Even the Wind: A Jonas Brant Thriller (47 page)

 
``Breathing space?’’

 
``Maybe an old warehouse or unused factory. I suppose you could build a clean room if you had enough money and the correct knowledge. Those things are sophisticated but I guess any kid on the Internet could find the designs in a couple of minutes.’’

 
``A clean room?’’ Brant said, more for his own benefit than for anything else. His head swooned. The floor seemed to rise up from nowhere.

 
``You better have some more tea,’’ Mallek said as she made for the mug he’d placed on the side table. Concern marked the rings underneath her eyes and the pale blush of her cheeks.

 
``I think I know where it is,’’ Brant said finally.

 
``Where what is? What are you talking about?’’

 
``Eichel was pointing us to it all along. We have to go.’’

 
``You’re not going anywhere but to bed. Whatever it is you think you know can wait until after you’ve slept. Doctor’s orders.’’

 
Brant began to protest. He didn’t get far. The room darkened as his head hit the pillow.
 

Early morning. The rain had become a torrent. Brant had awoken to a dull throbbing in his head and a stiff shoulder. He’d tossed and turned all night, waking at the first light of daybreak. Mallek, for all her effort, couldn’t sleep. She’d rolled herself up under a blanket on the floor but the hardwood was cold and she’d struggled for rest. She gasped when she saw his face.

 
``It probably looks worse than it feels.’’

 
``Then you must be feeling pretty badly,’’ she said as she reached into her backpack to retrieve a handful of painkillers. ``Take two of these. They’ll numb you.’’

 
``I don’t need medication for that,’’ he said, downing the pills in a single gulp without the aid of water.

 
``We can take my car. Do you need anything from your room?’’

 
``My backpack. And Eichel’s phone.’’

 
Mallek left first, leaving him alone in the room.
 

 
Brant stepped out into the hallway as if he were walking on hot coals. The floor creaked under each step. In the quiet of the morning the lodge seemed like a boat on a calm sea. As a child he’d always wanted to sail. He’d imagine the sun on his face and the cool breeze filling white sails pulled taut by firm hands on the mainsail. The idea of the motion of the boat as it sliced through the water would often fill him with pleasure at the mere thought. This morning was not such a time. The previous night’s beating and the medication had produced nausea and a tenderness in the pit of his stomach.
 

 
He returned to his room for the backpack, phone and something else. He found the Beretta tucked away at the back of the bureau undisturbed and wrapped snuggly in a pair of socks — exactly where he’d left it.
 

 
He was in the hallway again when he heard a shuffling of feet. With haste, he hid the Beretta in his waistband. Though he would have been more comfortable with the piece in its shoulder holster, he didn’t want to alarm anyone.
 

``You’re awake.’’ John King stepped out from the darkened tunnel that was the hallway leading to Brant’s room. He was in a bathrobe and pajamas and carried a mug in his right hand. He seemed surprised to find anyone up at such an early hour and his cheeks blushed as if he’d been a child caught somewhere he ought not to have been. ``Jesus, what happened to you?’’

 
``I tripped. Hit my face on the sharp end of a table.’’

 
``You sure the table didn’t have fists? Looks like you’ve been punched in the head a few times,’’ King said. He stepped closer for a better look at the angry purplish bruise. Reflexively, Brant pulled away.

 
``It’s okay. It’ll be fine in a few days. You should install some nightlights around here. Better to move around in the dark.’’

 
``I’ll give that a thought,’’ King said as he took a gulp from his mug. ``Do you want some coffee? I just made a pot.’’

 
``No, thanks. I was just going back to my room.’’

 
``You’re the only one up?’’

 
``Yes.’’

 
Brant glanced back in the direction he’d come, hoping that Mallek had already made it to the car. King smiled as he followed his line of sight. How long had King been standing there, and why hadn’t he seen him until they’d almost collided.
 

 
``Getting to know the other campers are we?’’ King asked.
 

