As he passed Kevin, Walt ruffled his hair and patted him on the back. The idea had come to Walt as he’d witnessed Crabtree at the PlayStation, the Afghan mountain ridges slipping past. The boys were all currently using the satellite imaging software, Google Earth, in an attempt to reconcile the distinct ridges seen in the refrigerator-collage photographs with the true Idahoan landscape. The boys, experts with either a joystick or mouse, could place themselves into Google’s virtual landscape, tipping the horizon, zooming in or out, and even spinning a full three hundred and sixty degrees around a single point, while attempting to match the skyline in the photos to the satellite imagery.
With thousands of mountain peaks to compare, this task might have proved interminable, but Crabtree had further contributed with a simple observation: four of the peaks were snow-topped. Three of the four photos were time- and date-stamped, as was the postcard itself. A phone call to the Forest Service, followed by a second call to the National Interagency Fire Center, in Boise, which tracked snow cover, put the elevation of the snow line at nine thousand feet on the day the snapshots had been taken nearly a year earlier.
Walt’s staff had narrowed the candidates by marking all mountain peaks over nine thousand feet on a topographic map; they narrowed it further by color-coding any ranges that contained three such adjacent peaks within a twenty-mile radius.
Now, with twenty-one circles drawn on the map in overlapping rings, the boys were working the computers, using Google Earth, trying to match horizon for horizon-the photographs to the computer screens.
It would have taken Walt’s deputies hours to understand and control the Google software; the boys were at it in minutes. He walked around the table, watching over the boys’ shoulders. To the untrained eye, the images moved quickly. It felt as if he were flying down to ground level and spinning around, eyes wide open. More than once Walt wanted to tell the kids to slow down, but their eyes worked differently than his, their motor control tied to the mouse or joystick: where he saw a blur, they saw distinct images.
Forty minutes into the experiment, Crabtree used a look to call Walt to his side. The boy raised his finger to the screen, pointing out several peaks. Then he pointed to the same peaks on the enlargements of the photographs from the collage.
“Uh-huh,” Walt said, noting the similarities. Excitement rose in his chest, but he said nothing more. There had been five false alarms prior to this.
“These shacks,” Crabtree said, indicating objects in two of the photographs, “are here… and here.” He pointed to the screen, helping Walt to spot the small geometrical shapes created by roofs, mostly hidden beneath the abundance of conifers. Two triangles. A piece of a rectangle. They looked like little more than shadows. Walt would never have seen them.
“And these shots,” Crabtree continued, “look to me like they were taken back here. There’s a field about a quarter mile behind the cabin. This creek is on one side.”
Walt’s nephew, Kevin, was out of his chair, also looking over Crabtree’s shoulder. He picked up a coordinate and then quickly found the same location on his screen. Walt stood between the boys, watching the two screens fill with images. Kevin’s locked onto a view that perfectly matched one of the snapshots, while Crabtree obtained a perspective where the computer-realized mountain peaks on the computer matched point for point with those in the photograph.
“Write down the coordinates,” Walt said.
He leaned into Crabtree and whispered, “Don’t look now but you just bought yourself a free pass.”
56
BY TWO P.M., WALT HAD NOTIFIED THE FBI THAT HE WAS leading an exploratory team into a remote area of the Challis National Forest. He did this out of necessity: he needed the Bureau’s assistance in arranging air support and he hoped to gain political backing for his decision to hold back the information about the raid from the Challis sheriff, as he feared there was a mole in that office.
The timing of this announcement was critical. He made it far enough in advance of the operation to allow the Bureau to feel included but not enough time for the Bureau’s direct participation. Having recruited a team of eighteen by cherry-picking the various police and sheriff departments in the valley, he had assembled a formidable group. But the final decision of who was to accompany him on the lead attack had yet to be made.
The eighteen did not fit well around the command center’s table. Half of the men were standing. Walt directed the group’s attention to a PowerPoint presentation put together by Nancy.
