Cork watched his son drive away. Among all the weights that had settled on Cork’s shoulders lately, one of the heaviest was his concern for Stephen, who seemed so lost. Or maybe not lost but searching desperately for deeper truths. In that search, Cork, who was one kind of man, didn’t know how to help his son, who was another. Or maybe Stephen already understood the world in a way that would forever elude his father. So Cork wondered, as he stared at the rearview mirror watching Stephen grow distant in the Jeep, which of them was nearer the important truths. Who was it who was really lost?
His cell phone rang. He figured it was Bo returning his call. It wasn’t.
The voice on the other end, electronically altered, said, “What’s on the black box will make headlines. You want the black box?”
“Who is this?”
“Do you want the black box?”
“I want the box.”
“It will cost you ten thousand.”
“What about my friends?”
“First the black box. Then we’ll talk about your friends.”
“I want to know they’re all right.”
“Okay, for another ten grand you get them, too.”
“Are they all right?”
“They’re in one piece.”
“How do I know that?”
“Get the money and you’ll have proof.”
“How do we do this?”
“There’s a town meeting tonight. Go to it.”
“Then what?”
“You’ll be contacted there. I want the money in small bills and in a backpack, the kind a kid might use to carry his schoolbooks. Got it?”
“Yeah, I got it.”
“One more thing. No cops. Bring in cops and you’ll never see that black box or your friends again.”
The call ended and Cork stood for a moment, a little stunned. Then his cell phone rang again. It was Bo this time, finally calling back. Cork explained the two situations: the extortion demand and Blessing’s disappearance.
“The money’s no problem,” Bo said. “Let me handle that. Stupid question, I know, but did you happen to recognize the caller’s number?”
“A six-one-two area code. The Twin Cities.”
“I’d lay odds it’s from a burner phone, but give it to me and I’ll have it checked. Where are you now?”
“I’m about to head out to Blessing’s place.”
“Where is it?”
Cork gave him directions.
“I’ll arrange for the ransom money, then meet you there.”
* * *
Although he’d swept the cabin to be sure there were no bugs, Bo stepped onto the deck to make the call. He stood in the warm autumn sunlight, with gold-leafed birches all around him.
“Twenty thousand?” she said. “That’s it? They could have asked for ten times that amount.” She was quiet. Then, “O’Connor got the call. Or claimed he did. But he was one of the men searching the woods where the tail section came down. Bo, is it possible he’s not the man you think he is?”
“He’s the man I think he is, all right. But maybe some of the others aren’t.”
Bo considered the disappeared Ned and Monkey Love, the vanished Hukaris, Tom Blessing, Daniel English. He’d never met the Loves, so had no idea about them. Ditto the Hukaris. Blessing? He’d seemed a man truly distraught about his mother’s death, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of trying to extort money from wealthy people. English? A family man. Would he jeopardize his family for a mere twenty grand?
“I’ll relay this to Olympia’s father. We’ll get the money to you this afternoon.”
“No cops. O’Connor said the guy was clear about it.”
“And we’ll go with that?”
“For now. One more thing. Could you check the number the call came from? It’s probably a burner phone, but let’s be sure.”
After he’d given her the number, a wind rose, rustling the leaves and branches of the birch trees, a sound like whispering.
“Does he know?” Bo asked. Even though he was sure the phone wasn’t bugged, he still used no names. “Does he know about you and me, about all of this?”
“We’ve kept him in the dark. Plausible deniability. When the money’s on its way, I’ll let you know. And, Bo?”
“I’m here.”
“Thank you. For everything.”
“Yeah.”
She was gone. No goodbye. He slipped the cell phone into his pocket, listened to the whisper of the golden trees, watched a small sailboat far out drift across the ruffling blue of the lake, and he thought: Some people lead simple lives. Lucky them.
* * *
Daniel was waiting beside his truck when Cork pulled up. “I checked the house. Nothing apparent. Where’s Stephen?”
“He went back to Crow Point to finish his sweat. There’s another complication.” Cork told Daniel about the ransom call.
“This just gets weirder and weirder. You can get the money?”
“Bo said he’d take care of that. He’s on his way here now. I’m going inside to have a look for myself.”
He moved through the Blessings’ house room by room. Like Daniel before him, Cork found nothing helpful.
When Bo arrived, Cork and Daniel met him in the yard. “Just like the others, Tom’s vanished into thin air,” Cork said.
“Think we’ll find his truck burned out somewhere?” Bo asked.
“At this point, I don’t know what to expect. You arranged for the money?”
“It’ll be here this afternoon.”
“Coming from Jerome Hill, the senator’s father? He’s your client, right?”
Bo gave him a stony look and said, “How do you figure?”
“Our former First Lady, Kate Dixon, has been with the senator’s family since the crash, offering comfort, the media say. You saved Kate Dixon’s life. Now you’re a hotshot private security operative. If the senator’s family wanted Olympia McCarthy’s death investigated outside official channels, who would she counsel them to use? And pulling together twenty thousand dollars on the spur of the moment is nothing for someone like Jerome Hill. Tell me I’m wrong.”
