by Randy Dutton
“Not necessarily...”
“Why are you smirking?”
“Because according to a news report, the large propane tank next to the house exploded soon after we left. Any lack of evidence would be attributed to the debris scattering.”
“Why did that explode anyway? Why didn’t they shut the valve off?”
A Cheshire cat express formed. “Because I made a cut in the gas line just inside the wall next to the tank.”
“So that’s why that exterior wall was burning faster than the others.”
“Uh huh. To make it too hot to approach.”
“Clever! For all practical purposes, Anna Picard no longer exists.”
“I get a second chance to live a normal life.” She slipped the tablet into her bag.
“So we’re done?!” he asked enthusiastically.
She slid against him and whispered seductively into his ear, “Oh, Baby...we’re just getting started. You’ve got an entire peninsula to show me.”
Chapter 62
September 5, 1300 hours
Port Angeles, WA
Celtic music floated on a cool September breeze. Pete leaned against a tree outside Smuggler’s Landing pavilion. From the branches above, threads of Fuzz drifted, their small swirls seemingly dancing to the rhythm of the fiddle.
Anna was on Pete’s lap, her back against his broad chest, her head dipped against his. While her feet kept time to the Irish drum, his arms gently embraced her, careful not to put pressure on her still sore chest. Occasionally, he plucked mossy threads from her hair.
Never had she felt more secure than in his arms.
Down the pavilion’s twin rings of steps, the three members of Fiddlehead were entertaining a crowd hundreds strong at this Port Angeles waterfront park. Anna and Pete sat through the performance, swaying to the rhythm, their souls making a connection to the often joyous, sometimes melancholy, Irish tunes.
Each musician proved his or her versatility by switching between instruments. The younger woman intrigued the audience with her passion and skill on the uillean pipes – the Irish national bagpipe. Its two octave range and flexibility of effects spoke to those with poetry in their hearts. The female lead vocalist sang in English and Gaelic. She possessed a lovely voice and demonstrated outstanding fiddling skills. Her husband rounded out the trio, playing the guitar or drum, setting the mood for soft ballads, upbeat jigs, and fiery reels.
When the younger musician switched to a wooden flute, Anna whispered into Pete’s ear, “I used to play a flute when I was a girl, before...anyway, it was called a shakuhachi. It was made from bamboo and sounded like hers...very soulful.”
“Then perhaps you need another.” He softly kissed her. Later that evening, Pete purchased Anna a ‘Rudall and Carte’ hardwood flute with more versatility than the one of her youth. The music within her, which she felt had abandoned her as a teen, began to return.
September was filled with bright, clear days and cool temperatures. An ocean breeze prevailed, laden with salt, and the rich, humusy smells of the forest. It seemed natural, healthy, and somehow purer than the sun-baked Midwest prairies or the sea breezes of coastal France.
Anna felt very alive as it brushed her skin.
Having shed their false identities and license plates, they relaxed in their meanderings. In the course of four weeks, the newlyweds drove around the peninsula. They stayed in different inns, and relaxed in the slower pace of the rural communities and the mostly British and Germanic heritages that had mixed with the Makah, Salish, and Quileute tribes pocketing the coastline.
Pete was the face of the couple, handling most of the transactions in cash and watching for cameras that might expose his wife. What started as an annoyance became amusement as his wife routinely transformed herself when in public. She rotated the spare wig in her bag and frequently changed outerwear – cycling through multiple hats, scarves, jackets, and sunglasses. The SUV was filling fast with clothes and accessories.
With some guilt, he felt he was living with several women – a fashionably dressed New Yorker at breakfast; a braided and ribbon-haired hippy at lunch; and a redheaded southern lady at dinner. The next day Anna would remake herself again into something new. The one consistency was at night – she was always blond.
She wasn’t alone in this charade. At her insistence, he wore different style hats, sunglasses, and clothes she bought in local stores, garage sales, and boutiques.
