I remembered Melissa’s advice. “Maybe you shouldn’t mention the body to anyone yet. Unless you think it’ll aid the investigation.”
“Good point. That would be chum for the sharks. I’ll see you around eleven.” He hung up.
I turned to Melissa. “You’d better scoot. You don’t want to miss rubbing elbows with the big boys.”
She took out her notepad and stepped closer. “Can I see those tattoos?”
I draped the sheet to provide a semblance of modesty, and then showed her Y’Grok’s handiwork. This time I noticed the 4KM under the number 2000. “We think the tattoos are a message for Kevin Malone. You can see how these letters spell Raven.”
“But Kevin doesn’t understand it?”
“No. We tried looking at the circle as a compass and a clock. We tried the number as yards, meters, feet. Nothing fit.”
“Tried them where?”
“Where Y’Grok stayed. The old mill up at Redman Gorge.”
“This has to mean something else.” She leaned closer to the body. “You’d think it’d be tied to their military training. If the V is also hands on a clock face, what’s so special about ten minutes till two or ten minutes after ten? And how would you know which time is right?”
I studied the circle. Time. Military training. Military lingo for a twenty-four hour day. “Twenty hundred hours,” I whispered.
Melissa gave me a confused look. “Archie’s time for the mayor’s party?”
I laughed. “Archie gave us the answer.” I pointed to the 2000 on Y’Grok’s thigh. “Twenty hundred hours. Eight p.m.”
Melissa stared at the number and then at the circle with the V. “But eight doesn’t match the time on the clock.”
“Because it’s not a clock. The V’s the center letter of Raven and we read too much into it. The circle is simply a circle and whatever Y’Grok hid, he hid at eight o’clock on the circle.” I grinned at them. Maybe Tommy Lee was right. I was Sherlock Holmes.
Melissa and Uncle Wayne looked at me like I was Inspector Clouseau babbling French.
Then Melissa drew on her notepad and held up a circle with an X at eight o’clock. “Okay, genius. What and where is this circle?”
My grin faded. “Right. That’s the million dollar question.” I thought for a moment. “The circle has to be close to where he was staying. He wouldn’t hide something that valuable where he couldn’t keep an eye on it. And he was too weak to walk out of Redman Gorge. He’d have to stay close to the mill.”
The mill. The same light bulb came on for all three of us.
As Melissa and Uncle Wayne opened their mouths, I stole their words. “The waterwheel. Twenty hundred hours on the waterwheel. Eight o’clock, but only recognized if you thought military time.” I remembered the cut rhododendron branches with no trace of their ends on the ground. Had Y’Grok wedged his ammo case in the wheel and covered it with brush? Dead branches that would look like they’d been washed downstream.
The rain beat on the porte-cochere roof with renewed intensity. “I’ve got to leave right now. Uncle Wayne, tell Tommy Lee I may have broken the code, but not to tell anyone else. If I don’t get up to Redman Gorge fast, everything Y’Grok worked for will be washed away.”
I turned to Melissa. “You’ve got to sit on this.”
“Hell no. The only thing I’m sitting on is your passenger seat. Like it or not, you’ve got a partner.”
The wipers slung rain off the windshield in waves. Traffic flowed through town slower than the water racing along the pavement to the storm drains.
Melissa leaned forward as far as the seatbelt allowed and gripped the dashboard. If she could have outrun the jeep, I think she’d have jumped from the moving vehicle. “So this ammo case is stuffed with a million dollars?”
“Maybe. Maybe something else to do with Operation Raven.”
“Aren’t we ruining Y’Grok’s efforts if we recover the money?”
I didn’t follow her logic. “You’ve lost me.”
“The money comes to light. The government steps in and confiscates it. End of any chance the cash goes to Montagnard resistance. End of story.”
“What’s your solution? Keep the money for ourselves?”
She laughed. “No, not that I wouldn’t be tempted. I do need some new tires.”
“We could tip off Kevin Malone, but I still don’t totally trust him. Besides, look at this deluge. There’s no time. If we don’t get to that waterwheel soon, somebody downstream’s going to get a very nice surprise.”
