by Todd Borg
“First and last choice. I’m walking heavy. Carhartts are loose at ankle. Sweatshirt is loose at back. My holsters are level two retention for safety, but I can still clear leather fast enough to burn your average methhead before he puts holes in me.”
“Wow,” I said. “You gave me your pea shooter. Yet you’ve still got a back-up gun.”
“New Beretta Nano on my ankle.”
“But you gave me your ankle holster.”
“That’s my pea shooter holster. The Nano is in the Nano holster.”
“Rambo,” I said.
“I’m a cop, what do you expect.”
“I’m an ex-cop, and the most dangerous weapon I normally carry is a nail clipper.”
“Foolish ex-cop,” Diamond said. After a pause, he added, “Although a creative person could get mean with a nail clipper.”
“I’ll work on that idea,” I said.
I drove southwest through South Lake Tahoe, turned northwest on Emerald Bay Road.
The first quarter moon had lowered behind the tallest mountain peaks as we went around the bay. It would set completely in a couple hours. A few boat lights twinkled on the black water fifty stories below.
“The tea house on Fannette Island is a dark shape against a dark background,” Diamond said. “Could be a body tied there like that woman you investigated. No one would know until morning.”
“As night blending as a Mexican in brown civvies,” I said.
We curved around the bay. The high mountains to the west were still cloaked in snow with only the protruding ridges and rocks showing through. Eagle River was a rushing torrent under the highway overpass and over Eagle Falls down toward the Vikingsholm Castle on the water.
“I know you know,” I said, “but I should reiterate that you don’t have to help us with this.”
“Right,” Diamond said.
“We don’t have a search warrant.”
“Sí, mama.”
“An illegal entry is a crime no matter how pure our motives,” I said.
“Right.”
“An armed peace officer like you making a raid in another state and county from his jurisdiction could be prosecuted and even sent to prison.”
“Are you done?”
“We could even get killed.”
Diamond sighed. “Do you want my help or not?”
“I want.”
“Then quit with the warnings. I’m an informed adult, sometimes even lucid. I make my own decisions.”
We drove in silence for a minute.
“You haven’t seen the kid,” I said, “so no dramatic source of empathy there. And you barely met Vince. A guy could wonder about your motivations or even if you’re a little bit nuts.”
“You should know better than most that cops are all a little nuts. But we still want to do the right thing.”
Diamond sounded frustrated.
“Got it,” I said. “No more psychoanalysis.”
“Finally,” Diamond said.
I drove north up the shore and turned off just past Homewood, went back a few blocks and over one and stopped at the house where Vince Cooper lived with Brie Du Pont. The dashboard clock said 1:04 a.m.
We jumped out, me to transfer to Vince’s truck, Diamond and Spot to stretch their legs.
Vince came out before we could knock. “Ready?” he said, exuding a tentative, unhappy eagerness like a soldier bracing for a battle that might get him killed.
“Yeah,” I said. “Diamond will take my Jeep and my hound. You and I will head on up in your pickup.”
“The tandem glider is in the bed,” Vince said.
Diamond opened the hatch of the Jeep and reached into the cardboard box he’d set there. “First, you take bear spray. They have clips so you can hang them on your belt.” He handed us each an orange can about the same height as a can of beer but a bit narrower. “I should warn you of three things. First, these things shoot thirty feet. When you squeeze the lever, you’ll get a fair amount of kickback. So hang on tight. Second, be aware of any breeze. It’s possible to send out a serious cloud of toxic spray and have it blow back into your face. You might have to dive down to breathe air off the floor or ground. Third, be aware of the possibility of innocent people. We don’t know that everyone in this place is bad. And if you were to fill a room with spray, your kid might choose that moment to enter.”
Vince’s eyes got wide, and he frowned.
“Better I use my fists,” he said.
“Are you a trained fighter?” Diamond asked.
“No, but I can throw a punch.”
