Snow Blind

by Jim Heskett

  Something about it rings familiar to him, but Layne can’t place it. He holds the bone out to Alicia. “You recognize this symbol? Know where this comes from?”

  She hesitates a moment, then she shakes her head.

  He twists it in the light, his eyes tracing over the lines.

  21

  Layne Parish shifted in the seat inside Victoria Overton's office. He and Victoria stared at each other across the vast expanse of her desk. The lack of noise in the room boomed like rockets. Then, Layne noticed a clock ticking, although he couldn’t see it. The only sound in the room.

  Behind them, the door opened, and Victoria pointed to the empty chair next to Layne. Her face was blank and resolute, her jaw set and her eyes dead.

  “Mr. Paluski,” Victoria said, “please have a seat.”

  Grant Paluski stomped into the room, the man who had attacked Layne twice in the last week.

  Layne had learned the name a few minutes ago, when Harry had accessed flight records to find Janine, and after that, tracked down the name of her husband. Grant and Janine Paluski. Both of them average citizens, no criminal records, zero connection to anything related to human trafficking or anything suspicious at all. Just a married couple going through a rough patch. A flirty wife and a jealous husband.

  Layne wanted to hang his head in shame for spending so much energy trying, only to end up with nothing when it came to this man. At times like this, Layne wondered if he’d been out of the spy game for too long. If he was too old and had lost his edge.

  As much as he wanted to deny that conclusion, it loomed over him like a sword poised to fall.

  Grant glared at Layne as he slid into the chair. He looked a little green, as if he’d had his face buried in a toilet before he arrived here.

  Victoria slapped a hand on her desk, breaking Layne and Grant out of their staring contest. She scowled as she leaned forward and tented her fingertips. "Gentlemen, this is a very serious situation."

  Layne understood Victoria was waiting for him to respond, but he didn't know what to say. Grant had instigated both of the fights, through a misguided assumption that Layne had the hots for his wife.

  Layne tilted his head toward Grant, offering him the chance to speak. Grant shrugged and clucked his teeth a few times. Apparently, his tough guy act was as solid as Layne’s.

  “Why do your security guards carry stun batons?” Layne asked. “Are those legal in BC?”

  Victoria ignored the question, lowering her hands to drum her fingertips against the desktop. "Very well then," she eventually said, "if you two have nothing to say for yourselves, then I will speak. In all my years of running the Squamish Mountain Retreat Center, never have I had two guests assault each other. Multiple times you’ve done this, I might add. And I want you to know that I intend to deliver no leniency in this situation. My response will be swift and final.”

  Layne's chest grew warm, and soon it would burn. He'd left his nicotine lozenges back in the bungalow. He could really use one right now.

  “Mr. Priest, I’m not sure what’s considered acceptable behavior in Colorado, but in British Columbia, we comport ourselves with a certain amount of dignity. I don’t know if you have children, but I would hate for them to see you act this way.”

  Layne literally bit his lower lip to keep himself from responding. It would do no good. The best option he had right now was to let this woman rant and rave for a bit, then keep his head down and get back to the business of the operation.

  She cast her icy gaze at Grant. “And I assume you have no good explanation for why you’re swinging a baseball bat around on my campus, and why you found it necessary to spit on my security guards when they approached you?”

  “None of this is my fault. He’s been chasing after my wife since the day he got here, and I was only defending what’s mine.”

  Victoria reached for a stack of SMRC letterhead sitting on the desk and then scribbled on a page. A long and luxurious sigh escaped her lips as she wrote. “Very well. As of this moment, both of you are expelled from your stay at the SMRC."

  Grant leaned forward, gripping the edge of his chair. Face reddening, a line of sweat on his forehead. "You're kidding. What the hell, Victoria?”

  She shook her head. "No sir, I am most definitely not kidding. Given that the roads are still closed, you will both be allowed to stay here throughout the remainder of the day, and possibly tomorrow, if the roads have not cleared by then. If we are unable to travel by morning, I intend to bring in several snowcats to transport the guests due to leave. You may leave with them. You will not be refunded for your stay, and you will not be welcome back at the SMRC, for as long as it is under my tenure.”

