Last Track, The (18 page)

Erich nodded. “Well, my business is the people element. Financial issues are matters for the accounting department. Long as my checks clear, someone in the back office is doing his job. And I’m just fine with that.”

“I need to talk to Cara about Andy,” Jessica said. “Do you have her number?”

“Actually I do.” He thumbed through the contact list on his cell. Finding the right entry, he read it to Jessica, who remembered she had left her phone back in her room. She reached toward the nightstand—a million miles away, it seemed—for a black phone next to the television remote, and missed. Inwardly she cursed her decision to leave her own phone where she couldn’t get it. The next outing she would not be so hasty or spiteful.

Erich matched her glance. “Take mine,” he said. “Just hit
send
. I’ll give you some privacy. Want anything from the vending machines?”

“A bottle of water would be great.” Instead of dialing, she called after Erich. “Hey, were you here very long? I’d hate to think I kept you away from the ranch and everyone.”

“This is my second visit,” Erich said. “I was here last night. But this morning I lucked out. I walked in just before you woke up.”

For the second time in as many days, Jessica noticed Erich’s uncanny way of appearing at just the right moment.

06:19:34 AM

Opening his eyes, Mike focused on Dagget. The officer dangled two trout from a stick. Young freshwater fish, close to the legal size. There was no point throwing them back for the sake of compliance; they were dead already.

“Man, were they biting up a storm this morning,” Dagget said. “I’ll finish gutting them if you build a fire.”

Mike gathered and arranged the kindling, then lit the wood with his micro-butane torch. Since he knew the right mixture of slender and thicker pieces, it caught fast, and soon burned hot enough for cooking. Fish baking over the flames released a pleasant scent, and the result tasted even better. “Lisbeth didn’t have any idea about the Humvee accident,” Mike said.

Dagget said, protesting, “I told her everything we saw . . .”

“She says otherwise. Lisbeth doesn’t want us checking out the accident scene, either. Any thoughts on why?”

“Probably worried we’ll waste time,” Dagget said.

Or that we’ll find something.
One of them, either Dagget or Lisbeth, was lying about the conversation last night. That begged the question: who and why. Lisbeth could have dozens of reasons. Maybe she wanted the search moving forward above everything else. The only certainty in that strategy was by narrowing the gap between the search teams and Sean.
Possible,
Mike thought.

He played an alternative scenario, too. Maybe Lisbeth knew the purpose of the caravans and considered the matter too dangerous for Mike and Dagget to investigate alone. Hard to argue with fully automatic weapons. Regardless, the lie, if it was hers, bothered him because it cast doubts over their whole dialogue. It was not exactly her first omission. After all, his involvement started in all this because of facts she withheld; she only admitted the murder in the clearing when he pressed her about his findings.

Then again, she could be telling the truth and Dagget might be guilty.

As for why Dagget would lie, Mike had some ideas. Least toxic among them: Dagget discussed the accident with someone, just not Lisbeth. Conceivable, and perhaps a little too convenient. Dagget might have been amped up on adrenaline, yet probably not so juiced that he forgot what calls he made, and to whom. So either it was selective amnesia, or he said nothing to Lisbeth, and told Mike he had. As for why, possibly the answer went back to Lisbeth. From their exchange before the search started it was clear she had no qualms about saddling Dagget with assignments he disliked. But she would not order an investigation into a matter she had no knowledge about. Telling her also meant filing a report. Dagget did not strike Mike as a fan of documentation.

Besides, the officer had at least one other good reason for avoiding another close-up at the accident scene: it was he who had stared down the MP5 barrel. Mike could sympathize.

Whoever was lying, Dagget and Lisbeth agreed on one thing: Neither wanted Mike taking a second look at that road in the daylight. Perfect grounds for Mike to do exactly that.

Dagget swallowed hard. “I wasn’t exactly straight with you when you asked about the drug problems in town earlier.” Dagget cleared his throat. “There have been rumors for the last few years as to why, no matter how many dealers get popped or labs the narc guys raid, the amount on the street never changes. The real supply is obviously coming from someplace else. For that to flow continuously, someone is protecting the traffickers.”

