Martin laughed. “Point taken.”
“Earl’s right,” Claire said. “We’d be a lot faster if we had a guide.”
Bentley smiled and took Claire by the hand. “Your wife’s right. Let me show you, missie,” he said. He walked Claire along the beaten path past the mile marker and down the embankment to the edge of the forest.
“She’s not my wi--,” Martin called out from a distance, then shook his head. “Oh, what the hell.”
Martin whistled through his teeth. Maggy popped her head up from the back seat.
“Come on, girl!” he called out.
Maggy bounded gracefully through the open window and ran past Martin, barking down the path after Claire and the sprightly old trucker. “Stay clear of skunks!” he yelled as she disappeared over the embankment.
“There ain’t much about these mountains I don’t know,” Earl told Claire as he led the way through the dense underbrush. “Spent my youth as a park ranger in Sequoia. Had to go in deep one too many times, I’m afraid, lookin’ for city slickers like you. Sometimes it turned out good, sometimes not so good.” With fox-like dexterity, the old trucker clambered down a steep slope at the end of the path as he held Claire’s hand, using his body to protect her from falling.
“I don’t know what it is with some folks when it comes to the woods,” Earl continued. “People who can barely recognize one end of a tent peg from the other would come for a week’s vacation. I’m talkin’ about otherwise intelligent folks like doctors, lawyers, and business people. Seems the minute they drive through the gates and set up camp they think they’re Bear Grylls, lose all touch with their faculties. They don’t know what they’re up against in the wild. And believe me, it don’t get any wilder than Sequoia.”
“How do you mean?” Claire asked as she stepped over a fallen branch.
The old man pushed aside a low-hanging bough. “Well,” he began, “there was this one couple I remember. He was a Wall Street financier. She was a stockbroker.” Bentley shook his head disapprovingly. “Arrived at the park in a Mercedes Benz, of all things. Now, I’m not sayin’ that just because they were young and from the city and drivin’ a snappy sports car that that made them any less capable than the next couple. But all they could lay claim to for camping gear was a pup tent, a couple of backpacks, a portable stove, and barely enough rations to last out the week. They became friendly with another couple a few sites over and announced they were goin’ into the woods to do a little exploring. Said that they’d be back later that evening. Well, sure as you can figure, the next day came and went. When no one had seen ‘em after three days, we got the call. Rangers organized a search party. Found ‘em two days later.”
“Were they okay?”
Bentley shook his head. “Dead. Both of ‘em.”
Claire pulled the trucker by his arm. The old man turned around, faced her. “What happened to them?” she asked.
“We figure they was most likely attacked by a mountain lion, but with the state the bodies were in we couldn’t say for sure. Could’ve been a black bear or a bobcat. They were in far deeper than they should have been. We checked their clothes and their packs. No compass, GPS, cell phone… nothin’. They were lost, for sure. Two things you gotta remember about the mountains and the forest in these parts. They don’t care who you are, and they don’t forgive you for being stupid.” Bentley waved his arm in a wide arc. “Take a good look around, missie. Out here you’re on your own.”
Martin shuffled down the slope, finally caught up.
“Geez! Slow down a little. I could have tripped back there and broken my neck. Meanwhile, you two are skipping through the woods like Bambi and Thumper.”
Earl Bentley winked at Claire, then looked at Martin. “You sure you can handle this, sonny?” The old man chuckled to himself, then turned and marched up the slope with the self-assurance of a seasoned foot soldier. Claire followed.
“Don’t worry about me,” Martin replied as he dusted off the seat of his pants. “I can manage just fine.”
54
NEGOTIATING THE FOREST proved to be an arduous task. Martin and Claire followed closely on the footsteps of the old trucker as he traversed blankets of fallen branches and slippery moss-covered rocks, stopping periodically to break a low-hanging twig or pick a flower from the ground and place it in the middle of the path.