  Grant seethed. He coughed, then his chest rose and fell. He winced, placing one hand over his chest. “This is bullshit. I don’t know what I have to do to convince you this isn’t my fault.”

  “There is nothing you can do, Mr. Paluski, so I suggest you not try.”

  “You can't do this.”

  "I most certainly can," Victoria said. Absolute certainty on her face. She pushed the two sheets of paper across her desk, one toward each of them.

  Layne knew better than to argue. Victoria would not change her mind. And that meant he had one day, maybe two at the most, to figure out what was going on here.

  Layne and Grant exited the building, snow cascading around them. They’d walked out together, although Layne had kept his distance. On the porch of the main lodge building, Layne noted several people stopped what they were doing to watch them. The castigated duo. A few of the retreat guests flashed punitive eyes at them. The rest only stared, not sure how to react.

  Did people assume they’d been kicked out? They must have known something, given how rumors flew around this place like horses on a track.

  Grant coughed, a wet gurgle that ended in a struggle to breathe while he recovered. The big guy didn’t seem right. His eyes were drooping, his breaths coming fast and labored.

  “Where were you the last few days?” Layne asked.

  “I’ve been sick, not that it’s any of your damn business.”

  As Layne zipped his jacket and pulled up his hood, Grant snatched his arm. Layne pulled away, ripping free of Grant’s grasp. He balled his fists and widened his stance, ready to defend himself.

  The big guy leaned in, sneering at Layne.

  “Look,” Layne said, “don’t start this crap again. You don’t have your bat now. You don’t have any trees to hide behind, so you can’t snipe at me when I’m not expecting it.”

  “I could take you one on one in a fair fight if I wanted to.”

  “Sure you could. Why don’t you discuss this with your wife, instead of taking out your marital insecurities on me?”

  “You’re a dick.”

  Layne shook his head. “We’ve already been expelled, do you want them to have security babysit us for the rest of our stay here?”

  Grant, sweating, bared his teeth. “We’re still not even. I don’t care what you say.”

  “You do not want to start this with me.”

  “This is all your fault,” Grant said, and then he swayed on his feet. He stumbled forward a step, his eyes rolling back in his head.

  “You okay, man? Do I need to get someone?”

  Grant toppled backward, bumping against the door. Little icicles detached from the roof above and showered Grant’s shoulders as he wheezed. “I can’t… I can’t breathe.” He gasped and clutched his chest. With one last rasp, he collapsed onto the steps.

  Layne spun, threw back the door, and shouted inside, “need help out here! A guest is having a heart attack.”

  As soon as Layne had said it, he knew it wasn’t a heart attack. Grant had the look of a man dosed with something heavy. Something fatal. Something made to look like a natural death. His eyelids were low, eyeballs bugging out of his sockets. His skin morphed into a deeper shade of sickly green.

  Within ten seconds, two members of the staff came rushing o
ut onto the steps and attended to Grant. They lowered him to the porch. Both of them speaking in soothing tones, trying to find out what he’d eaten today, how much had he drank, if he had any previous medical conditions they needed to be aware of. Grant grunted and sputtered his way through his answers. His eyes fluttered.

  It had been a long time since Layne had taken his AED and CPR training, so he moved out of the way and let the professionals do their jobs. Grant stared up at Layne as they worked on him, elevating his head. After a few seconds, his eyes closed, and the medical staff commenced with chest pumps.

  He was dying, and Layne knew nothing would stop it.

  Layne surveyed the retreat guests, the same ones who’d been staring at them with judgment. Now, they looked on with horror. Hands over gaping mouths. From far away, a scream came, and Janine Paluski raced through the snow, sprinting toward her husband while he turned blue and his eyes flared in terror.

