Desolation Mountain

by Krueger, William Kent

  Ned gestured toward the top of the broad, barren rise. “He’s staying north. Smart boy.”

  “Why smart?” Daniel asked.

  “Bunch of rock rises for the next half mile. Me and Monkey, we call this area the Hungry Hills. Never can track deer here. We always go home hungry. It’d be hard for anyone to follow Stephen in these rocks, me included.”

  “We’ve got to try,” Cork said.

  “Yeah, we gotta try.” But Ned’s voice held little promise.

  They spread out and moved separately, yards apart. Wherever there was soil between the rocks, Cork looked for prints. On the stone itself, he searched for patches of lichen that might have been scarred by boot soles. He found nothing. Ditto Ned and Daniel.

  “We could maybe keep going north,” Ned said. “But once Stephen hit this area, he coulda took off in most any direction. Me, I’d circle back, but maybe Stephen done something different. You know him better, Cork.”

  The honest-to-god truth was that Cork didn’t have a clue. He couldn’t put himself inside his son’s thinking, particularly in this uniquely terrible situation. He felt deficient, like there was something essential lacking in him, especially as a father. Christ, why didn’t he know his son better?

  Daniel said, “We have a good hour of sunlight left. We can keep looking. But there’s the flight recorder.”

  Cork stood on the rocky ground, which had yielded nothing, thinking for a hopeless moment that his son, like the others, was gone.

  Then he remembered Henry Meloux’s advice, which he’d discounted as nonsense: What your head believes you are looking for is not always what your heart is seeking.

  “Let’s get the flight recorder,” he said, turning back.

  “What about Stephen?” Daniel asked.

  Cork walked ahead of the others, saying as if it were a prayer, “Stephen can take care of himself.”

  CHAPTER 39

  * * *

  “You just left him out there?”

  Jenny looked stunned. In Meloux’s cabin, they all looked a little nonplussed. Except perhaps for Meloux. The lines on his face gave away nothing but the fact that he was practically as old as creation itself.

  “Dad, you can’t just abandon him.” Jenny was furious.

  Daniel said, “We didn’t have time to search anymore. We need to get the flight recorder.” He looked out the window at the setting sun, which was balanced on top of a distant pine like a yellow ball on the nose of a seal. “And your dad’s right. Stephen can take care of himself.”

  “Like Ned and Monkey?” Jenny threw back at him. “Like Sue and Phil and Tom?”

  “This is different,” Daniel said. “Stephen was on the run.”

  “On the run? How far do you think that gimp leg will get him?”

  Ned spoke up, a little hesitantly, as if unsure he should intrude. “He’s not alone out there.”

  Jenny turned her anger on him. “No, he’s out there with men who probably want him dead.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I made my decision, Jenny,” Cork said. “It’s too late to go back now. It would be too dark to see anything.”

  “You’re going after that damn recorder in the dark.”

  Daniel said, “It’ll only be dark if we don’t leave right now.”

  “Fine,” Jenny said. “I’m going to look for Stephen.”

  Meloux said, “Ned is right. He is not alone out there.”

  Probably because it was Meloux who’d spoken, Jenny took a deep, calming breath. “I don’t understand what that means.”

  “Monsters,” Waaboo said fearfully.

  Meloux reached out and placed a reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Not monsters, Little Rabbit. Spirits. Energies. Guides.”

  “That’s sorta what I meant,” Ned said. “If you know the woods, you pick up on things. Spirits maybe, but I was thinking more about things like that Juneberry patch Stephen hid my sister in.”

  “We just stumbled onto it,” Beulah said.

  “Might’ve seemed that way to you,” Ned said. “I look at it different.”

  “If we’re going to get that recorder, we have to go now,” Daniel told them.

  “Stay here, Jenny,” Cork said. “We don’t need you lost out there in the dark, or maybe running into the men who are after Stephen.”

  He could tell there was more his daughter wanted to say, but it was also clear that he’d gotten through to her.