While summer still possessed the countryside, they hiked many of the peninsula trails. Here in the backcountry she freed herself of the masquerade, usually donning just shorts, a tee, and boots. Free from the fear of discovery, they explored the coastal rainforest valleys flowing out of Olympic National Park’s snow-capped mountains. Nearly every path revealed wild, cascading rivers and streams and, always, majestic trees. Never had she seen such emerald splendor. These were the images of calendars.
Chapter 63
September 20, noon
Port Angeles
The Chevy van parked in front of the cyber café. From the driver’s seat, Duke flipped open the laptop.
“Well, Kyler. I could run for office anywhere on this peninsula.”
The shepherd cocked his head.
“And why not?” he challenged his doubtful companion.
“I’ve spoken with more people in more restaurants and cafés than most of the clowns that get elected. I’ve visited every hospital, clinic, and doctor’s office. We’ve driven around this peninsula three times and probably talked to half the public establishments. After all that, we haven’t gotten a single clue.”
“Yip!”
“Oh right. The hundred hours of recorded Department of Interior’s drone coastal coverage showed a couple that looked like them hiking a few local trails.”
He glanced at an aerial photo taken days earlier. It was a digital enlargement of a topless blond sunbathing on a large flat Fuzz-carpeted boulder along a secluded stretch of the Quinault River. Only the side of a tall bearded man sitting next to her was visible.
“They’re the closest match I’ve found, but that crappy moss floating in the air makes this image too indistinct for a positive ID, and we also never found their SUV.”
Duke sighed. “We’re not getting closer to retirement, Kyler. I honestly don’t know if I can keep this up.”
“Yip!”
“Oh, so now you agree?” Duke looked at his watch, then his eyes narrowed. “Or are you telling me it’s lunchtime? Sure, why not.”
Walking to the register, he momentarily put a poster on the counter while glancing at the menu.
“I’ve seen her,” the waiter in his early 20s casually said.
“Huh?” Duke’s head tilted up.
The young man pointed his pencil at the photo. “The woman on the poster.”
Duke’s eyes widened. “When?!”
“Couple of weeks ago. She and a big guy ate lunch at the back table.” His head motioned to a darkened corner.
“Can you describe the guy?”
The waiter glanced up in thought, cocked his head and twisted his mouth. “Yeah. Big, maybe 6’3”, a little over 200 pounds. Dark brown hair, beard. Rugged looking.”
Duke brought up the border surveillance photo on his iPhone and turned it. “This him?”
The waiter nodded, “Yeah, I think so. Beard was longer though.”
“Did they use one of your computers?!” Duke asked excitedly.
“Nah. Woman had her own. Used our Wi-Fi.”
Duke scanned the café. “You have any security cameras?”
“Nope.”
“Did you hear anything they said?”
The young man shook his head. “They was real quiet ‘round me. The guy got the food, she never said nuthin’ to me.”
“How’d he pay?”
“Cash...tipped good, too. One of the reasons I remember so well...that and she looked real pretty.”
“He have an accent?”
The guy thought f
or a moment. “Slightly southern...I think.”
“What was she wearing?”
“Dressed as a hiker.”
“How so?”
“Khaki shorts, hiking boots”—he winked—“nicely filled out t-shirt, and great legs.... She wore a hat and shades but took them off at the booth...had deep blue eyes and long, wavy hair. Looked like a natural blond.... She a model?”
“A missing person.”
“Bummer.”
“One moment.” Duke turned his iPhone to the young man to show the cropped sunbathing photo. “This her?”
The kid stared then smiled. “Hot bod. Yeah, could be...picture’s kinda pixilated. Smile looks the same.”
After talking with the kid a while longer, and leaving a calling card and big tip, Duke hopped back into the van. He opened the bag and put a roast beef sandwich on a tray.
“Here ya go, Pal! We struck gold. Olga’s alive and seems to have been hanging around this peninsula. When we find her we’re going to keep the whole shebang.”
