The icy water felt good as it closed over his head. It washed away the demons from his dream that had come back to haunt him. He flipped his kayak into the upright position, blinked the water out of his eyes, and let the strong flow of the current pull him down a narrow creek which bubbled with small eddies. As was his intention, the combination of the cold water, steep gradient and anticipation of what was to come, banished any thoughts from his mind, except survival.
The Little White Salmon river was legendary in kayaking circles. Experienced paddlers came from all over the world to test themselves against the Grade V rapids and waterfalls, consistent all-year flow, and steep, narrow gorges. For those less experienced, it was a terror-filled ride, fraught with dangerous caves and powerful underwater hydraulics that could be life threatening – and very often were. More than a few times, Crane had pulled out amateur paddlers pinned below some of the bigger drops. Once he’d rescued a guy who broke his back careening over Spirit Falls. He’d dragged him out from beneath a rocky ledge a hundred feet downstream with no pulse. Luckily, the paddler had been resuscitated and airlifted to the nearest hospital.
The official ‘put in’ point was half a mile upstream from Crane’s cabin, but pressed for time and anxious to get thoughts of war out of his head, Crane didn’t bother to walk. Instead, he got kitted up and slid off the rocky bank beyond his front yard into the narrow, fast-flowing creek and immediately felt his kayak pick up speed.
The flow of the river was usually around 2.9 feet in summer, but lately due to a fault in the aquifer that supplied the river, it had been running at a dangerous 3.9 feet. This pushed the adrenalin levels from a steady charge, to heart-pounding insane.
Around the first corner, the creek tilted on its edge and blasted through a half-mile long rapid punctuated by large black boulders. It was not unlike a roller coaster ride, and Crane relied on his strength, ability and lightning-quick reactions to make it through the non-stop gauntlet of swirling dips and vigorous undercurrents. The rapid ended abruptly at a rocky ledge with the only sane way through via a narrow chute on the far left of the river. Crane charged through the sluice, digging his paddle blade into the ledge as he passed. Below the chute was a churning hole which Crane neatly cleared and emerged exhilarated.
Choosing the middle line, he skimmed over a couple of submerged boulders, his kayak flying through the white water. He knew from experience to avoid the left side of the river, which had the potential to pin one against the rocks. Entering the boulder-free lower section of the river, Crane managed to catch his breath although his heart was still racing like a machine gun. His respite was short-lived, however, as this section of the river was studded with waterfalls and ledges of every kind. There was no safe route and some of the bigger falls were fed by steep, fast rapids leading right into them.
Forcing his body to remain loose, Crane accelerated over a series of slippery ledges, which culminated in a ten-foot drop with a powerful hydraulic and a large cave under the river’s left wall. He didn’t quite clear the ledge and cartwheeled over the drop only to be flushed out a few seconds later and thankfully not into the cave. He’d had to fish his kayak out in pieces on more than one occasion in the past.
Next up, a thirteen-foot waterfall followed by a narrow drop immediately downstream. Emerging intact, Crane took his usual line down the narrow channel that followed and rounded a sharp left turn after which the water dropped away into a steep vertically walled gorge.
With his breath coming in rapid gasps, Crane pulled to the side of the creek to rest. He was shaking from the adrenalin. It was not unlike the feeling he used to get on special ops missions, after his team had survived a gunfight or sabotaged enemy infrastructure and made a narrow escape.
That was an awesome session, but it was time to call it a day.
Up ahead was the Horseshoe, probably one of the most dangerous and underrated drops on the river. A large submerged boulder backed up the flow in the middle of the river, making the churning hole beneath it a near perfect drowning machine, which was almost impossible to escape from. As it was beneath the water, this rapid was deceptively dangerous for those not familiar with the river. The tricky cross-currents above the boulder were amplified by the narrow walls of the gorge and tended to funnel unwary paddlers into the middle of the drop, resulting in highly dangerous swims.