“Are you saying Lisbeth might be involved?”

“All I’m saying is she may not want certain questions asked. For whatever reason. It’s not like she’s been one hundred percent honest with us to this point anyway. Now she’s lying about me not reporting the accident.”

“And why?”

“How should I know? Look, I’m just saying I told her about the accident. That’s all. She may have other motives. Keep that in mind when dealing with her.”

“One could say the same about you, Officer Dagget.”

“What do you mean?”

“What happened with the syringes?” Mike asked.

“You are on top of everything, huh?” said Dagget, quite sarcastic. “When I sacked out again, and used the pack for a pillow, something blunt was jamming into my neck. Turned out it was the box of syringes. So to keep from crushing them, I took them out.”

“And you put them back?” With a flick of his boots, Mike snuffed out the fire, sending dirt straight into its heart. The flames withered.

“Sure. Right next to the flares.”

They were quiet for the next few minutes, both focused on their chores. Dagget filled the canteens; Mike ensured the last ember from the fire was dead. Plenty a forest blaze started because a hiker pronounced a fire “extinguished” while it still smoldered, and abandoned camp only for the wind to revive the flames and burn wild. Mike Brody had jumped two fires that started that way.

Up on the ledge, as they broke camp, Mike called out Dagget. “Okay, listen. We need to level with each other, because this can’t continue.”

On his haunches, Dagget adjusted the straps of the backpack. “What are you talking about?” He rose, a perplexed expression on his face.

Mike walked over to the side of the ledge that overlooked the valley. Reaching into a narrow space between two rock slabs, he extracted the missing box of syringes. After making sure the needles were intact, he shut the case. “No one has been in this site besides us. After I left this morning, you slept for about twenty minutes, then spent five walking around in circles trying to decide where to hide the syringes. You tried a few places.” Here Mike pointed out several alcoves and crannies around the ledge. Each location obviously corresponded with a place Dagget had tried hiding the box. Suddenly, Dagget went pale. Mike continued. “You even climbed down the ledge once, looking for an overhang. But this one interested you because the space conceals what you were trying to hide so nicely, and it would take a flashlight and a lot of patience for someone to notice it.”

“I wasn’t going to leave them here. I was just . . .” Dagget said.

Mike unzipped the pack, and slid the syringe box inside carefully, then zippered it shut. “I don’t want these syringes outside of the backpack again unless Sean Jackson needs an injection.”

Mike set the backpack on the rocks, faced Dagget, and continued. “What exactly were you trying to do, anyway?”

Dagget looked stunned. “Somehow this got twisted. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“What were you thinking exactly?” Mike kept pushing for an answer. “I’m having trouble understanding your motivations. This stunt could have made our entire effort for nothing.”

After a small fumble, Dagget answered, meekly at first, then growing stronger, “I . . . I wanted to see if you could do what the papers say. How much you actually notice, especially when no one prompts you.” He paused. “It was foolish.”

“Then let’s work together starting now. We have a missing boy to find.”

07:31:47 AM

Mike wrestled with whether they could afford two detours. Because although they could use the extra gear—the more Mike thought about it, the less he trusted the fragile syringes to work right in an emergency, and besides, his cell battery charge level balanced on the wrong side of halfway—he also wanted a second crack at the road below the ledge. In order to determine whether there was sufficient tolerance for such maneuvers, he needed an estimate of how much time the gear drop would require.

The site Lisbeth described was several miles from the ledge. Based on Sean’s trajectory so far, their route to the gear would parallel the direction the boy traveled, albeit with several miles of space between the respective paths.

If Sean had swung right hard enough, the second detour might even cross his tracks. That was the idea, anyway. Rose-colored spectacles aside, there was a concern.

