by Jen Doyle
Ian did exactly as told and then repeated it with the other two dogs. Once the ritual had been completed they went inside.
The cabin’s main room was furnished with simple but high-quality furniture. Keepsakes and photographs from locations across the globe were scattered throughout. Julie, as he was now on close enough terms to call her, apparently, walked through the room, slowing down only long enough to toss her hat on the counter separating the living/dining area from the small kitchen. “This way,” she said, without further explanation.
Although it was unusual—Ian hadn’t exactly started off the day thinking he’d be given a tour of the park administrator’s home—he didn’t get the feeling there was any danger in following her. As long as the dogs stayed put, that was, which they seemed to be doing, so he forged ahead.
Given the size of the cabin, he wasn’t surprised he was walking into a bedroom; what he was surprised about, was the huge map of Quetico Park on the bedroom wall, and the notes and photos posted all over it.
She leaned back against the opposite wall, arms folded in front of her chest, as he went to look at the map more closely. “It’s like you said in Boston,” she said. “We’re already seeing the numbers drop; the chatter in town these days is starting to sound like an episode of Ghost Hunters. It started up at least a year before I took on this post, but I know I’ll catch the blame if it doesn’t get sorted out. I’m not sure I would have come to you if I knew you existed, but I’d be lying if I said I haven’t spent the last few months trying to figure out what I could possibly do about it—and I’ve been coming up incredibly short.”
The map wasn’t anything Ian hadn’t already seen—he’d been studying maps of Quetico for a month now. The scale of it, though, was huge. She’d had it blown up large enough to cover the entire wall. Directly in front of him at eye level was Russell Lake, which was just north of the center of the park. Based on the distribution of where the bodies had been found so far, he and Matt had already decided to set up their base camp on its southeastern banks. Seeing the map at this scale—with markers clustering at his five-o’clock and eleven-o’clock confirmed they were on the right track.
“What’s this?” He pointed to the red circle around McAree Lake—on the western border of the park, just about at seven o’clock.
She didn’t answer right away. When Ian turned to her she immediately dropped her gaze so as not to meet his. It took her a few moments to compose her thoughts. “For as much as they’ve been a pain in my ass, these are some of the best rangers I’ve ever worked with. Despite how they may feel about me personally, they take their jobs seriously and they’re here to protect and preserve.”
Ian assumed as much. The people who resisted the team the most tended to be the ones who cared most. Frank’s attitude, though irritating, wasn’t just the norm, it was expected, at least to a degree. Ian also found, however, that those were the people who had the hardest time accepting that what was happening was something beyond their imagination and control. They fought hard to keep their beliefs intact, often to the point of being downright confrontational. As Ian remembered from the meeting in Boston, however, Julie seemed to go about things a little bit differently than the norm in situations like this. She didn’t appear to have an ego to speak of, had no concerns about being shown up by a team that knew more about how to handle this than she did. At the same time, although they’d clearly been running her hard, she was protective of her own team. She obviously wanted to make it clear that they not be seen as slackers of any kind, and certainly not as cowardly or incapable.
Which was fine. Ian didn’t have to like someone to respect what they were going through. He’d seen it enough by now that he’d seen the signs the first time he’d lain eyes on these people back in Boston. Saying so, however, often sounded condescending. He knew from experience that the only thing he should be doing right now was staying quiet.
A minute or so later, she walked over to join him by the map. Pointing to the area around McAree, she said, “That’s our red zone. It’s not so much my guys as the Lac La Croix Guides—do you know who they are?”
Ian nodded. As Paul had said in their meeting, the Lac La Croix guides were accorded certain privileges within Quetico park, largely the right to operate power boats on certain lakes. One of the concessions he and Matt had had to make with Monica Cain was that each of the four teams the Task Force was splitting up into would be accompanied by a Lac La Croix Guide.
