by Robin Cook
Jason had trouble concentrating on the meal. He was beginning to realize that if his theory was correct, Hayes had been murdered and Helene had not been the victim of random violence. And if Hayes was right and someone was using his accidental and terrifying discovery, the result could be far worse than any epidemic.
While Jason’s mind was churning, Carol was carrying on a conversation, but when she realized he was off someplace, she reached across and gripped his arm. “You are not eating,” she said.
Jason looked absently at her hand on his arm, his plate, and then Carol. “I’m preoccupied, I’m sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter. If you’re not hungry, maybe we should go and find out about flights to Boston in the morning.”
“We can wait until you’re through eating,” Jason said.
Carol tossed her napkin on the table. “I’ve had more than enough, thank you.”
Jason looked for their waiter. His eyes roamed the room and then stopped. They became riveted on a man who had just entered the dining room and paused by the maître d’s lectern. The man was slowly scanning the room, his eyes moving from table to table. He was dressed in a dark blue suit with a white shirt open at the collar. Even from the distance, Jason could tell the man wore a heavy gold necklace. He could see the sparkle from the overhead lights.
Jason studied the man. He looked familiar, but Jason couldn’t place him. He was Hispanic, with dark hair and deeply tanned skin. He looked like a successful businessman. Suddenly, Jason remembered. He’d seen the face on that awful night when Hayes had died. The man had been outside the restaurant and then outside the Massachusetts General Hospital emergency room.
Just then the man spotted Jason, and Jason felt a sudden chill descend his spine. It was apparent the man recognized Jason because he immediately started forward, his right hand casually thrust into his jacket pocket. He walked deliberately, closing the distance quickly. Having just thought of Helen Brennquivist’s murder, Jason panicked. His intuition told him what was coming, but he couldn’t move. All he could do was look at Carol. He wanted to scream and tell her to run, but he couldn’t. He was paralyzed. Out of the comer of his eye, he saw the man round the nearby table.
“Jason?” questioned Carol, tilting her head to one side.
The man was only steps away. Jason saw his hand come out of his pocket and the glint of metal as his hand covered the gun. The sight of the weapon finally galvanized Jason into action. In a sudden explosion of activity, he snatched the tablecloth from the table, sending the dishes, glasses, and silverware flying to the floor. Carol leaped to her feet with a scream.
Jason rushed the man, flinging the tablecloth over his head, pushing him backward into a neighboring table and knocking it over in a shower of china and glass. The people at the table screamed and tried to get away, but several were caught in the tangle of overturned chairs.
In the commotion, Jason grabbed Carol’s hand and yanked her through the doors to the porch. Having managed to break his panic-filled paralysis, Jason was now a torrent of directed action. He knew who the Hispanic-looking businessman had been: the killer Hayes claimed was on his trail. Jason had no doubt his next targets were Carol and himself.
He pulled Carol down the front steps, intending to run around the hotel to the parking lot. But then he realized they’d never make it. They had a better chance running for one of the boats at the dock.
“Jason!” Carol yelled as he changed direction and dragged him down the lawn. “What’s wrong with you?”
Behind them, Jason could hear the doors to the dining room crash open, and assumed they were being chased.
When they reached the dock, Carol tried to stop. “Come on, dammit,” Jason shouted through gritted teeth. Looking back at the inn, he could see a figure run to the porch railing, then start down the stairs.
Carol tried to jerk her hand free, but Jason tightened his clasp and yanked her forward. “He wants to kill us!” he shouted. Stumbling ahead, they raced to the end of the dock, ignoring the rowboats. Jason shouted to Carol to help untie three of the rubber boats and push them off. They were already drifting downstream by the time their pursuer hit the dock. Jason helped Carol into the fourth boat and scrambled after her, pushing them away from the dock with his foot. They too drifted downstream, slowly at first, then gathering speed. Jason forced Carol to lie down, then covered her body with his own.
