Loyal Wolf. Linda O. Johnston

she spoke, she told him she had always lived in Montana, moving from Missoula after college.

      Despite their cover story, Jock had never been in Montana before. He had grown up in Wisconsin, another state where there were more rural areas than city life. Where wilderness was the primary topography.

      That was where his family had settled long ago. The remoteness helped to hide what they were. But what he was had made him gravitate toward the U.S. Military as soon as he first heard of Alpha Force.

      Ralf returned and placed a bottle of water on the smooth but unpolished wooden table before each of them.

      “Here’s to our success in resolving the Clifford County situation,” Jock said, raising his bottle.

      “I’ll drink to that,” Kathlene said. Ralf joined them in their alcohol-free toast. The look on Kathlene’s face nevertheless appeared strained, as if she doubted they in fact would be successful.

      If so, he intended to surprise her. In many ways.

      Right now it was time to really get down to business. And talk.

      And make sure he ignored how much lust he felt for this lovely, obviously determined woman.

      Kathlene started their conversation after downing a drink of water. “I chose this motel for you to stay in,” she said, “because the former ranch where the people I believe are anarchists are gathering isn’t far from here.”

      “Yes, the anarchists,” Jock said. “Why we’re here. I’d like you to tell us why you think that’s who they are. I’ve looked at the file that was started on this matter before Alpha Force was called in, but as I said I want your version.”

      “Of course.” She seemed to hesitate, but only for a second. And there was nothing at all hesitant in the strong, sure glare of her blue eyes. “I could be wrong about the whole thing but I don’t think so. The number of people at the apparent conclave, all men as far as I can tell, keep increasing. They stay mostly to themselves but when I’ve headed in the direction of the formerly abandoned ranch where they live, I’ve sometimes heard gunshots.”

      “It’s late summer,” Ralf said from behind them. “Isn’t it hunting season for something?”

      “The season for large game like elk, moose and all tends to start in late September. But when any members of this group have come into town, they seem to make it a point of saying they’ve been holding target practice to be ready when the season starts.”

      “That target practice could also be with the intent of hunting more than wildlife,” Jock said.

      Like people?

      That was the crux of their involvement here. They would find out about what these hunters, or whatever they were, were up to.

      And stop them if necessary.

      Perhaps in the form of an animal they otherwise would hunt.

      A wolf.

      Jock glanced at Ralf, who nodded. He undoubtedly knew exactly what Jock was thinking.

      * * *

      The sudden glance between Jock and Ralf stoked Kathlene’s curiosity. This man wasn’t a fan of hunting? His look of displeasure actually pleased Kathlene. She might have gone into law enforcement, but her intent was to save as many lives as possible, human and animal.

      Especially human. That was the reason she had become a deputy sheriff. She knew more than most people what it was like to lose loved ones to unanticipated and unnecessary violence.

      “What about wolves?” Ralf asked. “Are they fair game?”

      “Yes, sometimes,” Kathlene said. “I’m not sure what the season for them is this year.”

      “Oh,” Jock said.

      Kathlene couldn’t quite figure out what his tone meant—irony? Anger? A challenge of some kind?

      But she had been saving her biggest concern for last. “It’s not only multiple rounds of gunshots I’ve heard near that old ranch area,” she said. “And I think this is what actually got the military’s attention. There have been explosions, too. Small ones, but more than just shots being fired.”

      Her boss, the sheriff, had only shaken his head when she’d mentioned them. Told her she had one hell of a female imagination.

      In essence, told her to bug off and maybe respond to some phone calls from senior citizens who called the cops claiming they heard things because they wanted some attention.

      Like she supposedly was doing despite her lesser age.

      “Interesting,” Jock said. He asked her questions—cogent ones that indicated he actually believed her, which made her feel a lot better than it should.

      But she managed to explain her own patrol duties—both assigned by the department and assumed by herself because of her concern about the growing number of apparent hunters hanging out at the old ranch that had been unused for years but apparently had been purchased recently by a relative of one of the men now living there, according to public records. Or at least it had been purchased by someone with the last name Tisal, but not Nate Tisal, the guy who apparently was in charge of the group.

      “If anything, they could be terrorists and not also anarchists,” she said, “but when I’ve spoken with any of them, which is rare, their comments suggest that they hate any kind of authority, not only local.”

      “If they’re either,” Jock said, “we need to confirm it and shut them down before anyone’s hurt.”

      “Definitely,” Kathlene said. “One thing I’m particularly concerned about is that there have been threats made against at least some of the Clifford County Commissioners. A friend of mine who’s a commissioner told me about some anonymous emails with sources that couldn’t be traced, as well as actual letters mailed to the County Administration Building from other parts of the country. They apparently tell the commission to back off from enacting some laws currently under consideration that would help enforce state regulations to protect wildlife and require the arrest of poachers. The sheriff said he’s got some officers looking into it but nothing’s been found so far. It’s not certain that the anarchists are to blame, of course—but with the timing and all, that’s my suspicion.”

      “Got it,” Jock said. “We’ll look into that, too. Right now, though, let’s go over our cover story.”

      “Yeah,” Ralf said. He’d been leaning against the cabin wall beside the table sipping water. “Jock’s your old buddy, and we’re both insurance salesmen from Seattle, which is where Jock supposedly lives these days, too. Don’t we look like insurance salesmen?” He mugged a little toward Kathlene and she laughed.

      “’Course we do,” Jock said. “Risk and liability and all that kind of stuff, right?”

      “Right,” Ralf responded. “And high premiums, too.”

      Both men laughed this time. Great. They apparently had a good working relationship. But Kathlene hadn’t figured out what Alpha Force was and why it was considered a particularly special military team.

      Good thing she had made friends in college with Bill Grantham, whose dad had been an army colonel then. Now he was a general working at the Pentagon. Kathlene, frustrated and not knowing what else to do, had wound up explaining her concerns to Bill about what was going on in Clifford County. General Grantham had listened, then suggested sending in help to scope out their validity. The result had been the deployment here of members of this covert unit. But why Alpha Force? What was Alpha Force all about? Kathlene had no idea...yet. But she would definitely learn.

      “You’ll need to explain insurance to me one of these days,” she made herself joke. Then she got serious. “And also about what your special unit’s all about and how you’ll be dealing with the situation here.”

      “Sure,” Jock responded.