by Nick Thacker
“It was definitely from him. He has a certain style to his writing that I would never mistake. But there was something else in the envelope besides the letter. He wanted me to figure out what it was.”
“Something else in the envelope?”
“A rock, or stone. A flat round cylinder with a protrusion on one of the sides and an indentation on the opposite side. Seems to be authentic at first glance, but I have no idea what it is or where it’s from, so it’s impossible to be certain.”
Reggie thought for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip. “We have access to labs here, Sarah. If you could bring it back with you, maybe we —”
“I’m not leaving until I have a lead. My father is probably somewhere in Europe, so there’s no way I’m traveling back to Alaska just yet.”
“Understood. Maybe you can send the stone over then? Overnight shipping even? I’m sure the CSO will foot the bill.”
“No, Reggie. I want to examine it a bit more before I let go of it. It’s weird that he sent it to me in an envelope and didn’t just snap some pictures and email it over.”
“And it’s weird that you got the envelope at almost the exact same time as you got the phone call from Interpol.”
“You think they’re related?”
“I’ve been in enough sticky situations to know that coincidences are rarely just that — the letter and this item are probably at least a step in the right direction. At the very least, if you can figure out where it’s from, you have an idea of where your old man’s been.”
“That’s true. But I’m not an archeologist, and I can’t just wait around for a nearby school to get back to me. I need to expedite this, but I don’t want a bunch of academics peering over my shoulder.”
“You don’t have any friends in high places?” Reggie asked.
“Of course I do,” she responded. He could tell she was smiling as she spoke the next sentence. “That’s why I called you.”
16
Ben
BEN PACED AROUND THE LIVING ROOM IN his tiny, one-bedroom cabin while he spoke. “Reggie, it just can’t work right now.”
Reggie’s face was enlarged on the television screen. Harvey ‘Ben’ Bennett’s fiancée, Juliette Richardson, had finagled the connection together and set up a small computer to be able to video chat with the other members of the CSO from the comfort of their living room.
Ben purposefully kept himself far away from anything tech-related, both from a desire to not ignite his already short temper and because Julie was so good at all of it. She was an ex-IT person for the CDC, and she had a background and education in computer science. Setting up a wireless access point and video monitor for communication was Greek to him, while Julie could do it in her sleep.
“It has to work,” Reggie said, onscreen. “She needs us.”
“I get that, and I want to help — I truly do,” Ben responded. “But you’re the one who wanted to figure out this skull business once and for all. What changed?”
The ‘skull business’ was a reference to a skull that Reggie had found after one of the CSO’s missions in Montana. The skull had been resting in a chest atop a map and a small fortune in Spanish silver. He had been urging the CSO to push the skull to the top of its priorities, citing the organization’s mission statement, which directed the CSO to focus only those priorities that were apolitical in nature and outside the realm of what the US military was capable or willing to invest in.
Reggie had been pushing for more and more resources to be thrown toward the skull, as he was very interested in both the skull’s history and significance as well as its unknown owner. He was a history buff, interested in the stories and lessons of the past, and ever since digging up the relic he couldn’t get it out of his head.
“The skull isn’t going anywhere,” he finally answered. “Sarah needs our help.”
“She’s not even in Sweden, where her father was taken,” Julie said from the couch behind Ben. She made a face at him, and he stopped pacing, plopping down into the armchair next to the couch.
“She’s somewhere in the Great Lakes region. Working on a university assignment or something.”
“I didn’t realize she’s still at a university.”
“She wasn’t clear,” Reggie said. “But she’s been trying to publish her opinions and findings about the incident in The Bahamas. Apparently a lot of her colleagues are up in arms about the last couple of papers on it, saying they were made up or at least ‘heavily embellished.’” Reggie made air quotes with his fingers as he said the last words, punctuating his annoyance with the academic establishment.
Ben swallowed. He vividly remembered the saltwater crocodiles swimming around him and the team. The one-on-one standoff with the alpha croc, the narrow misses.
And most of all he remembered the ones who didn’t make it out of the tank.
The nightmare had been real, and he had a strong urge to have a chat with anyone in the academic or scientific community who thought Dr. Lindgren’s assessment was ‘heavily embellished.’
“What do we know about her father’s disappearance?” Julie asked.
Onscreen, Reggie nodded. “He was reported missing about two days ago by a neighbor. He has a girlfriend, but it’s not apparent yet if she knows about it.”
“I thought he was married?”
“He is — or was, I’m not sure. But they’re split up. Interpol called Sarah to let her know the next steps, and they left it up to her whether or not to tell her mom.”
“And how far has Interpol gotten with the case?” Julie asked.
“They’re being unsurprisingly cloak-and-dagger about it all,” Reggie said. “Besides the initial phone call and email to Sarah, they haven’t given her an update. My guess is her father’s just a glossy 8x10 on a stack of folders on some jockey’s desk.”
Ben nodded in agreement. “Probably. But that doesn’t mean we can just rush in and take over the investigation. Besides the obvious overstepping of our civilian bounds, the CSO can’t be involved officially. Besides that, Mr. E wouldn’t ever let us take a case like this. We’re not private investigators, Reggie.”