 
``Something like that.’’

 
``I’ll leave you to it, then. We’ll have breakfast at 8. Not much point having it any earlier. The storm’s finally hit. No way anyone’s going out on the lake today. You’ll have plenty of time for more interviews or whatever it is you need to do. You ARE still investigating?’’

 
``Yes, it’s going well. I think we’re making progress.’’

 
``I’ll see you at breakfast. Get a cold compress or something for that face. And watch out for those chairs. They can be a bitch.’’

 
``I’ll do that.’’

Mallek had pulled her car into the remaining vacant parking space at the front of the lodge. She drove a late model Range Rover with white leather seats and a mahogany dashboard. The navigation system sprang smoothly to life at the press of a button.
 

He’d needed to sprint from the steps of the front deck to the opened car door. She’d cracked the window enough to let fresh air into the car’s interior so as to avoid the inside windows fogging over. Rain pounded heavily on the roof and hood of the car.
 

 
``Did anyone hear you?’’

 
``I ran into John King outside my room.’’

 
``Damn.’’ Mallek hit the top of the steering wheel. ``What did you tell him?’’

 
``He thinks we’re sleeping together.’’

 
``And you didn’t defend my honor?’’

 
``I didn’t realize it was something needing defended.’’

 
``Good answer. Now buckle up.’’

 
``Nice ride by the way. Medical school seems to be paying off.’’

 
``Don’t be an idiot. It’s my dad’s. He wouldn’t let me move away from home unless he bought me a car.’’

 
``What is he? Some kind of finance guy?’’

 
Mallek shook her head. ``Cardiac surgeon.’’

 
``Must be tough.’’

 
``It’s the burden I bear,’’ Mallek said with a hint of irony in her voice.

 
Brant pulled out the Beretta to ensure it was in working order. The smell of oil and leather permeated the Range Rover’s interior.

 
Mallek’s eyes widened when she saw the gun.

 
``Insurance.’’

 
He linked Eichel’s phone wirelessly to the Range Rover’s GPS. Mallek pulled out of the gravel parking lot, executed a perfect three-point turn and headed off in the direction suggested by Eichel’s phone records. Once they’d reached the main road she turned on the Range Rover’s headlights and rolled down the windows for air. Moments later they were winding through a shadowed stand of trees.
 

 
``It makes perfect sense,’’ Brant said as he eyed the GPS display. ``The phone records show Eichel made this trip every couple of days since he got here.’’

 
``How can you be sure we’ll find anything at the end of this little side trip, let alone some kind of a smoking gun?’’

 
``No, no smoking gun. But I bet we’re going to find something. Maybe even a clean room.’’

 
Mallek turned to take in Brant’s expression, an incredulous look on her face. ``Out here in the middle of nowhere? I think you may have been smoking whatever it is that Eichel and his partners were cooking up. There are better locations.’’

 
``Think about it. We’re in the middle of nowhere. You saw the invoices. Someone was buying medical equipment. Allison Carswell stole equipment from the Tufts lab. Why? At first I thought it may have been all about drugs. But I don’t think so.’’

 
She thought for a moment.

 
``There’s also the email that Eichel sent Carswell,’’ Brant said, recalling the message he’d pulled off Carswell’s computer. ``They’d been buying shares in pharmaceutical companies and selling short tourism companies and airlines. That’s not about illegal drugs. They were cooking up something else.’’

 
``Selling short?’’ Mallek asked.

 
``Sale of a security they didn’t actually own,’’ he said. ``They were hoping the shares would fall so they could buy them back at a lower price to make a profit.’’

 
Mallek shrugged. ``Nice working theory but that’s all it is. You can’t really prove it.’’

 
``We’ll be able to prove some of it if we find the lab.’’

 
``Good point.’’

 
She killed the engine when they came to a clearing. Tracks led from the main road down a rutted and pitted trail that twisted and meandered into the forest. Rain continued to pound.