“Our challenge,” he said, now halfway into his briefing, “is accessibility and, therefore, timing. There are no roads within six miles of the cabin. In the summer, there must be trails, but that doesn’t help us. You either know your way in or you don’t. Given the probability of a hostage and the physical layout of the terrain-note the surrounding hills-there’s no easy way to advance assets on the ground without risking being seen or heard and therefore putting the hostage at risk. For this reason, we will divide into three groups-Alpha, Bravo, Delta-and take a different approach.
“Snowmobiles can be heard nearly two miles off in the backcountry, as many of you know. Helicopters, well beyond that. For this reason, and because we anticipate sentries, teams will abandon the snowmobiles in these three locations,” he said, pointing to the screen, “and snowshoe in from there along these routes. The leaders will have GPS coordinates to follow. These routes are through difficult terrain but take the teams away from the most likely routes used to access the compound. We expect those routes may be under guard or even trip-wired.
“I, and one other, will be flying in, in a glider, just ahead of you, in an effort to secure the hostage in advance of a possible firefight.”
“So the feds gave it back?”
Walt didn’t catch who’d said that. A half-dozen heads hung, to mask snickers.
“My glider happens to have been confiscated, yes,” he allowed. “But Luke Walen’s stepped up and offered his. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll continue the briefing?”
The heads came up and a sense of mirth filled the room. He didn’t mind it coming at his expense. He thought they might pay more attention now.
“We will land here, in this open field, and proceed on foot, north-northwest, toward the cabin. If possible, using infrared, I will have identified the number and position of warm bodies down there, providing intel that should aid your advance. Radio traffic will be limited. Just remember: at least two, hopefully three, of us are friendlies. We’ll bring a vest for the hostage, but do me a favor and verify your targets.”
A nervous chuckle passed around the room.
“The individual team leaders will brief you on your group’s route and your role in the operation. Some of you are perimeter control, some a strike force, and some are holding back for extrication. There’s a shock and awe component to this that I want you to all be aware of: once our attack has begun, at least one helicopter, possibly two, will secure the airspace above the compound. They’re there to help get us out, but my hope here is also to confuse and intimidate the enemy. Our teams need to be braced for that. We don’t want anyone made jumpy or trigger-happy by the noise and chaos that follows. Questions?”
Walt fielded a dozen routine questions. It was to be a night raid. Some of the team would be wearing night vision equipment; others would not, and the mixture made clarification important. He appreciated the nervousness and tension that filled the room; better that than overconfidence. He still had to pick his partner for the attack. Together, they would attempt to reach the cabin and rescue Mark Aker, or at least position themselves to do so, ahead of the main assault. It gave Mark the best chance of survival and hopefully would preempt his being used as a bargaining chip.
Walt scanned the group for the right person. Then, through the glass, he saw Tommy Brandon enter the building and approach reception. Brandon, who had likely aided Gail in the abduction of his daughters. He was wearing street clothes, not his uniform. He’d removed the sling.
Walt ex
cused himself from the team, turning it over to his deputy, and met Brandon in the foyer. For a long moment, the two just stared at each other.
“It wasn’t my idea,” Brandon said.
“I want them back,” Walt said.
“I think she knows that.” Brandon hesitated. “Look, I want to help on this.”
Walt took a deep breath. “What about the arm?”
Brandon showed he had range of motion, though it clearly hurt him to move it. “I’m fine,” he said. “Good enough, at least. I want to be part of this.”
“She had no right,” Walt said. “Did you drive her?”
“I had nothing to do with it.”
“And I’m supposed to believe that?”
“We talked about it, if that’s what you mean. I told her to talk to a lawyer. She didn’t want to hear that. She was all freaked-out about you having a girl in there. You know how she is.”
He looked the man over: Tommy Brandon, the deputy he wanted in the glider with him; Tommy Brandon, his wife’s lover, a man he wanted nothing to do with.
