Winslow- The Lost Hunters

by David Francis Curran

  "Won't they notice the drone?" I asked.

  The kid who manned the camera zoomed out then, I assumed for my benefit. The red truck became a red speck. The drone hung behind the truck at an incredible distance.

  I learned that quite a few people were listening in when Tom Bedder came on and pointed out Wesley was on parole and could be pressured for association with a known felon. Goldstone said maybe later.

  On the iPhone on my lap, I could see the red truck cruising down I-90 getting near the Clinton exit. If it didn’t get off at that exit, there were only a few more exits between the truck and me. And if he was headed for the exit to the area where Greg Carew had met his death that would be Bearmouth where I was parked.

  I was almost disappointed when the red truck's turn signal began blinking just before the Clinton exit.

  “Sheriff, do you want me to drive up that way?" I asked.

  “Let’s see what he does,” Goldstone said.

  That seemed like very good advice as I watched Hanassey drive the short distance from the highway exit to the Clinton Market's parking lot. He pulled in right by the front door and both men went in.

  "We are near the Clinton exit. What do you want us to do?" an Indian sounding voice said.

  "Can you leave the drone hanging back and still drive into the Clinton Market's parking lot?" the sheriff asked.

  "Yes."

  "Get off at the exit. They are parked in front of the store. Park out of sight in the back behind the store."

  "Will do."

  The two men emerged from the market 15 minutes later, each carrying a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon and a grocery bag. They got back in the truck and took off. They headed toward the highway, but instead of getting on I-90 and heading in my direction, they passed the highway entrance and made for the T on E. Mullen Road and headed South East.

  I was wondering where the two were going when Nadine came on. “Wesley has a brother, Billy, he lives off E. Mullen.”

  “Maybe they're going there?” Goldstone said. “Any chance the brother looks like our guy in the composite Edward’s helped us with?”

  “Checking,” Nadine said.

  There was silence then Nadine spoke again. “Got a high school yearbook photo. Billy is a dead match for the guy in our drawing.”

  “Do you want us to move in?” Tom Bedder asked. I didn’t know where Bedder was but assumed he was somewhere near Clinton.

  “Let’s see what our whirly-gig gets us first,” Goldstone said.

  “Condor,” the young man, who sounded like he had come from India, said. “The bird is called Condor.”

  “Okay, Condor,” the sheriff said. As he said it, the red truck turned off E. Mullen into a short driveway toward a trailer hidden among the trees.

  “That’s Billy’s place,” Nadine said.

  “Are you still in the grocery store parking lot, Condor?” Sheriff Goldstone asked.

  “Yes,” a male voice I had not heard before said.

  “And the suspects did not see your van?”

  “No, sir. We’re behind the store. We couldn’t even see them leave.

  "What's your name, son?"

  "Ken."

  "Okay, Ken. You guys stay there until I tell you to move," the sheriff said.

  “Understood,” Ken said.

  On my iPad, I watched as the two men exited the truck and began walking to the trailer.

  “If the trailer is plastic I may be able to scan the inside with thermal imaging,” the young man from India said.

  "You are...?" the sheriff asked.

  "Yash."

  “Yes, do that, Yash,” Goldstone said.

  The image of the trailer on the screen went red and orange. The camera zoomed in. It seemed from the shadows of familiar things like a coffee maker and a small television that they could see inside.

  “I am not reading any bodies in the trailer,” Yash said.

  “Thanks, Yash,” the sheriff said.

  “Do you want me to switch back to the normal image or keep it on thermal?”

  “Let’s keep it on thermal and see if they go inside.”

  The two men went right to the trailer. It seemed the heavier of the two, which I knew was Hanassey, did something with the door and a few minutes later, he opened it.

  “Picking locks, what do you know,” Bedder said.

  I couldn’t help but laugh.

  Suddenly there was a squawking sound on my iPad. It grew loud and then changed into voices. Two distinct voices.

  “I’m trying our new directional microphone,” Ken said. “We haven’t got all the bugs out yet, but I thought it might help.”

  “Why the heck didn’t you put it on the truck while they were driving?” Goldstone asked, sounding annoyed.

  “It doesn’t work well enough to completely overcome moving car sounds, and the controls need a more delicate touch than I can manage while our vehicle is moving.”

  I could hear the sound of voices becoming clearer in the background.

  “Can you clean that up a bit more?” Goldstone asked. “Can you record it?”

  “10-4,” Ken said.

  I wondered if Ken got that from a movie.

  The jumbled sounds slowly became clear voices as we all waited and listened.

  “Where the fuck can that brother of yours be?” a loud, gruff voice said.

  “I don’t know,” a higher pitched male voice replied.

  “Let’s search the place,” the gruff voice said.

  “What do you think I’ve been doing?” the other voice pleaded.

  It was hard to discern what was going on exactly as the two just moved around in the small space, but then the bigger of the two men, who was on the left-hand side of the trailer, walked toward the opposite end, turned in the middle of the trailer and took a few steps forward. We watched him bend down. It looked as if he was searching for something in a waste-paper basket beneath what looked like a sink. The smaller man moved up behind him but not next to him. There was a wide box shape on their right that reached the ceiling, which most likely put them in the trailer’s bathroom near the shower.