“These are trail markers,” Earl explained. “Remember to look over your shoulder when you set them so you know what the path looks like on the way out. And count your way from marker to marker. I’m puttin’ one every ten paces. They’ll help you find your way back if you get lost or confused. Just turn around and walk straight back. No dilly-dallyin’ or veering off the path. And pick yourself up a good, sturdy branch when ya see one. Makes a great cane if you should trip and hurt yourself, or worse yet, break somethin’.”
“One thing’s for certain,” Martin commented. “No one takes this route if they don’t know where they’re going.”
“Damn right,” Earl Bentley agreed. “I didn’t see any other markers on our way in. The fella you’re lookin’ for knows these woods as well as I do, maybe better. Let’s just hope he’s not one of those marijuana pot-growin’ drug dealer types. They’ll shoot you sure as look at you if they find you in their patch.”
The old man stopped suddenly, looked down at Maggy, then back at Martin and Claire.
“Wait a minute. Your dog… she’s one of them drug dogs, ain’t she? That’s why she responds to you the way she does. She’s lookin’ for pot plants.” The old man leaned against the trunk of a tree. “That’s why you’re after this guy. He’s a drug dealer. And that would make you federal agents, right? And you’re not his wife. You’re his partner!” The old man slapped his baseball cap against his leg as though he had suddenly discovered a closely guarded secret. “Well, I’ll be snookered!” he said with a wide smile. “I ain’t never met any FBI agents before.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, Earl,” Martin said. “Like I said, we’re not with the police. Besides, if it were a grow operation we were after, we’d be ATF, not FBI.”
“Well, if you’re not the feds, then just who are you? And why is this guy so important you’re carrying around a file on him?”
Claire walked to the tree against which Earl Bentley stood, snapped a small branch, and bent it down, marking the path.
“You’re right, Earl,” Claire said. “I suppose you should know who we are and why we’re looking for this man. But what I’m about to tell you can’t be repeated, not to anyone. Do I have your word on that?”
“Yes, ma’am, as a gentleman and a former officer of the law. You can trust me.”
“I believe I can.”
“That might not be such a good idea, Claire,” Martin warned.
Earl Bentley slipped his cap back on his head. “It’s up to you whether you want to tell me or not, little lady. I gave you my word. Can’t do much more than that. Besides, I did what I came out here to do. You just keep markin’ the path the way as I showed ya and you’ll be fine. You’ll find your way back out, no problem.” The old man sighed. “Well, I’ve got a sixty-thousand-dollar rig sittin’ back there, and up until an hour ago that was all that mattered to me, next to my wife and her peach cobbler. So, if you’ve got no further use for me, I’d best be on my way.”
The old man walked past them down the path.
“We think he and another man could be responsible for the disappearance of my sister,” Claire blurted out.
Earl Bentley stopped in his tracks, turned slowly. “Disappearance, as in kidnapped?”
“Possibly, yes,” Martin interjected. “If the man you gave the ride to is the same one we’re looking for and he’s hunkered down somewhere out here in these woods, then I guess your knowledge of the area and ability to track him makes you our best chance of finding out exactly where he’s holding up.”
“Remember the picture we showed you?” Claire added.
“Yes, ma’am,” Bent
ley replied.
“He and another man are responsible for the deaths of hundreds of innocent people,” Claire said. “We need to find out whether my sister is with them. And if she isn’t, what they may have done with her.”
Earl Bentley stood silently, then addressed Martin. “You said you weren’t with the police, yet you’re organized. Binoculars. Backpacks. Digital camcorder. I even saw what looked like a couple of bulletproof vests in the back of your truck. If you’re carrying those around, you’re probably also carrying the firepower to go with them. Am I right?”
“Yes,” Martin answered. “You’re right.”
“Then I’ll ask you again, and this time I want a straight answer. If you’re not the police, who are you?”
