by Nick Stevens
Mason said, “We’d like to rent one of your boats.”
“How long you need it for?”
“Overnight. Twenty-four hours at most.”
Tommy scratched his chin again. “I usually only do day rentals. Why do you need it overnight?”
Mason gave his rehearsed story. “We’re hoping to do some wildlife photography. Some species are better at night. Maybe a little fishing if there’s nothing to shoot.”
A puff of dust lifted where Tommy’s feet slid back. Mason knew he wasn’t buying it.
“Look here, I’ll rent you a canoe overnight, but the deposit doubles. This river looks calm, but it can be challenging to novice boaters.”
“That’s reasonable. Take cash?”
“Who the hell doesn’t take cash?”
“You think this is going to work?” Sal asked as she lifted an armload of Mason’s gas station haul from the trunk.
Wrapping a towel around Sal’s shotgun, he said, “I don’t have a better idea right now. The police think I kidnapped and killed Laurel and the four guys that tried taking her Saturday night. Most of the evidence is circumstantial, but I can’t risk it, especially with a dirty cop on the investigation. I need leverage, and to get it I have to find Chloe, if she’s still alive. If she’s not, I have to find who took and killed her.”
The pair carried their gear to the rented canoe tied to a dock behind the green block building. Mason picked a camouflage painted Old Town canoe with sun-faded nylon webbed seats. The canoe had seen better days, but its fiberglass hull was watertight.
Stowing the first load of gear, Sal and Mason headed back to the car for the cooler and fishing poles. At the car, Mason asked the question he hadn’t wanted to ask for the past two days.
“Why are you here, Salome? The police aren’t hunting you. Being here with me is all downside for you. You could get in your car and put this behind you.”
Sal put the cooler down on the gravel parking lot. Turning to Mason, he saw the flames in her eyes. “I don’t want to be here. You don’t want to be here either. But we’re cops. Broken cops, but cops. We help people. That’s why I do, or did, this job. A long time ago my sister, Ruth, disappeared. Looking for a little Black girl wasn’t a police priority. Maybe this is my chance to make that right.”
Mason’s shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry about your sister, Sal. And I’m glad you’re with me on this.”
Sal continued, tears welling in her dark eyes. “At Judge Borisov’s house that day, I thought it was hopeless. You said you couldn’t help. I knew you were right. Cold trail. No leads. I spent all night thinking about Chloe. About what happened to her. Then.”
“Then we found a lead.”
“Bethany Kaine. Now here we are. We have to finish this, whatever this is. Too many coincidences. All of this must add up somehow. What it adds up to is anyone’s guess.” Sal wiped the tears from her face. Grabbing the cooler, she took five steps before turning back to Mason, still standing at the Honda’s open trunk.
“You coming?”
The police cruiser rolled to a stop outside Floyd Farms Fuel. Trooper Sondra Jordan grabbed her campaign hat before heading inside to ask Charlie Floyd if he’d seen anyone fitting the description of the BOLO issued by the Metro Police. Her junior status in the Virginia State Police meant she got all the wild goose chases, and this qualified.
The smokey hat, she hated that name, gave her a sense of the authority of her office. She needed it for men like Charlie.
“Well, howdy there, officer. You’re looking mighty fine today.”
“Can it, Charlie. I need to know if you’ve seen this man.” She held up her mobile phone.
“Of course, colonel. I’m always happy to help a pretty lady in uniform.” Charlie fumbled for the eyeglasses dangling from the lanyard around his neck.
Jordan held up her phone, then got a whiff of Charlie. He smelled like rotten meat. She extended the phone as far from her nose as she could, backing away from the stench.
The face of Mason Ashford stared back from the small screen.
“I’ll be dammed. He looks familiar.”
“What? You’re sure?”
“Had somebody in here kind of like that a couple hours ago, but he wore a hat and glasses. Bought a bunch of fishing gear, ice, water, all kinds of stuff. Had a woman with him.”
“How’d he pay? Credit card?” Her pulse quickened.
