Viking Vengeance

by Maggie Foster

  With the sunrise, the landscape changed. The gray mist thinned, but he had to keep his eyes peeled for cars entering the roadway from hidden drives all up and down the route. Hwy 95 took him straight toward downtown Bangor and he again found himself caught in rush hour traffic, this time the early risers trying to get to work through the numerous traffic signals. Jim debated the wisdom of a rest stop, then decided against it, pushing through the traffic, crossing the river, and picking up the road on the other side.

  Half an hour later he turned in at the Sunkhaze Homestead gates. He drove up to the front, pulled to a stop, and climbed out, staggering as his feet hit the pavement.

  * * *

  Chapter 35

  Monday Morning

  Rte. 9, headed east

  Ginny hunched over the steering wheel, peering into the fog. She would rather have waited until it lifted, but, with the threat of police on their tail, she didn’t dare take the chance.

  She was also still without her talisman. The Bangor and Pittsburgh couriers were at a loss to explain it. They would keep an eye out. Stripped of both its protection and Jim’s presence, Ginny felt decidedly vulnerable.

  The U.S. terminus, Calais, was a two hour drive from Bangor. The crossing there was called International Avenue and it was open 24/7, year round. She would have no trouble entering Canada (legally). The problem was still Charlie.

  Reggie had fitted them all with false papers, including driver’s licenses and credit cards and, in an excess of caution, she and Charlie had already donned their new identities. But Charlie’s image might be on the police blotters by now and Charlie’s DNA had been left behind in Virginia. She couldn’t take the chance the guards wouldn’t recognize him.

  It seemed unlikely he could get himself over the border. He could not use cross-country skis or snowshoes or his crutches. He could probably drive a snowmobile, but that would make a great deal of noise and could not be hidden from the natives.

  She had made some careful inquiries at Sunkhaze, but all she’d heard was how this crossing, International Avenue, had been built to handle the increasingly heavy load of vehicular traffic into and out of Canada. There was no suggestion anyone might consider circumventing the facility. On the contrary, her informants had admired the technology that allowed drive-through scanning. They were looking for weapons, drugs, and human trafficking. She would have to come up with something other than throwing a blanket over Charlie and hoping the customs officer would look the other way.

  Charlie himself seemed to be thinking along the same lines. They’d both slept well and breakfasted and had a care package in the back with more food in it and third helpings of hot coffee in the cup holders. But he was frowning.

  An hour into the drive Ginny started seeing evidence of sunlight. There were patches of white mist appearing among the roiling gray.

  The road was in pretty good shape since it was a major east-west artery. It had been plowed and there was a lane open in each direction. Slow going, though. The trucks were taking their time, apparently in no hurry to arrive, and Ginny was getting frustrated at the delays. She couldn’t pass any of them until the visibility improved so she tried to compose her soul in patience. She discovered the problem on one of the many curves along the road. They were behind a school bus.

  By nine a.m. the bus had delivered its cargo and was off the road. The big rigs picked up their pace. The fog, too, was lifting.

  Ginny could now see something of the land through which they were rolling. Most of it was heavily wooded. There were bridges and pull-bys and regularly spaced eateries with gas pumps out front. It was bucolic and serene and Ginny relaxed as the sun rose higher and the fog dissipated, leaving a cloudless blue sky and spectacular winter scenery in its wake.

  They were more than halfway to Calais and it had been almost fifteen minutes since Ginny had seen another vehicle on the road. The truckers had pulled away and the few passenger cars seemed to be locals.

  “There’s something going on ahead of us,” Charlie said.

  He was right. Ginny could see cars pulled over to the side of the road and people climbing out of them, some with cameras. She slowed down and carefully pulled around the next bend.

  “Look out!”

  Ginny slammed on the brakes, then fought the car’s attempt to fishtail, coming to rest slightly off center and breathing a sigh of relief that she hadn’t put it in the ditch. She turned to Charlie in exasperation.

  “What is the matter with you?”