To reduce odds of a collision from above, Lisbeth had selected an open field bordered in part by rocky hillsides. She had described to Mike a simple, ready-made target for the pilot, easy to spot from the air. But for those arriving by land it was a very different proposition—at least according to the GPS. Hiking across long stretches of uneven rock was hard on the knees, quadriceps and lower back. Not that Mike minded the physical strain. However, he recognized that sort of terrain increased the risk of ankle pulls and fractures. Neither man could afford a real injury in the deep woods. So that meant a slow, controlled hike. At the very least the trip would crimp their pace, maybe significantly. And so he estimated two miles per hour—consistent with the difficulty level of the terrain.

“So two to three hours total?” Dagget asked when Mike explained the new plan.

“Worst-case scenario, yes,” Mike said. “And that’s end to end. We should be able to cut his tracks, so there’ll be no need to come back here. If everything goes our way, one hour.”

“Do we really need this gear that badly?” Dagget asked.

“Theoretically, maybe not. Practically, yes. Especially if we are out here another night.”

“But are we going to be out here that long? And even if we are, I can fish, you can hunt. We can get by.”

“Depends on Sean and his energy levels,” Mike said. “There are no signs he stopped moving yet. His brand of determination is rare.”

“If you think it’s the best course,” Dagget said, “then let’s go for the gear. I’d just as soon keep on the way we are going, though. Seems to be working.”

“Understood.” Mike put on the backpack, sliding his arms through the straps. “And thanks for the vote of confidence. Wait here, I’m going to check out the road.”

“How long are you going to be?” Dagget said.

“Five up, five down, and then ten to investigate the scene,” Mike said. “Twenty minutes, round-trip.”

“What am I supposed to do in the meantime?” Dagget asked.

Mike lowered himself past the first stone. “Make some phone calls.”

Actually, Mike planned a few calls of his own during the descent, conversations which he did not want Dagget overhearing. First, he tried Jessica’s hospital room, but there was no answer. He left a message with the head nurse, requesting a callback, then a duplicate message on Jessica’s cell phone. Since Andy slept in late most mornings, he let him rest. Next on the list: Shad.

“Thanks a lot for the care package,” Mike said to Shad. “We’re going for it soon. Any luck in your quest?”

“Yes. My hacking chops are a bit rusty, and I was going crazy trying to figure out how to trick the phone company into giving me the information, but then I had a moment of clarity in the midst of my bureaucratic retardedness. Why waste police time asking questions the private sector probably answered already? So I called up a friend who works at a data clearinghouse. They’ll get me all activity on your cell phone for the past week up until a half hour ago, no questions asked. And no paper trail.”

“That’s legal these days?” Mike asked.

“Close enough,” Shad said. “It’s legal for me to have any data purchased through private channels. We can speculate that the company who procured it broke laws. But then the liability is all theirs, not the department. I can just assume that they did not and be covered. Good enough. Think of it like the way repo men work. You miss your auto loan payments, the bank takes your car. Except they don’t really.

“The bank calls in your note, and a private firm goes out and actually steals the car for them. Technically the repo man on the street commits grand larceny.” Shad laughed. “Mornings like this, I think about why I love this country.”

“How much longer will it take?”

“You remember the creed right?”

Mike wasn’t sure what that had to do with the question, but he answered anyway. There could be only one. Shad meant the Ranger creed. “Sure.”

“Like word for word?”

“Yes. But what does that have to do with . . .”

“Check your e-mail in a few hours,” Shad said.

07:45:05 AM

Even before he started searching, Mike had a bad feeling about the accident scene. It had changed. The traces of glass, metal and plastic the Humvee had left when it crashed were no longer strewn across the dirt road. He remembered the uncountable bits that shone in the Maglite beam. Now not a sliver of foreign material was present. And that was not the only oddity. If he had not been a witness, he would have doubted there had been an accident at all.

The tree that the truck hit should have had paint flecks mashed into its wood. He expected to find the marks. But instead, at the point of impact were a series of deep slash marks, probably hacked with a machete blade.

And the dirt road had a manicured look, as if someone had dragged rakes and flat sticks across the surface, further obliterating the tracks. Mop-up work like this he had encountered before, though usually from far less accomplished hands.