“Nope. Cash.”
“I’ll need any footage from video cameras you have and the time of his transaction.”
“Hold on now, little darlin’-”
“Now, Charlie.”
Ten minutes later, Trooper Jordan sat in a cramped office pressing a sticky fast-forward button on an ancient VCR. When the timestamp on the video matched the time on the cash register report, she let the video play. She couldn’t make a positive identification with the grainy footage. As the man walked out the door, she matched his height against the sticker on the door.
The hat made an exact match impossible, but with the hat, the man was over six-two, taller than the height listed for the suspect on the BOLO.
She exchanged tapes, finding the whole manual process archaic. From her phone, she controlled her entire apartment and monitored it with high-definition video streamed to her phone. This was some dark ages stuff.
Finding the right time stamp, she watched the man walk to a woman pumping gas. The car looked like a Honda. Trooper Jordan squinted hard, her nose a fraction of an inch from the dusty screen.
Copying the legible characters from the license plate, she reached for the radio perched on her shoulder.
Tommy leaned against wood pillar holding up the tin-roofed awning on the back of his building. A lazy hand pulled peeling paint from the ancient concrete blocks, uncovering pristine white strips. He shouted as Mason walked past.
“Hey, Ranger! Come inside. I need to give you a map.”
Mason dropped the fishing gear on the dock, following Tommy into the building.
Inside, Mason found Tommy standing behind an immaculate glass case. The case had a relief map of the area, complete with elevations and important landmarks. Glancing around the room, he noted the polished floors, clean windows and organized tourist pamphlets against the far wall.
Stepping to the glass case, Tommy glared at Mason. “What are you doing here? You didn’t load any camera gear. I had some photographers up here two weeks ago, shooting ducks. They needed three boats for their stuff. You got nothing. I don’t want to get caught up in your bullshit.”
Mason placed his hands on the glass counter. Tommy did the same.
“There’s a missing girl. I believe she’s being held at an old scout camp downriver. That is, if she’s still alive.”
Tommy exhaled, his gaunt cheeks expanding into balloons. “I knew something was going on there, ever since that place got sold. Lots of girls running around. Sometimes it sounds like loud parties going on all night.”
Mason relaxed. “You ever see or hear anything strange?”
“Well, about every month, they have some kind of big gathering. Bunch of fancy cars roll in and they stay overnight, maybe a day. Then they leave. Some neighbors said they hear screams, like women screaming, but everyone’s too afraid to go over there.”
Mason felt his pulse quicken. He was close.
Tommy took his hands off the counter. “Wait here.”
Stepping behind a curtain into an adjoining room, Mason heard metal on metal. Tommy emerged from the room carrying a shotgun and a brown paper lunch bag. “Take this with you. You may need it.”
Hefting the shotgun, the weight surprised Mason. No stranger to Mossberg and Remington shotguns, the Ithaca was lighter than anything else he’d fired. The lack of a shoulder stock reduced the weight at the cost of accuracy.
“Thanks Tommy, but I’m faster with what I brought. You keep this here. If you hear anything, you come running. Deal?”
Tommy spit into his hand and extended it to Mason. “Deal.”
Chapter 20
The current carried the old canoe at a steady pace. The map Tommy gave them put them just over two miles upriver from the camp. Signs of civilization disappeared a few hundred yards from the dock they’d pushed off from. Steep muddy banks lined both sides of the river, leading to dense trees where the ground flattened. Mason, seated in the rear and steering with a paddle, felt exposed on the river. Sal, navigating from the bow, kept her eyes on the water.
“Buying that bug spray was genius, Mason. It’ll probably give me cancer after all this, but at least I won’t get West Nile.”
“No point being uncomfortable longer than we have to be.”
Mason checked his watch. At half-past six in the evening, the sun would set in an hour. They’d navigate in the dark after that. He saw clouds rolling in between breaks in the trees. The lack of light from stars or the moon made navigation harder, but also offered better cover as the pair roamed the camp.