  Meloux walked the men out and looked deeply into Cork’s face. “You found what your heart was looking for.”

  Cork eyed the solid line of trees at the edge of the meadow to the north. Stephen was somewhere in the wilderness a few miles beyond, and the dark would soon be descending. He looked back at Meloux and repeated, as if it were a mantra, “He can take care of himself.”

  “And,” Meloux added, “he is not alone.”

  * * *

  Bo Thorson was waiting for them in the place where they’d met that morning. He had a pair of climbing spurs with him. “Bought these this afternoon. I’m ready.”

  Daniel held up the spiked logging boots. “We borrowed these this morning.”

  “Then let’s go get some answers.”

  They parked at Ned Love’s cabin and began their hike to the crash site as the light in the sky was fading. When they arrived at the bog, the area was deserted.

  “Like I told you,” Bo said. “They only patrol dawn to dusk. They’ve become a little predictable. That’s good for us.”

  They quickly made for the tall red pine where they’d spotted the flight recorder caught in the high branches. At the base of the tree, they gazed up. Cork saw the green of the needles, the brown of the branches, the pale blue of the sky beyond. But nothing orange-colored.

  “Where is it?” Daniel asked.

  “Wrong tree?” Bo scanned the nearby pines.

  “This is the tree,” Ned assured him.

  Cork ran his hand over the bark. “Holes from climbing spurs. Someone beat us to it.”

  “Who knew about this tree but us?” Daniel said.

  Cork, Daniel, and Ned eyed Bo Thorson and the pair of climbing spurs he’d brought.

  Bo said coolly, “We’ve got some talking to do.”

  * * *

  Henry Meloux insisted they build a fire. It was dark night, and the blaze in the fire ring illuminated the rock outcrops with a dancing yellow glow. Except for the convalescing Monkey Love and Leah, who’d offered to stay with him, they were all gathered there, even little Waaboo, sitting on cut sections of log. Meloux had smudged and said a prayer, asking for clear minds and clear hearts and true tongues. And now they were silent, listening to the pop and crackle as the flames consumed the wood.

  Cork chewed on anger, on doubt, on guilt. The recorder was gone. Phil and Sue Hukari and Tom Blessing were still missing. Stephen was out in the wild with God knew what—assassins maybe—and Cork was beating himself up for not continuing the search for his son. He doubted everything now, especially his trust in Bo Thorson.

  Thorson continued to insist that he wasn’t responsible for the missing flight recorder, but what did Cork really know about the man? When Thorson was Secret Service and Cork was sheriff of Tamarack County and they’d worked together on security, Thorson had seemed not just competent but accomplished. And trustworthy. But that was years ago, and people could change. He didn’t really know who Thorson might be now. His sense had been that the heart of the man was still good, still decent, but at the moment, he wasn’t sure he could trust in his own sense of anything.

  Meloux said, “Speak the truth.” He was looking at Thorson.

  “I didn’t take the flight recorder. That’s the truth. All of it.”

  “What’d you do today after we split up?” Daniel asked.

  “Picked up that pair of climbing spurs.”

  “Took you all day?”

  “I made my report to the people who hired me.”

  “Who exactly is that?”
Daniel said.

  “I’ve already told you.”

  “Olympia McCarthy’s father. Would you object if we called to check that out?”

  “You can call. I doubt that he’ll admit to it. It’s a delicate matter, a man in his position questioning the veracity of the NTSB and the FBI.”

  “How can we be sure you’re not working for Gerard?”

  Bo said, “Cork, do you really think I might be working for Gerard?”

  Cork gave the question serious weight, and finally shook his head. “I still think you’re one of the good guys.”

  “Thanks,” Bo said. “Now let me ask a question. Did you tell anybody about the flight recorder?”

  “Only the people around this fire,” Cork said.

  Beulah Love, who’d been carried to the fire ring because of her swollen ankle, said, “Ummmm.”

  Ned cocked his head. “Something to say, Beulah?”

  “When Stephen came to get me this morning, he told Sarah and me about the recorder in the tree.”

