“What about all those reporters?”
“We’re going to keep them well back. Anyone who is going to be close is going to be Buckner’s ‘staff.’ ” Craig put air quotes around the word with both hands. “We don’t dare put Torres out there because if the suspect is Savannah, and she’s observing through binoculars, she might recognize him, so Torres will have to stay inside the Visitor Center. You guys will be out there”—with both index fingers, Craig covered the ground on the far side of the parking lot—“and I’ll be in the parking lot. You’ll be looking in toward the Visitor Center watching for her. I’ll be looking out, doing the same. And then there will be sheriff’s deputies stationed in the woods at the edge of the only road leading into and out of the complex. If she makes a move, we’ll all be after her in seconds. Let’s go and get a better lay of the land.” He continued down the stairs and then stopped on the third step from the bottom, leaning over to look down the spillway shaft. “By the way, I’ve been told they’ll open these gates just before the announcement.”
“Isn’t this kind of a bad time to lower the reservoir level?” Meg asked.
“Apparently when they open the gates it makes for a hell of a show. And they want to give the media a show.”
Scott squinted at him. “A show?”
“One of the TVA guys in there told me this dam is too tall to have spillway gates at the top to run down the outside of the dam because it would destroy the dam foundation over time. These tunnels were drilled through the mountain rock when they were building the dam to keep the water moving, so after the dam was complete, they made them the spillway. But because of the height, the water reaches ninety-five miles per hour by the time it’s at the bottom, which would erode the foundation there as well. To counteract that, they built a concrete ramp at the bottom that shoots the water one hundred and fifty feet into the air so it lands four hundred feet downstream. It supposedly looks pretty impressive—like a giant explosion of water. They want to have that going during the media visit.”
“It’s the TVA’s version of fireworks.”
“Essentially. When you see it, don’t worry that something’s gone wrong; that part is scheduled.” He led the teams across the walkway, around the edge of the circular driveway, and then up the stairs curving around the building and to the top level. Law enforcement personnel, many still in uniform, gathered on the overlook as technicians bustled around, taping down cables and arranging a podium and microphone. Craig walked to the area behind the platform. “Let’s analyze where she can and can’t take the shot from so we can figure out where to place the teams.”
Meg gazed out across the expanse of the river valley. “Not from the far side. That’s hundreds of yards. She’d be in range on this side, but the ground drops away here toward the river four hundred feet below, and that angle wouldn’t work for a shot. And I can’t see her shooting from the top of the dam. She could get in range, but she’d be totally exposed.”
“I agree. We’ll place people there to dissuade her, just in case. That takes care of north and west, leaving us with south and east.” He squeezed out from behind the platform and moved to the opposite edge of the overlook trailing handlers and dogs. “There’s a lot of treed sections in this direction, but it would be possible to shoot from the far side of the parking lot, just south of Fontana Dam Road, all the way to nearly the south end of the lot. More significant is that hill.” He pointed to the land that rose to the east of the parking lot, topping the asphalt by easily one hundred feet. “She goes up there, she’s shooting down at us. It’s pushing the distance, but not by much.”
“It pushes it less than the south end of the parking lot. I don’t think she’s going to shoot from down there.”
“I agree, that’s much less likely. Here’s what we’ll do. Scott, you and Theo cover the entrance to the parking lot. Stay back in the trees a few feet so you aren’t too noticeable, but make sure you have line of sight on the announcement. You don’t have to hear it, but you need to know if she takes the shot. Lauren, I want you and Rocco up that hill. Try to line up with the end of the Visitor Center; that will put you only about a third of the way down from the road, but that’s likely where she’d take the shot from. Meg, you and Hawk should position yourself down a little farther toward the south end of the parking lot, about halfway up the hill. That way you can respond to an alert from either above or below your position.”
“Where are you going to be?” Lauren asked.
“Right there.” Craig pointed at the narrow green space that ran the length of the parking lot between the two sides of the U. “As I said, you watch the Visitor Center, and I’ll watch the hillside. For a change we’re going to be close enough geographically that I asked the Graham County Sheriff’s Office to loan us earpieces and throat mics. I want full communication, and that’s going to be the easiest way and is mostly hands free. If anyone sees her, report in and we’ll all go for her. If you end up out of range of the close communications system, switch over to your sat phones. And if it’s not Savannah Cavett, or on the small chance Rutherford is wrong and it’s a guy, we nail whoever the perp is. Male, female, young, old.” Craig turned to look at the podium. “We draw the line here.”
Thursday, April 18, 4:05 PM
Fontana Dam
Graham and Swain Counties, North Carolina
They were in place.
The TVA crew was running a little late, but the Human Scent Evidence Team was in position, as were law enforcement personnel. Meg spotted faces she’d seen earlier on the overlook now strolling the grounds and the top of the dam in jeans, flannels, and jackets, rather than uniforms and utility belts. But she was certain that under the flannels and jackets, every officer was armed and ready for action.