Bo hesitated, then said, “How long have you suspected?”
“A while.”
“This stays between us.” He glanced at Daniel, who gave a nod of agreement.
Cork said, “Jerome Hill is a very wealthy man. I imagine he’d be willing to pay ten times twenty thousand for the flight recorder.”
“What does that tell you?” Bo said.
“My first guess is that it’s someone who thinks twenty grand is a lot. There are plenty of folks on the Iron Range who’ve been strapped for cash for years. Twenty grand might seem like a pretty big windfall.”
“A lot of risk.”
“Risk and the Iron Range go hand in hand.”
“It’s somebody who knows you, Cork, knows you’re involved in all this. If they know what’s on that flight recorder, it’s probably somebody who understands how to read that information. So someone savvy with electronics. Sound like anyone you know?”
Cork and Daniel exchanged a glance.
“Tom Blessing,” Cork told him.
“Fill me in.”
“Tom was always a smart kid,” Cork said. “When I broke up the Red Boyz—that was the gang he was part of on the reservation—he began taking coursework at the community college. Computer technology, programming, electronics. He’s the tech wizard for our tribal offices, teaches classes at the community center in Allouette to folks who want to learn more about computers, or any new electronic technology, for that matter. Cell phones, tablets, computers, you name it.”
“Another thing,” Daniel said. “Tom’s been taking flying lessons from Cal Blaine out at the airport. I don’t know how that fits in, but I’m guessing it adds to everything he might know about the senator’s plane.”
Cork scanned the wild landscape that surrounded the Blessings’ house—the wide marsh with tamaracks along the edge, the rugge
d, pine-covered hills. It had been an isolated world once, but no longer. The digital age.
“Tom Blessing?” he said quietly. “It doesn’t feel right.”
“Easy enough to find out,” Daniel said. “Somebody waits here to see if he comes back.”
“Could be a long wait,” Bo said. “Maybe a waste of manpower.”
“Better idea?” Daniel asked.
“Not at the moment. You volunteering?”
“I’ll take the first shift anyway.”
Cork gestured toward Daniel’s sidearm. “Keep that thing handy.”
Daniel gave him a two-fingered salute and headed into the house.
“Feels clunky,” Cork said. “The paltry amount, me as the go-between.”
“If you’ve never been involved in extortion before, clunky’s probably the norm,” Bo replied. “If it’s a ruse, I can’t think of any reason why. We don’t have a solid handle on anything, so there’s no real investigation to sidetrack.”
“You said you had some contacts to check with about our visitor last night. Anything there?”
“Didn’t pan out,” Bo said. “Sorry.”
“You still have anybody inside Secret Service who could check something for you?”
“I still had a lot of friends there when I left.”
“If I gave you some government license plate numbers, think you could track down who they belong to?”
“I could give it a try.”
Cork tore the sheet from the notepad on which he’d written the plate numbers of the vehicles he’d spotted coming and going from the airport hangar where the crash investigation continued.
“No agency prefix code,” Bo noted. “These people want to remain anonymous. I can’t guarantee anything, but I’ll give it a shot. So what next?”
“I’m going to track down Cal Blaine, find out about Tom Blessing and his flight lessons.”
“So, the regional airport?”
“That’s right. Maybe you should come along. That way we’re together if instructions for the exchange come.”
“All right,” Bo agreed.
As he prepared to leave, Cork took a last look at the little house isolated in the great woods. Daniel could take care of himself, but with no idea of what was going on in Tamarack County, Cork was still deeply concerned. The last thing he wanted was for his daughter’s husband to join the missing.
CHAPTER 29
* * *
The guards in front of the large hangar that was being used to store and sort the pieces of the wreckage made no attempt to interfere with Bo and Cork as they parked in front of a small office a hundred yards away. A sign above the office door read: NORTH COUNTRY AIR ACADEMY.
“Delusions of grandeur,” Cork said, pointing toward the sign. “It’s just Cal, a one-man operation.”
Scrawled on a sheet of paper taped to the office door were the words Flight Lesson. Back 2:30 P.M. Cork peered through the glass on the door. “Empty.” He checked his watch. “Half an hour to kill. There’s a little food place across the road. I haven’t had any lunch. You hungry?”
“Come to think of it,” Bo said.
At the roadhouse, they ordered burgers and fries and sat on the patio, eating and watching vehicles come and go. Cork was right. Almost all the plates were government issue.
“Must feel like a violation,” Bo said.
“The quiet is one of the things I’ve always loved about where I live.”
“Busy in the summer, I imagine.”
“Not this way.”
“I grew up in the city, but when I was a teenager, I spent time on a farm near Blue Earth. I understand about the quiet. You’re a lucky man, Cork.”
“Because of the quiet?”
“And the family. And that you have a place you call home.”
“You don’t?”
“Never have.”
“Ever thought of settling down?”
“Lone wolf.”
“The strength of the wolf is the pack.”
“Is that an Indian saying?”
“Rudyard Kipling, actually. The Jungle Book. One of my grandson’s favorite movies.”