Claire answered. “Martin runs a private organization that is helping me find my sister, Mr. Bentley,” she said. “The police can’t help me, not even the FBI. They say there isn’t enough evidence to open an investigation. But we have proof. The girl in that photograph is my sister, Amanda. She’s the one we’re looking for. It was taken two weeks ago by one of Martin’s operatives at Sonoma State University. Two weeks ago! That means Amanda’s alive, and we think she’s somewhere in this area. This is the closest my family has come to finding her in seven years, and I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Martin’s help and that of the people who are working with him. And we’re not alone. We’re to meet up with the rest of the extraction team in an hour. I’d like to tell them we’ve got a solid lead to follow up on. But we need your help.”
“Extraction team?” Bentley said. “Last time I heard that I was in the military.”
“It’s what we do,” Martin said. “We rescue loved ones who have been taken from their families or gotten involved with psychopaths like Fallon. We give them a chance to get their life back, to start fresh.”
“Fallon? That’s this character’s name? The guy I gave the ride to?”
“Reginald Fallon, to be exact.”
“And he’s got your sister?”
“We believe so, yes. He and another man, Joseph Krebeck. And maybe others besides Amanda.”
Earl Bentley scratched his long, scraggly beard, contemplated the situation. “Well, I guess I have no choice here, do I?”
“There’s always a choice, Earl,” Martin replied. “You can do as you said you were going to do and leave. We’re thankful for your help either way.”
“Nope,” the old man sighed. “Not in this case. There ain’t a choice anymore. I got a code to follow.”
“A code?” Claire asked. “What do you mean?”
“Truckers code,” Bentley replied. “Never leave a lady in distress. So, I guess you could say I’m duty bound to see this through.”
Claire kissed him on his cheek. “You’re a sweet man, Earl Bentley. Thank you.”
The old man blushed, leaned over, picked up a crooked branch from the ground, tested its heft, tried unsuccessfully to bend it. Satisfied, he turned to Martin.
“Well, don’t just stand there, sonny boy!” he said as he took Claire’s hand and marched up the path. “Ain’t you learned nothin’ I taught ya today? Get a move on. We’ll mark our way in a little further then head back to meet your friends.”
“You’re sure about this, Earl?” Martin said. “You don’t have to get involved you know.”
“Hell, son, I’m already involved.”
“Thanks. Under the circumstances, we could really use your help.”
“Well, come on then,” Earl Bentley said as he pushed aside a swath of branches and helped Claire step over a fallen log. “We’re losin’ light the longer we stand around here doing jabberin’. The sun drops like a stone this time of the year.” He looked up. “With those clouds rolling in over the mountain, the forest will be black in no time.”
“On second thought, maybe we should head back,” Martin said as he observed a wall of gray clouds inching over the mountaintop. “You’ve had your fifteen minutes, Claire. Besides, Mark’s on his way. We need to hook up with the rest of the team and plan how we’re going to deal with this. It looks like there’s a lot more ground to cover than we expected. And like Earl says, it’s already getting late. We’re probably better off to conduct a grid search in the morning after we’ve mapped the area by sector. There’s no point in fumbling around in the dark.”
“The man’s got a point,” Earl said. “We ain’t got no flashlights.”
“Let’s just see what’s beyond the tree line,” Claire replied. She pointed to the edge of the forest. “Look, you can see the clearing from here. We can be there in five minutes.”
“Sorry, Claire,” Martin replied sternly. “I don’t care if it’s five more seconds. I told you before, this is Mark’s operation. You’re along for the ride, remember? Frankly, so am I. He made it clear to both of us that your safety is my responsibility.”
Claire turned, walked deeper into the woods. She picked a wildflower from the edge of the trail and dropped it at her feet.
“You heard what Earl said, Martin,” Claire replied. “The sun’s going down. We’re wasting time.”
“I don’t care. We’ll be back first thing in the morning. We know the way in, and the path is marked. Now let’s go.”
“Not yet.”
“Perhaps you didn’t hear me amidst the deafening silence, Claire. I said we’re leaving, now.”