“No doubt,” Diamond said. “But even a light flyweight, if trained and experienced, will dodge that punch and then pummel you to worthlessness.”
I turned to Vince. “Remember that the guys I saw had karambit knives. Not many weapons can cut you to pieces as effectively as that.”
Vince nodded, his spirit dampened by our comments.
“But stay eager,” I said. “We’ll subdue these guys.” I looked at his cabin. “Does Brie know of our plan?”
“Yes. I told her we’ll come back to her first thing. She’s pretty stressed out. But I think she’ll keep her act together.”
“Diamond, as soon as I have cell reception, I’ll call and give you an update.”
“I’ll drive to a close point and park in the forest. I’ll have Spot with me.”
Spot had picked up a huge Sugar Pine Cone in his teeth. At the sound of his name, he dropped it and looked up at Diamond. Realizing that Diamond wasn’t talking to him and wasn’t going to throw the pine cone, he lowered his head and stared at the motionless cone as if willing it to move. His jowls drooped. He pawed the cone to one side. When it stopped moving, it stayed stopped, one of the eternal frustrations about pine cones that dogs have to deal with.
Vince spoke up. “I should let you know that the weather report is still vague regarding wind. They predict unsettled air, which leads to wind here and there in no predictable manner. We could have a breeze or calm. They say we are looking at a return to wind as we approach dawn. We could even get strong wind. But it could change in a minute.”
Diamond frowned. “So even if there’s enough wind to get into the air, if the wind stops, you come right back down?”
“Yeah. I’ll go for altitude gain once we’re aloft. If we can get high enough, then we can fly the distance even if the wind stops.”
I asked, “What is the altitude we need before the wind stops?”
“The glide ratio on a tandem with two big guys on it isn’t good. With clothes and gear, we’re a combined four hundred seventy-five pounds. That’s over the recommended weight limit. That doesn’t mean the glider can’t handle us. It just means that performance is degraded.”
Diamond was still frowning.
Vince continued. “And we’re already in the thin air of high altitude before we even launch. So we’ll maybe have a six- or seven-to-one glide ratio.”
“Meaning, six or seven feet forward for every foot we drop,” I said.
“Yeah. For each thousand feet of altitude drop, we could glide six thousand feet forward. Variable conditions also reduce our effectiveness. The ski runs on the back side of Alpine Meadows are large clearings, and they will get an updraft if the breeze comes from anywhere between southwest to southeast. Those runs catch a lot of sun this time of year, so they should be fairly free of snow, especially on the lower parts. From there, it’s only about two and a half miles to the lodge, or about thirteen thousand feet. Divide by six, throw in a fudge factor, and we’d need to start out about twenty-five hundred feet higher than the lodge to make it if the wind dies and we have no more uplift. Better to plan on three thousand feet of altitude above our destination to be certain we’re able to glide to the lodge.”
“You can also use thermal uplifts when there’s no wind, right?” I said.
Diamond said, “No thermal uplifts in the middle of the night.”
“I’m ever hopeful,” I said, “if ignora
nt. There’s a reason they put engines on planes.”
“Also,” Vince said, “we estimated the lodge at about eight thousand feet of elevation. If the wind dies, that would only be attainable if we start out at eleven thousand feet.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “We’re not launching from a point as high as the lodge. So we’ll actually have to gain more than three thousand feet after launch.”
“Right. The slope where I want to take off is lower. Depending on how high we hike up, we may launch from as low as seventy-five hundred feet. So we’ll try to find enough of an updraft that we can climb three and a half or, better yet, four thousand feet. If we can find enough wind-driven updraft to do that, we’ll get to the lodge. Of course, if we find updrafts along the way, great. But if not, we can still make it if we can get high enough at the beginning.”
“Okay,” I said. “Once we cross that altitude threshold, I’ll call you, Diamond. We won’t need to talk, so we’ll minimize the chance that someone can hear either of us talking on the phone. I’ll just say we have sufficient altitude and we’ll hang up.”