“McAree Lake is one of the six lakes they’re allowed to operate their boats on,” Julie continued. “But they’ve been refusing service there for the last few months, which is pretty crazy given how much they need those rides to survive. They’re so spooked that they’re beginning to get my guys freaked, too. So far, as I’m sure you’re aware, there hasn’t been anything specific that’s happened in that area of the park. I’ve got to figure, though, that they know something we don’t.” Then she turned to Ian and looked him in the eye. “I get the feeling you know something I don’t, too.”
Unlike at the meeting in Boston, Ian had no qualms about telling her whatever she wanted to know. The problem was, “Pretty much all I know is what the guides and rangers have told the police.”
As though daring him to answer truthfully, her eyes narrowed. “The guides think it’s an evil spirit.”
With as nonchalant a shrug as possible, Ian said, “The guides could be right.”
There were a few moments of very heavy silence as the truth took hold. Then she said, “You’re not seriously telling me this is all being done by a ghost.” Although her voice was tinged with disbelief, the way she clutched at her arms as she crossed them in front of her chest made Ian think she’d already begun to believe.
In Ian’s experience, ghosts and spirits weren’t necessarily the same. He didn’t think this was the time to go over the distinctions, however. “I’m not telling you anything. I don’t know enough yet about what’s happening; that’s what we’re here to find out.”
She looked at him for a few seconds and then turned on her heel. “I need some food.”
Over a lunch of fried up freshly caught trout—eaten on the same deck she’d caught it off of the night before—she told him more about her job. Her most recent concerns, it appeared, involved the forest fires raging on the eastern side of the park that she’d been on the phone about earlier, as well as what the other call had revolved around, an increasing concern that the park’s largely unpatrolled border with Minnesota’s Boundary Waters Canoe Area was being used as a crossover point into the U.S. From the way she talked, Ian got the impression that whoever had promoted her into the administrator job hadn’t exactly done so with her best interests in mind. Given the size of the park—one million acres on the Canadian side alone—the political issues, and the problem at hand, it was unlikely she’d come out of this in a favorable light. Since Ian’s career path had taken a similar turn once upon a time, he found himself feeling unexpectedly sympathetic.
As they got into the car to head back in to town, Ian said, “Tell me what you know about the butterflies.”
She laughed sharply as she took the turn back onto the main road. “The butterflies. Right.” She’d driven a couple miles before she said, “Frank thinks it’s a load of bull, but we overheard the guides saying something about the Butterfly Queen. It must be a legend of some kind, but I’ve never heard anything more about it. They’re not exactly the most talkative bunch; at least not to us.”
“Can you make it so that the guide who’s most likely to share is assigned to my group?” he asked.
She shrugged. “The difference is pretty much negligible, but sure.”
Ian nodded and looked out the window. He tapped on his earpiece, signaling to Command that he wanted the audio back. The second it was live, Matt’s voice came on. “Welcome back,” he said. “I sent Emily the reference to the legend; we’ll see if she can turn anything up. You thinking you’ll be back with us anytime soon?”
; Ian turned to Julie with a smile. “Am I allowed to meet up with my team again?”
This time she laughed outright. “Oh, hell, no. Dorothy probably has another few stacks of paper waiting for you by now. We’ve only just begun.”
12
While Ian was off doing who-knew-what with the far-too-attractive Julianna Langdon, Lyndsey tried to focus on making it just another day rather than getting too worked up about how they’d left things. At the moment, she was trying to concentrate on her third round of push-ups. Unfortunately, she wasn’t doing too well.
Maybe they’d gotten married so quickly because Abby couldn’t collect her massive inheritance if she was still single…
Sixty-four…sixty-five…sixty-six…
Maybe it was because the Army would have assigned them to opposite sides of the world if they weren’t husband and wife…
Sixty-seven…sixty-eight…sixty-nine…
Maybe Abby had committed some horrible crime and if they were married, Ian wouldn’t have to testify against her.
One could only hope.
Sigh.
Seventy…seventy-one…
Finally, she thought when there was a knock on the door. She pushed up off the floor and opened the door to see Sprague standing there.