Melissa’s grip tightened on the dashboard. “Just doesn’t seem fair.”
“I agree. The Montagnards did everything our government asked them. But there’s more than money at stake.”
“What?”
“A possible solution to Y’Suom’s murder. That’s the fairness I’m interested in.”
She leaned back. “And that’d be a great story, wouldn’t it?”
“An exclusive.” I kept my eyes on the road, but I knew she was smiling.
Once on the back road to Redman Gorge, I made better time. Everyone else had the good sense to stay indoors. I hadn’t thought through exactly what we would do when we reached the mill, but I’d thrown a rope in the back of the jeep in case I needed a lifeline. If conditions were too dangerous, I’d phone Tommy Lee for help. I hated to drag him and his deputies on a wild goose chase if the ammo case contained nothing more significant than a dying man’s foolish dreams. Then I remembered my cell phone was useless between the gorge’s ridges. I couldn’t call out and no one could reach me, including Franklin Talbert, stranded with my dog and guinea pig.
The rickety slat bridge over the stream to the farmhouse looked even narrower in the gray downpour. I stopped and made sure the jeep was lined up to roll across the center. The water already boiled a foot higher than normal and the force of the rising current could eat away the bank supports. I opted for faster rather than slower, and heard Melissa’s sharp intake of breath as I gunned us to the other side.
Once over, I skidded to a halt. “That wasn’t so bad.”
“Why don’t you try backing over when we leave? I’ll be glad to watch.”
I parked between the farmhouse and the log footbridge. Out in the clearing, the wind roared down the gorge, hammering the rain into horizontal streaks. Before stepping out of the jeep, I pulled the hood of my slicker over my head and tightened the drawstring. “This is going to be nasty.”
Melissa wore a light parka more suited to a spring shower than a monsoon. She zipped the jacket up to her neck and snapped the hood strap under her chin. The fit was loose and when she turned her head, her face slid into the side of the fabric.
“Great. Am I going to be your seeing-eye dog?”
“Don’t worry about me. You’re the one who’s always being patched up.”
I opened the door and the wind whipped the handle out of my hand. The rope would be a necessity.
We stood on the bank opposite the waterwheel. The stream rushed by, carrying broken limbs and uprooted plants. The water frothed a murky brown and the current tore at the lower third of the broken paddles. The axle had been locked in place to keep the wheel from turning. I could see some withered rhododendron branches crammed into a section just above the rising water line. Eight on a clock face.
Melissa shouted above the storm. “How are you going to reach it?”
“I’ll climb down from the top of the wheel and stand on the spokes. I should be able to get the case from there.”
“And the rope?”
I’d brought the rope as a safety line, but the thought of dropping the ammo case in the raging stream created another use. “If the handle is strong enough, I’ll loop the rope through it. Then if the case falls in the water, you can retrieve it.”
Melissa looked at the powerful current. The body of a drowned squirrel hit a paddle, and then disappeared below the surface. She shook her head. “Tie the rope under your arms. The case can’t drown.”
I studied the trees on the far bank till I found what I wanted—a large poplar with a branch extending over the stream. “All right, but we’ll throw the rope over that limb. Otherwise, if I tumble, you’ll be yanked in after me.”
“And this way I’ll be hoisted in the air?”
“The limb should bear the weight.” I managed a smile. “If I’m wrong, you’ll only fly up till you smack your head.” I lifted the coiled rope to my shoulder. “Let’s go.”
The wind blew too strong to dare cross the foot log standing up. I straddled the worn wet bark like riding a horse and scooted across. Melissa followed my example.
The poplar was about twenty feet from the mill. My selected limb angled toward the wheel and over the stream. The height of the branch would take an additional fifteen feet of rope. I hoped there’d be enough slack for me to maneuver on the wheel.
I triple knotted one end of the rope so I could throw it like a ball. I needed the rope in as straight a line as possible from Melissa to the wheel. The wind blew the rope back but enough made it over the branch to fall within my grasp. I handed Melissa the coil. “Hold onto this and feed it out as I go. It looks like you might end up directly under the limb if we use every foot.”