“Night raptors dropping out of the night sky,” Diamond said with a bit of drama.
Vince said, “I’ve been rehearsing in my mind the plan we talked about. After we land, I’ll work my way to the driveway gate and figure out how to open it or breach it in some way so that Diamond and Spot can come inside the fence.”
I said, “After you’re both in the gate, keep yourselves and Spot in the dark as you approach the house. I’ll make a quick trip around the lodge. If I find a guard posted, I’ll attempt to disable him before he can sound an alarm. Once the outside of the house seems clear, I’ll find you out toward the drive. Based on what we find, we’ll decide which way the men are most likely to go when they hear our intrusion. Then we start searching for the AHAB entrance, get inside, and get ready with our bear spray.” For Vince’s benefit, I added, “When you immobilize someone with the spray, first establish that they aren’t holding knives and don’t have other weapons on them. When you’ve patted them down, turn them over onto their stomachs and zip tie their wrists behind their backs.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out baggies of zip ties and handed a baggie to each of them.
“Everything we do is aimed at finding Vince’s kid,” I said. “When we get him, Vince will run with him toward the driveway gate and exit, staying in the trees, out of sight. Diamond and I will deal with the men.”
I opened the Jeep and grabbed my jacket. Don’t you need a jacket?” I said to Vince. “It will be freezing cold at eleven thousand feet.”
“I’ve got a windbreaker in the truck.”
“I almost forgot,” I said. I pulled a bag of charcoal dust out of my pocket. “Camo for our faces.”
“I’m already dark,” Diamond said as I rubbed charcoal on my hands and my face. Vince did the same. I also rubbed charcoal into the white patches of Spot’s fur.
“He doesn’t mind?” Vince said.
“I’ve done it before. He likes the attention. And all rubs feel like affection to a dog.”
Diamond held out his arms. “Radios and an earpiece with mic that hooks over your ears. This button turns it on. This dial is volume. They’re set for the same frequency. These don’t work at long distance, like when you’re flying. But once we’re at the lodge, they’ll allow us to talk.”
We took the radios and put the earpieces on.
“Testing,” Vince said. His voice came through clearly.
I looked at both Diamond and Vince. “Ready?”
“Ready,” they said.
I pet Spot, and Vince and I got into his pickup.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Vince drove too fast. Arriving in one piece was more important than speed. But I understood that trying to rescue one’s kid would be so tense that it would be impossible to concentrate on driving moderation.
As we approached Sunnyside, Vince turned off and worked his way back to Ward Creek Blvd. We drove west next to the rushing rapids of Ward Creek, which drains the entire Ward Creek Canyon leading back to the mountains of Alpine Meadows ski resort.
Ward Creek Blvd. turns into Courchevel Rd, which winds up to the Sherwood Express chairlift. There are some nice homes scattered along the road, although, other than a few house lights, it was a dark drive. At the end of the road, we came to the chairlift base station, a huge structure typical of a high-speed lift. It loomed in the dark like an alien spaceship.
Vince parked in the small lot, jumped out, grabbed the backpack out of the pickup bed, and put the straps over his shoulders. I was impressed that a contraption capable of flying two men could fit into such a small pack.
He looked up at the night sky. The moon hadn’t set yet, but the sky was already heavy with stars. “I feel no wind,” he said. “But I can see some wispy streaks over Cassiopeia. Those are cirrus clouds. I think they usually indicate a coming change in weather.”
Vince turned. “Over to the south, there’s a clear lenticular cloud stack up above Heavenly, easy to see by starlight. That fits the forecast for continuing winds. The lenticular clouds show that we’ve still got a steady flow at high altitude. We can simultaneously have calm air down low. What we’re hoping for is some turbulence. With strong winds aloft, any disturbance can send ripples of wind down to lower altitudes. But it might not happen.”
“Becalmed sailors who have their sails up and ready can catch whatever breeze comes along,” I said.
