Dungeness and Dragons

by William Cook

  It was too early to call Volkov. He would save that until after his second cup of coffee and a breakfast of eggs over-easy, crispy hash browns, and four strips of bacon. At least the Americans did something right.

  Then he would GPS the best route back to Driftwood to complete his assignment.

  38. The Serpent and the Hare

  SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 17, 2019. Chloe sat curled up on the couch in her plush robe, watching a weekend news program she always enjoyed with her leisurely Sunday coffee. The rain chattering on the skylight made her wrap a fleece blanket around her legs and decide to forgo church this morning. Charley had taken off steelhead fishing with Tony and Chris in an attempt to clear his mind of the case that seemed to haunt his every waking moment. Stay warm, darling, she thought.

  She was looking forward to the news segment about the meteoric rise of David Steele as a serious contender for the Presidency of the United States. As she sipped her soothing beverage, an attractive reporter began the story, which had been filmed the week before.

  “We’re here in Portland, Oregon, where David Steele has been Mayor for two years. Although his term has not been without controversy, there’s no denying his charisma, as displayed to a capacity crowd in a Portland arena recently. Here’s a clip from his speech that evening.”

  Chloe smiled as she recalled the night she had spent in Portland with Kaitlynn and Tessa. She looked at the empty chair where Kaitlynn used to sit and felt again the mother’s ache of knowing her daughter was all grown up and off on her own. Her attention returned to the TV screen as the clip ended and the newswoman introduced herself and her watching audience to the candidate, and then got right down to business.

  “What made you decide to throw your hat into the ring so early?”

  “You’ve seen the mess this country is in. I can do something about that.”

  “You’re making headlines running as an Independent. Independents typically don’t do so well at the ballot box, given that the majority of voters seem to favor Democratic or Republican candidates. Do you feel you have a real chance at this, or will you be the spoiler that some Democrats complain about?”

  “It’s all about exposure. I’ll grow my base so I’ll be able to participate in all the debates which will be scheduled once other candidates come forward. I’ll have cadres of young voters in every State, volunteering their time and energy to promote our agenda. And I’ll do a lot of phone calling and knocking on doors myself. Once people have a chance to meet me and study my proposals, I’ll clinch this election.”

  “How is your book doing? You’ve taken the unprecedented step of publishing a book outlining all of your policies and how you’ll pay for them, and you’ve made that book free to anyone who wants it.”

  “It’s doing quite well, actually. Have you read it yet?”

  “I confess I haven’t, but it’s in my queue.”

  “I want to be totally transparent. I want American voters to know exactly what they’re voting for. No secrets.”

  Chloe’s mind wandered again. No secrets. The case Charley was embroiled in was nothing but secrets—a tangled knot of one deception after another. She hoped this day would relieve some of his stress. She stood and stretched, deciding it was definitely a two-cup morning. As she padded toward the kitchen in her slippers, she heard a knock on the front door.

  “Is Officer Whitehorse available?” the man said when she opened the door. He was dressed in a long, black trench coat, open at the neck, revealing a white shirt and blue tie. A dark, broad-brimmed hat afforded him some protection from the rain. Chloe noticed his neatly-trimmed white beard and his Russian accent.

  “I’m afraid he’s not.”

  “Oh, dear. When do you expect him back?” Chloe saw him shiver.

  “I’m Chloe Denhurst, his fiancée. And you are…?”

  “My name is very difficult to pronounce and even harder to spell. You may call me Al. I am sorry to bother you, Ms. Denhurst, so early in the morning, but the Police Station is closed and I have to get some very important information to Officer Whitehorse before I return to Portland.”

  “I don’t expect him back until late this afternoon, unless, of course, he catches his limit and comes home early.”

  “His limit?”

  “Fishing. He and his buddy are fishing for steelhead with another friend who has a drift boat. Why they do it in this weather is beyond me.”

  “I used to hunt for ducks in this kind of weather with my grandson. It is fun if you are successful, and miserable if you are not.”

