Long Road to Mercy

by David Baldacci

  As Yazzie’s truck lights had disappeared into the dark, Pine had turned around, faced the trailhead, and set off.

  Normally, those not seeking to go all the way to the Canyon floor would hike down the Kaibab, cross over to the west on the Tonto Trail to Indian Garden, and then head back up the Bright Angel to the South Rim. Because of the rule of thumb that an hour hiking down meant two hours hiking back up, Kaibab was a good choice for the descent phase. It had no shade and no potable water except at the trailhead. After the Tonto Trail and the turn onto Bright Angel, one could take a rest at the shady Indian Garden, drink some water, and continue the steep ascent back to the rim. There were also two additional rest houses on the way up.

  Only shade wasn’t an issue right now, since it was nearly midnight. And Tonto Trail wasn’t an option, because Pine was going all the way down to the floor. She had picked this time of night because there might well be no other hikers. She had passed by no one so far going up or down. This included park rangers. That was good, because for all she knew, they had been instructed to detain her if they encountered her.

  It was about seven miles on this trail to Bright Angel Campground near Phantom Ranch. The nearby Bright Angel Trail was more than nine miles down to the same destination. Yet because of the topography and other conditions, hikes down both trails would take between four and five hours.

  Setting an ambitious pace, Pine intended to make it down in about three. Under other circumstances, she would not have attempted this sort of pace at night, since, like all trails going down into the Canyon, the Kaibab was full of switchbacks, narrow curves, and turns. And although well maintained, the Kaibab trail was hardly smooth. The last thing she wanted was to make a false step and go hurtling over the edge. But she knew the Kaibab well, and she was keeping to the inside of the trail. Hikers coming up had the right of way and she would have to move to the edge to let them pass, but, so far, it was just her.

  Her collapsible trekking poles lightly touching the trail as she went, her headlamp brightly illuminating the area ahead, her long legs smoothly striding, she soon reached Cedar Ridge at the 1.5-mile marker. This was the strongly recommended turnaround point for day hikers, particularly in summer. Because every hike started with the descent first, it drew folks into a false sense of what they could accomplish. The hike out was always harder.

  The temperature was under seventy right now, but she could still feel the sweat trickling down her back as she kept up her pace. She had a buff that she’d soaked in water around her neck. She’d heard rattles as snakes fled the vibration of her footfalls, and hooves striking dirt and rock as large mammals heard her approach and turned in the opposite direction. She accidentally stepped in mule dung once, left over from that day’s ride back up. She would meet no mules going down, because she would be off the trail before the mule train headed back up from Phantom in the morning. However, the pack mule train would head down around dawn. That would not be a problem for her, either. She’d be down at the inner gorge by then.

  She ate as she went, balancing salty foods with taking small sips on her hydration line only to quench her thirst.

  The temperature increased the farther down she ventured.

  She passed the ominous-sounding Skeleton Point, having shed fourteen hundred feet of elevation since Ooh Aah. She stiffened a bit and slowed her punishing pace, as she heard footsteps approaching from the other way. The trail would really zig-zag now with a long series of switchbacks as it dropped her into the Tonto Plateau.

  She had already passed the “tip-off phone,” which was a way to call rangers in case you were in trouble. There would not be another such line of communication on her way down.

  Though it was far more prominent in the daylight, it had always intrigued Pine how the trail changed color as one went down. This was because the underlying rock changed. She had gone from red to a light brown.

  A moment later twin headlamps appeared out of the darkness.

  Two men.

  Pine’s hand instinctively went to her Glock.

  But the men, one younger and one older—perhaps father and son—passed by with a wave and matching weary smiles.

  Their journey was almost over. Hers was just really beginning.

  About three miles later, she reached a short tunnel cut into the stone and entered it. Her hand again went to her gun. This would be an ideal place for an ambush.

