Last Track, The (20 page)

“We need to do this.” Mike shut his phone down, while acting like he was doing the opposite. The screen went black. “If you want to save your battery a bit, I’m live for now.”

Dagget nodded and turned off his phone. “I really hope Lisbeth delivers what she promised or this side trip will be for nothing.”

08:13:10 AM

Crotty glanced at the monitor, marveling at his latest brainchild. Two of the yellow digital dots flickered and then vanished off the screen. He shook his head. He laughed.

Mike Brody was getting cheeky. The tracker probably even thought he was clever. Well, not fucking clever enough.

Crotty loved engineering, as all the males in his family did. For him there was lots to love, starting with the varied branches of study. There were endless directions for a fertile mind to travel. Among the disciplines of engineering, though, computer science he considered his favorite. He savored the precision of a microprocessor, generating the same answers to problems over and over into infinity. Human error and emotion never entered the calculations. He thought that’s the way it should always be.

Even more than engineering, he loved the cutting-edge solutions that advanced his vision. He understood that the true cost of a technology project was more than the price of the materials. To save development time, he often used a research partner. It spared him tedium and freed him to concentrate on the design. He had no problems with shortcuts. Where the numbers favored buy versus build, he hesitated not at all and bought. Still, he relished the challenge of an original creation.

Like the device upon his desk, a few inches beneath the monitor.

A next-generation prototype, it extended the key functionality of a frequency-jamming device they had deployed previously with much success many times before. Crotty had known from the beginning that there would be a need for this creation. The only question: when that exact day might arrive. Today, naturally.

This black box was so much more than a frequency jammer. Blocking a signal made a GPS expecting a data stream appear like it was broken. His new tool made a GPS look like it worked perfectly. Only it did not. Instead the device displayed whatever Crotty wanted it to show.

He adjusted a setting on the device with the turn of a knob.

A small red indicator light on his magic black box blinked.

•••

They hiked single file among the trees, pressing toward the drop site at an even, almost aggressive clip. Dotted with the knots of tree roots, the ground was otherwise soft and level. The air, trapped by the foliage above, smelled musky and sweet, like sweat mixed with honey. At points the denseness of the canopy forced them to use a Maglite.

Mike clicked on the flashlight only infrequently. Every fifty steps he cast to the left, to the right, and then straight ahead.

Several minutes in, Mike wondered if something was amiss. He thought they ought to be clear of the trees by now. He tapped the screen of the GPS three times, rattling the back-lit display. The device indicated that they had traveled north long enough. He mentioned nothing to Dagget. They continued for five additional minutes and finally hit a break in the thicket. Closer to what he anticipated, the spot still seemed all wrong.

Mike stopped for a moment. A hill similar to what he had targeted was ahead in the distance; not immediately before them as he expected. Based on the coordinates provided by Lisbeth, they stood moments from the epicenter of the planned drop site. In Mike’s eyes, an unfortunate location for the drop, since the chute that slowed the fall might drift considerably in the wind. Lisbeth had been vague about the exact dimensions of the care package. He was expecting a modest-sized box, far less than a pallet’s worth of mixed items—the size of a backpack. Now Mike wished he were certain about the specifications.

Like the last gasp of a wick drowning in a pool of wax, helicopter blades died off and then faded. The sound was far away. He thought he was mistaken, though, and the noise was merely wind rippling against the rocks.

•••

From the moment the Partner had mentioned helicopter sweeps for the boy—which meant unwanted eyes—Crotty had schemed. The challenge of keeping the searchers at bay was significant. There were many tactics he considered, but a crude show of force was never an option. Downing a helicopter, while within his power, involved investigations. And not just from the local cops. The Federal Aviation Administration and National Transportation Safety Board would intercede, and possibly the FBI too, if the act appeared terroristic. None of this was scrutiny the company needed. The distribution infrastructure depended on open gateways too obscure to attract attention. He had a growing business to run when this ended.

And since the electrical and navigation systems of an Apache were shielded from external interference, the helicopter got a free pass. The bird flew where it liked.