“I know,” Reggie said. “But we don’t need Mr. E’s approval.”
That part was true. After their debacle off the coast of The Bahamas, Mr. E and his wife had called a debriefing meeting and the team collectively decided to change how their missions were determined: voting would take place, and quorum-plus-one would have to be met before launching any trip.
“Still,” Julie said. “Ben’s right. It’s not the sort of thing we need to be involved in, Reggie. I’m sorry. There’s nothing of historical importance associated with the mission. It’s in Interpol’s hands, and that’s probably for the best.”
Reggie’s large smile appeared. “Actually, that’s not entirely true.”
“What else do you know?”
“Sarah believes there is something significant about this mission.”
“Significant how?”
“She thinks her father was kidnapped, and the people who did it are trying to find something of massive historical significance.”
“Interpol thinks he was kidnapped?”
Reggie nodded. “That’s the working theory anyway. They’re still filing it under ‘missing persons’ until they have more — or any — evidence to the contrary. But Sarah is adamant.”
Ben could see that Reggie had been baiting them, pulling them both into this very moment. He had already decided that he agreed with Sarah. But Reggie’s personal feelings for the woman aside, he was an astute observer, and he wouldn’t allow their relationship to interfere with good decision-making.
So that meant that Reggie was already on board with this new escapade. Ben and Julie would have the impossible task of trying to talk their friend out of helping Sarah find her missing father.
Maybe we won’t have to talk him out of it at all, Ben thought. “What sort of significance? Give it to us straight, buddy.”
R
eggie’s grin grew even larger. “She thinks they sent her their location — where they’re keeping her father — by way of ancient artifact.”
17
Reggie
THE CONVERSATION CONTINUED LATER THAT evening, when Reggie finally made it to the cabin. Ben had grilled fish on the back porch, ignoring the two feet of snow piling up outside, and Julie poured them all a new white wine she had found in town. The three of them caught up, shared stories, and ate together before jumping back into the topic du jour.
Ben poured Julie another glass of wine and a glass of whiskey for himself and Reggie, then they found comfortable spots on the couch and armchair in the living room.
“I know Julie’s dying to know,” Ben said. “What’s this ‘significant thing’ that got sent to Sarah?”
Reggie cleared his throat and took a swig of the whiskey. It burned more than it should have. “What is this?” he asked. “More importantly, how much did you pay for it?”
Ben looked upset, but Julie laughed.
“There’s a homesteader about twenty miles down the road on the way to town,” Ben explained. “He’s starting to make moonshine. This is a corn whiskey he’s had going for a few months.”
“Well tell him to stop making it. I can feel myself going blind.”
“It’s perfectly safe, Reggie. Want another ice cube?”
“How about you fill the glass up with ice, add some water, and hold the whiskey next time?”
Julie cracked up, but Ben just pouted. “You don’t have to like it. More for me.”
“It’s all yours, bud.” Reggie squinted through the glass and examined the light brown liquid. He could see the wisps of fusel oils from the alcohol stirring up in the drink. Out of generosity, he held the glass up to his lips and tried another sip.
The second sip was even worse.
He coughed, beating his chest with a fist. “God, it burns. I don’t think you’ll ever have to buy lighter fluid again.” He turned to Julie. “Or nail polish remover.”
“I don’t paint my nails,” Julie shot back. “But we can light fires and have a makeup session later. I want to hear about this artifact.”
“Right, right.” Reggie placed the glass down on the end table and leaned forward in the armchair. “So she got a package from her father, a letter inside. There was also some sort of roundish thing. Not sure what it was, but she said it was made out of stone. Circular, with a divot on one side and a bump on the other.”
“Okay…” Ben said. “I thought you said the bad guys that apparently kidnapped her father sent it to her?”
He shook his head. “No. Her father sent it to her directly, and she was positive it was from him — his handwriting, his writing style, etcetera. But after she took the call from Interpol, she checked her email and found another message. That message was from the bad guys.”
“How does she know?” Julie asked. “I’m sure the sender wasn’t ‘bad-guy-at-gmail-dot-com.”
Reggie chuckled. “Nope. But there was no subject line and the message was just one sentence long: ‘help your father find the answer, we are very interested to know what the object is.’”
Ben made a whooshing sound with his mouth. “Whoa, that’s insane. So she got the package and letter, Interpol called, and then these guys sent the email?”
Reggie nodded. “Yes, exactly. In that order, and she checked timestamps on the sat phone and email to be sure. It was spooky, obviously.”
“Who knew where she was?” Julie asked. “Even taking the unpredictability of a worldwide courier service out of the equation, someone would have to know pretty much her every move in order to time it out like that.”
“That’s exactly what I told her. She has three assistants in the field with her. Two men and a woman, all from the university.”
“She trusts them?” Ben asked.
“As much as she can, I guess. She never questioned them before.”
“Maybe they’d never been paid as much before.”
