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

by Bertsch, David Riley

  It was a few minutes before midnight. The moon was rising to the east. It glowed through the foggy shroud of clouds.

  Jake arrived back at the car to find Meirong asleep. He started the car again and ran the heat for a few minutes before returning to his watch outside. His view from within the Charger was limited, and he didn’t want anyone sneaking up on them. He went into the car only to thaw his hands and run the heat for Meirong.

  Around 1 a.m., the snow intensified to whiteout conditions—a squall within a storm. The driving flakes weaseled into Jake’s collar and cuffs, wetting his under layers and chilling him to the bone. The watch was useless in the blizzard; visibility was less than a car’s length. He retreated to the driver’s side.

  Meirong was still asleep. The heavy sheets of blowing snow tested the windshield. They arrived in short runs of rhythmic gusts, occasionally strong enough to shift the body of the car on its struts. He fought off fatigue, but the cadence of the storm eventually made Jake’s eyes close.

  He woke up at 3:45 a.m. The wind had decided to take a break—the storm was again dropping large swollen flakes into a still night sky.

  He got out to have a look around. The squall had drifted nearly a foot of snow against the passenger side. Jake kicked at it to test its consistency. It was wind-buffed into a dense slab. Getting back out on the road in the rear-wheel-drive car would be difficult, but he would deal with that when the time came.

  He walked back up to the promontory and his phone hummed. Voice mail. It was from Divya. Jake pressed play.

  Voice mail unavailable.

  Jake trudged farther uphill, beyond the rocks. Still no reception. The weather had only made it worse.

  Dammit. Why was Divya contacting him? As far as he knew, Wright was making the morning pickup.

  The moon was setting now, and if Jake looked hard enough, he thought he could see the glow of the arriving sun over the southern Snake River Range to the east. He checked his phone. Only a few minutes had passed. 4:01.

  On the way back to the car, Jake stopped, urinated, and checked his phone again on the unlikely chance he had reception between the rocky perch and the car. Still nothing.

  He would have to move the car. Find a place to hide with a good vantage of the road and some reception. He didn’t want to miss his chance to get rid of Meirong, get Charlotte back, and end this whole mess. The sudden plunge back into his old life had been cold and unwelcoming.

  The snow was uniformly six inches deep, except for the deeper drifts on the lee side of rocks and brush. The squall had scoured all the precipitation that wasn’t anchored down by the prairie short-grass. Once Jake could dig around the drift against the Charger’s passenger side, the car should be able to get back on the road easily.

  He continued down the slope to assess the situation and start digging.

  Something was wrong. The light in the cabin of the Charger was on. He jogged the last thirty feet to the vehicle.

  “You’ll freeze to death!” he shouted into the storm. He whipped around, scanning the tiny area where he could see through the darkness.

  Meirong was gone. Somehow she had wiggled free from her restraints, scooted across the center console, and exited through the driver’s door. A nylon strip of sleeping bag rested on the passenger’s seat.

  Jake got down on all fours and started clearing the drifted snow by sweeping his arm under the car. The snow was dense, its particles jammed together by the force of the wind. Jake was working up a sweat, but his hands were cold and wet. He pulled them into his coat sleeves and sat on his ass, using his legs to sweep the remaining snow.

  How could I let his happen? A grim mood washed over him. He might have just blown the whole thing. Cost Charlotte her life because he was out of practice. Get it together. There wasn’t time to brood over his mistakes.

  When the passenger side was adequately cleared, Jake tore dead branches from the surrounding sagebrush and stamped them down behind the rear wheels for traction.

  He got in. Pressing the gas pedal softly, so as not to allow the Charger’s V8 to rip the tires free from their moorings, he eased back onto the 4x4 track. Then he carefully idled down the steep hill back to Ririe Reservoir Road.