Chapter 64
September 24, 1300 hours
Shi Shi Beach, WA
Pete’s mind drifted with the melodious ebb and flow of Anna’s flute. Her song played over the crackling of their beach campfire and the rhythmic crash of ocean waves against rocky outcrops. Leaning again a driftwood log, he cradled his mug of cocoa, eyes closed, his face absorbing the warmth of the fire against the increasing nightfall chill.
His eyes opened at the last note.
“That was lovely...and sad, Babe.”
“It’s called Loons in the Moonlight.” Her eyes twinkled in the firelight.
“Seems appropriate.... Dare I ask?” His arms pulled her closer so he could kiss her cheek.
“The song? It’s about a young brave awakened at night to the sound of a hauntingly beautiful voice—”
“The brave would be me—” He proudly thumbed his chest.
“Not so fast, Honey. You don’t know how it ends.... The music lures him to a lake where he pines for the beautiful woman he knows must be singing the mesmerizing song.”
“That would be you.” He gently touched her heart.
Her eyes lowered and her lips tightened. “Maybe describing this song isn’t a good idea.”
“I’m sorry, go on.”
She noticeably exhaled. “The brave becomes very depressed when the mist rises and the melodies fade away. Each night, as the mist rises, he hears the song and each day he fails to find this woman of his dreams. The young man comes close to death as desire consumes him.”
She smiled when Pete’s lips tightly pressed together. Her arms animated the story as she continued. “Finally, a figure drifts in from the mist and offers a present from the Lady of the Mist. The apparition appears as a majestic loon, gliding across the water toward him, and puts into his hand...a magic reed. This reed transforms into a flute, which has the most wondrous voice.”
She swapped his warm mug with her flute, took a sip, and continued. “As the brave plays the flute he once again becomes strong. The flute’s voice brings joy to him and to everyone hearing it.”
“Are you suggesting?” He cradled the flute in his large hands.
“I want to share my music, so you’ll know I’m always with you, no matter what. It’s another way of sharing myself.” She kissed his cheek, then finished his cocoa.
Starlight lit their wilderness coastal campsite later that night. The campfire had been reduced to embers and a damp Pacific breeze drifted in, encouraging Pete to wrap his arms more tightly around his wife. They lay on a blanket atop a thick mat of Fuzz they had collected along the high tide line.
Anna’s head rested on Pete’s shoulder as she gazed at the stars. “Have you always been so comfortable outdoors?”
“Suppose so...at least since I was seven.”
“I wish I’d known you then. You make everything so easy and fun. Even out here, I’m pampered. You turn camp food into gourmet feasts.”
“Life doesn’t need to be complicated. Food’s everywhere...wild blackberries, huckleberries, and late blueberries.”
“Ah yes, grazing on the trail. I never thought you’d find black truffles! Now those remind me of France.”
“They’re called Oregon truffles here.”
“Good thing you know which mushrooms are safe.”
“I’m still alive....”
“Oh, very much so.” Her fingers tickled him, which caused him to jump slightly.
“And of course there are clams and fish.” His voice was lighthearted.
“Too bad it’s not hunting season. Bet you could make a weapon or snare.”
“I could, but why, when you’ve got the pistol in your pack?”
“That doesn’t count...wouldn’t be sporting.”
He glanced at the driftwood stump ten meters away with three black daggers pinning a very perforated paper plate to the old wood. “How about your throwing knives?”
“I like to practice...so sue me. Like I’m going to take down a deer or elk with a blade.... Hmmm, talking of food’s making this pregnant woman hungry for venison!”
“How about cougar? They’re tasty.”
“But they’re so cute!” She faked a pout.
Pete chuckled. “Not if they’re stalking you. Reminds me of a lady I know...trying to anthropomorphize animals.”
“Hey! It’s what we progressives do to save the planet”—she shrugged—“well, what I did. Make nature off-limits to humans...turn children away from hunting, or venturing into nature’s domain.”
