River of No Return : A Jake Trent Novel (9781451698053)

by Bertsch, David Riley

  “That’s why I got this assignment—only because you need Jake Trent?”

  “We need the girl and her father, and quietly. Any commotion around her and Xiao disappears. We didn’t have the necessary information to coordinate a pinpointed mission to take her. The Office suggested Jake could help.”

  “Why do we need them?”

  “Xiao and Meirong are the only two remaining intentional Shar-Peis, the superior breed. Meirong was an accident, but she in particular has an intellect as dangerous as a nuclear weapon. The operation stalled after Xiao and Mei Li proved too difficult to control. With their intelligence came unpredictable, rebellious personality characteristics. They believed themselves too smart to be used as pawns. Meirong is the vessel of that bloodline.”

  “The Holy Grail. Jake would have cooperated, had he known.”

  “You read about Paris. He couldn’t be trusted.”

  “C’mon, that man was dying, stage-four lung cancer. Jake let him say good-bye to his family.”

  “Regardless, he was a war criminal. Jake’s orders were to get him into custody.”

  “You didn’t think he would finish the job?”

  “I wasn’t sure if you would either.”

  Divya stood up and paced. When she sat back down, she was still thinking. “Xiao sent Meirong here, in part, to save her from her own government.”

  Wright nodded.

  “Will we even try to get the chief’s wife home safely?”

  “Of course.”

  She looked into her superior’s eyes. She had to believe him. It was Charlotte’s only shot. “Then I need a real briefing on the whole story. And I need the name of the point man for the Office. I can convince Jake.”

  43

  ST. JOHN’S MEDICAL CENTER. OCTOBER 27.

  12:30 P.M. MOUNTAIN STANDARD TIME.

  Jake was in Esma’s room. It was almost lunchtime. J.P. had spent a sleepless night in the uncomfortable cot the nurses provided, and he was now passed out in a chair with his head resting on Esma’s bed. She was sleeping too, although she’d been conscious for nearly two hours straight in the morning—an encouraging sign.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket. It was Schue. Jake walked quickly down the hallway and through the waiting room. Once outside the hospital, he answered the call.

  “Hello?”

  “Jake, we need to talk.”

  “You have the information I need?”

  “That and more. Are you sitting down?”

  Schue’s explanation bowled him over. Jake retreated to a seat in the waiting room to process the facts.

  A Chinese prodigy was helping a US senator develop an injectable chip that could track and exterminate a person.

  Divya Navaysam was a CIA analyst, charged with enticing him to cooperate in an international investigation into a hundred-year-old Chinese experiment that US intelligence had been monitoring since the mid-1990s.

  Not only was Meirong Xiao living under his nose in the Greater Yellowstone Region, but his former employer, the Office of Special Investigations, had been the first US government entity to become aware of the true nature of the Chinese program.

  Once again, Jake’s simple existence in Jackson Hole had spun into pandemonium. Restlessness? Meet chaos.

  His phone buzzed once more. He was so deep in thought it made him jump up from the seat. Back through the automatic doors to the parking lot.

  “Divya?”

  “Jake, I’m sorry about all this.”

  It didn’t matter whether he believed her now. “What’s going on?”

  “Terrell is dead.”

  “Jesus.” Jake’s heart sank.

  “I know you knew him, and I’m sorry, but his wife is still alive and, it seems to me, the only thing that can be salvaged from this mess.”

  “How do we get her back?”

  “We get the daughter, and give Xiao the information he’s expecting from Canart.”

  “Which is?”

  “His wife was assassinated in ’99. He wants to know who and why.”

  “And you know?”

  “The CIA does, yes. It was the Chinese.”

  “Why would they kill their own prized creation? Will Xiao believe that?”

  A deep breath. “The birth of Meirong rendered Mei Li sterile. She tried to keep it a secret, but her doctors reported it to the government. When she started socializing with dissidents, they deemed her a liability, and she was no longer of use to them owing to her infertility. All that’s left is the daughter.”