Reggie shrugged. “Sure, I guess. Everyone’s got a price. But it seems unlikely that an undergrad would be working with some clandestine group to kidnap her father.”
“So what’s her hypothesis?” Julie asked. “Sarah’s brilliant. She’s obviously been working nonstop to figure this thing out.”
“She has,” Reggie said. “But she’s hit a brick wall. The fatigue, stress, and the fact that she still doesn’t have much to go off of has taken its toll. I tried to call on my way over here, actually — she told me to, no matter the time of day or night. But she didn’t answer.”
“Are you worried about her?”
Reggie shifted in the chair, looked at the ceiling for a moment, then back at Julie. “No. I want her to be safe, but I don’t think she’s in any immediate danger. The ransom note — the email — has been delivered. She doesn’t know the timeframe, but she knows what they want. They won’t do anything to her until they think she can’t help them anymore.”
“What if they find out she reached out to us?” Ben asked.
“Honestly? I think they already do know. Being able to coordinate the timing of the email like that implies at least some tech know-how, and my tendency is to assume that they’re better than they’re letting on.”
“That’s a good tendency.”
“So I think they’re counting on her reaching out to us for help. That’s part of the reason why I brought it up to you guys — I think Sarah’s safe, but only for now. If she can’t deliver whatever it is they want, her dad gets hurt. Possibly worse.”
Ben’s face sank, and Reggie understood the same emotions his close friend was feeling. Fear, regret, confusion, anger. And not a little bit of exhaustion.
They had, only months ago, returned from The Bahamas. Ben’s and Julie’s cruise vacation had been cut short for the trip, and Reggie’s research and work on the recovered skull had been pushed aside. They’d ended up barely escaping the floating ‘theme park’ with their lives, and while all of them were hurriedly attempting to get their lives back to normal, the harrowing experience was something none of them would be able to easily forget.
And Reggie knew they’d never forget it. He’d spent his early days in the 75th Army Rangers Regiment as a sniper, and later as a mercenary-for-hire on a handful of clandestine missions.
All of the missions had eventually rolled together into one conglomeration of memories, the fighting and injuries and deaths and kills all becoming a single unified mass. He didn’t forget the missions, as much as he had tried, but time certainly had a way of ironing them out and placing together into a special compartment in his mind.
And even then those weren’t the memories he’d wanted to forget most.
“That’s why I’m here, guys,” he said. “Sarah needs us, and when she explained what her thoughts were on it I knew it was something the CSO was perfect for.”
Julie took in a deep breath. “Does Mr. E know?”
Reggie nodded. “I sent him an email. But if we can all vote now, we don’t need any further approval.”
Ben opened his mouth, closed it again, then turned to Julie. She looked back at him, and Reggie could almost write the dialogue silently passing between them.
What do you think? Ben would be asking.
It’s up to you, Julie would respond.
I’ve made that mistake before, Ben might say.
They stared at each other for a few seconds, then simultaneously turned back to Reggie.
“Yes,” Julie said.
Reggie smiled. Well that was way easier than I’d expected. He looked at Ben.
Ben shook his head. “You don’t need my approval, brother. She says we go, we go.”
Julie laughed. “He’s not wrong, you know.”
The moment felt right, so Reggie steeled himself and grabbed the glass of subpar whiskey on the end table. He lifted it, second-guessed himself, then straightened in the armchair and poured the rest of the ice-cold beverage down his throat.
The burning was intense, and the flavor horrid, and the melted ice had only marginally helped.
His voice was shot, and his throat stung, but he held up the empty glass to the smiling couple across from him.
“Cheers,” he croaked.
18
Sarah
SARAH’S RETURN TO HER APARTMENT HAD been uneventful, but her mind was racing. Munising, Michigan was an easy 30-minute drive from the park, and she had spent many of her nights at the apartment until the team had arrived a few days ago. When she couldn’t justify the drive, she spent the night stretched out on the cot in the pup tent. The weather had been nice, and she felt that being part of the group was good for morale.
But she’d decided to head into town after hearing the news of her father. After quickly informing Alexander and Jennifer of her plan, she’d hiked back to the lot where she’d stashed her Corolla. Upon entering the vehicle, her phone dinged with the alert of a new email message.
help your father find the answer, we are very interested to know what the object is.
No capitalization, no subject line, an indiscernible sender.
The email had spooked her, but it only served to confirm what she’d already suspected: her father had indeed been kidnapped. So she’d used the early half of the trip to call Reggie, to inform him and the rest of the CSO team he worked with about the email and the letter, then she spent the rest of it in silence.
Adam’s Trail, the narrow, pitch-black road through the park was empty at this hour, but she still didn’t speed, allowing herself the extra few minutes of driving to think and plan. When she’d finally made it back to her tiny one-bedroom in Munising, however, she hadn’t yet decided what to do.
My father is missing, she thought. Probably kidnapped. He sent me a package and a note, and then I got a cryptic email.
Nothing about it felt right, and yet there was nothing she could do. Her financial situation was precariously balanced between ‘be careful’ and ‘flat broke,’ and she knew a trip to Sweden wasn’t something she could afford.
