Mike seemed to sense my thoughts. Somewhere over the Great Plains, he slid a small gift wrapped in sparkly silver paper onto my in-flight tray. “What’s this?” I asked.
He adjusted his Raiders cap self-consciously. “Just a little something I picked up.”
I turned the package in my hands. It was thin and oblong, and the contents chunked against the box when I shook it.
“So, open it already,” Mike prompted.
I tore off the paper. Inside was the latest model iPhone.
Mike ran a finger under the collar of his T-shirt. “It was…uh…sort of my fault that you lost your iPod, so…” He shrugged. “I already downloaded some of your favorite tunes.”
It was more than a gift, I realized. It was an apology. One I was finally ready to accept. I bit down on my bottom lip. “Thank you, Mike.”
He nodded.
I unwrapped the earbuds and strung them around my neck, but I paused before placing them in my ears. “Mike,” I asked, “what happened at the tree?”
Mike blew out his breath and nodded. “I guess it’s time you knew.” He dragged both hands down his face then leaned back in his seat. “I think I told you I wanted to be a pilot, didn’t I?”
“You mentioned it.”
“I’ve always loved flying, and I enjoyed working in the stables, so when my general agent courses were completed, I entered the pilot program. I was eager to prove myself. I was young and foolish enough to think I was invincible. On my very first solo flight, I thought I’d show my instructors just what I was capable of.” His shoulder jerked in an involuntary twitch. “I attempted some maneuvers only permitted for experienced fliers and, uh—”
“You crashed?”
He sighed. “Yeah.”
“Was everyone all right?”
He nodded. “I was the only one on board, and the horses were fine. Like us, it takes a lot to destroy them—Raybold steel, or an enemy’s claws or fangs. But the chariot ended up in the scrap heap. I was tossed out of the program.
“After that I worked a lot of different jobs—food service, janitor, secretary, musician. I sort of floated around, and each time I bombed out. Finally, after several centuries had passed, agent Schmiel suggested I take an aptitude test. I placed very high in technology sciences and reentered agent training. This time I passed with a third class ranking.
“I had finally found something I was good at. I developed new software, new systems, new applications, often making myself indispensable to the commanders. I was trusted with more and more responsibility. I also became rather arrogant. During one project, I got busted hacking into information above my clearance level.
“The Tree of Life assignment was given to me as disciplinary action. It was just a temporary position—probation, really. And since no attack had ever been made on the tree, it was considered a low security risk. I was given the Flame of Findul, and not one agent foresaw any trouble.”
He made a wry face. “I was angry and humiliated. No one else, it seemed, had ever found so many ways in which to fail. So I slacked off. I quit trying. Instead of maintaining my post at the tree, I went fishing. I collected insect specimens from the valley and swam in the ocean. I did some rock climbing and—well, you get the idea. And instead of tending the forge fire and recharging the sword as Findul instructed, I let the fire go out. The sword went dark.
“I didn’t bother to notify my superior. After all, the tree had never been attacked.” Mike hung his head. “The day Davy came ashore, I was making daisy chains on the other side of the valley. I didn’t even see him until it was too late. Then Swain showed up and surprised us both.”
I never put it together that Mike had once met Swain.
“We tried to stop him but he managed to swipe a fruit off the ground. He disappeared and we never saw him again.
“The incident sparked a lot of changes. Davy was put on site. Additional security was installed and connected directly to Heaven. And I was demoted and put to work doing menial research and data entry. But just as Schmiel believed in my potential when the others didn’t, it was also he who listened when I told him I wanted to be assigned to this case.”
Mike looked me in the eye. “The failure at the tree changed my perspective. I knew I wasn’t good at everything, but from that moment on, I didn’t want to settle for less than what I knew I was capable of. I was going to give my best effort and fix what I had broken or die trying.
“Schmiel saw I was in earnest, and he convinced the others to let me become your guardian.” He spread his hands. “The rest you know. I haven’t always been good at it, but I’ve done it with determination and a goal in mind.”
