Killer Summer (35 page)
Authors: Ridley Pearson
“Easy,” the copilot chastised.
“I owe this kid,” Matt said.
As Kevin was led away along with the others, he glanced surreptitiously up at the chimney. No one had thought to check up there.
If they had, they would have found his cell phone, tucked onto a high chimney rock, its red NO SIGNAL flashing.
High above, a shining star flickered, then disappeared in the black velvet backdrop of space. A moving object had blotted it out. Farther along, another star flickered, disappeared, then reappeared.
Unseen by any human eye, the phone’s LED began blinking green, just as it had done ever so briefly only minutes before.
76
T
he impenetrable coal-black sky bled to the color of a fresh bruise as it surrendered to the first photons from a faraway morning sun. It held a luminescence not unlike the ocean depths where the last vestiges of sunlight mingle and fade. Soon the ashes of the Milky Way would shrink to a mere brushstroke, leaving only named constellations and the planets battling for recognition.
he impenetrable coal-black sky bled to the color of a fresh bruise as it surrendered to the first photons from a faraway morning sun. It held a luminescence not unlike the ocean depths where the last vestiges of sunlight mingle and fade. Soon the ashes of the Milky Way would shrink to a mere brushstroke, leaving only named constellations and the planets battling for recognition.
At four-thirty A.M., Fiona should have been in bed, savoring a final few hours of sleep. Instead, she, along with Teddy Sumner, had hung around the Sheriff’s Office, awaiting word of Walt’s rescue attempt, her stomach in a knot. When asked if she would fill in for the videographer, she agreed solely because of the subject matter: Teddy Sumner. Walt had requested an interview with the man.
The interview room, directly across from Walt’s office and one of three down a long hallway, had a metal table bolted to the floor and metal chairs. Two fluorescent tubes lit the room too brightly. Fiona and her tripod-mounted camera kept to the far corner, a close-up of Sumner’s tortured face on the screen.
Deputy Gloria Stratum read from a card, declaring the date, time of day, location, and who was in the room. It was noted that Sumner was submitting to the interview voluntarily.
Sumner was nodding. Fiona saw an acceptance on his face that she didn’t understand.
“You understand this interview is at the request of the sheriff,” Stratum began, reasserting what had just been said.
“Yes. I’m aware that timing is critical. You people have no idea what this is like for me.”
Fiona watched the close-up of his face as his pain intensified. She braced herself, realizing this was no simple Q&A.
Stratum shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
“You understand: I know what’s going on,” Sumner said.
“The sheriff . . . I realize this is a bit unorthodox . . . but the sheriff asked that I say just one word to you. He wanted me to add that the best chance he has to rescue your daughter requires full disclosure . . .”
Sumner pursed his lips until bloodless white and nodded solemnly.
“Mastermind,”
Stratum said.
Stratum said.
She then waited for some kind of response.
“That was it,” she finally said. “The one word he wanted me to say.
Mastermind.
”
Mastermind.
”
Sumner was flash-frozen by what he heard. Then his lips twisted and a wave of relief seemed to melt his agonized expression.
“I . . .” he started, then trailed off. “The point is . . . No one knows what it’s like . . .”
His eyes flashed at the camera angrily. He was addressing it, not Stratum.
“Trying to hold this together without her mother, trying to reinvent the wheel and get something going . . . In this economy, no less. Are you kidding me?”
Stratum said nothing.
“But, here we are, right?” he continued. “I want to help her. If I don’t do something now and it’s later determined that if I had . . . If it gives the sheriff an advantage . . .”
“It comes down to money, right?” he continued. “Love and money. How fragile it all is, how quickly it all changes. All you ever want to do is protect her, take care of her, keep her out of trouble. Steer her away from the things that are only going to make it harder and push her toward the things that make it easier . . . college, good friends. Build her a solid foundation to stand on. Am I right?”