  “And I need to find her?”

  “Before local authorities dig too deep and spook everyone. The relationship between Xiao and Canart is tenuous, at best.”

  “Tell me how to do it.”

  “We have a recording of a call between Meirong and the senator. They were intimate. We believe she may have retreated to him for help.”

  “After she killed the janitor.”

  “That’s what we believe, yes.”

  “Why? To get the technology back?”

  “Probably not. We think she had some emotional connection to the wolf. With her high IQ comes a degree of social and developmental disability, Asperger’s-like.”

  “I need you to send me information about Canart. Where he lives, what he likes to do, where he takes his family to dinner. Everything. Do we have her vehicle information?”

  “None registered in her name. Canart has only two vehicles registered, his Lincoln and a BMW in his wife’s name. I’ll email you the rest.”

  “Wait,” Jake said. “What will happen to Xiao and his daughter?”

  “They’ll probably be detained and used as bargaining chips for information on Korea, or maybe be prosecuted by the Office for the raid on rural villages.”

  “I won’t kill them,” he said quietly, though there was no one around.

  Divya paused. “I already told my chain of command. Surveillance only.”

  Jake went back into the ICU and wandered down the mazelike corridors looking for the break room. Dr. Antol was there, pouring a cup of coffee.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  “There’s a waiting room just past reception.”

  “I know. I wanted to pick your brain.”

  Dr. Antol looked around, apparently deciding there was no harm in it.

  “Go ahead.”

  “This is going to sound far-fetched, but I don’t think Esma’s heart attack was natural.”

  She took off her bifocals and rubbed her eyes.

  “Meaning?”

  “I can’t say exactly. Were any foreign objects found in her? Maybe her chest?”

  “Like a pacemaker?”

  “Something like that, yeah.”

  “No. And our defibrillator would’ve let us know.”

  “How?”

  “All the newer models scan for any device like that. It could interfere.”

  “Okay.” Jake paused for a second to think. “Where did you go to medical school?”

  “You’re questioning the merit of my diagnosis? My education?”

  “No, it’s not that. Just curious.”

  The woman looked troubled by his line of questioning, but she went along. “Fine. Arizona. Is that all?”

  Wasn’t Idaho, at least. “Can you keep a special eye on her?”

  “I treat all of my patients as my oath requires, I—”

  Jake cut her off. “I trust you. Please just watch her closely.”

  He walked out, hoping his instincts were right.

  * * *

  On the way back to the west bank, he stopped at Shirle’s Auto and asked for Craig, who had done plenty of good work on the 4Runner. Jake trusted him. A young man with a ponytail came through the door from the garage, wiping his hands with an old blue rag.
They shook hands when he was finished.

  “How’s the fishing?”

  “Haven’t been out. Look, I need a favor, Craig.”

  “Shoot.”

  “If I show you a picture of a tire track, can you surmise the vehicle?”

  “Narrow down maybe, not much more than that. What’s going on?”

  “Someone coming in the driveway at night, casing the house maybe.”

  Craig looked enthralled by this notion, though he tried to hide it. “Whoa. Lemme see.”

  Jake took out his phone and zoomed in on the track.

  “Small wheel.”

  “ATV-sized?”

  The mechanic looked again. “Don’t think so; they have a rougher tread pattern. Compact, though—Civic, old Corolla, Geo Metro, something like that.”

  “Toyota Tercel?”

  “Sure.”

  “That’s all I need.”

  “Good luck. That’s creepy stuff.”

  Jake got back in the 4Runner, turned right up Broadway, and then left at the big light on Highway 22. A mass of mule deer were hustling up the butte at Spring Creek Ranch, spooked by either car or coyote.