“Fifteen minutes,” he said. “Matt’s cabin—104.”
“Thanks.” She closed the door behind him. Something to do at last.
From the moment they’d touched down in Quetico, she’d been marking time while everyone else went about their business. When Ian had finally sent word they could leave the airstrip, Lyndsey climbed into one of the vans with the rest of the team, not really knowing where she was going until they arrived at Camp Atikokan—a rustic looking but thankfully not-at-all rundown resort consisting of a main hotel as well as a variety of different-sized cabins.
“Lucky you,” Sprague had said as he handed her a key. “You get a cabin all to yourself. Courtesy of Monica Cain.”
On the one hand, that was good, because she really wasn’t too keen on the idea of a roommate; on the other hand, it wasn’t good at all. Because no matter how hard she’d tried to avoid it, she’d passed the time obsessing about the conversation she’d had with Ian. Or not had, to be precise. By the time she’d realized she wanted company, it was too late; Ana and Sprague had both disappeared and there wasn’t really anyone else on the squad that she felt comfortable with enough to go knock on their door.
So she’d done an hour’s worth of yoga, wasted as much time as possible playing games on her iPad, and then spent forty-five minutes on the phone with Tessa. Three whole minutes of that conversation had been devoted to discussing the case and the fact that Tessa was trying to work her way into some prayer circle with a medicine man who might be able to help answer some questions; an additional two minutes were spent lamenting the fact that Tommy had ended up staying in Ottawa one more night and wouldn’t be arriving until the morning. That left the remaining forty minutes free for Lyndsey to be reassured she was perfectly justified in bringing the past up with Ian and it was unlikely she had screwed anything up. At least not this time; at least not permanently.
Thank God Sprague appeared when he did.
Lyndsey jumped in the shower, but even that only ate up six minutes—she just wasn’t in the mood for luxurious loofah-ing today. Moments later she was dressed and on her way to Matt’s cabin, hoping Ian might be there already and she could get a sense, at least, of how things would go from here.
Matt answered the door with the phone at his ear, gesturing for her to take a seat.
No Ian. There were toys, though, and she walked around the room, peering into the crates of weapons and communications gear piled on the floor.
“Did you guys work things out?” Matt asked as he hung up the phone.
“Why?” she said, looking up. “Did he say something?”
Matt shook his head. “Haven’t talked to him all afternoon. He’s still dealing with the permit stuff. He should be here soon, though.”
“Oh.” Lyndsey pushed a box aside. She took her seat as Ana, Sprague, and Brady arrived—i.e., ‘the Leadership,’ according to Ian and Matt—and Matt started opening boxes and passing things out.
“It’s about time,” Matt said when Ian walked in about twenty minutes later. “Thought we were going to have to send a rescue team in.”
Ian held up a thick envelope. “Had to sign away Annie and Kate’s firstborn, but I think we’re good to go.” He handed the envelope to Brady. “Grab the permits for your team and pass it around; tell your men to have them at all times. Rangers aren’t too happy with the concessions that were made, so don’t be surprised if they hassle us a bit. If they give you a hard time and I’m not around, call it in to Command. Matt will have copies of everything on file as well as a hot line to the embassy and the General if necessary.” He turned to Matt. “So, what’d I miss?”
“We just finished getting all the equipment divvied up.” Matt looked around the room, addressing the whole group: “Distribute everything so it gets packed up tonight. Weapons should be accessible, but not conspicuous.” Opening up the box Lyndsey had pushed aside, he pulled out a black wiry techie-type thing. He held it up and said, “You’ll notice we rated the new ComTac gear.” At Lyndsey’s blank look, he explained, “Tactical Communications. Data, voice, and video.”
Which sounded almost as foreign to Lyndsey as the Ojibwe phrases Paul had talked about earlier, but that in plain English appeared to be headsets and earpieces. The one Matt was holding up right now looked like the wireless earphones she wore at the gym, but with a little more in the way of gadgetry.