An innocent-sounding pop was immediately followed by a dull thud somewhere in the boat. Almost simultaneously there was the sound of escaping air. Jason groaned. The man was shooting at them with a silenced pistol. Another pop was followed by a ringing sound as a bullet ricocheted off the outboard motor, and another made a slapping sound in the water.
To Jason’s relief, he realized the rubber boat was compartmentalized. Although a bullet had deflated one section, the boat wouldn’t sink. A few more shots fell short, then Jason heard a thump of wood against the dock. Jason lifted his head cautiously and looked back. The man had pulled one of the canoes from the rack and was pushing it into the water.
Jason was again gripped with fear — the man could paddle much faster than they were drifting. Their only chance was to start the motor — an old-fashioned outboard with a pull cord. Jason shifted the gear lever to “start” and tugged the cord. The engine didn’t even turn over. The killer had already boarded the canoe and was starting toward them. Jason pulled the cord again: nothing. Carol lifted her head and said nervously, “He’s getting closer.”
For the next fifteen seconds, Jason frantically jerked the starter cord over and over. He could see the silhouette of the oncoming canoe moving silently through the water. He checked to make sure the lever was at “start,” then tried again without success. His eyes drifted to the gas tank, which he prayed was full. Its black cap appeared to be loose, so he tightened it. Just to its side was a button he guessed was to increase pressure in the tank. He pushed it a half dozen times, noticing that it became increasingly harder to depress. Looking up again, he saw the canoe was almost to them.
Grasping the starter cord again, Jason pulled with all his strength. The motor roared to life. Then he reached for the lever and pushed it to “reverse,” as they were floating downstream backward. He jammed the throttle forward and threw himself back onto the bottom of the boat, pinning Carol beneath him. As expected, there were several more shots, two of which hit the rubber boat. When Jason dared to look out again, the gap had widened. In the darkness, he could barely see the canoe.
“Stay down,” he commanded to Carol, while he checked the extent of the damage. A section of the right side of the bow was soft, as was a portion of the left gunwale. Otherwise the boat was intact. Moving back to the outboard, Jason cut the throttle, put the motor into “forward,” then angled the tiller to head downstream, steering out to the center of the river. The last thing he wanted to do was hit rocks.
“Okay,” he called to Carol. “It’s safe to sit up.”
Carol rose gingerly from the bottom of the boat and ran her fingers through her hair. “I really don’t believe this,” she shouted over the noise of the outboard. “Just what the hell are we going to do?”
“We’ll head downriver until we see some lights. There’s got to be plenty of places along here.”
As they motored along, Jason wondered if it would be safe to stop at another dock. After all, their pursuer might get into his car and drive along the river. Maybe there’s a light on the opposite side, he thought.
From the silhouettes of the trees lining the lakelike expanse of the river, Jason could gauge their speed. It seemed to be about a fast walk. He also had the feeling the river was again gradually narrowing, especially when it appeared that their speed was increasing. After a half hour, there were still no lights. Just a dark forest bordering a star-strewn, moonless sky.
“I don’t see a thing,” yelled Carol.
“It’s okay,” reassured Jason.
After traveling another quarter hour, the bordering tre
es closed in rather suddenly, suggesting the lakelike expanse was coming to an end. When the trees were closer, Jason realized he had misjudged their speed; they were moving much faster than he’d thought. Reaching back he cut the throttle. The small outboard whined down. As soon as the sound of the outboard fell, Jason heard another more ominous noise. It was the deep growling roar of white water.
“Oh, God,” he said to himself, remembering the falls upriver from the Salmon Inn. He pushed the small outboard to the side and turned the boat around. Then he gave it full throttle. To his surprise and consternation, it slowed, but did not stop their rush downriver. Next he tried to angle the boat toward shore. Slowly, it moved laterally. But then all hell broke loose. The river narrowed to a rocky gorge, and Jason and Carol were unwittingly sucked into it.