I didn’t know what to say when he had finished. I simply stared at him, a little ashamed of the way I’d treated him.
Mike smiled at me. “We’re a lot alike, you and I. And I’m pleased to see that you, in your own way, reached those same conclusions. It only took you four days, not four millennia.”
****
Ranofur and Elena—who had also been equipped with new phones prior to Mike’s departure—met us at the Portland airport. Elena nodded at me and gave a half smile. “So, I hear the Swaug let you win,” she quipped. She held up a fist that I tapped with my own. Ranofur laid a heavy hand on my shoulder and I knew all was forgiven.
“Let’s kick some pirate butt, shall we?” Elena grinned.
We made our battle plans over tacos and milkshakes. Mike pulled up a map of the West Coast on his laptop and zoomed in on the route Swain would be navigating. “I figure it will take Swain nearly twenty-four hours to arrive at the mouth of the Columbia River and several more hours to reach the first dam. That gives us plenty of time to get in front of him,” Mike said, pointing to the first of three reservoirs that led to the foot of Mount St. Helens. “The only way into the volcano is down through the cone. Swain has to get from the last lake to the top of the mountain, and the most logical route would be up these hiking paths on the mountain’s south side.”
“If we ambush them on the mountain, we may encounter hikers,” Elena warned. “There’s bound to be some early season climbers on the slopes.”
“The most direct route, the one I’d guess he’d take, is still closed this time of year.”
“We shouldn’t wait for him to get that far,” I said. “If we take him out sooner, that would give us room to try again if we fail.”
“We aren’t equipped to take out a submarine,” Mike noted. “We must at least wait for Swain to surface and come to us.”
“Then what about the first lake?” I amended.
Mike shook his head. “Too close to civilization.”
Ranofur was studying the map with his eyes half-closed. “I don’t think Swain can take his submarine up the Louis River,” he remarked half to himself. “They’ll ditch somewhere in the Columbia and come up the tributary with the portables. They’ll portage around Merwin Dam, travel up Merwin Lake, portage around Yale Dam, and travel up Yale Lake. Then I think they’ll leave their boats before Swift Dam,” he mused.
Then Ranofur nodded and seemed to reach a decision. “The trailhead isn’t far beyond the last dam. They’ll hike it.” He met my eyes. “Taylor was right. We should attack them in a lake when the advantage is in our favor. But not the first one. The second one. Here, where it narrows next to this campground.”
Elena frowned. “What are we going to do? Swim out and knock them from their boats?”
“Exactly,” Ranofur winked. “Anyone feel like camping?”
****
Dusk found us pitching a tent in Cougar Park. Surprisingly, Elena was less than enthusiastic about the idea. “You do realize the campground doesn’t open for several more weeks,” she noted, tapping her toe unhappily.
“That will keep away prying eyes,” Mike answered.
“And if a ranger happens by?”
“We’ll throw a Schmiel cloak over the tent. I’ve got one big as a tarp. The ranger won’t see a thing.”
Sh
e placed a hand on her hip and glared at him from under threatening eyebrows. “And it won’t smell like pastrami on rye?”
“The cloak doesn’t alter anything supernaturally, it only hides you. Relax,” Mike assured her. “We’ll be fine.”
“What’s with the sudden anxiety?” I asked. “Ranger Bob doesn’t have anything on trolls or Churkons.”
“Trolls and Churkons don’t make arrests that go on your permanent record.”
“What do you care? This is America. You live in the Dominican Republic.”
“I would like to visit my mother again sometime in the next fifty years,” she answered coolly.
Ranofur put her worries to rest. “Mike’s right. No human can see through a Schmiel cloak. It takes on the appearance of its surroundings.”
“Besides,” I said, “if we could sneak that stuff in here without being questioned—” I hitched a thumb at a tractor trailer pulling a thirty-foot pontoon boat rigged with a winch and two thousand feet of aircraft cable “—chances are pretty good the tent will go undetected.”
“And if someone spots those?” Elena asked.
“Then that will save us the bother of returning them.” Ranofur shrugged. “Taylor, will you help me with this?”