“How are you in small planes?”
“I hate ’em.”
“Good. Get dressed.”
57
FIONA KENSHAW HAD BEEN GREETED WITH SUSPICION, AS she arrived at the Tulivich’s front door. Someone-from the hospital, perhaps-had leaked to the local press that the sheriff had interviewed their daughter, Kira, in connection with the Mark Aker disappearance, and so the family had put up with several unwanted visitors over the past week.
Fiona’s county employee ID, which she carried in order to enter and photograph crime scenes, put off those suspicions and granted her access. A few minutes later, she was on a leather couch, in front of a log fire, awaiting Kira. The girl looked sheepish and shy but not at all bruised or damaged.
The date-rape cocktail had blocked her memory of the assault, she explained, though she still ached all over, leaving her feeling like she was inhabiting some other girl’s body. There were some follow-up doctor visits yet to come, and counseling had been recommended, though she couldn’t figure out why she would get counseling for something about which she had absolutely no memory.
But for all her claim to remember nothing, Kira had a sullen look, her eyes distant.
“I won’t stay long,” Fiona said. “And I should be clear that I’m not here in any official capacity. I wanted to see how you’re doing and to wish you well. And the sheriff wanted me to pass along that, as it turns out, you’ve played an important role in a very high-level investigation.”
“Seriously?” She feigned interest.
“Small change, I know, but I thought you might want to hear that something good came out of what happened.”
“Something good for other people, you mean?” Delivered with an ice-cold assertion.
“I know it’s not much.”
“What am I supposed to say: happy to do my part?”
Her mother entered the room, trying to appear hospitable-a failed effort.
“I’ve got it, Mom,” Kira snapped. “We’d rather talk alone.”
The mother pursed her lips, and retreated. The exchange sent shivers through Fiona.
A victim was like a pebble in a pond, Fiona realized; the ripples traveled out a great distance.
Kira whispered to Fiona, “I can’t brush my teeth without one of them hovering over me. It’s like I’m on suicide watch or something.”
You probably are, Fiona thought.
“You actually came here to try to make me feel good about what happened?” Kira said incredulously.
“Of course not! Nothing like that. I came to give you these,” she said, handing Kira five photographs from the wedding.
The girl flipped through them. A smile flickered across her face, quickly wiped away by a realization. “Ancient history,” she mumbled. She blinked repeatedly. “It’s weird. I remember this like it was a year ago.”
“That’s someplace to start.”
Biting her lip, Kira studied the photos more slowly. “This one of the bouquet…”
“I didn’t take that one. I threw it in no charge.”
“That’s you.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t remember you there.”
“I was working. Not exactly dressed for the occasion, as you can see.”
“You caught it.”
“Technically, no. But that’s how the umpire ruled.”
Another smile. Small victories.
“Can I keep these?”
“Of course. They’re for you.”
“Thank you.” She made a point of meeting Fiona’s eyes.
“There’s one other thing. I’m not sure I’m allowed to tell you this, but that’s never stopped me before.” She winced. “And it’s really none of my business. I should say that right off the top. But your family is obviously of some means, and, well, it’s one of those things I feel compelled to do. You know? Have you ever felt that way? Despite your better judgment?”
Kira nodded.
“Good.” Fiona collected her thoughts. “There’s a boy named Taylor Crabtree.”
“That loser?”
“You know him.”
“I see him around. I don’t know him.”
“Well, that’s the point, I guess. He’s the one who rescued you.” She watched this sink in. “From the cabin. He’s who drove you to the hospital.”
“That dork?”
“The same.”
“But why? How?”
“He saw you… abducted. He was able to get you out. No one knows this, by the way. He might be hurt, or even killed, if word got out, so I’m trusting you on this.”
Kira nodded. “I understand. I promise.” She looked around the room in an effort to avoid Fiona. “I just don’t get it. Taylor Crabtree?”