  Back toward the reservoir, there was nothing but expanses of sage flats and potato farms. Fleeing in that direction was a death wish if you were unprepared for the cold. A right turn had him pointed back toward the highway. Chances were Meirong was headed in that direction. Two miles lay between Jake and the intersection, where, if she were lucky enough to encounter a late-night driver, she would have no problem hitching a ride in such a storm.

  Jake pushed the Charger as much as he could without risking fishtailing into a roadside ditch. The high beams cast a wide swath of yellow light into the bordering fields.

  He got to the intersection with the highway, stopped the car, turned off the headlights, and searched the snowy ground for tracks. He found nothing but the footprints of a curious raven, pecking around for roadkill.

  Jake turned the car around in the empty intersection. As he did so, a beep emanated from somewhere in the dash. Jake scrolled through the menu on the Charger’s computer. Twenty-five miles until empty.

  Dammit. Shouldn’t have gotten the V8. It wasn’t enough if the search lasted a few hours. He threw the car into reverse, made a three-point turn, and accelerated back toward Idaho Falls to find a gas station.

  On the way, he was finally able to retrieve his voice mail.

  Jake. Divya. Not sure Wright can be trusted. I’m on my way.

  52

  TRAM VILLAGE, CHINA. OCTOBER 30.

  12:45 P.M. BEIJING TIME.

  Charlotte Terrell gazed out onto empty streets. She went to the bed and flipped on the TV, but didn’t pay much attention. On the nightstand beside her, there was an uneaten hunk of meatloaf with a side of potatoes.

  The giant was in the corner leafing through a magazine. A knock on the door startled him from his post. He swiped his hand over his face to wash the exhaustion off and went to answer it.

  It was Xiao. Charlotte made no effort to acknowledge him. He walked between her and the television she was pretending to watch.

  He was unusually chipper. “Get your things.”

  Even the giant showed surprise.

  “Pack your things. You are going home.” With that, he started toward the door.

  She called after him. “What’s going on?”

  He stopped, but didn’t turn around. “Daughter is coming home. Now, I am free.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Xiao was out the door.

  The giant resumed his post at the desk in the corner and flipped through the same old magazine. Charlotte detected a slight smile on his lips.

  “That’s it?”

  He put the magazine down. “Nightmare is almost over.”

  “My nightmare will never end.”

  “Sorry for your husband.”

  Charlotte let her thoughts spiral down that dangerous path—­telling the children that their father was gone, making a living on her own to support them, keeping herself sane enough to be a good mother.

  The giant got up. “What is it? You look ill.”

  “You took my husband away. My children’s father.”

  “A cruel world.”

  “Not for you.”

  “You know nothing.” Charlotte wasn’t interested in hearing her captor’s sob story. “What did he mean, free?”

  “Xiao?”

  “Yes. He said he is free now.”

  The giant sighed, apparently figuring there was no use in secrets anymore. “It was always about his daughter. When he used Meirong for his own gain—to help the Americans, no less—it angered our government. Shortly after he sent her to the States, he became aware of the colony here at Tram Village. He promised to get Meirong b
ack if they would hold a place.”

  “Couldn’t he buy his way in?”

  The giant laughed. “A place at Tram Village can’t be purchased. People are chosen.”

  “How?”

  “Genes. Intelligence. Physical strength. Any exceptional trait.”

  “Breeders? And Meirong?”

  “She is exceptionally intelligent.”

  “Why Jackson Hole, why Tram Village?”

  “Some Chinese officials attended an economic summit in your town, and found its sense of liberty and sovereignty appealing.”

  “The last of the Wild West.”

  “New face for a new world.”

  “What if it doesn’t happen? What if Xiao’s daughter is wrong?”

  “It’s as certain and unstoppable as the Yellow River.”

  * * *

  Packing proved to be an especially emotional task for Charlotte. From the three drawers on the right side of the bureau below the TV, she gathered her clothes. She tried not to glance at the left drawers, where Roger’s clothes still lay, folded and organized as if nothing had ever happened. Her heart told her to indulge—grab a T-shirt and smell and smell until he came back to life—but her better sense resisted.