  “What’s this?” the gruff voice asked.

  It looked on screen as if he were holding something up, showing it to the other man over his shoulder.

  “Why would he buy one of those?” the higher voice said.

  “How the fuck would I know! He’s your damn brother. Maybe he wants to have her above him while he fucks her.”

  There was a silence.

  “Damn, we should have searched the entire trailer before."

  "You told me you thought he'd be back." The gruff voice sounded annoyed.

  "Not if he's where I think he took her.”

  “Well, then let’s go,” the gruff voice said. It appeared he threw whatever they had been looking back in the wastebasket.

  I watched the two men exit the trailer.

  “Go back to regular imaging?” Ken asked. “Thermal uses more power.”

  “Go back,” Goldstone said.

  “Crap,” Yash suddenly said. “The Condor is very low on power. I’m going to need to land it.”

  “Do you have to?” Goldstone asked, “Can we see which way their truck is headed first?”

  “No can do. I’ve got to land this now.”

  Condor Recovery

  October 29: After 10 a.m.

  Rylee Blouin stood behind the two cushioned chairs fixed to the floor in which Yash and Ken sat in front of the three-screen computer console. She had watched and listened, mesmerized, as the heat images of the two men in the trailer showed them searching it. They were connected by phone to all the cops watching, and all of the technology seemed amazing to her. But to Rylee, the situation had hardly seemed real until the men found something in the trash that one of them suggested could be used to suspend the girl while having sex with her. At that moment the reality of it sank in, and she felt a weird mixture of both fear and excitement.

  At that moment she ha
d looked at the interior of the van and then out through the front window at the mountains on the other side of the highway from the Clinton Market to assure herself that she was somewhere safe.

  Her heart went out to the kidnapped girl who was not. When she looked back at the computers, she noticed a small red pulsing light, blinking on the far left computer screen.

  Rylee hadn’t been able to watch Ken and Yash as she drove, but when she had the van parked, hidden behind the Market, she had gone to the back of the van to watch. While the vehicle they were following was moving, the two young men had kept checking or changing the flight controls and the camera. Once the red truck reached the trailer, they were able to set the controls so the drone would hover safely in the air. The only changes made were when Ken turned on the thermal view and then adjusted the microphone.

  Soon Ken and Yash had become completely focused on the center computer screen in the array of three and the situation playing out there. They were as mesmerized by it all as she had been. She didn’t think they had even noticed the red blinking light. She hesitated but then decided to say something.

  Yash had explained before they started that they’d all be on the conference call with the cops, which was going to be recorded, along with anything they picked up with the directional microphone they’d be focusing on the bad guys. It was best not to talk if they could help it. If one of the bad guys spoke at the same time one of them spoke, what the bad guys said might be lost. On the middle screen, the bad guys exited the trailer. Ken asked if he should turn off the thermal imaging and was told to do so.

  Yash’s eyes were riveted to the screen where the camera now focused in on the two men. She tapped Yash on the shoulder. Presenting obviously annoyed body language, Yash turned and gave her a questioning look.

  She didn’t say anything, but, instead, she pointed at the blinking light. Suddenly, as she did so, a picture of a battery that had been in a lower section of the screen grew to fill the screen. Now the screen showed an image of an almost completely depleted battery with the word WARNING in red above it, and a beeping sound began.

  “Crap,” Yash said in alarm. “The Condor is very low on power. I’m going to need to land it.”

  “Do you have to?" the voice she’d come to know as the sheriff’s asked. He was obviously in charge, “Can we see which way their truck is headed first?”

  “No can do,” Yash said, his voice almost panicked. “I’ve got to land it now.” With that Yash leaned over the console and flicked off the communication switch. Now the sheriff and his men would not be able to hear what they said.

  "Deploy the chute?" Ken asked.

  "Don't touch that button," Yash shouted. "The last thing we need is for it to get hung up in a tree."

  Yash hit a switch on the console and began playing with the flight controls. Rylee watched as the view on the screen changed as the drone turned and then moved over treetops. Rylee assumed the direction it was heading was away from the trailer. At the right edge of the computer screen the end of the tree line was visible as well as a peripheral view of the highway.

  “Can’t you head for the main road?” she asked.

  “It could be seen,” Yash cried, “Or worse run over!”

  “You turned off the group chat?” Ken asked sounding surprised.

  “Not now!” Yash cried, clearly freaking out now. The light on the far screen blinked faster.

  A gap appeared in the pattern of trees ahead.

  “Be a dirt road, be a dirt road,” Yash cried.

  As the drone moved over the gap in the trees, they could all see it was a dirt road.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Yash cried as he began lowering the drone for a landing.

  Suddenly the screen went dark. Yash stared at the screen in shock. The left-hand screen read: UNIT POWER FAILURE, ATTEMPTING TO REBOOT.

  “Crap!” Yash cried. “Do you have the coordinates?”

  “That should be Sunrise Hill Road. I’ll check it on Google Earth. Why did you turn the chat off?”