If by some miracle you managed to survive a swim at the Horseshoe, there was another thirty-three foot plunge a mere forty feet downstream. Caught unprepared and without a kayak, the drop would kill you. Almost the entire current pours into a pocket against the right wall below the waterfall. If you weren’t killed by the force at which you hit the rock face below the water, the current would lock you in and you’d soon drown. Usually, it’s a combination of both. Only last year a sixteen year old kid had died here. He’d gone over on his kayak, but capsized and been swept into the hole. Crane had pulled him out but he’d been under too long and the emergency services had been unable to resuscitate him.
At low flow this was a dangerous drop, only for the really experienced paddler but at 3.9 it was suicidal. Even he wasn’t that crazy. Climbing out of his boat, Crane collapsed on the river bank listening only to his rapid breathing and thumping heart.
CHAPTER THREE
Sarah woke early as was her habit. She got up, careful not to wake her husband sleeping in the adjoining room. He was a night owl and often stayed up late in his study, working into the small hours, while she was the opposite, preferring to get an early start which meant going to bed earlier at night. She knew, subconsciously, it was her way of minimising the time spent at home with her husband.
Gym bag packed, she slipped downstairs and through the utility room into the garage where her Mercedes SLK was parked, right next to Kaz’s Jaguar. He only drove it on weekends when his driver was off-duty and never into the city. Otherwise, his standard mode of transport was the hulking, black SUV parked outside with the darkened windows and bullet-proof coating. She only knew about the coating because he’d bragged about it when he’d bought the car.
“Why on earth do you need a bullet-proof car?” she’d asked.
“You never know,” he’d replied with a nonchalant shrug. “I have a lot of powerful friends and sometimes my work takes me into unsavoury areas.”
It was a lame excuse. He did have some prestigious friends, but they were mostly benign politicians and wealthy businessmen, and Portland was hardly a war zone. Sure, there was crime like everywhere else, but she couldn’t see how that would affect her husband in particular. She’d put it down to his heightened sense of paranoia.
Once in her car, she hit the button on a remote and the garage door opened with a gentle rumble. She turned on the radio and sang along to a Leona Lewis song as she eased the Mercedes out onto the gravel driveway.
You cut me open and I
Keep bleeding
Keep, keep bleeding love
She was bleeding alright, metaphorically speaking, but it wasn’t love. The sombre thought caused the words to die in her throat. She drove down the gravel driveway, which snaked around the house almost like it was strangling it, flanked on one side by the thick, impenetrable natural forest and on the other, by the dark half-moon lake in front of the house. Shrouded in the morning mist, the forest stretched for miles in all directions, apart from one, the west, where it gave way to a golf course. To many, the magnificent natural environment symbolised freedom, but to Sarah, it only made her feel more isolated. She had to admit, however, it was beautiful like something out of a fairy story.
Resisting the urge she always got at this juncture, to put her foot down and crash through the wrought-iron security gates in her desperate haste to get away, she applied the brakes and came to a halt. The other side of those gates was freedom. Temporary, perhaps, but freedom none-the-less.
“Morning, Mrs. Erkel.” The armed guard peered into her vehicle as if he expected her to be harbouring a criminal in the back seat. Why her husband insiste
d on so much security, she had no idea. He didn’t speak to her about his business dealings, and she didn’t ask. If she were honest with herself, she didn’t want to know, not that he’d tell her anyway. She was the trophy wife, the woman on her successful husband’s arm. She attended parties and events with him, played the hostess when they entertained at home, and performed her role to perfection. He had no cause for complaint.
After thanking the guard whose name she didn’t know, she merged with the flow of early morning traffic leading into the city. Five miles from the city perimeter, she turned off the freeway and headed for Lloyd’s Fitness Centre. Despite the unglamorous name, Lloyd’s was one of Oregon’s most exclusive chain of fitness centres sporting multiple tennis courts, both in and outdoors, two heated Olympic-size swimming pools, extensive gyms and spinning studios, a luxurious lounge area with free Wi-Fi, a crèche and an upmarket restaurant as well as a pool-side café. The franchise was owned by a friend of her husband’s, Mike Robson. Mike and his partner, Carol, had given her the gym membership as a birthday gift several years ago and it had been her salvation.