  At the Wilson Bridge, Jake looked downstream toward Crescent H, wishing he and Chayote could spend the day walking down the levee, looking for late-season risers. The river was low—four hundred cubic feet per second, last he checked—which meant the river was mostly fast shallows, and habitable holes were few and far between. When you came across one, the action was fast and furious. Small blue-winged olive mayflies, genus Baetis, blanketed the water, especially on overcast days. In preparation for winter, the trout fed on them recklessly.

  There was a police officer stationed at Wilson to catch speeders through town. Jake gave a wave, in case it was Layle or McClelland, then turned left at the gas station. He wondered whether Layle knew any more details of the situation. He doubted it, considering the secrecy that Divya and the CIA had found necessary. She might still be playing him as an FBI agent, instead. Either way, Layle wouldn’t be of any help to Jake. He knew he had to go it alone this time.

  The drive to Idaho Falls would take ninety minutes, but there was no reason to leave before he had all the information from Divya. He got home, let Chayote out, and went upstairs to start organizing the gear he would need for the trip.

  From the small safe in his closet, Jake retrieved the leftover items from the trip to Salmon to find Esma. The extra ten-round clip for the Mariner would be useful in case he needed to change on the fly. There were also two Gerber five-inch tactical knives, Steiner binoculars, and a pair of thin black synthetic gloves, similar to the ones worn by wide receivers. The last item was a fake driver’s-license set, complete with corresponding credit card and passport. Useful souvenirs from his days at the Office. Satisfied, Jake locked the safe and slid it to the back of the closet floor.

  Jake was picky about his attire for the first time in a decade. Everything he selected was dark and dull, not only to conceal him in the shadows and darkness, but also to ensure he didn’t stick out. Patterns and lettering attracted the human eye. On the bench next to the bed, he set a short-sleeved synthetic tee, a solid black Barbour button-down, and a gray Filson sweater. Grim but functional.

  Jake moved to the oak dresser, where he picked out a light gray pair of Mountain Khaki work pants. His gray and pale-blue Merrell trail-running shoes would be the most recognizable piece of garb.

  From the dryer downstairs, he took three pairs of boxers and socks, a navy-blue hoodie, and an extra T-shirt. Who knew how long this task could take?

  He stepped outside the guesthouse with Chayote in tow to retrieve the Mariner. Uncharacteristically, he’d neglected to clean it after its last use.

  The afternoon was in its full glory—the auburn autumn sun was still high enough to peek above the lodgepoles and cottonwoods, lighting up the remaining fall foliage. The open angle of the sunlight cast long, dark shadows on the property.

  Chayote ran frantically around, sniffing his favorite spots and marking them carefully. Jake took the Glock from the 4Runner, allowed himself a few seconds to enjoy the fleeting tranquility, and whistled for the heeler.

  On his way through the guesthouse door, Jake was struck by a sudden thought, and he set the gun down on the kitchen counter and picked up the laptop.

  Had he overlooked something obvious? Jake entered the name from the diploma, Dr. Eric William Youst, into Google. The results were few. A couple of pages referencing the PhD’s time at Berkeley, a newspaper article for a high school technology award, and a personal website, advertising his technology consulting business.

  Jake clicked on Youst’s personal page. Useless. The page looked years out-of-date, suggesting that Dr. Youst had moved on.

  Jake called Divya and asked her to find vehicles registered to Eric William Youst.

  “Who is he?”

  Jake was surprised she didn’t know, given the agency’s resources. “Person of interest in the murder at Game and Fish. No info online tying him to Jackson.”

  “He certainly flew under our radar. Our surveillance has been limited up there, though. Meirong is too smart, and wary.”

  “Any satellite images that might help find her? Or a Toyota Tercel?”

  “There’s a KH-11 up as we speak, but it’s aimed at the Chinese compound, to try to track the hostages.”

  “I’ll be in touch.”

  * * *

  It was 4:30 p.m. on the East Coast. Divya assured Jake she would have the registration information to him before the end of the day.

