River of No Return : A Jake Trent Novel (9781451698053) (10 page)

19

SALMON, IDAHO. THE SAME AFTERNOON.

2 P.M. MOUNTAIN STANDARD TIME.

Jake's and J.P.'s progress was minuscule in comparison to the scale of the terrain around them. J.P. was exerting himself to keep their pace up, despite Jake's warnings. The duo were already exhausted and sweaty—not a good combination if they ended up spending the night in the backcountry. Exhaustion and moisture led to hypothermia. For now, though, the sun was shining and the temperature was in the fifties.

“Fuckin' moths everywhere!” J.P. waved his hand in front of his face as they crossed a creek.

“
Dicosmoecus
. October caddis. There won't be many once we get away from the water.”

“Disco moth!” J.P. lunged out of his way to smack a bug out of the air and almost fell into the creek himself.

“Nice recovery.” Jake reached out and caught one of the caddis.
He hadn't been fishing in over a week, between Divya's project and winterizing the bed-and-breakfast. This hatch, the October caddis, was the final act of the dry fly season. The bugs were three-quarters of an inch long and meaty—approaching the size of their larger cousin, the stone fly. They would draw big fish to the surface.

Trout, like all living things, have an innate sense of impending hardship. As temperatures began to drop in the fall, the fish responded by stuffing themselves with as many calories as ­possible—great for fishing. The way things were looking, Jake wouldn't have a chance to capitalize on this reckless behavior.

“How much farther, you think?”

“A ways.” Jake looked toward the top of Mount Phelan, then back toward Baldy, where they had come from. He checked the elevation on his watch. Their lack of progress was discouraging. They were back at the same elevation they'd started from early that morning.

Instead of retracing their steps, Jake and J.P. decided to descend Baldy's south face, directly facing Phelan. The route was more direct, but the terrain more challenging. Sharp and uneven volcanic rock rolled and tumbled under their feet. J.P. fell twice, cutting his hand badly between his thumb and forefinger. Rejecting Jake's first aid, he made do with tying a sweaty bandana around the wound.

The north face of Phelan was steep and daunting. After they had crossed the creek and begun their ascent, a thick forest of pines slowed their pace. Downed trees on steep uphill slopes meant lots of work—climbing and scrapping their way over the obstacles. The heavy packs and melting snow wore on them.

* * *

Two and a half hours later, the summit was still not within sight. The thick pine forests had given way to steep, wet cliffs and rocky spines. To make matters worse, the cooling afternoon temperatures brought snow showers.

“I don't know but I been told . . .” J.P. hummed the rest of the cadence call, not knowing the words.

“We need to stop soon and eat something.” Neither man had taken any sustenance since before sunrise.

J.P. turned around, reached in his pocket, and tossed a Nature Valley granola bar back at Jake. He started walking again.

“Not enough.”

J.P.'s shoulders slumped in resignation and he walked back toward his friend.

Jake already had taken off his pack, an old blue Osprey, removed his small stove, and lit the burner. He gathered snow from the shade of a tree, swiped the forest debris from the top layer, and packed it into a pot.

Setting the pot on the stove to boil, Jake sat on a downed tree and motioned for J.P. to join him.

“I'm fine.” He lit a smoke.

Jake just shrugged. He pulled off his stiff hiking boots, then his socks, and let his clammy feet dry in the cold air. Satisfied, he reached in the pack and pulled out a fresh pair of hiking socks.

“Always prepared, huh?”

“Who likes wet socks?”

The water was starting to steam, but J.P. was getting antsy. He kicked at the ground and broke dead branches from a surrounding tree, then tossed them at nothing.

“Sit down, J.P. Relax for a minute.”

J.P. sauntered over and sat.

Jake gave him a hard look. “We'll find her.”

Above them in the canopy, ravens popped from branch to branch, waiting for food scraps. Jake stood and went to the boiling water. He carried it carefully to his pack, where he pulled out his foodstuffs.

“Chinese noodles or Easy Mac?”

“Mix 'em?”

Jake laughed. “Hell yeah. Party time.”