  “So, Al, is there anything I can do for you? Something you can leave with me for him?”

  “He asked for information about a warehouse in Depoe Bay, and I was able to find some things that will interest him. I could leave the packet with you, and you could tell him to call me if he has any questions.” He withdrew a sealed manila envelope from under his coat.

  “I can do that.” She saw him shiver again as he looked back toward the rain. Her heart went out to the old man. “How do you know my soon-to-be husband?”

  “We met in Portland some years ago.” He chuckled. “I was being accosted by a street hustler. Officer Whitehorse intervened, and the man ran away. I laughed about his riding in on a white horse to save me, and I took my ‘Prince Charming’ out for coffee to thank him for his good deed. We got talking—of course, he could hear my Russian accent. He found my knowledge of the Russian community helpful, and I have done little jobs for him ever since. This…” He held up the envelope. “This is information about the owner of the warehouse that burned down recently. He was very eager to get it.”

  “Well, you’re making me cold just watching you shiver. Please step inside for a moment and get warm.”

  “You are very kind. It is an unpleasant day.” He stepped over the threshold, and Chloe closed the door behind him. “The cold is harder to bear the older I get.” He shook his finger at her as though lecturing a recalcitrant student. “You will see when you get as old as I am. The cold gets into your bones and does not come out so easily.” As he handed her the missive, he nodded his head and frowned.

  Chloe studied his kindly, wrinkled face. On impulse, and against her better judgment, she said, “Can I get you a cup of coffee before you head back to Portland? Try to take some of that chill out of your bones?”

  “That would be lovely. You are very generous.”

  “Here. Let me take your coat and hat.” She hung them on a coat tree in the vestibule and ushered him toward the kitchen. She saw him blowing on his hands to warm them as he accompanied her.

  “You have a very beautiful home. Have you lived here long?”

  “We bought it last summer. And thank you. We really like it. Have a seat at the table. I can start you off with this cup, and then I’ll brew a fresh pot. Cream and sugar?”

  “No, thank you.” He took a sip of the scalding liquid. “You know how to make good coffee, Ms. Denhurst.”

  “Call me Chloe.” She busied herself getting water, putting a filter in the coffee maker, and measuring out the coffee. “I’ll join you for a cup as soon as this is finished doing its thing. Would you like anything else? A piece of toast?”

  “You remind me of my wife.” He took a deep breath and hung his head. “Always taking care that I had everything I needed or wanted. So kind. Killed last year by a drunk driver on her way to church. Fifty-five years of marriage.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.” She wasn’t sure what else to say.

  “I appreciate that. My grown daughter Svetlana—she takes care of me now. I am very blessed.”

  As the coffee began to brew and its aromas filled the kitchen, she sat down across the table from the man, who was now drumming the fingers of his left hand on the table. A question occurred to her, and she furrowed her brow. “Al, how did you know Charley—Officer Whitehorse—lives here?”

  He removed a cell phone from his pocket. “My daughter has taught me how to use the internet. She tells me, ‘When in doubt, Go
ogle it,’ and she is right.” His expression hardened. “But I liked the old days better, when our privacy was more protected, and it was harder to find out things like the home address of a troublesome policeman.”

  “What did you say?” Chloe felt a sudden stab of fear, like an icicle in her heart, far colder than the weather outside.

  “Get your phone, Chloe. I will show you something.”

  What she heard was not a request. The kindly old gentleman she had been talking to had transformed into something else—something frightening. She leaped to her feet to run, but he stood and blocked her escape. He shoved her, and she fell back against the countertop.

  “I said get your phone. Do not make this more difficult than it has to be.”

  Chloe drew her phone from the pocket of her robe.

  “Chloe, Chloe, you are much too trusting. It will be the death of you someday.” Alyosha pulled the Makarov from the shoulder holster under his suit jacket and attached the suppressor to the end of the barrel, all the while transfixing her with a reptilian stare.

  Her eyes went wide. Her breath came in short gasps. She could feel her heart pounding against her ribs.