  A flood of thoughts appeared to Layne at once. He tried to recall anyone they’d come in contact with on the way out of Victoria’s office. Must’ve been a dozen people milling about between here and there. Any of them could have stuck Grant with something to simulate a heart attack.

  But why would they do it? The most obvious explanation was that they wanted to pin the death on Layne. Make it look like a heart attack, but leave enough poison in his system to point toward foul play. So, once the roads cleared, a crew of Mounties would meet Layne instead of a friendly bus driver.

  As Grant died on the front steps of the retreat lodge, Layne knew he was running out of time.

  22

  Serena Rojas entered the Chase bank on 2nd Avenue and stood in the lobby. A tall ceiling with an end-to-end mural caught her eye. The cloud-ringed peak of Mt. Rainier, towering across the arched ceiling.

  Within fifteen seconds, a woman at a nearby reception desk lifted a hand in greeting. "Can I help you?"

  Serena said, "I have an appointment with a Mr. Chafetz. I’m a little early, so I hope that’s okay.”

  "Edward? Sure, one second. I'll get him."

  Serena waited there for another minute or so, and then a squat white man, balding, with thick round glasses and the wisps of a curly mustache emerged from an office. Looked a little creepy, to be honest. He held out a pudgy hand to shake. "Ms. Gutierrez? I am Ed Chafetz."

  Serena shook his hand. "Yes, thank you for meeting with me on such short notice.”

  “Not at all. Happy to help.” Ed escorted Serena back into his office and then shut the door behind them. Glass walls on three sides, with angled window blinds, all of them open. Anyone walking by had full visibility. That could be a problem.

  Serena definitely noted when Edward checked out the swell of her chest as she took a seat, and he also sneaked a peek at her legs when she crossed them in her chair. This didn't bother her at all. Actually, it would be useful information to know about Ed Chafetz.

  "I received some of the initial paperwork," he said. "There are a few things we need to review for your application, Ms. Gutierrez, but so far, everything looks in order.”

  "Thank you. This is good news, right?”

  Ed's brow creased. "I do have concerns about your timeline, but I think we can find a reasonable middle ground somewhere.”

  "I understand it seems hasty, but the business could really use a cash injection," Serena said, leaning forward a little on the last few words, drawing Ed's eyes down to her chest. She’d tossed her sweater in the hotel dryer this morning to make sure it clung to her curves in a suggestive manner.

  Ed's eyes flicked back up when Serena sat up straight in her chair. "I understand," he said. "I think we can work something out." He offered her a hint of a wry grin, just enough to be suggestive, but innocent enough he could claim ignorance if she took offense. No doubt he had done this before.

  Serena had a pretty solid idea of what Ed thought they could work out to approve this loan for her in such short fashion. But that didn't matter. All she needed to do was string him along for a little bit longer.

  Any second now, pervy Eddie would receive a message on his phone. Hopefully soon.

  “Are you from Washington?” Ed asked.

  “Not originally, no.”

  “I thought so. Sounds like a hint of a southern accent there. Maybe Texas?”

  “That’s right.” She added a smile from one side of her mouth to lure him in. Anything to not focus so much on the paperwork, which would shred her story to pieces in a manner of seconds if he actually did look at it.

  “If you’re new to the city, and you’re in search of a guide, I’m kind of a secret hotspot savant.”

  “Is that so?”

  Ed drummed his fingers on the desk and maintained eye contact. Serena did her best to keep up the smile, although it was getting harder by the moment.

  Like divine intervention, Ed's phone dinged. He leaned forward, picked it up, and his eyes grew wide. "One second," he said as he unlocked the phone and his thumbs stabbed out a text message reply.

  A moment later, another reply came in, and Ed's eyes grew even larger. He stood up, still holding his phone. An uncomfortable rasp escaped his lips. "If you'll excuse me, Ms. Gutierrez, I have to go take care of this. I shouldn’t… I mean… I’ll be right back.”

  “Of course.”

  Until that moment, Serena hadn’t been convinced the phone hack would work. But, she should have known Control wouldn’t let her down. As difficult as it was to work with Daphne Kurek, the lady knew her stuff and never missed the mark.