  There was one other phone call that Jake felt obliged to make, but he knew he couldn’t. Noelle would want to know about the wolf—that it was in fact buried up there by the camp along the Buffalo Fork. Divya had ordered him to steer clear of local authorities. If he shared his findings with Noelle, Charlotte’s life could be in jeopardy. What would she do if she found out I kept her in the dark? She could, in theory, get him in a load of trouble for withholding evidence.

  He kept the gun-cleaning kit in a small cedar cigar box in the fly-tying room. He turned on the light at the desk and went to retrieve the Mariner.

  44

  TRAM VILLAGE, CHINA. OCTOBER 28.

  9:45 A.M. BEIJING TIME.

  The sun appeared a dull reddish planet through the heavy smog. The smog, Charlotte had begun to realize, was commonplace—the clear sky on the first day she and the chief had spent in China was just the result of some lucky wind. A lull before the tempest.

  The village was bustling. Trucks rolled down the dusty road, filled with workers, lumber, and building materials. The carpenters and electricians started early, preceding the smoky crimson sun by an hour or more.

  Since she’d regained her mental clarity and memory, Charlotte had bounced from gloom to anger. The only consistent feeling she had was best described as adrift. Out at sea with nothing to cling to. Blank horizons in all directions.

  If and when she got home, what would she tell her children? How would she find the strength to support them when she could barely keep herself sane? Her mother was dead, her father in an old-folks’ home in Laramie. She shuddered at the thought of burdening her friends.

  You know what doesn’t mind being adrift in the ocean? A buoy. An inert entity that rolls with the waves and the storms. No emotion. No tears. A hard shell and a buoyant core.

  The giant walked into the Wapiti Suite earlier than normal that morning. It caught Charlotte by surprise. She moved quickly away from the window and lay down on the bed.

  The giant just sighed.

  “Asshole.” She spit the word in his direction.

  “I know what you doing.” He spoke in a quiet, even tone. “He will hurt you for it.”

  “Worth a shot.” She flipped on the TV to tell him the conversation was over.

  “If you survive the fal
l, we will be waiting. Nowhere to go.”

  “Are you on the list?” She changed the subject, still staring at the television. A reporter in a crowded slum. “Do you get to live if all this crazy talk comes true?” She pointed to the screen.

  He shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “He told me it was only family.”

  “Family?” the giant asked, laughing. “Is that what he said?”

  Charlotte muted the TV and turned toward the giant. “Who, then?”

  Like the television, the giant was silent. Charlotte closed her eyes and imagined herself at home, walking the trail from their house up to the neighboring pasture, where they used to take the kids to feed the horses carrots and apples.

  45

  WEST BANK, SNAKE RIVER. OCTOBER 28.

  7:15 A.M. MOUNTAIN STANDARD TIME.

  Jake hadn’t been able to fall asleep the night before. He thought a drink might help. In a cabinet he found a bottle of Chateau Montelena cabernet sauvignon he’d bought the prior winter to share with Noelle. It hurt him to drink it. Another slap in the face—closure—as if her total dismissal of him two days ago weren’t enough.

  He contemplated calling her. Instead, he bundled up and sat on the back patio, listening to the nighttime secrets of Trout Run, and throwing a glow-in-the-dark Frisbee to Chayote.

  In the past, he’d never let himself obsess too much before an assignment. If he did, he knew he would never find sleep. So he’d shut his brain down as much as he could.

  When his fingers started to hurt from holding the stemware in the night air and the heeler was panting heavy clouds, he wandered back inside and tied up a few more steelhead patterns, until he noticed a decline in their quality from the cab.

  Then it was the couch and Chayote, who did his best to snuggle with Jake and comfort him through an anxious and sentimental evening.

  Jake awoke at daybreak.

  He dressed in worn blue jeans, a black T-shirt, and a light synthetic down hoodie. He took his coffee to the back, as he often did, and watched Trout Run slip by. The cobalt sky matched the inky flow—cold and mysterious. No trout rising. No sign of activity. The stream wasn’t giving away any secrets.