But those on the ground, those that traveled by foot, who depended on data from third-party equipment, like Dagget and Mike, well, they faced another challenge.

For coordinates might be intercepted and altered en route to a GPS device, and the owner would never notice. And if the data was twisted just so, the owner might find himself far and away from where he expected to be.

Crotty twisted the knob again on his magic black box, sending more doctored images and false coordinates to Mike’s GPS.

•••

“Where’s the copter?” Dagget asked. “I swear I heard it . . .”

“Don’t see it,” Mike said.
At least it wasn’t all my imagination.
Hunger and stress could affect the senses, but he imagined himself in better shape than that.
Focus on the goal, not the challenges.
The goal was paramount.

Mike had a plan.

A few feet apart, they stood back-to-back. They stepped in tandem, spotted what lay above the horizon, and turned clockwise in slow increments until each man had covered one hundred and eighty degrees of sky. And then they continued, completing a circle, rotating a full three hundred and sixty degrees. Total coverage, Mike hoped.

“Got anything?” Dagget asked.

•••

“Thank you. Come again,” Crotty said so proudly to the screen. He smirked to himself, awash in his own approbations swirling through his head. Being clever was good. Being brilliant was better. “Next time, stay on point, Mr. Brody.”

•••

“Nope,” Mike said. “Sorry. Nothing.”

“Sure we’re in the right place?” asked Dagget.

“I can’t see how we’re not.” As Mike said this, he checked his GPS. In case of a software malfunction, he power-cycled the box, shutting it off and then turning it right back on.

Reinitialized, the main screen with the correct options appeared, and the device reconnected with the network of satellites. Spheres on the display that corresponded to a given spacecraft thousands of miles away darkened—the darker the circle, the stronger the signal. All functions were good. The reboot ate about two minutes, and during this he ignored the screen.

Listening for the helicopter, there were only the sounds of the woods.

08:55:43 AM

Courtesy of a ride from Erich, Jessica made it back to the ranch for the tail end of breakfast. He helped her from the car, through the main lodge and to Cara’s room, where Andy awaited her return. She knocked at her neighbor’s door; it opened.

At the sight of Jessica, Andy cleared the room in three leaps, moving so fast the toes of his sneakers barely graced the floor. She thought he had impressive agility for an eight-year-old.

Reaching her, Andy cried, “Mom!” and made as if he might dive through Jessica. Protecting her left arm—the IV recently attached to her wrist had left a substantial bruise—she reined him toward her right side for a half bear hug, tight as she could manage.

“I’ll see you two at breakfast,” Cara said, leaving with her twin girls. “I’m glad you’re okay, Jessica. It was a real pleasure to have Andy overnight. He’s welcome whenever.”

“Thank you so much,” Jessica said to Cara. “We’ll talk soon, all right?”

“Of course. There’ll be no secrets between us now.”

Mother and son hugged in the hall.

“God, it’s good to see you!” Jessica held Andy to her body, and gripped him like only a mother could. “I missed you so much. I’m so very sorry.”

He glanced at his mother with the eyes of a doe. “I’m glad you’re better, Mom. I didn’t know what was going on.”

The hug ended. “Sorry I wasn’t there for you last night. It won’t happen again. The rest of this trip, I’m Super Mom. Anything you want, just say the word.” She flexed, making a muscle with her right arm.

Andy giggled, and clamped her bicep as best he might, surprised at how solid the upper arm was. “You’re strong, Mom!” he said. “So, I can have anything?”

“Yep,” Jessica said. “This is going to be a real vacation from here on.”

“Can you make Dad come back now?” Andy said.

The question was shocking. Now she regretted the absoluteness of her offer—it was impossible to rescind. Jessica asked, “Is that what you want?”

“Yeah! Cause that would make it, like, a super-plus-good vacation.”

His suggestion sunk her spirits like a sail collapsing against a mast. Moments like these made her feel like her presence was obligatory in Andy’s life, and her love was inconsequential. Like all Andy wanted was a father. His father. Forcing back a sigh, Jessica held him close for a while longer, tussling his hair.