The hot food tasted good—not only necessary calories but also a morale booster. Jake cleaned the pot and the backpacking sporks and stashed his kit.

J.P. was still sitting, elbows on his knees, face in hands. Jake sat next to him again.

“What's going on?”

“I just wanna find her. You know, protect her. Remember how protective you were of Noelle after all that shit?”

Jake thought back. He missed Noelle deeply, but there was nothing to be done about it at the moment. Maybe nothing to be done about it at all. But what Divya had done, the whole sloppy mess of it, only reminded Jake of how genuinely he cared for the park ranger. “I know what you mean.”

It sounded hollow. He was still distracted, thinking of Noelle.
What a mess.
It had gone from perfect to awful so quickly. As with a fickle trout stream, there was no real explanation for the change in conditions. One day, they were happy. The next, Jake was hinting that maybe things were going too fast.

And Noelle's response had broken his heart.
If you think that's the
case, we'll take a break.
How could Jake explain that was not what he meant?

Jake had figured that if she wanted to put their break to an end,
she would do so with a phone call. It never came. He wanted to write it off as lack of interest from Noelle, though his better judgment said that wasn't the case.

When he'd seen her around town, she looked happy. Still glowing as she always did, seemingly untroubled. This hurt him. But Jake had feigned normalcy during their interactions—maybe she was doing the same?

His final conclusion was that he wasn't going to take the risk of finding out.
If she wants to, she'll
call,
remained his motto.

J.P. interrupted. “Obviously, it is weird, then.”

“Huh?”

“To be so paranoid that she doesn't care about me anymore. I mean, half of me thinks we might find her shacked up with someone else.”

Jake refocused on his friend, who needed his attention more than his self-imposed problems.

“It's not weird. You care for her. C'mon, we're not going to find her with someone else.” Jake looked uphill; he could see the smoke from the cabin's fire again in the distance.

Really,
he thought,
finding Esma with someone else wouldn't be
so bad. At least it probably wouldn't involve a gun
fight.
He looked back at J.P.'s distraught face.
Probably.

“Wanna get moving?” J.P. was still sitting on the log.

“It's just that things like this don't happen to me very often. You know, the beautiful-girl scenario.”

They were still two miles or so from the rising smoke. At least a two-hour climb in this terrain, Jake thought. They better get going. He didn't want to be poking around enemy territory in the dark. But J.P's face said he needed a moment. Jake joined him again on the log.

“I've gotta say, Jake—seeing you with Noelle was tough, man. I
mean, it made me jealous or whatever.” J.P. gave his friend a sheepish look before looking down again at the forest floor. A few wet snowflakes were shoved around by the wind.

We should get moving.

Jake clapped J.P. on the back. “And see how that turned out?” He laughed awkwardly. Heart-to-heart wasn't his strong suit. “What I mean is, the grass is always greener.”

“Never happened before,” J.P. blurted.

“Sorry?”

“I never had a girl I really liked, okay? Shit, man! Don't make me feel stupid.”

“I—”

J.P. interrupted. “I mean, I've had my moments. Tourist chicks, ninety-day wonders, whatever, but, like, I don't know . . .” Jake had heard the stories before. Some of the flings he'd heard firsthand all the way from the trailer.

“It's tough. I mean, I've never had a girl before where people are like ‘good for you,' you know? I guess that means she's outta my league.”

“Esma's not out of your league. You two are a good match.”

Another look.
You mean that?
Jake nodded to affirm his sentiment.

A cold gust. More snow.
Shit.
Jake had seen this before. Tough conditions and an unknown outcome compounded by emotional breakdown: it was a recipe for disaster. J.P. needed a serious pep talk. He needed to feel the resolve that was necessary to stay focused.

But J.P. was no military man. Not a cop. He was a ski bum from a cozy small town. He hadn't hardened like the people Jake knew from his days at the Office. It was a fine line—push him too far, and maybe he cracks. It was a normal human reaction.

“I just need to find her.” J.P. was shaking his head, nearly in tears.

Goddammit.
It was a long walk back to the vehicle, and night was coming.