Guzzling water from a plastic bottle, he asked Sal to take out her phone. Flipping to a picture of Chloe, he handed it back to her. “Get a good look at Chloe. If she’s alive, we don’t know what kind of shape she’ll be in.”
Sal passed the phone back after studying the image for a few minutes. “You really think we’ll find her alive?”
“Unlikely, given how long she’s been missing. No word from kidnappers after this long isn’t a positive sign.”
“Haven’t found a body yet either.”
The pair coasted down the river in silence as the light faded. Mason reached for the flashlight in his pack. Before he pressed the switch, the canoe rounded a wide bend to the right. Sparse lights illuminated overgrown fields dotted with trees. Beyond the fields, Sal made out some smaller buildings. She motioned for Mason to head to the bank.
Mason checked the map using the dim light from his phone. “Looks like we’re here. Let’s keep going to the boathouse. We’ll see if that gives us a better vantage.”
The lights from the camp cast deep shadows on the river. Twice Sal led their boat into partially submerged logs. Mason, grateful the riverbanks were deep enough to obscure them from anyone looking their way, groaned against the paddle, freeing the boat.
Sal turned back to Mason. “Why are we in a canoe again?”
“Who’s going to expect people in a canoe? It’s obvious if we drive up, and who knows what we’d encounter coming in on foot. This seems like the safest option to get us right into the camp without attracting attention.”
Grunting, Sal accepted Mason’s reasoning and faced the bow.
Half an hour after finding the camp, the pair entered the small, shallow lake they’d seen on the map. The boathouse, covered in the satellite photos, stood at the end of a long, narrow dock. Sal and Mason craned their necks, searching for anyone. They were alone on the lake.
Dipping the paddle into the water, Mason broke for the boathouse while Sal kept eyes on the lake shore and dock. Rounding the corner of the suspended building, Sal seated her shotgun in the crook of her shoulder and aimed into the cavernous space.
Mason swung the canoe wide, giving the best possible vantage to Sal as she swept the area. Sal exhaled in relief. Shotguns aren’t subtle weapons. Firing one would alert everyone in the camp, ruining the sole advantage they had: surprise.
Bringing the canoe near the dock, Mason lashed it to a free cleat. Shouldering his backpack, Mason clutched the borrowed shotgun and followed Sal onto the dock.
Junior Lieutenant Kim Wook pressed the call button on the keypad outside the compound gate. His employer, Khang Bon-Hwa, sat behind the passenger seat staring into his phone. He’d driven for the RGB captain just over a year, since the captain’s previous driver’s unfortunate execution.
The mechanical gate slid open, triggered by some invisible hand. Kim Wook searched for a surveillance camera on the nearby trees and gate structure. Finding none, he rolled through the open gate.
This was Kim Wook’s first time on the compound. The captain told Wook he’d been to the compound several times in the past on Office 39 business. He’d purchased several women, then sold them off again for higher prices. The captain admitted this visit held a different significance.
Captain Khang spoke from the backseat. “Park in the lot on the left, up ahead. Mr. Edwards said his girl will escort us into the compound.”
Senior Lieutenant Hwang, seated behind Kim and next to the captain, asked, “What do you expect from tonight’s meeting?”
Nodding, Khang answered, “I imagine it will be much like our previous visits. The money changes hands and we walk away with our assignment complete. Why?”
“He really fancies himself as some kind of prophet?” Despite North Korea’s pockets of Buddhism and Confucianism, the only faith that mattered in the DPRK was unwavering belief in the Great Leader.
Khang scoffed. “No. He uses religion like everyone else has over the years: as a method of control. He’s a businessman and pervert, but effective at getting what we need.”
Kim backed the car into the gravel lot. Staff Sergeant Ong, the general’s bodyguard, climbed out of the car and opened the captain’s door. Kim did the same for Hwang.
Across the crushed gravel road, Kim saw the door of the small house open. The woman gliding down the short stairs took his breath away. Even in the fading light, she was radiant.