Here, in the airy, spacious gym, she could escape from the oppressiveness of her marriage, and run, workout and relax to her heart’s content. It was only when she was drenched in sweat, exhausted from pushing herself to the limit, she felt truly free.
Her car glided to a stop outside the gym entrance. Immediately, a smiling, uniformed valet approached. She left the car in neutral and climbed out, slinging her leather duffel gym bag over her shoulder. The valet would park her car while she went and got changed for her tai bow class, after which she’d breakfast on fresh fruit and honey, followed by a latte. Her morning ritual.
It was the life of the idle rich, and as she scanned in at reception with her key card she thought, “So what else do I have to do today?”
Crane pulled his non-descript Ford pickup over to the side of the road outside the entrance to Lloyd’s Fitness Centre. It was an impressive building, with architectural arcs and walkways, and lots of one-way glass to keep out prying eyes and protect the privacy of its upmarket clientele. The parking lot had a valet service, along with an automated access system which required a key card and, therefore, ruled him out. The annual membership for a place like this would cost more than his military pension.
He surveyed the immediate area. Across the road from the impressive complex was an upmarket coffee shop called Afterburn. Cute name. It had several tables and chairs out on the sidewalk under a green awning, and inside he could see several vacant tables by the window. Perfect.
He drove past it and parked further along up the street. She’d workout for an hour, then have a shower and maybe something to eat or drink. Crane figured he had an hour and a half to wait, at least.
Newspaper in hand, he chose a seat at the street-facing window and ordered a coffee. It was too cold to sit outside, not that the temperature bothered him, but it would look conspicuous. Although the newspaper lay open in front of him, he didn’t read it. His eyes were fixed on the gym entrance. From his unobstructed vantage point, he could see who went in and out. Lycra-clad gym bunnies with highlighted hair in pony-tails and expensive gym bags went in, while stylish business women in power suits with blow-dried hair came out. The pre-work crowd.
Crane didn’t have to check his watch to know when an hour had passed. Signalling the waitress, he asked for the check. The two espressos he’d had kept him on high alert. His gaze did not stray from the entrance.
Any time now. He paid. No change. Nothing to tie him down should he have to leave in a hurry.
Nine-twenty.
An hour and twenty minutes since she went in. Crane was still glued to the gym entrance.
Another twenty minutes ticked by. It was possible she was still inside. Must be a hell of a workout. Perhaps she was training for a marathon or something, in which case he could be in for a long wait.
When two and a half hours had passed, Crane started to feel uneasy. Something wasn’t right. Of course, it was still possible she was inside, but his gut told him otherwise. He thanked the waitress, who had been giving him pointed looks for the last hour, and left, quickly crossing the road to the gym. Perhaps there was another exit. Unlikely though, seeing as the parking lot, including valet, was out front. Crane did a quick search in the cordoned off parking area for the SLK. There it was, gleaming white in the early morning sunshine. He relaxed. She was still inside. What she was doing in there for nearly three hours he had no idea.
The uneasy feeling wouldn’t go away. Perhaps she’d snuck out the back somehow? A sneaky escape through the delivery entrance while lover-boy got the car and met her out back. It was a possibility.
Crane had seen quite a few men leave the gym in the last two hours. He walked around the block trying to locate a back entrance. All he could find was an open garage door with a van parked outside. It was the service entrance. Men in overalls were unloading crates of bottled water and carrying them inside.
That must be it.
He approached one of the packers. “You didn’t happen to see an attractive blonde come out this way?” he enquired casually.
The man grinned. “No, dude. I think I would have noticed.”
Crane sighed. Sarah could have snuck out earlier.
“Thanks,” he turned away. He could kick himself for not thinking of this earlier. As much as he hated to admit it, it was looking increasingly like Sarah Erkel was having an affair. Innocent women did not sneak out service entrances and disappear.
He strolled back to his car, passing the valet parking once more. Still there. Still gleaming. Three hours later.