Melissa held the rope in both hands. “Make sure you tie the rope tight under your arms.”
The knotted rope end dangled from the limb. I stretched to reach it and pulled as Melissa dropped a loop. I wrapped the rope around my upper chest, knotted it snug, and slid the safety line to my back. “If I fall in, I’ll float downstream feet first so I won’t crack my head on any rocks. The anchored rope should force me to the shore.”
“What about the case?”
I held up the loose end of rope. “I’ve allowed an extra yard I can use to attach the case so I can swim without holding it.”
Melissa looked doubtful. “Why do I feel like I’m about to hang you?”
“Don’t worry. I’m much more likely to drown.” With those words of comfort, I walked slowly to the mill. Melissa kept the rope from snagging by feeding slack only as fast as needed. I felt like an astronaut venturing outside the space shuttle.
The stone foundation of the mill had been built along the natural edge of the stream. The water was less than three feet beneath it, but if the level rose much higher, the spillover would happen on the other bank first. That meant my footing on the foundation ledge should stay passable, but Y’Grok’s hiding place was below the foundation and would soon be submerged.
I stepped up on the smooth stone outcrop and looked back at Melissa. A gust of wind blew the hood from her head and plastered her hair to her skull. She gave me a thumbs up. I had about a dozen feet to the circumference of the wheel. The six-inch ledge had looked bigger when I wasn’t perched on it. Now I pressed myself flat against the rough sideboards and dug my fingernails into the decaying wood. I slid my feet along a few inches at a time. Wind whistled through the paddles of the wheel, varying in pitch with each gust.
The diameter must have been close to ten feet, and I didn’t know if Y’Grok had stashed his case nearer the paddles or the axle. I approached the wheel from the left, bringing me to a horizontal spoke at roughly nine o’clock. I gripped the spoke with my right hand and pulled down. The beam felt rock solid. The paddle blades were much thinner and their splintered condition promised little hope that they could support my weight.
Stepping around the blades, I clung to the spoke with my left hand while testing my footing on the spoke below. Water splashed over my shoe, but the tug wasn’t strong enough to trip me.
I bent down, still holding the beam above my head, and yanked at the mass of rhododendron branches. A few broke loose and the current swept them away. I could see behind the paddles clear to the foundation wall. No case. Y’Grok must have wedged it closer to the axle. I took a step farther. The rotted spoke angled at a steep incline toward the hub. The rope at my back tightened and I looked back to see Melissa wrapping the last foot around her wrist. She stepped directly beneath the branch, giving me as much slack as she could.
Climbing a few more feet, I removed another section of brush. Then I saw it. A gunmetal corner stuck out over a mesh of gnarled branches. Y’Grok had woven a makeshift cocoon to hold his treasure. I had to be careful not to tear into the branches so rapidly that the ammo case toppled before I could find the handle.
“I see it!” The wind carried my voice to Melissa. She nodded vigorously. “Just another foot!”
I strained against the rope, groping with my left hand till I felt cold metal beneath my fingers. I ran them along a dented edge to a corner. The handle wasn’t facing me. I pulled the rope up to my armpits, stretching for every last inch. I poked one foot through the branches and lightly struck the case with the toe of my shoe, searching for the handle. I must have looked like a crouching Russian dancer, kicking a leg in time to unheard music.
The case moved, slowly at first, but then gained momentum as the box slid down the spoke toward me. Without thinking, I bent down to grab the handle with one hand. The rope pulled at my back and then loosened as I snared the handle. A half second later and the case would have tumbled into the churning stream.
Suddenly, the rope jerked taut with such force that I fell backwards, clutching the upper spoke with one hand and Y’Grok’s case with the other. What the hell was Melissa doing?
My hand on the beam slipped. Splinters pierced my skin. Then the rope yanked me like a team of horses was hitched to the other end. Gray sky and bare branches swirled overhead. I hit the water flat on my back and plunged beneath the icy surface.
The current tore at me, digging the rope into my armpits. I floundered in the water like a hooked bass, spinning around as the powerful torrent tried to wrestle the case from my grip.