  Ed hesitated a moment, appearing not sure if he should leave this woman alone in his office. But then, he frowned at his phone and hurried out. Serena didn’t know what Daphne had set up for the distraction. She’d suggested a notice that his car was getting broken into, sick kid at school, something like that.

  As soon as he left, the door swung shut behind him. Serena turned to the side, observing him out of her peripheral. He walked straight to the front door and exited the building, phone up to his ear.

  Whatever diversion had gotten him out of the office, it might last only thirty seconds or so. She started a timer on her phone.

  Serena checked for security guards or any employees facing in her direction. She couldn’t shut the window blinds, not alone in here. Only one of the guards was in her line of sight, though, and he was staring straight ahead.

  She ducked down and crawled across the floor to Ed’s desk. The center drawer and top drawer were both unlocked and contained little beyond pens, pencils, and paperclips. But the bottom drawer was locked. A locked drawer was a good sign. She set her phone on the carpet next to her, checking the timer. Fifteen seconds since he’d left.

  A shadow passed in front of the window blinds. Serena froze, huddled on the floor next to the desk. The shadow paused outside the door, hovering there. Seemingly frozen. Five seconds went by, her timer ticking on, wasting this precious opportunity.

  Then, the shadow moved to the left, away from the office.

  Serena reached back toward her chair and snatched her purse, then removed a device not much larger than a tube of lipstick. She twisted it, which made a small metal prong eject from one end. She inserted this into the lock and twisted the tube. The drawer clicked.

  She opened the drawer to reveal a set of hanging folders. Blue and red, with little bits of paper at the top, denoting letters of the alphabet. Quickly thumbing through them, they all looked like paper copies of processed applications. Nothing special.

  “Come on,” she said. “You can do better than this.”

  Serena rapped a hand against the side of the desk, checking for hollow spots. She eyed the time. Twenty-five seconds had elapsed.

  Nothing she could find in or around the desk seemed to suggest it had any hidden compartments. There were no file cabinets or other storage in the room. If he had files on his laptop, Serena was not equipped to handle that. She’d need Harry Boukadakis and a half hour to hack into his hard drive and copy the contents.

/>   The guy had to have paper backups, didn’t he? Wouldn’t the bank require them to have hard copies?

  She checked the timer. Thirty-five seconds. “Shit.”

  This didn’t look good. In the next five or ten seconds, she would have to abort. Find another way.

  Then, something caught her eye. The desk was sitting on the soft carpet, but the bottom drawer didn’t seem deep enough. As if the base of it wasn’t sitting flush with the floor. She pulled the sliding drawer out all the way and tapped on the bottom, below the hanging folders.

  False floor.

  She shoved the hanging folders to the back and lifted the false bottom, a plank of particle board. Below that was a single folder, marked with a Sharpie, bearing the other name mentioned at the diner by the guards from the card game.

  Z.

  23

  Layne rose from the bungalow’s couch and walked across the room to where Harry stood by the window, hands on hips. Staring out the window, Harry squinted. His lower lip swished back and forth, a sure sign Harry was deep in thought.

  "Are you looking for that blinking light?" Layne asked.

  Harry lifted a finger and wagged it at the mountains as if accusing it of wrongdoing. "It only happens about once every two minutes. But I swear, it's out there. Stand here a second.”

  Layne, who didn't exactly believe Harry, but didn't think he was a liar, decided to wait. He tapped to start the stopwatch on his phone and held it out, the seconds flicking up and up.

  And in another forty-nine seconds, he did see something. A blink, then two more quick blinks, off in the distance.

  "You see that?" Harry asked. “It happened.”

  Layne nodded and said, "I did. On the side of that peak west of us. Maybe half a mile away, or maybe as far as a whole mile?"

  “See? I’m not crazy.”

  “Well,” Layne said, “I don’t know if this definitely proves that point, but I did see the blinking light.”