  He pointed at the roadway. “Look.”

  Ginny turned back around and saw a black bear in the middle of the road, facing them.

  She stared at the obstruction. Black bears were not as large as grizzlies or Kodiaks or polar bears. This one filled only one lane of the roadway, but he was plenty large enough. What’s more, he looked unhappy. He had his mouth open and seemed to be considering whether or not he wanted to challenge her right to be in his space.

  She sat there in silence for a full minute, then asked, “What do we do now?”

  “Is there enough space to drive around him?”

  “I don’t know. Will he attack the car?”

  “Only if he feels threatened, or hungry.”

  Ginny glanced over at Charlie, but he didn’t seem to be joking. She turned the steering wheel and started to ease toward the empty side of the road. The bear rocked from one side to the other and Charlie motioned for her to stop. The bear reared his head and snapped his jaws several times, then rose on its hind legs. Ginny found herself staring up at the animal.

  “He’s just looking at us,” Charlie said. “Just wait.”

  “Okay.” Ginny’s voice came out higher than normal and a bit squeaky. She swallowed and tried to lick her lips, but she seemed to be out of saliva.

  The animal came down on all fours, put his head down, and started toward them.

  “Stay calm.” Charlie’s voice just barely reached her. “It’s a sham, a fake charge. He’ll stop.” And he did.

  Ginny watched the animal backup, then rock from side to side again, then amble across the road and disappear among the trees. She gasped, then dragged a shaking hand across her brow. “That is as close as I ever want to come to a bear outside of a zoo.”

  Charlie reached over and took her hand. “It’s all right, Ginny. We were never in any real danger. He just wanted to let us know this is his territory.”

  Ginny laughed briefly. “He can have it. Is it safe to drive on?”

  “Yes.”

  Ginny put her hands back on the wheel, pulled into the lane, and started off again.

  “Good lookin’ animal, that bear.”

  “I’m glad you liked it.” Ginny was still shaking.

  “Healthy. It means the population is the right size here. He’s getting enough to eat.”

  “Don’t bears hibernate in the winter?”

  “Uh huh, but you can wake them up and they’ll come out to see what you want. I’ve done that.”

  Ginny shook her head. “You’re nuts! You know that?”

  Charlie grinned at her. “Guess you could say so. I’ve been hunting my whole life. Ever tasted bear meat?”

  “No.”

  “It’s strong and can be tough. Not usually worth the effort to clean and cook it.”

  Ginny took a deep breath. “I’ll stick to chicken, thank you.”

  “Rattlesnake. How about that? Have you tasted rattlesnake?”

  There were no further surprises and the two of them talked Texas until they reached the intersection of State Highway 9 and U.S. 1 where they found a place to pull off and a menu consisting of nothing more exotic than Atlantic salmon.

  * * *

  Monday Morning

  Rte 9, headed east

  It took Jim only five minutes to find out Ginny and Charlie had left an hour before he arrived.

  “But you must have some breakfast before you go out again. Are you sure you wouldn’t like a nap as well?”

  Jim shook
his head. “Yes, please, to the breakfast, but no, I can’t stay longer than that. I have to catch up.”

  “Well, if you must. Sit. Eat. Have some coffee.”

  Jim ate with a good appetite and accepted a thermos of hot coffee with gratitude. He took a few minutes to get cleaned up and change clothes, then hit the road again.

  Two hours. He was only two hours behind them and on the right road. (There was only the one.) He’d been told which border crossing they were headed for, but there his information ended. As far as he knew, that was all Ginny had, too. What would she do when she reached that crossing? She couldn’t simply drive into Canada, not with Charlie in the car.

  She would have to wait. She’d find a place to wait, a way to signal him. He watched the morning traffic unwind, then thin, then desert him, leaving him alone with the open highway and a straight shot to Canada.

  * * *

  Monday Morning

  Baileyville, ME

  Ginny finished drying her hands, then stretched. What should have been a two hour trip had taken three and her shoulders ached.