My head broke the surface and I rolled onto my back, tucking up my knees to wedge the case against them. I looked downstream and saw Melissa in the water, clinging to her end of the rope. I knew what had happened. In my lunge to grab the case, I had pulled her off her feet. She had fallen into the stream, dragging me after her. Now we were tethered to each other, hanging from the branch.
Hydraulic physics began to take effect. I was heavier and the larger mass—a barge compared to Melissa’s slender kayak body. The current exerted greater pressure on me, and as I was driven downstream, the rope pulled Melissa upstream.
“Hang on!” I got a mouthful of water for my efforts.
I fought to maneuver toward her. The point at which the rope segments became equal would bring us briefly together. If we could hold onto each other, we might be able to make it to the bank. I clutched the case to my chest and spread my legs. She came to my right, and I caught her with my heel and wrapped my legs around her waist in a scissor grip.
She sputtered a few words. “Can’t hold on.”
“Don’t let go. Kick to shore.”
I felt her legs moving, but we only traveled a few feet diagonally, then stopped. I looked up at the branch and saw the problem. The rope had slipped farther out until it reached a fork over the stream. The plumb of the line was no longer on the bank. We were trying to swim against the current, a hopeless endeavor.
“We’re going to have to ride it out,” I shouted. “There’s a bend downstream.”
Melissa shook her head. “Too tired.”
“No. Fill your lungs with air and I’ll hold you. Paddle towards the shore. Ready?”
She took a deep breath.
“Let go!”
She released her grip and twisted free of the rope. Immediately, the current snatched us. Melissa kicked and clawed for the bank. I used my right arm like a canoe paddle, reaching toward the shore in short furious sidestrokes. We hurled downstream at a speed that would have gotten any amusement park sued. I hoped that by staying together, our combined weight and effort would break us out of the current’s force as the stream curved into the forest.
We must have bodysurfed several hundred yards when the stream suddenly broadened. We were
spit to one side and I felt my butt bouncing along bumpy ground. The current weakened and I could see we’d crossed into a lower clearing, now flooded into a small lake. The water still flowed rapidly, but it was no longer deep. I grabbed Melissa’s arm with my free hand and unlocked my legs. She tumbled clear and staggered to her feet.
Her parka was wadded up over her shoulders. The buttons from her blouse were somewhere downstream and her bra was more outside than in. Her pants had stayed on thanks to my vise-grip, but she lifted a foot to show her shoes had been ripped from her feet. She bent over, hands on her knees, gasping for breath. The state of her wardrobe didn’t concern her.
I struggled to my feet, checking to see if all my parts were there. The water was about eight inches deep and rising. “We’d better get out of here.” I looked in the direction of the mill. The building was out of sight, but the higher pasture promised drier ground.
Melissa laughed and cried at the same time. “I’ve never been in a wet tee-shirt contest before.”
“Obviously. You’re supposed to wear a tee-shirt.”
She tucked her blouse together as best she could and then rapped on the metal case in my hand. “I’m glad you could save both of us. I’d hate to think where I’d be if you had to make a choice.”
“I would’ve asked the new reporter to dedicate the story to you.”
She grabbed the rope still knotted around my armpits and pulled me over. “And I’m throwing you back.”
We slogged through the flooded field, me carrying the case and Melissa toting the frayed rope. Our progress was slow, not so much because of the water but because Melissa’s shoeless feet found each step a potential hazard. I offered to carry her on my back, but she found the prospect too humiliating.
The euphoria of survival gave way to the aches and pains of the ordeal. Melissa’s wrist had been burned raw where she’d wrapped the rope around it. My left hand bled from the barrage of splinters and I suspected we’d both find bruises over the next few days like the aftermath of a car wreck.
The rain continued to pour and I decided the shelter of the mill offered the best place to examine the case. After our harrowing adventure, I didn’t want to take a chance on crossing the log without first knowing the contents of what we’d risked our lives to retrieve.
Foolish Undertaking: A Buryin' Barry Mystery (Buryin' Barry Series Book 3) Page 17