J.P. looked up at Jake with cloudy eyes. Jake looked back and saw a broken man. There was far more going on inside J.P.'s head than a missing girlfriend. Unfortunately for Jake, that was the easiest problem to solve.

J.P. cleared his throat. A blink cleared his eyes of the moisture. He was still looking at Jake, but now directly, his focus piercing through the remaining emotion.

Strength
,
Jake thought.
Determination.
Maybe his happy-go-lucky friend was not to be taken lightly.

Jake stood abruptly and pulled J.P. up by his shirt. The two friends were standing face-to-face.

“We're going to get Esma back.”

Picking up his pack, Jake started uphill at a reinvigorated pace. J.P. scrambled to follow.

“All right! Do I get a gun?” he shouted through the brush.

“Nope,” Jake said, without turning around.

20

TRAM VILLAGE, CHINA.

In the windowless room, time was a mystery. No clock. Terrell was sure this was intentional. Looking around—the heavy door and sterile, drab interior—he wondered if the entire room had been designed for this very purpose. It wasn't a stretch; this whole damned village was a put-up job.

Xiao seemed harmless thus far—a benevolent kidnapper. But there was no doubt that he was dead set on getting Meirong home. And regardless of his demeanor, there was no way Terrell was going to leave Charlotte unguarded, just in case the giants came back to underscore how serious Xiao was.

She slept, which surprised Terrell. She lay on the olive-green canvas cot, facing the far wall. He couldn't tell whether she was still mad at him or simply exhausted and afraid.

The accommodations were basic but not inhumane, apart from
the chilly air in the room: two military-style cots, old wool bivvy sacks, and the same down pillows used in the hotel. There were a case of water and a few snacks. True to Tram Village's promise, they were American—beef jerky, potato chips, and Red Vines licorice.

For Terrell, sleepless nights were usually spent mulling over work.
Who did
what and why?
The prior night had been the same, albeit with higher stakes. He wasn't an outsider looking into a crime anymore. He was living the crime, start to finish, whatever it might be. The who, what, and why were in plain sight.

Instead, he tried to predict Xiao's next move. In his day job, Terrell didn't rely on offender profiling often, but the state required him to attend occasional seminars on the latest science of the criminal mind. The most recent one had been only a year ago.

Criminal profiling focused partly on determining where the offender lived or where he might strike next, which was of no interest to the chief. Terrell wanted to know
what
Xiao would do next. He knew damn well where.

Right here in this room.

Now, in what he assumed were the very early morning hours, he was finally painting a picture of Xiao, the man.
Rich, yes. Determined, yes. Insane? Violent?
He wanted his daughter back—that motive was obvious. Or was it? These were the more difficult questions. Was the mogul a normal father whose upbringing told him he could get anything he wanted? Or was he a power-hungry psychopath?

The answers to these questions were the key to getting himself and his wife out of China safely. He looked at Charlotte sleeping.
Or at least my wife.

If Xiao was merely a wounded father who wanted his daugh
ter back, it made sense for the Terrells to wait it out.
Do what Xiao asks and
get the deal done.
On the other hand, if Xiao was a bloodthirsty psychopath, escape was their only option. Even if Meirong was returned safely, they didn't have a chance in hell of getting out alive if that was the case.

Terrell's blurry watercolor was beginning to suggest the scarier of the two options—that Xiao was unstable, at best. All the major signs of a psychopathic personality were there: narcissism, high intelligence, ostensible charm, no remorse for his actions
. Classic
. His poetry infatuation screamed obsession.

The most convincing factor, though, was his desire to have Meirong back, without regard for her own wishes. This was not a man who loved his daughter. A psychopath didn't love. It was ego: to show that no one could abandon him and get away with it. To make up for his wife's death.

Then how to escape?

The previous night, the chief had called Layle under the supervision of the giants. It had been a mistake on Xiao's part to be absent; Terrell could talk freely to his deputy without the giants understanding him.

“Look for the girl,” he told Layle. “Don't let her know you're there. And don't tell anyone yet—I think there's more to this than Xiao is letting on. I'm sure he will keep us in touch.”