Bo wondered what it would be like to have children and grandchildren, a thread of responsibility that ran through generations. He figured he had enough trouble just worrying about himself.
His cell phone rang. The new burner phone he was carrying.
“I’ve got to take this.” He moved away from Cork.
“The money is on its way,” she said. “Olympia’s brother is bringing it up by helicopter. He’ll call you when he arrives. Any more ransom instructions?”
“Nothing so far. Were your people able to trace the number?”
“Not yet. Like you said, probably a burner phone.”
“I might have something for you on this end. One of the Indians who was first on the crash scene is an electronics whiz. He was also a gang member in his younger days. He’s gone missing. There’s a chance he’s behind the extortion. It’s possible he grabbed the flight recorder. If so, he may very well know what’s on it.”
“Name?”
“Tom Blessing. His mother died yesterday, questionable circumstances.”
Nothing from her end for a moment. “I worry about you.”
“That’s something.”
And she was gone.
Bo relayed to Cork that the ransom money was coming.
“I keep wondering why the town meeting,” Cork said. “It seems way too public.”
“Like you said, this feels clunky. Strikes me as someone who’s never been involved in this kind of thing before. Would that fit Blessing?”
“Yeah, and me, too. How about you? Ever been in the middle of something like this before?”
“A couple years ago, I was asked to be the go-between in a kidnap ransom that involved the son of an Argentine diplomat.”
“How’d that go?”
“Not well. I made the drop. We got the info to locate the boy. Turned out what we paid for was his body.”
“Did you find out who was behind it?”
“We knew who was behind it, just couldn’t touch them.”
“Must have left a sour taste.”
Bo heard the sound of a small plane and scanned the sky. “Officially we couldn’t touch them. Unofficially? That was another thing. There was payback. But in the end, the taste was still bitter.”
Under the cloud of that memory, Bo watched the plane descend and approach the airport runway.
“That’ll be Cal,” Cork said. Then his cell phone rang. “Yeah, Harmon,” he answered. He listened, looked concerned. “I can’t be there for a while. Stephen’s out on Crow Point. Okay if I send him?” He listened some more. “I’ll tell him to make it fast.” He ended the call. “Harmon Goodsky, from Allouette.”
“The one surveilling Sarah LeDuc and Beulah Love?”
“That’s him. He says a couple of strangers have been cruising through Allouette with a particular interest in the Mocha Moose. He took some shots.”
“Fired at them?”
“No, photos.”
“Have they tried anything with Beulah?”
“Just keeping an eye on the place, sounds like.”
“Stephen can handle this?” Bo liked the kid, but he wasn’t sure how he might deal with a situation that could easily go south.
“I think he needs to understand that he can.” And Cork made the call to his son.
Bo and Cork were waiting at the office when Cal Blaine returned. He was bald, a little heavy, wearing a red flannel shirt. A kid was with him, maybe nineteen. They shook hands; the kid got into one of the vehicles parked in front of the office and drove away.
“Hey there, Cork,” Blaine said. “Decided to take up flying?”
“Not me, Cal. Just wanted to ask you a few questions, if I could.”
“Sure. Come on in.”
Blaine unlocked the office door, and the men followed him inside. It was simply furnished: a gray metal de
sk, three roller chairs, two file cabinets, a bulletin board with lots of papers tacked to it, a radio set.
“Have a seat.” Blaine took the one behind his desk. “Didn’t catch the name, stranger.”
“Just call me Bo.”
“Good enough.” He looked to Cork. “So, ask away.”
“I understand you’ve been giving Tom Blessing flight lessons.”
“Yeah, he’s working on getting his private pilot’s license. Say, I heard about his mom. Too bad.”
“Did he say anything about why he wanted to fly?”
“Why does anyone want to fly?” Blaine opened his arms. “Freedom.”
“Would the instructions you give him or the manuals he reads tell him about the safety equipment that planes are required to carry?”
“Of course.”
“Did he ask you questions in that regard?”
“Nothing special, at least that I recall. Why? What’s this about?”
“Tom’s gone missing. I’m trying to find him. Anything I can learn might help.”
“You think he, what, flew away?”
“You never know. And with all this going on.” Cork eyed the hangar visible beyond the window, where the NTSB was at work.
“I know. Terrible, terrible.”
Bo asked, “Were you out here the day Senator McCarthy’s plane went down?”
“I’m always out here.”
“Anything unusual about that day?”
“Matter of fact, yeah.”
“What exactly?” Cork said.
“The runway lights never came on.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’re a small airport, no control tower. Planes that want to land have to click the runway lights on.”
“Click?”
“The pilot turns to the local frequency and keys the mic. Three clicks for low intensity, five for medium, seven for high. There were low clouds that day, so the runway might have been tough to spot without the lights. Any good pilot would have clicked them on.”
“But the pilot in Senator McCarthy’s plane didn’t?”
“That’s right.”
“When would the pilot have clicked the lights?” Bo asked.
“On the approach, about seven miles out. A lot of pilots use Desolation Mountain as a visual cue.”
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