“That’s the camera,” Matt said to Lyndsey, pointing to the protruding piece of wire that snaked along the jaw. “There’s a microphone in there, too, so don’t say anything you don’t want me to hear.” Addressing the others, he added, “Nothing you guys haven’t seen before, just a lot smaller. They blend in much better than the old ones.” Matt smiled. “Speaking of blending in…” He nodded at Ian.
Ian pulled the table into the middle of the room so everyone could see the map he spread out. He drew an ‘X’ in the middle of the map. “We’ve chartered a couple of float planes to bring us here, into Russell Lake.” He pointed to one of the lakes that was a little bit north of the center of the park. “We’ve also rented out a bunch of cabins to use as Base Camp, if necessary. Whether we use them or not depends on how things go from there. The plan is for each team to cover a different section of the Park, focusing on the areas where the men disappeared and where the bodies were found, splitting up if we need to.” He waved his hand over the bottom of the map. “Alpha team will cover this area, mostly the southern parts. Beta will cover up here. If the planes bring us in on time, some of us will actually be able to hit the first scene tomorrow afternoon.”
Ana asked, “With Lee and ZSJ running Comm, what do you need from Brady and me?”
Matt took back the reins. “Brady will be with Ian and, Rodrigues,” –aka Ana; it appeared that Ian and Matt called just about everyone other than each other by last name— “you’ll be with Sprague.”
“Lyndsey,” Ian corrected, his eyes on Matt.
Um… “What?”
Now Ian turned to her. “You’re our team leader. Not me.”
Oh. Right. Lyndsey only barely managed not to roll her eyes. But since her leader status didn’t seem to come along with keep-Ian-from-going-into-the-Park rights, she had absolutely no interest in what it entailed. “Okay, fine. Then I designate you in charge of…” She waved her hand towards Matt and his gadget porn with as much authority as she could muster. “…all of that.”
Both Ian’s and Matt’s jaws tightened at her statement, whereas everyone else seemed to find something really fascinating to look at on the floor. There was also perhaps a snicker or two.
Whatever. According to Monica she was actually in charge of the whole shebang, although Matt had clearly forgotten about that part. So now she waved her han
d at Matt. “Go on. You can proceed.”
Also ignoring the snickers—and after giving her one more final glare—Matt directed their attention back to the map. “Because the crime scenes are so spread out, we’ll split up the two teams of eight into four teams of four as necessary; each of you will head up the subgroup. The Base Camp is where you can replenish food and supplies.”
Ian passed out packets full of laminated maps to Matt and the three other team leaders. “We sent all this stuff to your PCDs, but considering we’re spending the next three weeks in canoes, we wanted you to have hard copy back-up.”
Having spent enough time already doing her homework, Lyndsey didn’t have much interest in looking at the map. She’d never spent a full three weeks out in the woods, but, as she’d told Dominic, she wasn’t worried about that part. And after spending the last few days training with Ian and Matt’s team, she’d been able to put aside her commando issues. Mostly. Now if she’d just waited until they were back in Boston to bring up the whole relationship thing, she would have been golden.
Matt turned to Lyndsey. “ZSJ will be looped into the audio and video feeds 24/7; whenever they want to access what’s going on, they’ll have a channel in.”
Still getting used to the whole idea of people listening in and tracking everything she’d be doing for the next three weeks, Lyndsey tried to shake off the feeling of Big Brotherness. If someone was going to be that on top of her, though, she was glad Zachary and Tessa would have her back.
“Thanks,” she said, nodding. As she did so, she happened to glance down at the map, and, for the first time, noticed a grayed out area in the southwest corner. “What’s that?”
“No Man’s Land, apparently,” Ian answered. He drew a half-circle from the Park border to the international boundary line shared by the U.S. and Canada. “According to Julianna, this is where the native guides refuse to go. It’s a pretty big area, encompassing almost all of McAree Lake.”