“He’s had a rough time of it. Lousy family scene. Tough conditions. Has found his way into a lot of trouble.”
“I know all about it. A friend of mine was at the Alternative School with him.”
“He works at Elbie’s down in Hailey.”
“You’re thinking some kind of reward, aren’t you?”
“Maybe not quite that obvious. A letter from your father would do a lot. A job that’s better than changing tires. Something to give him a leg up. Then again, maybe it’s not appropriate. I felt obliged to let you know about his role in it. Maybe I shouldn’t have. Let’s leave it at that.”
“I am not writing a thank-you note.”
“You do, or don’t do, whatever you feel is appropriate.”
“He actually got me out of wherever they had me?”
“He did.”
“And you’re sure it wasn’t him that-”
“We are,” Fiona answered.
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Taylor Crabtree?”
“The word hero is tossed around a lot. The real heroes are often the most unlikely.”
“He saved my life.”
“We don’t know that.”
“Oh my God.”
“Anyway… I should be going. It’s good to see you up and around.”
“You did this just because you felt sorry for him?”
“I did it because I had to. Because guys like Taylor Crabtree are often seriously misunderstood, and I know my attitude toward him changed a lot when I heard what he did. I had formed a pretty strong impression of him because of a previous situation-”
“The webcam stuff?”
“No, before that, actually. And this being a small town and all… A person like you could help turn opinion around-among his friends, I mean. Not now, of course, but maybe when it’s all over.”
“When will it be over?”
Fiona said nothing.
“For me,” Kira said, “it feels like it’ll never be over.”
“It’s early yet. But, honestly, that’s the kind of thing a counselor can help a lot with.”
“You’d know all about it, would you?” Kira said s
harply.
Fiona waited until the girl dared to meet her eyes. It took a long minute.
Then she said, equally firmly, “I was in a very destructive relationship before I moved here. I went through some of what you went through but without the drugs. I came here today, in part, because no one ever came to me. No one ever knew what was going on. What was happening. I needed someone to talk to, but I was too scared. I thought it would change people’s opinion of me, lose me my friends. Ruin everything. And then one day I realized I was ruined beyond anything mere opinion could change. And I took action. I promised myself that if I ever even thought someone was going through what I went through, I would intervene. I would do something. I don’t know exactly why I came here. You don’t need me. But maybe I need you. I needed to tell you it gets better, a little better, day by day.” Kira was crying now, her head hanging, her hair falling forward. “You feel it was somehow your fault. A way you acted. Something you wore. That you asked for it. But that’s bullshit. And I’m here to tell you that you have to push those voices from your head.”
Kira was sobbing now. “I feel so… dirty.”
“Talk to someone, Kira. It’s so much better if you talk to someone.”
The head bobbed.
Fiona breathed differently; Kira was the first person with whom she’d shared any of this. It came as a huge relief and terrified her at the same time. Some secrets were more dangerous than others.
“You waited to tell me,” Kira said. “Why? Why didn’t you just tell me this first?”
“I’m still scared. Of him. Of the truth. Of men. Don’t think you can do this by yourself. Memory or no memory, you can get better faster if you let someone in.”
Fiona stood.
“Will you come back?”
“If you want me to.”
Kira looked up, her eyes wet. “I think I’d like that.”
Fiona forced a smile. “Me too. Be seeing you, then.”
58
BRIEFLY, WALT WAS WITHOUT CONCERN. SITTING IN THE pilot’s seat of the glider had this effect on him, gave him a sense of quiet and peace. But then a flurry of radio traffic brought him back: first Brandon complaining about the updrafts, then the pilot of the towplane double-checking the release point as both pilots attempted to measure winds aloft by checking their heading against their actual track over land. Walt asked to be hauled farther north. He was cautioned against this delay by the tow pilot: daylight was bleeding out of the sky, forming a gray haze below, and making what promised to be a challenging landing all the more difficult.
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