  Yash looked from Ken to Rylee. “I have a confession to make. A deputy called me this morning and asked if we could use the Condor for surveillance necessary to find the missing girl. I told them I would check with Professor Kern. But I couldn’t reach the professor.”

  “So we are not authorized?”

  “No,” Yash said, sounding as if making a great effort now to calm himself. “We need to get to the Condor now. Or I might be arrested for stealing it.”

  “5522 Sunrise Hill is what Google says.

  Yash looked at Rylee. He didn’t need to say anything. She went to the driver’s seat, sat down, and turned the engine on.

  “Over the highway and then left,” Ken said.

  A moment later they were on their way.

  Six minutes later Rylee drove slowly as she checked the right side of the road for the turn onto Sunrise. On their left open grass separated them from the highway. Yash was in his chair looking at their GPS position on the computer, but the road they were looking for didn’t seem to be exactly where the software said. Ken stood holding the back of the driver’s seat helping to look.

  “Oh, no,” Ken said.

  “What?” Rylee asked.

  In front of them, the red truck was turning into the road.

  “The red truck we’ve been following,” Ken said. “Best if they see only you,” he said as he slipped into the back of the van.

  As Rylee watched the red truck which at first sped up as it came toward them, began to slow. The tall man in the driver’s seat, sitting next to the big man with the beard, held up his hand through his open window. He wanted her to stop.

  Rylee checked the rear-view mirror. No one was behind her. She pulled to a stop in the center of the road so that her window looked directly into the truck’s window. Keeping the van in drive with her foot on the brake she rolled down her window.

  “Lost?” the driver asked.

  Rylee’s heart was beating like it never had before. The voice wasn’t the voice of the man who had talked about hanging the girl up for sex. That meant that the bearded man was. And the bearded man was looking at her in a way that terrified her. She tried to keep her voice calm as she replied.

  “Yeah. Can’t find Sunrise Hill Road.”

  “You missed it,” the man said, pointing down the road behind her. “About a block back. It’s really hidden by the trees.”

  Rylee turned; looking back behind her instinctively, though the van had no back window.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “You're welcome,” the man said and drove off. A second later the horn of the red truck honked. Rylee looked in her side mirror. The red truck was stopped not half a block away. The man’s arm was out the window. He was pointing. Rylee stuck her hand out and waved. As the red truck drove off, Rylee sat there unmoving until Yash shook her shoulder. “We have to get the Condor. Let’s move!”

  There was no sign of other traffic around in the rear view mirror. She began backing up. The road was where the man had pointed. Sunrise was a dirt road that didn’t seem to get much traffic as the snow on it had only one set of tire tracks coming out. Pine trees hovered over it on either side. Rylee drove slowly as the road twisted like a snake. They passed an uncompleted A-frame with tarpaper on the roof which was the first sign of anyone living on the road at all. Finally, Rylee drove around a corner and there the Condor sat on its side at the edge of the road. The unit lay tilted in a deep rut. One of its propellers hung broken.

  Before Rylee even came to a full stop, the men jumped out the back. Yash ran up to the Condor as if it were his lost child. As the two lifted it to the road behind the van, Rylee called, “Don’t you think you should turn the COM back on? You have some explaining to do to our cop friends.”

  “No,” Yash cried. “Not till we get it fixed.” Which he was already beginning to do.

  “Are you going to tell them that the guys in the red truck saw us, and I talked to one of them?”r />
  “No,” both Yash and Ken cried almost simultaneously. “Don’t do that. They need us,” Yash said.

  “And the missing girl needs us,” Ken said.

  “If you tell them, they might tell us to go home,” Yash added.

  The sheriff wasn’t interested in too much explaining. Yash just told him that they’d recovered the Condor, they’d put a new battery in, got the Condor in the air, and they were searching for the red truck again as they spoke. The sheriff suggested they search the East bound side of the highway first. The Condor found the red truck in minutes.

  Soon after that Rylee turned the van back onto the I-90 heading toward Butte, while the red truck was locked onto the screen in the back of the van.

  A Strange Sound

  October 26: 6:31 a.m.

  Cassie woke to a strange sound that at first she thought was the packrat. But as her head cleared a cold terror seized her. It sounded like snoring. Someone not more than a few feet from her was snoring loudly.

  Her kidnapper, it had to be. She listened as carefully as she could, trying to determine how big the person was. The snoring was not at all like her dad's. In addition to having a different rhythm, it was not as loud as her dad's. Whoever he was he was asleep. If it was indeed a he? For all she knew, her kidnapper could have kidnapped another girl. Then she realized if it was her kidnapper and he was, in fact, asleep, she had an advantage.

  Slipping halfway out of her sleeping bag, she felt her coat pocket, found her multi-tool, and opened the knife. Then, sliding the rest of the way out of her sleeping bag, she took her headlight and holding it down just an inch from the stone floor, she turned it on. For a moment the glow was blinding. She turned away briefly while her eyes adjusted. Then, in the dim glow the headlight cast while it pointed to the floor, she looked in the direction of the snoring sound.

  A figure lay there face down. Whoever it was wore dark jeans and a blaze orange hunting jacket. As the person on the floor continued to snore, she watched not knowing what to do.