  The chief’s leather duffel bag, with the Jackson Hole Police Department tag, lay at the bottom of the closet. She didn’t dare move it. Its deep wrinkles drew in her gaze though, reminding her of the sun-browned furrows beneath her husband’s loving eyes.

  The giant, noticing her state, got up out of the chair.

  “I will pack his things. You would regret not having them.”

  She nodded and fought back the urge to cry. In silence, the giant carefully placed the chief’s clothes and personal items into the duffel. Charlotte couldn’t bear to look at them.

  53

  IDAHO FALLS, IDAHO. OCTOBER 30.

  8:15 A.M. MOUNTAIN STANDARD TIME.

  “We’ll split up and go look by the reservoir.” Wright was pouring copious amounts of sugar into his coffee.

  “Good plan.”

  Jake had met the assistant director at the diner near the industrial park, where Senator Canart’s body still lay.

  “What do we do about him?”

  “Leave him for now. We have more important things to do.”

  A senator left rotting in his own office, Jake thought. Not good publicity for the CIA, but if anyone can hide the truth, it’s the agency.

  In the bathroom, Jake surreptitiously read another text from Divya. Her flight had been delayed in Salt Lake, so she rented a car and was navigating through the snow on what was usually a four-hour drive.

  Of course, Jake didn’t reveal that to Wright. He hadn’t revealed anything that Divya or Schue told him. He could tell Wright was on edge and wondered whether it was normal work stress or something else.

  And Divya’s suspicion? What had she come across?

  He figured Wright needed him for the search. As long as that was the case, he posed little danger to Jake. If and when they found Meirong, that dynamic could change, if Divya was right.

  They drove toward Ririe Reservoir separately, which suited Jake just fine. The lake was another two miles beyond where Meirong had escaped. The landscape was wide-open and the visibility ­reasonable—high storm clouds were still hanging in the hills, but the snowfall was sputtering out.

  They found no trace of their target between the parking pull-off near the promontory and the state park at the reservoir. It was feasible that Meirong had broken into one of the park’s summer cabins to stay warm. Without a coat or shelter, she didn’t stand much chance.

  Jake pulled over at the boundary to the park and lowered his window. Wright pulled up alongside in his rental Jeep.

  “I’ll drive the east loop,” Jake said. “The west loop is just through there. Meet back here?”

  Wright nodded and spun around to enter the west loop, in the direction of tent campsites and the visitor center. Jake headed toward the summer cabins.

  The blank canvas of snow was marred by occasional animal tracks—mule deer, mainly—a few of which Jake stopped to inspect in case they proved to be shoe prints. No dice.

  Cabins dotted the east loop, where the road formed a ring and came back onto itself. The austere cedar lodgings looked spartan even from outside. They had been winterized—inch-thick plywood was nailed over the windows and doors. It would take quite a bit of muscle to remove the barriers. Not an easy task for most people, much less a petite woman.

  Still, Jake made the circle slowly, inspecting each small building for any sign of an overnight occupant. In the middle of the oval, a dim light shone on the side of the restrooms. No barriers blocked the doors.

  Jake killed the engine and got out, tucking the Mariner into the back of his waistband. He followed the snow-covered path from the road to the concrete building. He didn’t notice any tracks, but given the wind and precipitation that meant little.

  On the front of the restroom, between the men’s and women’s doors, hung a park bulletin: ATTENTION ICE FISHERMEN: DO NOT CLEAN YOUR CATCH IN THE RESTROOMS.

  The bathroom was open for the winter.

  Jake reached for the door to the ladies’ room. He entered to find a nestlike pile of unspooled toilet paper beneath the hand dryer. A bed?

  Leaving the bathroom, Jake looked more closely for tracks and found slight indentations covered with fresh snow leading through the cluster of cabins. Two sets. Coming and going. He followed them until the path of the traveler was apparent. Back toward the main entrance and the intersection of the east and west loops.