Back in his car, Crane pulled out his cell phone. Calling directory enquiries he got the number of Lloyd’s Fitness Centre. A young feminine voice answered on the first ring.
“Good morning, can I help you?”
Crane let his voice deepen. “I’m calling on behalf of Kaz Erkel. I’ve got a message for his wife, Sarah.”
If the businessman had any sway, then the receptionist would locate Sarah to relay his message.
“Of course. One moment please, I’ll see if Mrs. Erkel’s available.” Classical music played into his ear as he was put on hold. The track was heading into its third repeat when she came back on the line.
“I’m sorry, Sarah Erkel doesn’t seem to be available.”
“It’s urgent.” He spoke with authority.
The girl sounded flustered. “I’ve called her three times on the intercom system and she hasn’t come to reception. I could check in the pool room for you?”
She’d gone. Crane knew it.
“No, don’t bother. Thanks anyway.” He hung up.
Five hours after she’d arrived, Crane watched Sarah Erkel’s SLK being delivered to the front of the gym.
CHAPTER FOUR
Crane watched Sarah Erkel’s silver Mercedes pull out onto the freeway at exactly the same time as the day before. Once again, it turned off five miles from the city and headed towards the gym. He followed at a safe distance, weaving expertly in and out of the heavy morning traffic, always keeping the SLK in his sights. He was not going to lose her today. Yesterday’s mistake had reminded him of an important lesson: Do not underestimate your mark. And he’d done just that.
In his defence, the blonde-haired beauty dressed in the lycra leggings had appeared to be attending a routine gym session. There’d been nothing in her appearance or manner to suggest she was meeting a lover. Her outfit had been appropriate, as one would expect for the gym. Leggings, a T-shirt, sneakers and a tracksuit top tied around her waist. Her hair had been fastened up in a pony-tail. Not glamorous. No make-up and certainly not dressed to impress. Consequently, Crane hadn’t suspected a thing – and he was an expert.
Not this time, sweetheart, he murmured as she brought the car to a halt outside the gym. I’m wise to your tricks.
The valet opened the car door on the driver’s side and stood back as Crane’s surveillance target climbed out
. From his vantage point across the road, he watched as she handed the assistant her car keys, said something that made him laugh, and strolled into the gym.
Crane frowned. For a woman having an affair she was mighty casual about it. Usually, unfaithful wives were impeccably groomed, hair styled, make-up perfect, outfit alluring but not too slutty. Sarah was once again dressed in leggings and a T-shirt, with her hair scraped back in a pony-tail. She still looked great, but she wasn’t dressed for a romantic liaison. Anomaly number one.
A woman about to meet her lover would be flushed with anticipation, eager to see him and acting erratically. Sarah seemed relaxed and unhurried. She’d even had time to joke with the valet. This was not a woman who was desperate to meet anyone. Anomaly number two.
She was good. No wonder he’d been fooled. Crane sighed.
Yesterday, she’d left her car in the lot and disappeared for five hours. That was half a day! She hadn’t left on foot because he would have seen her. This wasn’t the type of place people came to on foot. The bus stop was over a mile away, and there was only one approach road, which meant she must have had help. Whatever she was up to, it involved someone else. So despite appearances, Crane had to admit it did look suspiciously like Kaz’s wife was up to something. Why else would she vanish for a whole morning without a trace?
As he drove around the carpark to the back of the centre, Crane pondered whether Sarah suspected she was being watched. Could this be an elaborate ruse for his benefit? It was possible, he supposed, but not likely. She didn’t know him from Adam. Even if she had suspected a tail, she wouldn’t have known it was him. He hadn’t gone into the gym after her, she hadn’t spotted him when she came out.
On the other hand, her husband was a rich and determined man. Perhaps she expected him to hire someone to follow her. Hell, for all he knew Kaz could have had her followed in the past. He sighed, there were too many variables. He made a mental note to ask Kaz about it this evening when he reported back.
Undercurrent: A P.I. Munro Crane Romantic Suspense Thriller Page 3