I jumped at the chance to play with our new industrial toys.
The plan was to run the cable under the water, pull it taut when Swain’s army approached and topple them from their boats, then round them up. But the first challenge was laying the cable.
“How long till Swain shows up?” Ranofur asked Mike.
“If you figure distance, current, a moderate rate of travel, and no difficulties, my best guess is dawn,” came the answer.
“Plenty of time,” Ranofur responded. Still, it took much longer than I thought it would to launch the boat, string the cable across the narrowest part of the lake, clamp the far end to a sturdy oak, and attach our end to the chassis of the tractor trailer. By the time we were done, the clock was approaching midnight and I was wet and cold, even under a heavy new parka.
Mike and Elena had hot coffee and supper simmering over the coals for us. I wrapped my hands around the offered mug, savoring the warmth as Elena dished out plates of stew. The veggies were a little crunchy, and so was the chicken. In fact; the entire entrée tasted sooty, but I plowed through mine with no effort. Three s’mores rounded out the meal. I was warm and full. I lay back with a satisfied sigh.
“You kids best get some sleep,” Ranofur said, poking absently at the fire with a burned stick. “We’ll wake you if we need you.”
We didn’t need much convincing. Elena took the tent, and I was content to lay a sleeping bag next to the fire. But sleep didn’t come right away. I lay listening to the sounds of spring. It was still too cold for insects, but frogs by the thousands chirruped in the shallows. The sky was cloudless, the stars bright, the air crisp. My last thought as I drifted off to dreamland was that this adventure was turning out to be much more fun than our last ones.
Minutes later, it seemed, Mike was shaking me awake. The frogs had grown silent, and the misty air hummed with the distant throb of engines.
Swain’s army had arrived.
Lesson #24
Fishing with Aircraft Cable Reels in the Big Ones
My breath froze in nervous wisps of white vapor. The sky had lightened to a translucent gray studded with pinpricks of starlight, and in the faint gleam I could make out shadows moving far across the mirrored surface of the lake.
Ranofur studied the dark shapes through his field glasses. “I count six boats, perhaps ten men in each.”
Elena stumbled out of the tent then, a formless shape beneath a heavy coat with a ball cap pulled over her curls. She joined me and Mike where we gathered around Ranofur.
“You all know what to do,” Ranofur told us. “I’ll pull the cable tight. You three take the boat out and be ready to pick up prisoners.” With that, he jogged to the beach to start the tractor trailer. We moved more slowly to the dock.
“You nervous?” Elena asked as we walked over the wooden planks.
“Some,” I admitted, downplaying the fear rumbling like lava in my gut.
“Me too.” I saw the white flash of teeth in her shadowy face. “It’s worse when you have time to think about what might go wrong.”
The big diesel truck engine roared to life. Ranofur shifted into gear and the cable lifted from the water, scarring the surface with a ridge of refracted starlight. Then the water blurred into smooth blackness.
Swain’s boats throbbed closer now. Within minutes they would collide with the cable dangling invisibly above the waterline.
“Do you two have your weapons?” Mike asked. We nodded and he started the boat.
The lava was churning now, threatening to erupt. “Do you really think this will work?” I asked. “How are the three of us going to overpower sixty grown men?”
“Pick out their leader and put your sword to his neck,” Elena responded immediately. “Create a hostage situation.”
I looked at her in amazement. “You know, you have a diabolical mean streak.”
“Oh, come off it, Davis. You’ve seen it in every police movie made the last hundred years.”
True, but I wouldn’t have thought of it.
“Weapons ready,” Mike ordered in a low tone. “Here they come!”
The high-pitched whine of half-a-dozen outboard motors sounded loud in the early morning stillness. The shadows had grown distinguishable, and a dark “V” of wake pointed to each boat racing unerringly toward our trap.
I cringed at the first crunch of fiberglass. Five more followed in rapid-fire succession then all was chaos. Men catapulted through the air, shouting in pain and astonishment. Boats overturned, motors burbled and grew still, and cries of surprise and outrage blended with the melodic paddling of two hundred limbs.