  She stared at herself in the mirror. She looked thin, tired, pale, and she had no plan. That wasn’t like her. Angus had said, “Go!” So she had gone. And now, here she was, facing herself in a truck stop mirror without the slightest idea of what to do next.

  She didn’t like flying by the seat of her pants. It made her nervous. ICU nurses didn’t just wander in off the street and start fiddling with the drip rates. They communicated with the rest of the team. They anticipated problems. They had backup plans for their backup plans.

  She frowned at her reflection. The prohibition against using the phones made the danger seem real. Cut off not just from Jim, but from the Homesteads and Angus and her mother, she was on her own to get Charlie to Halifax. She found her breath coming faster and her palms damp.

  Her eyes narrowed at the frightened woman looking back at her from the mirror. Was that what Jim was seeing? Was that why he had made such a point of trying to keep her out of danger? If so, she deserved it. That woman didn’t look like she could swat a fly without help.

  Well, here was a chance to prove her worth to him and to herself. All she had to do was break a few international laws, evade the domestic and foreign police, and persuade a series of innocent bystanders to collude in her infamy. Assuming she could figure out how to use their innocence to her advantage.

  She gave herself a hard stare, then straightened her shoulders. The odds were against her. The law was closing in and time was running out. It was time to get to work.

  She located a corner table in the dining area and looked over the menu, waiting for Charlie to reappear. The waitress arrived first. Ginny ordered coffee for two.

  “Extra cream. Got it. Be right back.”

  She was as good as her word, reappearing promptly with the two coffees and her note pad. Ginny ordered a second breakfast, not because she wanted it, but because she thought it would look funny if she didn’t, then explained she was very sorry to trouble the waitress, whose name was Gladys, but her companion would have to order for himself when he got out of the restroom.

  She nodded, her head cocked to one side. “You here for the Festival?”

  “What festival?”

  The waitress lifted a flyer from the neighboring table and handed it over.

  “International Snowmobile Festival. Joint effort with Canada, but we get people from all over. It’s a big deal round here.” She gestured toward the flyer with her pencil. “Today’s the qualifiers. Tomorrow the real fun begins.” She smiled. “I’ll get started on your order.”

  Ginny watched her move off, suddenly aware of the other patrons in the fuel stop. Some were obviously truckers, but some sported high-end cold weather gear and expensive sunglasses.

  Charlie joined her, setting his crutches on the floor and easing into his seat.

  “Coffee!” He sipped the hot liquid, then added sugar, then sipped again. “What are you thinking, Ginny?”

  She looked up to find his eyes on her. “Bonnie,” she corrected him.

  He nodded. “Bonnie Jean Bowie.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Tell ole Laredo Pete what’s going through that pretty little head of yours.”

  She grinned at his affectation of the west Texas drawl. “I’m not sure, yet. What do you think of this?” She shoved the flyer across the table.

  He read it between sips, then set it down, his eyes on the other customers. “Looks like we’re just two more tourists out for a good time.”

  Ginny nodded slowly. “I wonder if the snowmobile trails cross into Canada.”

  Charlie’s eyebrows rose. “You thinking of ‘borrowing’ one?”

  “I was just wondering what, exactly, is going on here and whether we can make use of it.”

  The waitress took Charlie’s order, then, after turning it in to the cook, stayed to chat.

  Yes, the competition trails crossed back and forth between the two countries. Yes, the participants had to register and were required to produce passports both at the beginning and at the end of the race. They used photo-IDs to authenticate the riders. Had to. Border patrol rules. Lots of cameras. It was televised and went out over the airwaves. And the Internet, of course. Some of the events had money prizes, but most were just for fun. Best trails in three states and two provinces. First aid stations and safety stops along the courses. Well, no, not all the courses. The dogs didn’t have safety stops. The trails were too short to need them. Dogs? Dogsleds. They had sleds and snowshoe races and cross-country skiing events, too. Great fun. Entry fees covered the officials, the rest were volunteers, from all over. Too big for the locals to handle it all. Did they want some more coffee?