“I hate to get in the middle of what clearly ain’t none of my business,” Earl Bentley said. “But maybe I can offer a compromise.”
“I’m all ears,” Martin replied.
Claire stood stone-faced on the path. She looked back at the two men.
The old man produced a penlight from a small pouch attached to his belt and clicked it on. Its narrow beam was barely visible in the fading twilight.
“It ain’t much, but it’ll do for the next few minutes. It should give us enough light to find our markers if we lose the light completely.”
“All right,” Martin reluctantly agreed. “But in five minutes we’re out of here. Clear?”
Claire turned, headed into the woods, offered no reply.
“Feisty young thing, ain’t she?” Earl said to Martin as they walked together through the woods.
“No, she’s just scared.”
“Of what?”
“Not finding her sister.”
“You really think this Fallon fella’s the key?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Then we’ll find him. Ain’t nobody this old dog can’t sniff out. Speaking of dog’s, where’s yours gotten to?”
Martin whistled. From a distance came the sound of crackling leaves and snapping twigs. “Maggy… track,” Martin called out. The retriever ran alongside the two men, then bounded back into the woods.
“That some kind of command?” Earl Bentley asked.
“It used to be when she was in active duty. Now it’s more like hide-and-seek to her. If I tell her to track, she’ll stay out of sight but keep an eye on me from a distance. The same way a police officer covers his partner’s back.”
“How come she’s not still active?”
“Maggy was involved in a raid on a methamphetamine lab five years ago that went bad. The cops didn’t know the bad guys had a pit bull inside when they broke down the door. It took one officer by the leg and brought him to the ground. As soon as it saw Maggy coming through the door, it released the officer and went for her. The cop put six rounds into the pit bull. Maggy needed seventy stitches to close her wounds. She almost died on the table from blood loss. Her career ended that day. They couldn’t take a chance on her freezing up if a similar situation occurred in the future. That’s when a friend of mine told me about her. I adopted her from the department. We’ve been together ever since.”
“I didn’t think the police department used golden retrievers.”
“Usually, they don’t. Typically, they use German Shepherds or Belgian Malinois because of their intelligence, size, and strength. Maggy’s first master was a DEA agent,
and she was just supposed to be a family pet. Out of curiosity he put her through some basic tests when she was still a puppy and came to realize she possessed the ability to sniff out narcotics, meth and cocaine, in particular. That’s how she ended up in law enforcement.”
Standing atop the crest of the hill, Claire looked back from the edge of the treeline. She called out in an excited whisper. “Martin, Earl, come quickly. Look at this!”
The two men ran up the hill and stood beside her. Night had fallen. The magnificent glow of the moon silver-plated the dew laden valley below.
An enclave of buildings rose out of the mist at the foot of the mountain. Smoke churned lazily from a chimney in the largest structure. Candlelight danced in the windows.
A lone figure appeared, then disappeared between the buildings.
“There he is again!” Claire pointed. “Did you see him?”
“Yes, I saw him,” Martin replied.
“That’s Reginald Fallon!”
“Hard to tell from this distance,” Earl Bentley said. “But if I had to guess, I suppose I’d have to agree with you, missie. Sure looks like him to me.”
Claire took Martin by the arm. “We can’t risk losing him, Martin. We need to know for certain if it is Fallon.” Claire looked up at the hazy moon. “What do you think, Earl? Is there enough light to make our way back if we go down for a closer look?”
The old man nodded. “As long as we stick together, we’ll be fine.”
“Then let’s check it out,” Claire said. She started down the hill.
“Forget it,” Martin called out. “I told you Claire, it’s Mark’s op. We go on his say-so, not yours!”
“I don’t think anyone is going anywhere.”
The voice came from behind. A man stepped out of the shadows. In his hand, he held a gun.
Martin slipped his hand into his pocket, pressed a button on the remote control for the Navigator.
The Vanishing Page 17