  “You have been very gracious to me, so I will not damage your face. But I must hurt you severely. I take no pleasure in it. It is my job.” He pointed the pistol at her. “Now dial 911.”

  She looked at him as though not comprehending what he had said.

  “I do not want you to die, but you will unless help gets here quickly. Now call 911.”

  “Please.” Her voice was a nervous rasp.

  The Russian waved his gun at her. “Call.”

  Chloe did as she was instructed. Her hands were shaking so badly that she had difficulty touching the numbers.

  “911,” came the emotionless female voice. “What is the nature of your emergency?”

  “Tell her you are being assaulted and need medical help.”

  Tears poured down Chloe’s face. “Please, Al.”

  “Tell her.”

  “I’m being assaulted. I need medical help.” She was weeping uncontrollably as she reported her address. She looked at her captor. “Please don’t do this.”

  “Leave the call open and lay the phone on the table. Good. Now walk into the living room.”

  Chloe turned to walk to the other room, her whole body trembling in terror.

  Alyosha struck like a snake.

  39. Gone Fishin’

  The water was high after several days of rain, and the fish were on the move. The river wound its way like a silver thread through a forest of Douglas firs, now blanketed with a shawl of fog that grew denser as the day progressed and the rain eased up. The only sounds were the rush of water and an occasional comment from one of the men. Chris Harper steered the drift boat around a large boulder and slowed it enough to allow Esperanza and Whitehorse to drop their lures into a promising hole. They had seen no other boats along the way, and only two hardy fishermen on the shore a quarter mile back.

  “The bite seems to be off,” said Chris as the men reeled in their lines and prepared for their next drop. Tony had been using salmon eggs all morning, and Charley had just switched his Vibrax spinner for a bright orange Hot Shot plug.

  Tony commiserated with their boatman. “Wish I had been able to set the hook into the one that grabbed my bait earlier. Damn! I saw her flash as she turned. Looked as long as my arm.”

  “I’ve been dry. No taps at all on my spinner. Maybe this plug will stir up something.” Charley reached for the thermos under the seat. He set down his rod as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “I need a little warm-up first.” He looked at his colleague. “Glad the guys from Newport are covering for us today. There’s no cell service at all out here. Left my phone back in the glove box.”

  Tony agreed and cast out his line into the still water behind a big rock. “We’ll have to do something nice for ’em. Maybe get ’em a good bottle of Scotch?”

  “What about me, your trusty captain?” said Chris, smiling while he pretended to be hurt. He continued to manage the oars and steer the craft in a way that looked effortless.

  Charley raised his cup in the man’s direction. “That goes without saying, Captain. We got you a bottle of Macallan already, sitting back in the car.”

  “Woohoo! Now that’s what I call a proper fare for this faithful little drift boat. Now if I can just put you guys onto some fish.”

  He had barely gotten the words out of his mouth when Tony’s rod bucked. “Here we go. She’s on.” His rod bent double as the fish began to peel line off the reel. “I think she wants to go back out to sea! She’s burnin’ up my drag!”

  The fish made a swift run downstream, tugging thirty yards of line from the spool in split seconds.

  “Yowza! She’s got some weight to her. Look at her go!”

  The fish broke the surface in a wild jump, spraying water in every direction in its frantic bid for freedom. Then it turned and rushed the boat.

  “Reel! Reel!” shouted Chris. “Don’t give her any slack!” He lowered the anchor to keep the boat positioned in the middle of the stream.

  The fish shot by the men, streaking upstream. “It’s a silver torpedo! But she’s no match for me!”

  Charley laughed as the battle raged on. “Save your bows until she’s in the net, Izaak Walton. Until then, it’s anybody’s show. All bets are off.”

  Five minutes later, as the fish tired, Chris made ready with the long-handled net. “OK, Tony. Bring her by me. I can see her coming.” He scooped the net into the water and lifted it into the boat, its acrobatic prize thrashing in the mesh. “Got her! Good job, man!”