“Keep them glued to television or the Internet.”
“Haven’t you heard? TV’s the ‘poor man’s opera’.... That’s how Big Brother works. Dave Foreman said—”
“Founder of Earth First?”
Anna nodded. “One of the environmental prophets we used to push our agenda. He preached returning half of North America to pre-Columbian condition.”
“Didn’t he advocate forcing humans into urban islands?”
“Uh huh. And tearing down roads, dams, power lines, and other artificial constructs.”
“I’m glad you don’t believe your own propaganda,” Pete said.
“Wouldn’t be here if I did, Honey.”
“As for your weaponry, you practice martial skills to stay prepared, I practice woodcraft.”
“Sometimes your skills seem more fun. Watching you convert an abandoned Coke can into a solar mirror to light our fire was ingenious. But a match would have saved the chocolate you used to polish the metal,” she said mirthfully.
“Sorry. I know chocolate’s precious to you. I just thought a demonstration was needed.”
She snuggled tighter. “When our children are old enough, which of our locations do you want to return to?”
“Children...I like the sound of it....” His right arm squeezed her, while his left hand rested on her tummy. “I’m partial to the Hoh Rainforest. It’s great for toddlers. It’ll be a couple more years after that before we can take them backpacking to Enchanted Valley.”
“That’ll be nice. The Quinault’s like a miniature Yosemite with 600-meter waterfalls.”
“Tell you what...day after tomorrow, we’ll kayak to Tivoli Island on Lake Ozette. I’m taking you to a beautiful primitive campground, then a little more kayaking along the coast. I’m sure the sea otters will appreciate you serenade.”
She smiled. “Animals respond to flutes, particularly the eagles and seals.”
“We wild beasts are drawn to you,” he teased and then pulled her down and rolled over her. He propped himself with his elbows so their eyes met. “Of course, environmentalists might say you’re disrupting nature.”
“Tough! You know, this is the honeymoon I dreamt about.” Her wide eyes reflected the starlight.
“Dreams over what period?”
“Well, since Texas.” Her hands gently stroked his sides.
“And before then? Did you ever dream about marriage?”
Her head shoo
k. “Too cynical. I never had trouble getting a man...but I bored easily. I never wanted to be with the same guy for very long.”
She sensed him tense. “And before you ask, you don’t boor me.”
Her arms tightened around his back. “It was a different life....” Her voice turned sadder. “I was a different person.”
“As long as everyone in your past thinks you’re dead, and we minimize our exposure, nobody will find us in the wilds of coastal Washington...not your financiers’ assassins, not your hackers, not even your ex-boss.”
Starlight revealed a mischievous smile forming. “And believing that, I’ve never been so relaxed.”
“I’ve still got a couple months before the university expects me to run their new lab.”
She leaned up to kiss him and then pulled him down. “Thanks for putting off your job start. I like having you all to myself.”
Chapter 65
September 28
The Spider
Swanson arrived for his morning security briefing. He sat at the conference table to an ice cold vodka, and turned to Gabriel, who was staring out the window. “What’s got you down?”
Gabriel slowly shook his head then turned to his boss. “We lost him.”
“Who?”
“Eric Thames. He and his wife were in Bangkok on a private river taxi. A fisherman threw a net right in front of our guys’ boat as they were tailing him. It fouled the propeller. By the time they cleared the tangle, Thames was gone.”
“So what? You’ve got him bugged. Just reacquire the bugger.”
“All the signals went dark simultaneously. There’s nothing from their cell phones, or his computer, or even a bug we secreted into his clothing.”
“So Thames knew you were tracking him?”
“No, I don’t think he caught on.” Gabriel pursed his lips when he looked into his boss’ eyes. “I believe someone else knew and intercepted him, and I’d bet Sven’s involved.”
The elder man sneered. “I told you grabbing Thames was the smart thing to do!”