“We’ve stumbled upon a path that I believe you’ll be interested in seeing.
It’s loaded with fresh prints, which are headed due north into the deep woods. They could very well belong to some of our people. Over.”
A bare mile farther downstream, where the sound of the outside world was masked by the constant, thunderous roar of Mary Deckard shoals, Vince Kellogg broke from the underbrush, getting his first view of the river since his capture. They were upstream at the head of the shoals, and he barely noticed it when Miriam Stoddard and her brother. Junior, joined him on the scrub-filled clearing. Now that his blindfold had been removed, Vince was at long last able to see his hostage takers, and subsequently size them up.
With Andrew Chapman still held hostage back in the cave, Vince found himself with an opportunity to win their freedom.
He would do so most carefully, initiating this process by first earning the trust of the two individuals who accompanied him.
Of the pair. Junior appeared to be the most unstable. He was a skinny, shaggy-haired, hotheaded teenager, with a penchant for tattered coveralls and chewing tobacco. Vince doubted that he had any formal schooling, and it was evident that he was the victim of an overbearing father. Because of this, there was always the possibility that Junior would express his independence by taking his aggressions out on Vince. He would have to be watched carefully.
On the other hand, his sister, Miriam, was in almost every way his opposite. Vince liked her straight off. Also in her teens, she reminded him of a redheaded version of the country singer Leanne Rimes. Her denim cutoffs and sleeveless flannel shirt were worn yet clean, and Vince couldn’t believe she was able to get around on this rough terrain without shoes. Unlike her brother, she wasn’t afraid to look Vince straight in the eye, and he sensed that she could be a potential ally, for she exuded a refreshing natural innocence, in vast contrast to her brother’s inherent mistrust.
“Is that one of your canoes caught in the snag by the first of the big boulders?” asked Miriam while pointing downstream.
Vince looked toward the Zshaped chute, and somberly nodded upon spotting the overturned U.S. Forest Service canoe. Yet more debris littered the shore, and he identified several torn seat cushions, the lid of a Styrofoam cooler, and a partially submerged first-aid kit.
“Bubba,” said Junior, making it a point to aim the barrel of his 12gauge at Vince, “I thought you said we’d find the black helicopter down here.”
Vince continued staring downstream to orient himself. He spotted the high bluff where the CAT team’s Blackhawk had gone down, and pointed toward the opposite bank, at the far end of the shoals.
“The last time I saw it, the helicopter was headed toward that clearing at the bend of the river. I was about to go over the falls at the time, and it flew right over me, with thick smoke pouring from the cabin.”
“What do ya think, Miriam?” asked Junior.
“Should we cross here or down by the falls?”
Miriam answered her brother by stepping off the bank and beginning her way directly across the river. Vince looked at Junior before following, and the teenager directed Vince onward with the barrel of his shotgun.
The water was icy cold, the current swift and the slippery footing treacherous. Vince tried his best to follow Miriam’s exact route, and at the center of the channel the water covered his knees, hitting him mid-thigh at the deepest point. His lower extremities were numb by the time he climbed up onto the opposite bank, where Miriam was waiting with a wide grin on her face.
“Who needs fancy air-conditioning when you’ve got the Eleven Point to cool you off?” she said with a pleasant smile.
Before Vince could reply, her brother climbed onto the bank.
Junior didn’t look happy to have been subjected to the frigid soaking, and he roughly prodded his prisoner forward with the barrel of his shotgun.
They continued downstream, following the narrowest of earthen tracks. The chute passed to their left, the deafening roar of its cascading waters overwhelming all other sounds. Vince easily located the boulder where the VP’s canoe had gotten itself stuck, and his curiosity turned to horror upon spotting the bloated body of one of his agents caught in the same rocky snag.
A smashed Forest Service john boat lay floating on the other side of the snag, along with an assortment of fishing gear and torn clothing.
Vince found himself mentally re-creating the terrifying moment when he had first spotted the black Huey. This imagined drama became chillingly real once again as they passed the crucified corpse of Andy Whitworth, and spotted the floating body of yet another agent. And just when Vince thought he could leave both the chute and the nightmare behind, there was the partially submerged, torn hulk of Marine Two, awash in the center of the channel like a lifeless Leviathan.
More tragedy awaited around the next bend, where an overturned john boat had snagged itself on the shoreline. The bullet ridden body of Special Agent Linda Desiante lay nearby on the sandy shoreline, and Vince redirected his grief upon setting eyes on the briefcase-sized metallic container that sat on dry sand just out of Desiante’s outstretched reach. It was their SATCOM unit-the device that could provide them contact with the outside world — and amazingly enough, it appeared to be intact!
The raised clenched fist of their point man caused Thomas to halt in mid-step. They had been following the narrow, earthen track where the footprints had been discovered for the better part of a kilometer. The throaty roar of the river had long since faded, to be replaced by the rustling sounds of the wind coursing through the oak limbs and the hypnotic grinding cries of the cicadas.
From his position in the middle of the file formation, Thomas watched Captain Christian cautiously approach the point man.
The senior MP’s stare appeared to be focused on the ground below, and both soldiers were soon in a crouch position, examining something on the path itself. Thomas supposed that they had discovered yet more footprints, and he was genuinely surprised when Christian signaled him forward, all the while pointing out the barely visible, fine nylon trip wire that was stretched across the trail at ankle level.
Together they traced the nylon wire as it disappeared into the underbrush at the far side of the trail, and it was Thomas who identified the device to which it was tied. The green cardboard cylinder was an artillery projectile ground-burst simulator, approximately seven inches long and one and three-quarters inches in diameter. Activated by a pull-friction fuse lighter, the device would emit a piercing whistle before detonating with a loud burst.
Unlike a Claymore, it was not an offensive weapon, and it was almost certainly placed here to warn of the approach of unwanted trespassers. Christian nevertheless asked and received permission from Ted Callahan for his troops to load live rounds into their weapons, and it was in such a manner that they continued up the trail, ever vigilant for booby traps of a more lethal nature.
“As long as you’re willing to haul it, I don’t see any harm in taking it along. It’s your back that’s gonna suffer,” said Junior after opening the SATCOM’s carrying case and inspecting the contents.
Vince resealed the case and picked up the thirty-five-pound unit by its padded handle. The alien weight pulled on his arm and shoulder, yet he carried this new burden without complaint, grateful to have the device in his possession.
“Now I thought you said that we’d find the helicopter in this clearing,” Junior muttered, his impatience most obvious.
“You’d better not be yankin’ my chain, Bubba.”
Vince could clearly hear the roar of the waterfall that had almost swept both him and the Vice President to their deaths, and he tried his best to re-create the black helicopter’s last-known flight path. He seriously doubted that the badly damaged aircraft could have cleared the limestone bluff on the far side of the bank on which they stood, and it was toward this feature that Vince pointed.