  She left the tunnel and immediately stepped onto the Kaibab Suspension Bridge, more popularly known as the Black Bridge. This was also the mule bridge, because it was the only one the beasts used. It had high chain-link metal sides and a plank floor. The only other bridge in the canyon was the nearby Bright Angel Suspension Bridge, which one reached coming down that counterpart trail. It was known as the Silver Bridge because of its all-metal configuration. The mules didn’t like the open metal floor and thus wouldn’t walk on it. It had also been built to carry the water lines between the two rims, and Pine thought it might not be strong enough to support ten fifteen-hundred-pound mules and riders at a time, whereas the Black Bridge could.

  Before setting foot on the Black Bridge, Pine could have veered west and taken the River Trail over to the Silver Bridge and crossed the Colorado there, but she liked the Black Bridge crossing. There was another reason she was going this way as well.

  As she crossed the bridge, she looked down and saw the muddy Colorado roaring beneath her. Locals called that the true colorado, because that was the Spanish word for “reddish.” Without the complex dam systems that had been constructed around the Canyon, the mighty Colorado would, in certain parts of a drought-filled summer, be little more than puddles. But the dams had regulated the flow to make it more consistent and also to use it for hydroelectric power generation. It was also the reason that rafters could enjoy the challenging rapids. But without the water controls also provided by the dam system, parts of the Colorado could become so dangerous as to be rendered impassable by raft.

  And the dam system had contributed to something else. The silt tended to accumulate behind the dams, resulting in clearer water downriver. The sunlight penetrating the water resulted in algae thriving. And this contributed to the green color of the Colorado, which was quite evident when viewed from higher altitudes.

  She left the bridge and took a few minutes to go down to Boat Beach, lie in the sand, and stare at the star-filled sky. This was the other reason she had crossed at the Black Bridge. Pine made a practice of always coming to the beach and “sky staring,” and part of her perhaps thought that sticking to this routine would maybe bring her luck. But, then again, in her line of work, you tended to make your own luck by good preparation and even better execution.

  But you’ve never taken on a nuke before, Pine.

  She continued on, and the terrain became far more silty and loose, by-products of the water passing nearby. Pine could feel her feet slipping as she made her way forward. It was like walking on a beach, unreliable footing everywhere. That was the last thing she needed after her swift descent, but it wasn’t like she could lift off the ground and fly the rest of the way.

  To reach Phantom Ranch she would simply follow the trail that would turn to the north. But she was not going to Phantom, where, no doubt, hikers and riders were now slumbering peacefully before their journey back up; she kept following the riverbank.

  Bright Angel Creek was just up ahead. As she reached it, she took off her shoes, rolled up her pants, and waded into the shallow water. She sat down on a rock and let the cool water provide an amazing foot massage. The Creek finished its journey right here as it plunged into the Colorado at a spot roughly equidistant between the two bridges. Bright Angel Creek was the place to plop in the water down here if one was so inclined. The Colorado, even in places where it looked to be slow moving, was actually going more than four miles per hour. Few swimmers could fight that current. It was also deep and cold. Some young people had drowned at Boat Beach a number of years ago when they’d tried to swim across it.


  Bright Angel had also been the source of a swimming pool at Phantom. Pine had seen old photos of it. It had been located between the amphitheater and the lodge. She knew it had been hand-excavated some time back during the Depression. She didn’t know when it had been done away with or why. It was long before her time here.

  Also near the amphitheater was the ranger station. She waded out of the water, walked down a bit farther, and took a small footbridge over the creek. After reaching the other side, she dried her feet and put her socks and shoes back on. Kettler said he would be on duty tonight. That meant she was as close to him as she was likely to be down here. It would be good to have a capable man like Kettler with her on this.

  But at the last minute, and after additional deliberation, Pine knew she couldn’t do that. This was her job, not his. This was her danger to face, not his. If she didn’t make it out of here alive, she wasn’t going to take the man down with her.