Layle understood. He agreed not to contact the embassy or the feds. Once they played that card, things would get ugly: the Chinese government would fabricate some story to justify their imprisonment. Politics would get in the way of a simple transaction. He much preferred to get Meirong to Beijing without that fuss.

Charlotte stirred, and Terrell went to stand by her, but she didn't wake. He bent and ran his fingers through her hair. The toll
of the kidnapping was getting to him, even though it had probably been only one night. Instead of succumbing to his emotions, he straightened and took stock of the room.

Two cots with weak aluminum frames.
No good as a clubbing weapon, but maybe potential to
sharpen to a point.
A table built with similarly light metals. It would work to stand on and access a window or vent, but there was none. Whoever had set up the cell had thought of that. The chairs were useless, light and cheap.
Damn.
The bedding could be used as a garrote, but that would be useless against the giants. A white painter's bucket for relieving themselves, which Charlotte had refused to use.

The door was flung open. Charlotte startled awake and sat up.

The giants marched in. Tight black mock turtlenecks and baggy military-style pants. Work boots. Their faces were emotionless.

Behind them came Xiao, smiling. He wore a starched sky-blue Oxford and expensive linen pants instead of the full suit. Terrell could see his physique now, compact but muscular. He held a tray of food. American again—eggs and bacon with fresh melon. ­Coffee. The air from outside the room rushed in, carrying the scent of the food.

Terrell didn't say a word.

“Good morning,” Xiao started. “I hope you had a good night's rest.” His smile turned into a smirk.

“What do you want?”

“Only to bring breakfast.”

Xiao parted the giants, who stepped back and stood on either side of the open door, arms crossed.

“Americans love their coffee, do they not?”

Terrell poured some for himself and his wife.

“I have to use the restroom,” Charlotte piped up. Terrell
winced. Xiao waved his hand, and one of the giants pulled her from the room by her arm.

The room was silent. Terrell eyed his captors, now reduced to a single superhuman with his sixtysomething, flamboyant master. Still, Terrell had no weapon, no advantage. He hadn't had time to sharpen a length of aluminum from the cot. When Xiao had turned to allow Charlotte out, Terrell noticed the gleam of a silver revolver tucked into the back of his pants. Intricately etched and polished, it was gaudy and expensive, but still deadly. He could only assume the giant was armed too. This wasn't his opportunity.

“Ah!” Xiao finally spoke, seemingly excited. “I have a gift for you.” He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out an old cell phone. Terrell took it. The back was covered in duct tape.

“I've altered it,” Xiao said, smiling with satisfaction. “It will call only the number you used last night. Your deputy.”

Terrell must have looked confused.

“You may talk to him whenever you'd like. We are conducting transparent business transaction,” the old plutocrat said, holding his palms out to Terrell. “You may tell him everything. Your conditions, your treatment. I hope it will convince him that I am reasonable.”

“Let Charlotte go. If you want to appear reasonable.”

Xiao took a seat and opened the bag of jerky. He held it out to Terrell, who refused, then to the giant, who took a large hunk. The behemoth tore into it like a starved dog.

“I wish I could. A woman should not be subjected to such things.” Xiao's attempt at warmth came off as sexism rather than chivalry. He smelled the bag of jerky, then put it down on the table and wiped his hands on his pants. “I mentioned before, I know you well, though we've never met. You are a man of justice, beyond
all other concerns.” A smirk. “Your cooperation is best when you have a clear head. When you remember what's important. We don't want you making any rash decisions.”

“What if I tell Layle to alert the consulate? You'll bring on a hell storm.”

“I would advise you against that, Chief Terrell. Do not forget that China is a strong nation, with willpower. Our officials will not simply raid Tram Village on your deputy's word. They will argue with your consulate, draw things out. Maybe move you from here to prison, if I say the right thing.”

“And you would start a war for your country.”

“I am not afraid of war.” Xiao stood, snapped his fingers, and left with the giant.

A minute or so later, Charlotte was shoved back into the room, and the door slammed shut. Terrell was sitting at the table, staring at the cell phone.