Only confirmed media personnel were allowed onto the overlook, but a rowdy group of fifty or sixty protesters gathered on the grass approximately twenty feet from the circular wing, chanting and waving placards, held back by a line of TVA police. It was a good thing Buckner had a sound system, or no one would hear a word he said. Hikers following the Appalachian Trail drifted in and out of the “Fontana Hilton’s” Visitor Center with its free public bathrooms and showers, and tourists wandered along the top of the dam, staring openmouthed at the river far below. Craig was visible on the green, casually seated on a long bench between a pair of saplings. He appeared at ease, but Meg knew he was constantly scanning the hillside, road, and parking lot, watching for any sign of movement.
The spillway was opened about fifteen minutes before, first with the mechanical rumble of the steel floodgates as they lifted, and then with a whoosh of water as it rushed down the twin spillway tunnels. Four or five seconds later, a roar quaked from below as water burst from the spillway to shoot down the river. From where Meg was standing, she could see a fine mist rising, even at this height, downstream from the dam.
Meg stood partway up the ridge that rose over the dam complex, well hidden in the trees, but watching through the small pair of binoculars she always carried in her go bag. From where she stood, she could see the quiet direction working behind the chaos to keep the media well separated from the platform, and the general public separated from the overlook all together. Past the overlook, near the stairs by the spillway, Webb and McCord leaned against the railing, watching from a distance. She satisfied herself they were well clear of any potential arrow, and then swung the viewfinder to the podium just in time to see Buckner step onto the platform.
Here we go.
She bent and unhooked Hawk’s leash from his collar—all the dogs were working incognito without their FBI vests—and then ran a hand down his back. “Ready, boy?” She kept her voice low.
He gazed up at her with bright eyes, his tail wagging madly. He was ready.
Let’s see where this goes. I bet she’s going to strike sooner rather than later.
There was a short buzz of static in her earpiece, and then Craig spoke. “Okay, teams, this is it. Stay sharp.”
/> Being sharp certainly wasn’t a problem. Meg had been in position for almost an hour, and both she and Hawk had been raring to go the whole time. But there’d been no sign of the shooter and not a whisper of sound that wasn’t part of the natural landscape.
She’s a hunter with a high kill count. She knows how to move quietly through the woods.
A low drone came from across the parking lot. Buckner was speaking, and while his words were indistinct, the tone of them carried through the air. In response, shouts came from the protesters, trying to simultaneously drown out the announcement and to attract media attention to highlight their objections.
There was a flash of reflected sunlight as one of the cameramen turned to aim his camera down at the screaming mass of people below.
Glass exploded just below the concrete lip of the roof, the crash of shattered glass ricocheting through the valley and off miles of concrete. Shouts of anger turned to screams of terror as protesters reacted to the noise and ran or dove for cover. Up on the platform, multiple people jumped on top of Buckner to force him down to the ground, as the frenzied mass of media members scattered out of the way of a second shot.
“I see her!” Craig was on his feet in the parking lot, pointing at a location higher than Meg, but not far from her location. “All teams! The suspect is near the top of the ridge. Meg, she’s about forty feet above you.”
Meg froze for a moment, concentrating on the sounds around her. And then the sound of running feet and breaking branches filtered through the trees. “We are in pursuit. Hawk, come! Find her!” She took off uphill, but instead of going straight up, she cut toward the south on a diagonal. There was no way this woman, who made it a habit to disappear into the woods to make her escape, would make a run for the only road heading into the dam complex. No, she’d go south, running parallel to the road as it followed the curve of the river. She’d make her way to wherever she left her car and then disappear on the back roads of Graham County.
Not if Meg could help it.
They didn’t try to hide their footfalls, but raced after their suspect at full speed, darting around trees, pushing through underbrush, and leaping over rocks.
And then she saw it, a flash of vague movement in the trees. The kind of vague movement that someone wearing camo to blend in might produce.
They had her.
Meg hit the button for her mic. “I’ve got her. She’s heading south, no, southwest. She’s going downhill. She may be heading for the river.”
“Copy that,” came Craig’s voice. He was breathing hard, so Meg knew he was on the move as well. “All teams, move to intercept.”
But the Southern belle wasn’t going down without a fight. Meg poured on the speed, Hawk matching her pace, occasionally moving away to avoid an obstacle, but winding his way back to her. Her sore muscles screaming in protest, Meg gritted her teeth and bore down. She was not going to lose Savannah because her body betrayed her.
Ahead, the runner became clearer. Blond hair, either short or tied back beneath a green and brown cap. Camouflage pants and jacket. A camouflage pack on her back with the bow strapped to the outside. But Meg couldn’t see the shooter’s face.
They were closing in on the fleeing figure. Time to test the theory. “Savannah!” Meg yelled.
The figure jerked around to look back.
Gotcha.
“I have positive ID,” she told the team. “It’s Savannah Cavett.”
“Stay with her,” Lauren said. “We’re right behind you.”
“She’s definitely heading for the river.”
They had to be more careful here as the slope pitched downward, and Meg slipped more than once on the slick moss that grew in patches on the forest floor.