Around the top edge of the rubber boat was a short rope secured at intervals by eyelets. Jason grabbed a hold on either side, spanning the craft with his outstretched arms. He yelled for Carol to do the same. She couldn’t hear over the roar of the water, but when she saw what he was doing, she attempted to do the same. Unfortunately, she couldn’t quite reach. She held on to one side and hooked a leg under one of the wooden seats. At that moment, they hit the first real turbulence, and the boat was tossed into the air like a cork. Water came into the boat in a blinding, drenching sheet. Jason sputtered. The darkness and water in his eyes made it all but impossible to see. He felt Carol’s body hit up against his and he tried to anchor her with his leg. Then they thudded into a rock and the boat spun counterclockwise. Through all this violent activity, Jason kept seeing the image of the falls, knowing that at any second they could plummet to their death.
Jason and Carol clutched at the ropes in utter terror. They bounced from side to side and end to end, in rapid gyrations, completely at the mercy of the water. At every moment he thought they were going over. Water filled the cockpit. It was stingingly cold.
After what seemed like an eternity of hell, the water smoothed out. They were still spinning and careening downriver, but without the sudden violent upheavals. Jason glanced out. He could make out the sheer falls of rock on either side. He knew it wasn’t over.
With a tremendous upward surge, the violent dubbing recommenced. Jason could feel his fingers begin to pain him; a combination of constant muscular contraction and the cold was having its effect. He gripped the rope holds with all his strength, trying to tighten his hold on Carol with his legs. The pain in his hands was so intense that for an instant he thought he’d have to let go.
Then, as suddenly as the nightmare began, it was over. Still spinning, the boat shot out onto relatively placid water. The thundering noise of the rapids lessened. The sides of the river fell away, opening up a clear view to the starry sky. Inside the boat there was a half foot of icy water, but Jason realized the outboard was chugging as smoothly as if nothing had happened.
With shaking hands, Jason straightened the boat and stopped its nauseating rotation. His fingers touched a button just inside the transom. He took a chance and pressed it; the water in the boat slowly receded.
Jason kept his eye on the silhouettes of the bordering trees. Ahead, the river bent sharply to the left, and as they rounded the point, they finally saw lights. Jason steered to shore.
As they approached, he could see several well-lit buildings, docks, and a number of rubber boats like their own. He was still afraid the killer might have driven down to intercept them, but he knew they had to land. Jason pulled alongside the second dock and cut the engine.
“You sure know how to entertain a girl,” Carol said through chattering teeth.
“I’m glad you still have your sense of humor,” Jason said.
“Don’t count on it lasting much longer. I want to know what in heaven’s name is going on.”
Jason stood up stiffly, holding on to the dock. He helped Carol out of the boat, got out himself, and tied the line to a cleat. The sound of country music drifted from one of the buildings.
“It must be a bar,” said Jason. He took her hand. “We have to get warm before we get pneumonia.” Jason led the way up the gravel path, but instead of going inside, he walked into the parking lot and began looking in the parked vehicles.
“Hold on,” said Carol with irritation. “What are you doing now?”
“I’m looking for keys,” Jason said. “We need a car”.
“I don’t believe this,” said Carol, throwing up her hands. “I thought we were going to get warm. I don’t know about you, but I’m going in that restaurant.” Without waiting for a response, she started for the entrance.
Jason caught up to her and grabbed her arm. “I’m afraid he’ll be back — the man who was shooting at us”.
“Then we’ll call the police,” Carol said. She pulled out of Jason’s grasp and entered the restaurant.
The Hispanic was not in the restaurant, so, following Carol’s suggestion, they called the police, who happened to be a local sheriff. The proprietor of the restaurant refused to believe that Jason and Carol had navigated Devil’s Chute in the dark—“Nobody ain’t done that before,” he said. He found chef’s smocks and oversized black and white checkered kitchen pants for them to change into, and a plastic garbage bag for their wet clothes. He also insisted they have steaming hot rum toddies, which finally stopped their shivering.
“Jason, you’ve got to tell me what’s going on,” Carol insisted as they waited for the sheriff. They sat at a table across from a Wurlitzer jukebox playing fifties music.