  “Sarah LeDuc,” Cork said. “Christ. So much for secrecy. I’m sure the whole rez knows by now.”

  “Are you suggesting someone on the rez is working with those goons, Cork?” Rainy gave him a doubtful look.

  “Unless Bo told someone.”

  “I didn’t say a word to anyone,” Bo protested. “But there’s another possibility.”

  “What’s that?” Daniel asked.

  “Bugs,” Bo said simply. “Maybe in the Mocha Moose or someone’s phone’s been tapped or there are a dozen other ways of listening in. The technology of surveillance would amaze you.”

  “The bottom line,” Cork said with a dismal sinking of his heart, “is that we’re right back where we started.”

  Trixie, who’d been lying at Waaboo’s feet, lifted her head and gave a little woof. Henry Meloux’s face went intent as he listened. “Maybe things have moved farther ahead than you think, Corcoran O’Connor.”

  In the next moment, a figure stumbled between the rock outcroppings and into the firelight, a stranger in ragged pants and with his hands tied behind his back. Then another figure appeared.

  His heart singing, Cork said, “Good to see you back, Stephen.”

  * * *

  Bo listened with the others as Stephen O’Connor recounted his ordeal. He’d been chased by the two strangers and had headed north from the low ridge where he’d hidden Beulah Love.

  “Why north?” Ned Love asked.

  “I don’t know. It’s just the way I went.”

  “If you wanted to lose those guys, north was the way to go.”

  “I found that out when I reached all that rock.”

  “The Hungry Hills,” Love said.

  Stephen described how he’d mounted the rocky slope and had hidden himself and watched as the two men who came after him stopped to talk things over. One headed back and the other continued trying to find Stephen’s trail.

  “My leg was killing me, and it was pretty clear he knew how to track, so I decided my best shot was to take him out.”

  “With what?” Jenny said.

  “The thing those Hungry Hills has the most of. A rock. I was lying low behind a big boulder. He was studying the ground, walked right past me. I caught him in the back of the head. As soon as he was down, I pulled the gun from his holster. He had a knife on his belt, and I took that, too.”

  “How come his pants are all raggedy?” Waaboo asked.

  “I cut strips so I could tie his hands.”

  “Any ID on him?” Cork asked.

  “I didn’t look.”

  “Stand up,” Cork ordered the stranger. He checked all the pockets, found nothing, and shoved the man back down to the ground. He turned back to his son. “We looked for you at the Hungry Hills.”

  “We didn’t stay there. I thought his partner might come back, so I pushed him north across all that rock. When I thought we were clear, I cut west, then finally south, making for Crow Point.”

  “So,” Cork said to the stranger, whose hands were still tied with strips cut from his own pant leg. “Who are you?”

  The man’s eyes flicked toward Cork, then back to the flames, and not a word came from his mouth.

  Bo, who so far had been silent, said, “Gerard sent you?”

  The man showed no sign of recognition.

  Cork said, “Rainy, Jenny, Waaboo, join Leah and Monkey back at Henry’s cabin. We’ll be along shortly.”

  Jenny stood, took Waaboo’s hand, and walked away between the rocks with Trixie at their heels. Cork’s wife had risen, but she didn’t follow. “What are you going to do, Cork?”

  “Question him.”

  “I know how you question people.”

  “We need to know what he knows, Rainy, especially if he knows about Sue and Phil and Tom.”

  “You’re going to hurt him.”

  “Only if necessary. The choice is his.”

  “Cork—”

  “Stay, Niece,” Meloux interrupted her. “Sit.” He said to the stranger, “My niece is a healer. It may be that you are going to suffer much. When we are finished with you and you have told us what you know, we will allow her to do what she can to ease your pain.”

  In the firelight, Rainy’s face was a blaze of surprise. Or was it dismay?

  “Sit, Niece,” Meloux said again.