The position hid the tears on her face from Andy.

10:12:35 AM

Mike made the decision to reverse course and resume tracking Sean almost immediately. They would not make a second attempt that day for the provisions; the risk of wasting more time was too great. For Mike, the mishap was clear as it was regrettable. Reviewing the chain of events, something critical had gone askew. Wherever the helicopter dropped its load, the gear landed far out of hiking range. And as much trouble as he had with the idea that maybe Lisbeth botched the coordinates, or that the pilot had dropped the pallet at another location or abandoned the run completely, he could not believe that his own gear had betrayed him.

To this point the GPS had performed like a champ. Flawless. Accurate. Secure. So why the device malfunctioned now was perplexing. Government surplus or secondhand consumer models, well, from those he expected data loss and system crashes.

Mike Brody demanded the best; he bought the best; he worked with the best. Except here, commercial-grade equipment malfunctioned—that shortfall was a big, big problem. He needed accuracy. He needed absolute trust in the coordinates he used.

Aborting the run, Mike left a voice message for Lisbeth and explained his rationale for keeping off his cell phone. And going forward, he decided to keep the cell running until the charge level dipped below ten percent. Open communication lines beat out his anxieties about being pursued by shadowy figures. Besides, if a crew—if the Partner—was tracking him or Dagget via their cell phones, it meant they were on the move. Still in play. When they reached Sean, he would manage the problem then.

The more angles he considered, the more his doubts grew. He became less sure about the real costs of his involvement. Everything had seemed clearer yesterday, before the phone threats and Jessica’s collapse. Perhaps minor successes along the way—the items from Sean they recovered—duped him into complacency. Maybe the error was not equipment-related.

Or the error could have been his. He might have misread or misinterpreted the coordinates. While he disliked the idea, he did realize that he was perfectly fallible. No matter the experiences a tracker brought into the field, mistakes happened.

And in the best cases, with every advantage and skilled people involved, results were not guaranteed. By habit, he avoided speculation with the police or the parents about what value he might add. Fools predicted the unknown, or tried to. At the end of the day, he had no more answers than anyone else. He just knew the signs, and of those, only the signs he allowed himself to see.

Spotting the signs made the difference between hitting or missing a target, and he based decisions on them. About Sean he considered the signs very positive overall.

But what their chances were for finding Sean in time remained out of his control. What he determined was putting himself out there, trusting the signs, and pressing ahead.

Picking up Sean’s trail again, about a half mile ahead of where they had left off the previous night, Mike halted.

“Let’s take five minutes,” Mike said. “Hydrate up. We’ve been pushing hard. We’re not too far behind where we need to be.”

“Okay,” Dagget said, breathing out his relief. Sweat oozed from his temples. He looked like a man who needed a break. “I’m going to ask Lisbeth what happened to our bird.”

Mike drank deeply, then held some water in his mouth without swallowing. He had a few questions for Lisbeth, too. He walked away from Dagget for a minute, and let his shoulders hang, relaxing. At least here, he was back in his element. Tired, and a little worse for the wear, but back in the groove. He was ready.

He was thinking about how much he missed Andy when Dagget stumbled back.

“This is turning into one messed-up day,” Dagget said. He sighed, drawing it out, as if he needed the extra seconds to gather momentum.

“What?” Mike asked, a little surprised at Dagget’s demeanor.

“Shad Hammer is dead.”

10:30:17 AM

Right before the day’s first riding session, Jessica and Andy stopped by their room. Andy needed his jacket, and Jessica had a call to make. Reaching Lisbeth took longer than planned, and she sat Andy in front of the television.

By coincidence, the last channel selected was the Discovery Channel. That particular day, that broadcast was about the life of a praying mantis. Andy turned ashen, and he glanced helplessly at his mother. He avoided looking at either the set or the remote control. When a house-cat-sized insect bounced across the screen, Jessica reached around Andy for the remote and clicked over to the History Channel, which was running the exact same program, three minutes behind.