  Jake jogged back to the Charger and drove to the meeting point. Wright wasn’t there. He looked around for Meirong. Finding no sign of her, he parked and waited.

  A few minutes passed. Anxious, he started the engine and steered the Charger onto the two-mile west loop, where Wright had been searching.

  He found the Jeep, running and with its driver’s-side door open, parked in tent site 132. The sites were surrounded with dense grand firs, and beneath them was a layer of willowy brush.

  Jake could see Wright’s tracks leading from the Jeep into the quagmire of vegetation.

  What the hell? He parked the Charger, Glock in hand. He heard the crunch of frozen twigs near Wright’s entry point into the forest.

  “Wright!” Jake yelled. The noise subsided.

  Jake was thirty yards from the Jeep. A burst of motion flew from the shady trees. Someone running through the snow. A woman. Meirong.

  “Stop!” Jake shouted louder this time, hoping to frighten her. Instead she moved faster—into the Jeep, slamming the door as he closed in on her. She nearly ran him over backing up. In the mirror, Jake glimpsed her horrified eyes before she slammed the Jeep into drive and sped off.

  Where was Wright? Jake had no time to stop and search for him. With a vehicle, Meirong would become considerably harder to track.

  Jake ran back to the Charger. He fishtailed through the campground’s S-turn and slid onto Ririe Road.

  Meirong had a good lead—an eighth of a mile or more. She pushed the Jeep to its limit as she descended toward the highway. Jake matched her on the narrow, frozen road.

  Near the intersection, the snow was changing to slush. Meirong took a right, almost colliding with an eighteen-wheeler, and sped east toward the laboratory.

  * * *

  As he had expected, Wright’s rental Jeep was parked at the laboratory. Jake drove the Charger into a space but didn’t get out. He watched through the slats of the blinds, where he could see Meirong rushing about. She was aware of Jake following her, but it didn’t matter. She had nowhere else to go.

  The gun that killed the senator was safely in the trunk of the Charger. It was possible that Meirong had another weapon somewhere inside, or the shotgun that killed the janitor at Game and Fish, and given
her acumen with firearms—now having killed two men, the senator and the janitor—Jake didn’t want to risk an up-close encounter.

  It was senseless for him to go into the building anyway. His target was isolated, and Divya was on her way.

  Whether Divya could be fully trusted was another question. Jake had no idea where anyone’s allegiances lay, except his own. Charlotte Terrell. Esma.

  Shit. Meirong had been looking for a way to communicate, not a weapon. She pushed aside the blinds and held up a newspaper, marked up with black Sharpie in block print. LEAVE ME ALONE OR I WILL KILL ESMA.

  He started to get out of the car to plead with her, but she retreated from the window.

  Goddammit.

  Jake dialed the hospital. He discovered it was Dr. Antol’s day off. Jake did his best to impress the gravity of the situation on the new attending doctor, but the man didn’t buy it. Jake demanded Dr. Antol’s home number.

  “You know I can’t do that.”

  Jake tried to explain, told the young doctor about the chip, the Chinese, and the kidnapping in Idaho. The details didn’t have the desired effect of persuasion.

  “I’ll keep a close watch on her, like all patients” was all he would promise.

  Jake hung up.

  Deputy Statler. His next-best bet.

  “Jake, where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you.”

  “I can’t really say. But I need your help.”

  “What’s going on? Is Charlotte safe?”

  “I’m working on that. I need a favor.”

  Where he failed with the doctor, Jake succeeded with Layle.

  He remembered Meirong reaching to her left shoulder when she explained the device. “It’s above Esma’s heart somewhere. Left clavicle.”

  “A month ago, if I’d heard that story, I would have said you’re crazy. But I believe you.”

  “Go to the hospital now and help Esma. Don’t take no for an answer.”