As they closed in on the river, the roar of water grew louder and louder, and soon Meg could see the plume of water shooting into the air between the trees. Another minute and they cut through the last of the forest to find themselves on the edge of the river above an angled slope of fieldstone leading down into the water. Water from the spillway shot up in the air in front of them. It angled toward the center of the river, but a fine mist surrounded them, settling a moist sheen on her already sweaty skin.
Savannah was about thirty feet ahead, sprinting down the edge of the forest, and Meg tore after her, Hawk hot on her heels.
Savannah took the time to glance behind her, taking in the woman and dog racing after her, gaining as she paused at the river’s edge.
Her eyes grew wide and alarm flickered over her face, followed by desperation.
Then she turned to sprint along the bank, dropped her backpack onto the riverbank, and leaped into the geysering water to disappear completely into the spray.
CHAPTER 28
The Road to Nowhere: North Carolina Highway 288 was buried under the waters of Fontana Lake after Swain County, North Carolina, decided to give up land claims to the federal government for the creation of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park in 1934 and eventual construction of the Fontana Dam. The National Park Service promised to reroute the highway along part of the lake through the park but didn’t fulfill that promise. Construction on six miles of the road was actually completed in the early 1970s but then stopped due to environmental issues. In 2010, the project was officially put to rest, and Swain County accepted a $52 million payout from the federal government not to complete the road.
Thursday, April 18, 4:16 PM
Fontana Dam
Graham and Swain Counties, North Carolina
A vision of Brett Stevenson—the perpetrator of last fall’s urbex murders—as he floated fifty feet below her in the Delaware River impaled on the remains of a pier support pile flashed before Meg’s eyes.
Fury filled her. I am not losing another one. She killed four men, then tried to kill me and Hawk. She can damned well stand trial for it.
She hit the talk button. “We’re at the river. Savannah just jumped in. I’m going in after her.” She pulled out her earpiece so she couldn’t hear Craig’s expected protest. Then she unsnapped the chest strap on her pack and dropped it on the ground behind her, followed by her jacket. Pulling off her throat mic and battery pack, she tossed the equipment on her jacket. One look at Hawk and the gleam of bright determination in his eyes cemented the decision for her. “Let’s go, Hawk. Find her!”
Meg sprinted for the spot where Savannah had disappeared, and clambered down over the rocks. Spray hit her cheeks with stinging force, and she turned her back to it. Gathering herself, she pushed off in a shallow dive, aiming toward the center of the river, where the depth was greatest. The water was an icy shock, but with the sun-warmed top layer of the lake mixed into the river, not as bad as the Conasauga.
When she surfaced, the world was lost in a cloud of white spray and foam, but the jostle of her dog beside her told her Hawk had followed her.
She’s trying to lose herself in the spray, trying to escape under cover. Follow her downstream.
“Hawk, come!” She bellowed the words, not sure if her dog would hear her, but knowing if any of her was above water, even in this deluge, he’d follow her. She struck out in a strong front crawl, gliding along with the current and the push of the spray, quickly realizing Savannah’s strategy was smart. She couldn’t see or hear anything in the spray, even this far downstream from the dam. If Savannah could gain significant distance from them in the middle of the river, it might give her enough of a lead to get away. They’d know who their suspect was, but would they ever catch her?
Meg swam onward through the plume of water, searching, but constantly glancing at Hawk, who stayed close. If it were her, she’d aim for the opposite bank, hoping to lose any pursuers under cover of the spillway runoff. Basing her sense of direction on the pull of the river, Meg cut across to the far side.
Swimming was a challenge, simply due to the sheer inundation of water from all directions. Breathing without inadvertently inhaling the heavy mist was nearly impossible, and Meg took to trying to suck in air t
hrough clenched teeth and nearly closed lips, seriously limiting her oxygen intake, but keeping fluid out of her lungs.
She wondered how strong a swimmer Savannah was and how she’d manage the difficult conditions.
It was Hawk who sensed her first. Swimming beside Meg, he suddenly shot forward, a dark blur in a slightly thinning cloud. It was only then that Meg could hear cries for help over the roar. She kicked hard, propelling herself forward, staying just behind Hawk as he frantically tried to both move forward and stay afloat.
They found Savannah, desperately trying to keep her head above water as her arms flailed over her head where it tipped backward. Spray poured in her open mouth, choking her, as the heavy camouflage hunting gear weighed her down.
Meg instantly recognized the danger of the situation. It was all too easy for a panicked swimmer to pull down a rescuer, putting them both at significant risk of drowning. And there was no rescue equipment or a life jacket at hand. A quick review of the situation told Meg her only way to save Savannah was to swim up behind her, get both arms under her and looped over her shoulders so she couldn’t be grabbed, and kick her way to the shore. She also knew that plan would only work if Savannah cooperated.
No choice but to try.
She had to swim around Hawk, but Meg came up behind Savannah just as she went under momentarily and then came up spluttering.
Leave No Trace Page 27