  Bo had been studying the stranger, who’d seemed unmoved until the old man spoke. The way such menacing words came so soothingly from those ancient lips made them even more chilling. The man eyed Meloux, then the others, and Bo saw cracks in his stolid veneer. He’d begun to understand what even decent people might be capable of when protecting those they cared about.

  “I am Ojibwe,” Meloux said to the stranger. “Do you know what that word means?”

  The stranger made no response.

  “In the language of my people, it means ‘to pucker.’ Do you know where that name comes from? I will tell you what I have heard. It comes from the way in which my people have been known to treat their enemies. We roast them until their skin puckers.” The old man waited for his words to sink in. “There is no glory in giving a man pain. There is also no glory in hurting those who have done nothing to you.” His dark eyes held the stranger’s gaze. “There is only one thing we ask. What has become of the people we care about? Have they been harmed?”

  Although the stranger didn’t speak, Bo could see that his brain was working, worrying itself over the old man’s words.

  “Bring me fire,” Meloux said to Cork.

  “Wait,” the stranger said. “We weren’t supposed to hurt nobody, just bring them in.”

  “What about these stitches?” Stephen said.

  “You’ll heal,” the stranger said, as if the beating were nothing.

  “You shot Monkey Love,” Daniel pointed out coldly.

  “Wasn’t me. There’s others out there.”

  “You killed people’s dogs.”

  “The dogs got in the way. And they was just dogs.”

  “Just dogs?” Ned Love rose, huge and menacing. “I’ll pucker you, you son of a bitch.”

  “Hold on, Ned.” Cork stepped between Love and the stranger. “Let him talk. You said you brought them in. Brought them where?”

  “The Op Center.”

  “Where’s this Op Center?”

  The man stared into the fire. “I want immunity.”

  “What?”

  “I want immunity. I don’t want to go to jail. I remember when you was sheriff, O’Connor. I figure you still got some clout.”

  “Immunity,” Cork said. “All right, I’ll do what I can.”

  The stranger looked up at Cork. “Then I guess I’ll tell you.”

  CHAPTER 40

  * * *

  The stranger’s name was Wes Simpson. Once they got him talking, he told them much. He came from Yellow Lake, a community fifteen miles south of Aurora. He was a member of the Lexington Brigade mostly because his cousin had recruited him.

&
nbsp; “Axel says our country’s going to hell in a handcart. The government’s been taken over by big money and special interests. He says a war’s coming, but it ain’t going to be between us and the Russians or the Arabs. It’s going to be us against the government. He gets real worked up. Me, I kinda like the maneuvers we sometimes go on during weekends. Get to pretend we’re at war for a while, then have us some steaks and brews. Honest to god, I never thought we’d be tapped to do anything.”

  He claimed he didn’t know much about what was going on. He and his cousin had been called up a day before the senator’s plane went down. That’s when he met Cole Wannamaker for the first time.

  “I knew about him, course. We all got pictures of him. But meeting him in person, that was something. I mean, he’s a celebrity.”

  “Was he the one giving orders?”

  “Yeah, him and Boog Sorenson. He’s our local colonel.”

  “I know Sorenson,” Cork said, with an unpleasant taste in his mouth. “You were called up before the senator’s plane went down. What for?”

  “Boog put Axel and me at a barricade on the road to Desolation Mountain. Gave us hard hats to wear, like we was working road construction. Told us to keep anybody out who was headed toward the mountain that afternoon. He spread the others out in them aspens up there on the mountain. Said a plane was going to be coming down somewhere around there. When it crashed, our job was to get rid of the barricade, get to the wreckage along with the other guys, and pull out the flight recorder. He showed us a picture of what it would look like. Told us it would be somewhere in the debris of the tail section.”

  “Did you know whose plane was going to crash?”

  “Not until after, when I heard it on the news.”

  “But you didn’t get the recorder,” Bo said.

  “Didn’t have no chance. That plane came down way past where any of us was. When we got there, them Indians was already all over the place. By the time we assembled ourselves enough to maybe run ’em off, fire trucks and police cars and you name it had showed up, and we had to get our asses out of there.”