  While Chris kept the steelhead in the net, Tony reached in and plucked the hook from its jaw. Then he grasped the fish by the tail and raised it out for all to see. “What a beauty! Gotta be almost twenty pounds.” He examined his prize, its bright silver signifying it was fresh from the sea. “And wouldn’t you know it? No clipped fin. It’s a native. Gotta let her go.”

  Without delaying any longer, Tony held the fish over the side in the water, cupping one hand underneath it just back of its head, while maintaining his hold on the tail. He gently moved it forward in a swimming motion to help it get water through its gills and regain its strength. Once it revived, it shook its tail and burst from his grasp, speeding toward deeper water.

  Charley clapped him on the back. “Helluva job, buddy. You’ve made the day.”

  “Thanks. And thanks to you, Chris. Damn fine work with the boat and the net.”

  “My pleasure. Now let’s see if we can get another one.”

  They fished for the next two hours without any further luck. By now it was mid-afternoon, and the fog had grown even denser, filling up the canyon with its cottony clouds. “Time to call it, boys. Your car is down around the next bend. One of you stay with the boat and the other can drive me back up to my rig. We’ll come back down, and you can help me get the boat on its trailer, and we’ll be on our way.”

  Tony was nodding his head as he reeled in his line. “Aye, aye, Cap’n.”

  Charley smiled. “Thanks again, Chris. I needed this in the worst possible way.”

  “Maybe you’ll have time to have a wee bit of Scotch with me before you head home?”

  “Thought you’d never ask!” Charley sighed with contentment. “Hope Chloe is enjoying her Sunday as much as we are.”

  Forty-five minutes later, with the boat loaded on its trailer, they caravanned back to Chris’s house, where he quickly stoked up the wood-burning stove. Charley and Tony stood by it to get the chill off, while Chris opened the bottle of Scotch and poured three glasses.

  “Neat for me,” said Charley.

  “Me, too,” piped up his partner.

  Chris dropped a single ice cube into his own and brought the drinks to his friends. “Here’s to a great day, even if we don’t have any fish in hand to show for it.”

  “Hear! Hear!” they chimed in with their glasses raised.

  �
��I’ve been so relaxed I forgot to get my phone out of the glove box. I’ll be right back.” Charley zipped out the front door. He was back in a moment. “Hmmm. Got a text and a voicemail from an unknown number.”

  “Probably somebody offering you a timeshare or wanting you to buy a maintenance plan for your car,” offered his partner.

  He opened the text. “Shit!” The color drained from his face. He read the message to his friends. “CALL ME AS SOON AS YOU GET THIS MESSAGE. DR. LETTERMAN. DRIFTWOOD HOSPITAL.” When he touched the voicemail icon, a sober voice said, “This is Dr. Letterman calling. Please come to the hospital as soon as you can. Ask for me. Your wife has been severely injured.” He tapped the number and bounced back and forth on his feet as he waited for the call to be answered.

  “Dr. Letterman here. Thank you for calling, Officer Whitehorse.”

  “My wife. What happened? Car accident? How is she?” He heard a long hesitation on the other end.

  “She’s out of surgery and in ICU. How soon can you get here?”

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  “Good. I’ll tell you all we know then.”

  Whitehorse wanted more information, but the doctor terminated the call. “I’ve gotta go, guys. Chloe’s been hurt. She’s had surgery, and she’s in ICU. I don’t know what the hell happened.”

  The two men looked at him. “We’re coming with you,” said Esperanza. “Let’s go.”

  They grabbed their coats and bounded out the front door.

  40. The Dash to Friday

  I’m getting off this stinking boat today! Patricia promised herself. It was Sunday, February seventeenth, two months since her abduction. Ethan had left after breakfast, explaining he would be gone until early evening. She had spent the last two weeks speaking with Michail every chance she could, using sexual favors to loosen his tongue about what went on aboard Elysium, finding out as much as she could about its configuration, about how to make her escape.