  Charlie’s food came with the coffee and he dug in, ending the conversation. Ginny watched him eat, her mind turning over what she had heard.

  “The trails cross the border.”

  Charlie looked up and caught her eye, then resumed his meal. “Security will be tight.”

  Ginny leaned back in her seat. “My sources tell me that no one cares if Americans cross over into Canada without proper documentation, unless they’re smuggling drugs or something. The trouble starts when the American wants to come home.”

  Charlie looked at her, his fork halfway to his mouth, his expression suddenly cold. “Well, we don’t have to worry about that, do we?”

  Ginny flinched. She hadn’t meant to rub salt in his wounds. “I’m sorry. I just meant, in an event this size, there’s no way they can watch everyone.”

  Charlie relaxed slightly, then nodded. “I’ll have to lose the crutches.”

  “Yes.” She chewed her lip for a moment. “But not yet. First, we go check out the races.”

  * * *

  Chapter 36

  Monday, Noon

  Baileyville, ME

  Jim pulled into the truck stop and looked around. The place was busy. Lots of big rigs. Lots of smaller vehicles, many with ski racks. Trailers, too, with snowmobiles on them. He filled the tank, then found a parking space, located a corner booth in the restaurant where he could watch the door, ordered coffee, and settled in to think.

  His grandfather had been clear on the subject. Neither he nor Ginny was to use the phones unless it was an emergency. On the assumption the police were tracking Jim, in the hope he would lead them to Charlie, that made sense.

  He sipped his coffee, watching the big screen TV mounted above the door. It took him a minute to realize the picture was a live feed. It was an exterior location, with lots of sunshine and brightly colored cold weather clothing. There were people inspecting snowmobiles, tagging them, then moving on to the next. A man wandered across the frame wearing an armband with ‘Official’ printed on it.

  Jim picked up a flyer someone had left on his table and read through it. A snowmobile festival. His eyes narrowed. That would be a good way to get a man with a broken leg across the border.

  The truck stop made an ideal rendezvous for the three of them. Too b
ad he and Ginny hadn’t set up a way to find one another. It would be nice if she’d wave at the camera for him.

  He finished the first cup of coffee and accepted another. That made what? Twelve in the last seven hours? At what point did you risk caffeine poisoning? He set the second cup down and rubbed his face with his hands, then leaned back into the corner and let his eyes close. He could sit here in comfort for a while, as long as the waitress would let him, and watch that TV and hope Ginny would come to lunch.

  She might not be here, of course. She might have decided to go up Hwy 1 and see if she could use any part of their original plan. Or she might have crossed into Canada down here. He knew her well enough to know that, if she’d been handed a golden opportunity to smuggle Charlie across, she’d take it and high-tail it to Halifax so she could use the phone.

  Probably she was still here, trying to figure out how to use this festival to cover her tracks. If he could figure out what she would try, he could do the same. That would mean going out on the grounds and looking around. He would do that. In a minute. As soon as he’d finished this cup of coffee. Jim felt his head swim, blackness closing in from both sides. He was familiar with the sensation. He’d suffered through it enough times in the deepest part of the night shift. If he didn’t move soon, he’d fall asleep right where he was. Soon. Needed to move. Soon. Open his eyes and move. Soon.

  * * *

  Monday Afternoon

  Baileyville, ME

  Ginny made her way to the picnic table where she’d left Charlie. They’d had to swoop in to grab this seat and she saw that he was now sharing it with someone else.

  “Bonnie Jean! I’m glad you’re back. I want you to meet someone.” Charlie gestured across the table. “This is Vincent Wildes. He’s here for the dogsled events and he’s been telling me all about them.”

  The young man on the other side of the table rose and held his hand out to Ginny. “Hi!” He had a fresh face, a dusting of freckles, and a huge smile. Ginny could just see the fringe of bright red hair under his knitted cap.