Mike pushed the boat into gear. The lake was only a quarter mile in width, and we quickly glided into the midst of the flailing, chattering men. After my plunge into the icy Pacific, I couldn’t help feeling a pang of sympathy.
Some of the men had crawled onto the overturned boats. Others swam in bewildered circles.
“Let us up!” one shouted. “We’ll freeze to death!”
“I can’t swim,” pleaded another.
“Where are we? What happened?”
Elena gave the life ring an accurate toss, and Mike addressed his captive audience. “You will all be welcomed aboard, but first I wish to speak to your leader. Where is he?”
I was already scanning the water, searching for the one who might be Swain. Now the bobbing heads began a frantic swiveling.
“Who’s in charge?” they cried out. “How’d we get here?”
“What’s going on?”
It dawned on me that Swain’s means of recruitment hadn’t been voluntary. Apparently the cold water snapped the men out of whatever spell had been placed over them. Their memories of the entire event seemed to have vanished. And so, it appeared, had Swain.
One fellow with a full beard and a round, bald head called out, “I’m their leader. What do you want?”
Mike bowed and gestured to the ladder. “I simply wish to invite you on deck first.”
The round head bobbed closer, and as it climbed aboard, a round chest, round belly, and round, full biceps followed. He was the Jolly Green Giant, only not so jolly and clad all in black leather. I stuck the point of my blade under his chin. “Don’t move,” I growled.
He raised his hands submissively.
Mike addressed the men in the water again. “Now that your leader and I have made our acquaintance, the rest of you may follow. Quietly, now. We wouldn’t want him to lose his fine beard—or anything else.”
The men gave us no trouble as they climbed aboard one by one. Elena stood in the back corner with her feet propped on the bottom rung of the rail, aiming her crossbow across the heads of the growing crowd. Mike peered into each face. He met my eyes as the last reached safety and sho
ok his head. Swain was gone.
The pontoons floated low in the water. I’d never seen so much leather or facial hair in one place. But as ferocious as the Harley riders appeared, they were a miserable, befuddled bunch and gave us no trouble as we escorted them back to shore and locked them in the bathhouse.
Mike called 911 as Ranofur wired the door shut with a short length of cable. “You’ll be fine,” Ranofur assured them. “Help will arrive shortly.”
In a quieter voice, he addressed Mike and I. “Swain will make for the mountain. If we hustle, we can overtake him before he reaches the peak. And unless he has some fiendish back-up plan up his sleeve, it will just be him and us.” He retrieved his mace from the inside of his coat. “Where’s Elena?”
“She was taking up the rear with her crossbow,” I explained. “She should be right…” I spun in a slow circle. “She’s gone!”
Ranofur’s face became grave. “Find her!”
We dashed in three different directions: Mike to the boat, Ranofur to the truck, and me around the back of the bathhouse thinking maybe she dodged into the women’s room for a quick break. I knocked tentatively on the door. “Elena?”
No answer. I pushed the door in, feeling very self-conscious. It was pitch black inside. I checked every stall; Elena wasn’t there.
Outside, the barest sliver of light backlit the eastern sky and cast a silver gleam over the awakening world. I backtracked to the men’s side and knocked on the door. “Elena, did you get locked in there?”
There was a murmur of voices, then one of the men called out, “There ain’t no chick in here.”
I tried the tent next. It was difficult to find beneath the Schmiel cloak, though I managed to trip over one of the ropes and sprawl headfirst in the dirt. I waited for Elena’s snicker of laughter, but it never came. “Elena?” I called through the flap.
The tent was empty. I was growing alarmed.
I crouched by the remains of last night’s fire, no longer able to hear the angels as I warmed my hands over the ashes. The coals had grown gray and lifeless, but the mound still gave off heat. As I soaked in the warmth, I tried to think where else Elena could have strayed, but even as I thought the words I knew she wasn’t the type to wander away. Something had happened to her. Something bad.
Taylor Davis and the Flame of Findul (Taylor Davis, 1) Page 18