Khang laughed at the driver’s reaction. Hwang said, “She is beautiful, but dangerous. Don’t let your guard down.”
Nodding, Kim followed the other men to the small building.
Perched on the roof of the boathouse, Mason watched a Mercedes SUV park through the small monocular he kept in his backpack. Four men exited the car and strolled across an open field towards another building. He almost dropped the monocular into the water as Bethany met them. He hadn’t spotted her Range Rover. Until now, he didn’t know if he and Sal found the right place.
He watched the group head into the house, then continued his search of the area. The cheap monocular didn’t have night vision, leaving him working with the fading available light.
Mason returned to the large building he was watching before the new guests arrived. Several figures moved in and around it, the candlelight illuminating women as they passed in front of windows. He was too far away to tell if Chloe was one of the women inside.
Climbing down from the roof, he told Sal everything he’d seen.
“I think we split up,” she said. “We can cover more ground that way.”
Mason didn’t want to separate from Sal, but he admitted she was right. He was sure the new arrivals complicated things and shortened their window to find Chloe. He expected them to be armed and competent. Mason and Sal also didn’t know how many others they’d encounter in the camp.
“Okay, we’ll split up, but don’t engage with anyone unless you’re out of options,” Mason said. “You work your away around the outside to the north and west. I’ll take the east and south. We’ll meet in the corner of the camp opposite to where we are now.” He pointed to a picture he’d captured on Sal’s phone.
Sal and Mason double-checked their firearms and gear. Each had a pistol. Mason still carried his knife, leather sap, and baton, but he’d trade both for an M4 and a squad of Rangers.
Mason looked at Sal, unease gripping him. “Good luck.”
She grabbed his shirt, pulled him close and landed a quick kiss. “You too.” She turned before he could respond and padded down an exposed dirt trail into the night.
Mason watched Sal go until he lost sight of her, then headed off in the opposite direction.
“We just got a call from the Virginia State Police. Turns out they might have a lead on our Mr. Mason Ashford.”
Detective Ross dropped his dinner, a six-inch thick sandwich, onto his desk. “You’re kidding.” He rubbed his hands with a crumpled napkin.
“I’m not. Some junior trooper thinks she has gas station video of Ashford heading north on US-
522 in a white Honda. If the plates are right, the car belongs to Salome Peterson, John Babbitt’s former partner.”
“Oh, you mean the former detective?”
Detective Cooper shook his head at his partner. With Ross’ history on the force, he should be the first to cut another cop slack.
Ross picked up his sandwich, resuming his feeding. “If it’s really him, he’s running. She’s involved somehow. Always thought she was dirty. That Babbitt business looked like inside work, if you ask me.” Bits of bread and cheese flew from his mouth as he chewed and talked.
Cooper rested his hands on his hips, staring down at his partner. “I guess you’d be one to know about dirty cops.”
Ross ignored the comment, lost in thought. “If VSP doesn’t pick them up, they’ll get picked up eventually. We just have to wait, partner.” His eyes darted up, watching Cooper turn and stride away.
Grabbing his phone with a greasy hand, he tapped a message to Bethany Kaine.
“Gentlemen, can I get you something to drink?” Bethany pointed to the bar she’d assembled on the largest table in the house. Khang Bon-Hwa and Hwang Haneul took seats, each choosing beige armchairs facing each other, separated by a wood coffee table stained a deep red. Another man stood, watching her. The fourth posted in a corner, trying for a signal on his phone.
She picked up the landline phone. “I’ll let Paul know you’re here. He’s getting everything ready for you, gentlemen.” Bethany said a simple, “Our guests are here,” and hung up.
“Can I get you gentlemen something to drink, perhaps?”
“Scotch, whatever you have,” Bon-Hwa called out, his back to her.
“Same for me,” Hwang called out.
“And get my guards something to drink as well.”
Bethany walked to the older man standing by the door and placed a glass in his hands. The man’s shoulder holster came into view as he took the glass. Her coy wink went unacknowledged.