“Right. Luck benefits those who are prepared,” Vince said. He looked up at the slopes flanking the Sherwood Express chairlift. “Let’s start hiking up the mountain and get ready. A sudden bout of wind might not last longer than a few minutes. If it happens long enough for us to get into the air, maybe we can climb into more wind before the low altitude breeze fizzles out.”
Vince led the way. The quarter moon was low in the sky. It didn’t shine past the trees to reach the ski run, so we hiked through darkness. Vince took the run that went to the right side of the chairlift. The starlit night wasn’t enough to shine light on the run. But we could easily see the path by the way the trees to the side of the run framed the sky.
The run was free of most obstacles, fallen trees being cleared each year by the ski resort maintenance crew. But smaller obstructions were still numerous, waiting to catch our footfalls, twist our ankles, and cause a fall in the dark. So we stared down at the ground, trying with our feeble night vision to divine where the obstacles were. We had flashlights, but we didn’t want to turn them on and destroy what little night vision we had.
The weight of the glider probably didn’t feel like much to Vince on the flats. But carry any load up a mountain, it turns into work real fast. After we’d marched up a significant slope for a hundred yards, he was huffing fast, loud breaths.
“Time to switch the load,” I said. “My turn.”
“Thanks, but I’m used to it,” Vince said, barely able to get the words out between his breaths.
“Vince,” I said. I stopped, figuring he’d realize I was serious, and he’d come to his senses.
He stopped after another few yards. He pulled the straps off his shoulders and set the pack down.
“A ski run is very steep compared to a well-graded hiking trail,” I said.
“Now that you point it out, I realize I’ve probably never hiked straight up a ski run for any significant distance. This is much harder than taking those men up Job’s Sister. That was in thinner air, higher up, but the trail was much more gentle. Here, we keep going straight up. But it doesn’t seem like we’re getting any higher.”
“And the stars above aren’t getting any closer, either,” I said.
“Funny,” Vince said, his voice serious.
“We could take a zig-zag approach,” I said as I reached down, picked up the glider pack, and put the straps over my shoulders.
“True. But walking cross-slope with no trail would be risky. Our feet would always be at an angle. That would be asking for a tw
isted ankle.”
“You’re right,” I said. “We’ll continue straight up. But we pause when needed. And we trade off.”
This time I led. It made sense that the person with the heavy load set the pace.
After another stretch that probably wasn’t as long as the first, I stopped, my lungs burning.
The ski run stretched out into the dark below us. I couldn’t imagine how one would launch in the dark when there was no light. But that was Vince’s job. I had to accept that he had enough expertise to know how and when to get into the air or, for that matter, know when to call it off. My thoughts went to the way he drove too fast, stressed by the mission, not thinking as clearly as he should.
After another 100 yards, I was gasping for air every bit as much as Vince had. We paused, then switched the glider pack back to Vince.
After another grueling stint, I tapped him on the shoulder. “Back to me,” I said.
I’d lost track of how far we’d come. The dark ski run seemed to stretch to infinity. No matter how far upslope we hiked, nothing changed. I struggled to get enough air to haul the glider up the steep slope. I found myself thinking that even if we were able to fly to the lodge, we’d have no more energy after our labors.
Vince stopped and looked around in the dark. “This might be a good place. The slope is steep below us. The ski run is wider below and narrower up above us. That will help funnel any upslope breeze and give it a higher velocity. Of course, right now we have exactly zero breeze.” Vince was clearly frustrated.
“Any value in going higher?” I asked.
“Hard to tell. If we went to the top of the ski area, we’d be at eighty-six hundred feet. There could be wind up there that we don’t feel here. But the launch area isn’t as perfect as where we are right now. If sufficient wind is ever going to come, I think it will catch us here. Also, it’s usually gustier at the top. And the wind goes up over one side, pushed up by the ridge. But then it swoops down the other side, just like the air over an airplane wing. If we launched, and the wind was too fast to glide through it, we might find ourselves being blown down the other side of the mountain. The only thing worse than no wind is a down draft.”