 
Mallek parked the Range Rover as far from the main road as she could safely arrange without getting the vehicle stuck in a quagmire of mud at the head of the trail. She failed. In short order, the vehicle’s big tires sank into the soft earth. She revved the engine in a futile attempt to break free, only for the tires to dig deeper into sodden, mucky ground.

 
``Shit,’’ she said through gritted teeth.
 

 
``We’ll have to go on foot. Eichel’s trail ends here.’’

 
``You’ve got to be kidding. We’re in the middle of nowhere. This was probably just the turnaround point on his cycling route. It was a good guess but this is crazy.’’

 
Ignoring her, Brant opened the car door and set his foot into a puddle of mud. He’d had the good sense to change into rain gear. His hiking boots had been damp. A clean pair of LL Bean socks had been about all he could find back in his room. He fully zipped his outer shell.

 
``See those trees over there? The trail leads in that direction. It can’t be far.’’

 
``You’re out of your mind.’’

 
``Indulge me,’’ Brant said, offering his hand for support as Mallek pulled herself from the driver’s seat. She pushed his hand away in protest.

 
``Thanks but I can do it myself,’’ she said as she slammed the door and locked the car. Though thin ribbons of white cloud raced across a gray background of more turbulent weather, the rain was softer among the trees. ``I suppose you’re going to go anyway. I’m not staying in the car by myself. Someone has to protect you from yourself. Don’t forget. That hit to the head was a nasty blow.’’

 
``I’ll get the backpacks and the flashlights.’’

 
The trail took them past a barbed wire gate padlocked and rusted shut. On the other side of the gate the trail widened and twisted before disappearing around a bend.
 

 
``I don’t suppose you have any wirecutters?’’ Brant asked.

 
``Oh, let me see. May dear old dad stocked a few in the trunk of his daughter’s $100,000 Range Rover before sending her off to medical school. No, I don’t have any wirecutters.’’

 
``We’ll have to climb over,’’ Brant said without further comment. ``You go first.’’

 
Once clear of the gate the going was easy. The trail was rutted, leaving Brant to wonder why the gate would have been rusted if the trail had been recently used. They made quick progress at first, but a narrowing of the path slowed them down.
 

 
The canyon of trees closed around them. A walking trail took them deeper into the woods, past a rocky outcrop then parallel to a small stream. The deeper into the woods they hiked, the thicker the smell of the forest — earthy, heavy and organic. Rain continued to fall, pattering down on the big canopy of leaves above them. Brant scanned the path for signs they remained on the correct trail. Broken branches and leaves, compressed into the spongy soil offered a comforting reassurance of sorts.
 

They hiked, both lost in their thoughts with the only sounds their own shallowing breathing, the rain and the undergrowth rubbing up against their rain shells. The light was low, but enough that Brant had no need of the flashlight. Mallek took the lead as Brant tired. He looked on in appreciation as the younger woman deftly danced between the thickened rows of aspens and ferns. She was at home in the woods and she moved with graceful, long strides. Occasionally she would stop, consult the compass she’d brought, then plunge ahead without saying a word. Brant struggled to keep up and to match the easy, loping cantor.
 

 
Mallek stopped dead in her tracks, cocking her head as if catching the scent of an animal. Brant followed as she stepped from the narrow path and began fighting her way through the dense undergrowth. They came to a clearing. A cabin sat in the center of an open field of daffodils. Its windows were dark. No smoke rose from the chimney.

 
``This what you’re looking for?’’ Mallek asked finally.

 
``Could be. Help me with the lock.’’

 
The door had been padlocked. Rings had been affixed to the door and the frame. The padlock had been looped through the rings, which were corroded with rust. Through a window, Brant could see a sitting room, a sofa and a cold, black fireplace. He pushed and prodded at the door. The windows rattled in the cold breeze. Water dripped from eves rotted and pitted with holes.