  “Take care, Sam,” she said to the darkness. “If I don’t make it back, don’t forget me. At least for a little while.”

  Okay, Pine, cut the melodramatic crap. You got a nuke to find.

  God help me.

  CHAPTER

  52

  She passed a separate mule corral reserved for Park Service use, though she couldn’t see any mules in it now. There was also a sewage treatment plant down here. She headed west, with the campground and Phantom to the north of her. In the darkness Pine could make out the outlines of some tents in the distance, and even hear the echoing of late-night conversation among some of the campers. She walked for a time, her trekking poles methodically tapping the ground as she went. She used them even on level ground. Her knees, back, and hips would thank her later.

  After a bit, she slowed her pace and then stopped.

  She sat on a rock after checking it for scorpions and snakes. The noise from the river would mask anyone approaching, which she didn’t like but could do nothing about. There were many things one could do nothing about down here. In the Canyon, the environment was the master; humans were merely visiting.

  She switched off her headlamp, and ate and drank, replenishing her electrolytes and satisfying her belly. She’d brought her filter with her, and she knew sources of water in the area she was headed to. She took off her shoes again and rubbed her socked feet. The pace down had been hard, but she was supremely fit and had come out in good shape. However, climbing out, particularly if she had to match her pace going down, would be a whole other experience.

  Hopefully, she would not have to sprint the whole way with a regiment of bad guys chasing her.

  She checked her illuminated compass, because being down here at dark was like being on the water at night. Land and sea looked a lot alike. You had to rely on your instruments. And she had now turned away from the river, so she couldn’t simply follow its contours.

  She checked her hiking watch, which also had a thermometer.

  Nearly eighty degrees. That meant the next day would be a scorcher. Certainly not unheard-of for this time of year. She had trekked down Bright Angel once, arriving at Indian Garden, which was roughly the halfway point. Along with potable water, restrooms, and shade, there was a thermometer. That day it had registered 105 degrees. There was a sign next to the thermometer that read, YOUR BRAIN ON SUN. At the bottom of the Canyon, the temperature had climbed to nearly 120. She had arrived drenched in sweat, and dehydrated, though she’d eaten and had water and sports drinks all the way down. She’d lain in the shallow part of the creek for about a half hour before she felt like standing once more.

  She looked around into the dark. Out there were many beautiful things. Flowers, trees, animals, rock configurations, things you might not ever see anywhere else, no matter how hard and long you looked. But there were also many things out there that could kill you. And one had to respect that.

  As she sat there, Pine felt even warmer. The Canyon sometimes felt like a convection oven. The heat seemed to hit you from all directions. Even from inside. Pine looked up. Though the Canyon was nearly eighteen miles at its widest point, the sky was narrowed by the towering walls.

  With her index finger she traced the Milky Way. Constellations always gave her comfort. They were always in the same place when you looked up. They were like a friend keeping watch over you.

  If only.

  She rested for about an hour and then checked the sky again.

  The rule of thumb in the Canyon was that night came fast and the dawn arrived slow.

  Both results were caused by the Canyon’s massive walls. It was like being surrounded by a sea of five-thousand-foot-high skyscrapers.

  She pointed her headlamp on the paper map she had pulled from her coat pocket. It had been on the flash drive. She had already roughly calculated the location of what she hoped would be the cave Roth was looking for down here. She put the paper away, studied her compass, and did some math in her head.

  Finished, she sat there and took in the surroundings, steeling herself for what was to come.

  Pine had been hiking near the river once when she’d seen something metallic partially submerged in the silt in a shallow part of the Colorado. She’d managed to get it out using one of her trekking poles. It was a long cylinder, and the water had very nearly removed all signs of what it was.

  Very nearly.

  When she examined it more closely, Pine discovered it was a can of Heineken beer. She had no idea how long it had been in the water after it had no doubt fallen off a passing raft. That day it had been nearly a hundred degrees on the Canyon floor. She’d popped the Heineken open and drunk it. It was the coldest and best-tasting beer she’d ever had.