He jerked back in his chair so abruptly that he went out of frame of the camera. Fiona widened the shot, noticing in the process that her finger was trembling.
“Mastermind,”
Stratum repeated.
Stratum repeated.
He looked up at Stratum, up at the camera, and winced.
“They say I’m a one-hit wonder, did you know that? You know what it’s like to hear that said about yourself ?”
He closed his eyes slowly, shook his head, opened them, managed another smug grin.
“To stay in the game . . .” he continued. “There’s a level of play that I don’t expect you to understand, but it’s critical if you’re going to see the A scripts, if you’re going to have a chance at the big projects.” He leaned forward across the table, the camera laboring to keep him in focus. “A bridge loan, that’s all.” He was shouting by now. “ ‘ Nothing to it!’ he said.” Sumner snorted. “Nothing to it . . .”
He exhaled and looked around the room anxiously. “He’s a clever man, your sheriff.”
“He’s a keeper,” Stratum said.
Sumner put his hands behind his head and stretched. His neck made a popping sound. It wasn’t fear in his eyes but anger, a man pitting himself against the world. Fiona cowered into the corner.
“Okay,” he said. “Pay attention.”
Again, he was addressing the camera directly.
Fiona pushed herself farther into the corner, her back flat against the cool wall.
“I first met Christopher Cantell when we were developing the script for
Mastermind.
He was brought in as a paid consultant.”
Mastermind.
He was brought in as a paid consultant.”
Fiona threw her head back and it hit the wall with a thud. Sumner’s eyes ticked in her direction but only briefly. He looked back into the calm, unresponsive face of Deputy Gloria Stratum and said, “Ransoming the Lear . . . That was my idea.”
77
A
s the sky passed from faintly maroon to sapphire, the forest interior remained dark as night. Kevin and John were being led down the log steps to the airstrip and river beyond. Kevin had never known such darkness, his heart heavy with regret, his limbs jangled with frustration. He and the cowboy walked along in silence, the rush of the river constant and growing louder like ringing in his ears.
s the sky passed from faintly maroon to sapphire, the forest interior remained dark as night. Kevin and John were being led down the log steps to the airstrip and river beyond. Kevin had never known such darkness, his heart heavy with regret, his limbs jangled with frustration. He and the cowboy walked along in silence, the rush of the river constant and growing louder like ringing in his ears.
He assumed the plan was to lock the two of them in the Learjet. He didn’t know what they had in mind for Summer, but just the thought of that made him angry at the cowboy. They should have put up more of a fight than they had.
They reached the flat, graveled plain of the riverbed. Kevin spotted the pilot on the riverbank with a raft and some gear. As they walked closer, he could see it was an established put-in.
Upstream and down, towering cliffs formed a gorge through which the river churned, opening only briefly here at the ranch. Kevin saw it for what it was without an explanation from John, whose body language was becoming increasingly agitated.
“You’d better provision us well,” John said. “The first take-out is four days downriver.”
“We’re well aware of that,” said the pilot. He was holding John’s handgun.
“And a snakebite kit and a water filter—”
“Enough! You’ll have what we give you. Be happy we’re not leaving you tied up here to starve. That option was seriously considered.”
“Without sunblock and a tarp, what you’re offering will be worse than starving—”
“I said shut up.”
The two hijackers exchanged a look that, even in the dark, Kevin understood.
“They don’t care,” Kevin said. “They just want us out of here. They’d rather the river kill us. That way, maybe it won’t be called murder.”
“Shut your trap.”
“Y’all plan to scale the face of ol’ Shady,” the cowboy said. “I saw the climbing gear all laid out.”
“None of your business,” the copilot said.
“Taking the girl?” the cowboy said.
“You’re not getting the point,” the copilot snarled.
He struck with lightning-quick speed, a single blow with the gun to the back of the cowboy’s head. He was shorter than the cowboy, and the blow connected just above the neck.
The cowboy lurched forward but remained conscious and retained his balance.