“I don’t know for sure,” Jason said. “But the man shooting at us was outside the restaurant where Alvin died. My guess is that Alvin was a victim of his own discovery, but if he hadn’t died that night, the same man would have eventually killed him anyway. So Alvin was telling the truth when he said someone wanted him dead.”
“This doesn’t sound real,” Carol said, trying to smooth her hair, which was drying in tangled ringlets.
“I know. Most conspiracies don’t.”
“What about Hayes’s discovery?”
“I don’t know for sure, but if my theory is right, it’s almost too scary to contemplate. That’s why I want to get back to Boston.”
Just then the door opened and the sheriff, Marvin Arnold, walked in. He was a mountain of a man dressed in a wrinkled brown uniform that sported more buckles and straps than Jason had ever seen. More important to Jason was the 357 Magnum strapped to Marvin’s oversized left thigh. That was the kind of cannon Jason wished he’d had back at the Salmon Inn.
Marvin had already heard about the commotion at the Salmon Inn, and had been there to check things out. What he hadn’t heard about was any man with a gun, and no one had heard any gunshots. When Jason described what had happened, he could tell that Marvin regarded him with a good deal of skepticism. Marvin was surprised and impressed, however, when he heard that Jason and Carol had come down Devil’s Chute by themselves in the dark. “Ain’t a lot of people going to believe that,” he said, shaking his massive head in admiration.
Marvin drove Jason and Carol back to the Salmon Inn, where Jason was surprised to find out there was a question of charges being filed against him, holding him responsible for the damages in the dining room. No one had seen any gun. And even more shocking, no one remembered an olive-complex-ioned man in a dark blue suit. But in the end, the management decided to drop the issue, saying they’d let their insurance take care of the damages. With that decided, Marvin tipped his hat, preparing to leave.
“What about protection?” asked Jason.
“From what?” asked Marvin. “Don’t you think it is a little embarrassing that no one can corroborate your story? Listen, I think you people have caused enough trouble tonight. I think you should go up to your room and sleep this whole thing off.”
“We need protection,” said Jason. He tried to sound authoritative. “What do we do if the killer returns?”
“Look, friend, I can’t sit here all night and hold your hand. I’m the only one on thi
s shift and I got the whole damned county to keep my eye on. Lock yourself in your room and get some shut-eye.”
With a final nod toward the manager, Marvin lumbered out the front door.
The manager in turn smiled condescendingly at Jason and went into his office.
“This is unreal,” Jason said with a mixture of fear and irritation. “I can’t believe nobody noticed the Hispanic guy.” He went to the public phone booth and looked up private detective agencies. He found several in Seattle, but when he dialed he just got their answering machines. He left his name and the hotel number, but he didn’t have much hope of reaching someone that night.
Emerging from the phone booth, he told Carol that they were leaving immediately. She followed him up the stairs.
“It’s nine-thirty at night,” she protested, entering the room behind him.
“I don’t care. We’re leaving as fast as we can. Get your things together.”
“Don’t I have any say in the matter?”
“Nope. It was your decision to stay tonight and your decision to call the helpful local police. Now it’s my turn. We’re leaving.”
For a minute, Carol stood in the center of the room watching Jason pack, then she decided he probably had a point. Ten minutes later, changed into their own clothes, they carried their luggage downstairs and checked out.
“I have to charge you for tonight,” the man at the desk informed them.
Jason didn’t bother to argue. Instead, he asked the man if he’d bring their car around to the front entrance. He tipped him five dollars and the clerk was happy to oblige.
Once in the car, Jason had hoped he’d feel less anxious and less vulnerable. Neither was the case. As he pulled out of the hotel parking lot and started down the dark mountain road, he quickly recognized how isolated they were. Fifteen minutes later, in the rearview mirror, he saw headlights appear. At first Jason tried to ignore them, but then it became apparent that they were relentlessly gaining on them despite Jason’s gradual acceleration. The terror Jason had felt earlier crept back. His palms began to perspire.