  She resettled on the task at hand. If there was a nuke down here, how had Roth planned to get it out—if that was his plan?

  He’d traveled by mule far to the west of either bridge that one needed to cross over the river. And the North Kaibab Trail, which led to the North Rim, was far longer than the trails from the south, nearly fourteen miles from the trailhead to Phantom Ranch.

  Pine looked out to the west. The Hermit Trail was in this direction. Not in nearly as good a condition as Kaibab and Bright Angel, it was actually designated as an unmaintained trail by the Park Service. Yet there you ran into the same problem: Roth was on the north side of the Colorado and the Hermit Trail was on the south side. And there was no way to cross the river, allowing him to access Hermit Trail.

  And how heavy was a nuke anyway? Could you carry the damn thing out? Didn’t they weigh thousands of pounds?

  But maybe that wasn’t Roth’s plan. Maybe he was just down here to disarm it, where it was. And then alert folks to it.

  She looked upward.

  Or how about a chopper to take it and him out?

  Much farther down the river there was a put-in and take-out helipad spot for tourists called the Whitmore Helipad. It was mostly used for those coming from the Vegas area. But that was the West Rim of the Canyon, near Black Canyon, which was nearly a hundred miles from where Pine currently was. Roth could never have made it that far with a nuke.

  So a chopper flying in here after dark would have to come across one of the rims, dip downward, fly between the Canyon walls, and then land at a designated spot, pick up Roth and the bomb, and head back out. If they were spotted, the Park Service might have sent up a chopper of its own or at least contacted local and federal authorities to find out what was going on. But a chopper designed for nighttime excursions over rough, enclosed terrain would certainly be up to the task.

  Maybe a military-style chopper? Like the one that had taken away the Priest brothers? Was that why the Army was involved? Were they looking for the nuke, too? Was Roth actually working with them? Should she hike back up and go to them with what she knew?

  But Pine knew this really wasn’t an option. Her fellow feds had been acting weird on this all the way through. The two guys at the airport, if they were feds—and she strongly suspected that was the case—were planning to murder them.


  I can’t trust my own people.

  It was a gut-wrenching admission.

  She hiked to the spot where they had found Sallie Belle. The ground was fairly level here, and there was clearly enough room for a chopper to land. She looked around for evidence of damage or disruption caused by the chopper’s skids or its prop wash. The thing was, in the Canyon things settled back down, or critters came out and made marks and moved things around. Plants grew, water trickled, the wind blew, the rains washed away traces.

  There was nothing.

  She looked due west, and then to the north.

  One would think that every inch of the Canyon had been explored by now, but Pine knew that the vast majority of visitors saw the Canyon only from the South Rim. And from that vantage point, only about 4 percent of the Canyon was visible. The folks who ventured down here had permits to camp in certain spots, and they were told to keep to certain well-marked trails. Almost none of them ventured out into the wild. Even the rafters would go only so far up any of the side canyons, because it was damn rugged and snakes and other biting creatures lurked everywhere. Pine had one ranger tell her that while he’d been there thirty years, he’d only set foot on a small portion of the Canyon.

  Pine felt her spirits collapse. Was her plan getting chewed up in the face of the reality on the ground? Did she really think she was going to come down here and, in just a few hours, find Roth and the cave and the nuke?

  But she shook off these thoughts and regrouped.

  Side canyon. It had to be a side canyon where Roth would have gone. That actually would line up with the navigation points on the flash drive.

  She checked her watch. Another hour before the light would start coming. She set out.

  The Canyon flattened out near the Colorado; the river had seen to that, of course. Yet when one veered away from the water, the land quickly steepened and there were a great many side canyons down here.

  Thirty minutes later she reached the first one. After exploring it as best she could by foot, she pulled out a pair of night optics from her pack and surveyed the rest of the area.