“What I was trying to tell you,” the cowboy struggled to say, “is that you want to take the north route if you’re going with the girl.” He caught a breath. “There are two routes up that face, and although the south route appears easier from the ground it’s far more difficult at the top. The girl won’t make it unless she’s an experienced climber. In fact, none of you would. And watch out for the hawk nest on the north route. Half the time, those damned birds are in that nest and will come after you like they mean business. The other half of the time, they’re in the air and will attack from behind. This time of day, they’re in the nest. And you ain’t seen nothing angrier than a hawk when its nest is disturbed.”
The copilot clearly wanted to stop him from speaking but was too taken by what was being said.
“Okay, then,” the copilot said, “get into the raft.”
“Our hands? We won’t make it around the first bend with our hands tied. We’ll come up against the Widow Maker, and that’ll be all she wrote.”
“You’ll have your hands free.”
The raft was eased out into the current. The copilot motioned the two into it and they waded out and climbed in awkwardly. The pilot waded out with them and untied their hands while the copilot kept the gun on them. Kevin wondered if the copilot had the nerve to shoot them, if he could aim well enough to hit them at fifteen feet. The cowboy was probably thinking the same thing.
And then, with a push, they were off, into the churning current, into cooler air and a slight breeze not felt on shore.
They moved downstream quickly, coming up even with the camouflaged jet sitting at the end of the airstrip. The pilot and copilot watched them.
“Have you ever rafted?” the cowboy asked, climbing past Kevin, immediately all business.
“Couple of times.”
“I’ll take the stern and steer. You do as I say the minute I say it. You got that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Stay on the right for now. They’ll be two commands: paddle forward, paddle back. I’ll do the rest. There’s a number four ahead. Won’t be so bad this time of year with the low water and all, but it’s no picnic . . . especially in this light.”
“We can’t leave her,” Kevin said.
“Well, we have. First real chance at getting out is two days downriver, and that would mean a forty-mile hike. They were smart. We’re stuck on this river for the next couple of days.”
“There’s got to be a way back to the ranch.”
Then the cowboy barked some paddling instructions, and Kevin responded. The last glimpse of the jet slipped past, the rock wall rising quickly.
“I’ll jump,” Kevin said. “I’m not leaving her.”
“Settle down, kid. This river is nothing to mess with.”
“What if I climb the wall?”
As he said this, he saw how quickly and steeply the wall rose.
“We’re not doing anything with them watching us. Now, paddle forward!”
“And when they’re not watching . . . ?” he said over his shoulder.
“There is one possibility. It’s called Mitchum’s Eddy, but we call it the Widow Maker. The river swings left up ahead. Mitchum’s Creek dumps into it there at the Maker. There’s a waterfall made by the spring creek running off the ranch. But the eddy, even in slack water, is nothing to mess with. You get a raft in there and you’ll get thrown into the wall, as it makes that bend, and the raft’ll wrap, be pinned to the wall. And that’s that. We’d have to swim for it or drown.”
“So, I can swim,” Kevin said.
“The currents, boy, are wicked. A couple died there about ten years back. It’s nothing to mess with.”
“But if we made it, if we could do it, we could follow them. Catch them.”
“They won’t leave any climbing gear behind, count on it.”
He barked more instructions.
Kevin saw the bend in the river looming before them, maybe half a mile downstream. White water foamed at the base of the rock wall where the eddy pounded into it.
“What those fellas apparently don’t know, or didn’t think about, is that there’s a zip line—a chair—that crosses the river about three-quarters of a mile upstream. It’s how we provision the ranch. We keep an ATV hid on the east side to cover the twelve miles to the nearest road. We could cross at the chair, head upriver, and cut back across at a similar line three miles up. We’d be back on their side of the river then. We’d have a shot at them. At the girl.”
“We’ve got to do it.”
The sheer rock face at the turn grew closer. Kevin realized there would be little time for more discussion or planning. The river was dictating their moves.
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