'd imagined.

The pilot swooped the helicopter so sharply Savage had to grab the rifle to keep it from sliding out the door. He handed it back to Walters silently, noticing the pilot's smirk in the reflection off the windscreen. The helo plunged again.

"Picked her up," the pilot said, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice. "She's heading south."

Walters raised his binoculars and located the grizzly sow. She was loping along the ridge about twenty yards back from the gorge. Her legs as thick as cannon barrels, she moved with astounding quickness, hammering over fallen trees and crashing through underbrush.

"Goddamnit, don't lose her," Walters said. He leaned forward, his hands clutching the pilot's seat.

"She hears us and she's hauling ass," the pilot yelled, his hands fisting the control stick, desperately trying to keep the bear in sight.

Walters pushed Savage aside and peered out the open door. He took aim, the rifle bobbing as the helicopter swooped and turned. He fired once and cursed, then struggled to unbolt the rifle.

Savage calmly leaned back against the side of the helicopter, spotting a distinctive gray patch on the bear's flank. Walters wobbled in his shooter's stance and fired another shot, reeling from the kick.