Rocky Mountain Sabotage

by Jill Elizabeth Nelson

  Kent shot a sharp stare at his companion. “That was morbid.”

  “It was, but it’s the way everyone feels. We can hardly look at each other anymore. That scene around the grave site—everyone staring at the mound of dirt, wondering who is going to be next and whose neck they can wring for it, and you offering a prayer and kind words for the dear departed. Hypocritical of you, by the way.”

  Kent’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t think so. I don’t excuse what she did—can’t even comprehend it—but she’ll be judged by the highest court in the universe, and that’s not me.”

  Neil stopped walking, and Kent halted a few feet away. The older man searched his face for long, quiet moments.

  “You really believe that,” he said at last.

  “I do.” Kent started walking again. Evening was coming on, and with it, a bitter chill that dug through his bomber jacket. “Don’t you?”

  Neil fell into step. “Sometimes I wish I did, but most of the time I’m glad I don’t. It’s not a judgment I care to face. I’m no saint, and that is as much of a confession of my life story as will have to suffice.”

  “I’d feel the same way if I hadn’t already engaged the only lawyer guaranteed to prevail in that courtroom.”

  “Let’s not even go there.” He waved a dismissive hand. “You want to know what my theory is about our plane crash. The only suspects that make sense are the guys from Peerless One. Rumors are starting to get around in arbitrage circles that something’s not right.”

  “Do you know any specifics?”

  “No.”

  “Any names?”

  “No.”

  “If you think of anything, will you tell me?”

  “You got it.”

  They finished their errand and returned to the mercantile to find everyone clustered around the stove, as usual, only now they had seats off the floor. Even Phil was sitting up, pained expression on his pudgy face and bandaged foot propped on an extra seat. Rich was getting along without keeping his leg elevated, though discomfort showed in the tension around his mouth. In typical fashion, Cliff was making himself useful attempting to rig up crutches with notched sticks they’d chopped down and T-shirts he was trying to tie just right to create a cushion for Rich’s armpits. Looked like a tedious project.

  Dirk greeted them with a grumble about drinking water out of the same bucket where Phil soaked his foot, but Nina shushed him with a reminder that they boiled the water before drinking it, and there was plenty of tea and instant coffee from the airplane galley. A meal of jerky and canned peaches from the mystery dweller’s hut was consumed in sullen silence.

  “How are everyone’s cell phones holding out?” Kent asked as they finished eating.

  “What does that matter?” Dirk snorted. “There’s no service.”

  “Not down here in the bottom of the valley, but I got to thinking today. We haven’t tried climbing one of the cliffs to see if service is available higher up. The clouds will break eventually, maybe even by morning. We need to do two things tomorrow—place glass shards on the roof, and then we need to climb a section of cliff-side and plant as many of those glass pieces as we can as high up as we can reach. No guarantees, but we might as well check for service while we’re at it.”

  Faces brightened, and the able-bodied scattered to retrieve their phones.

  “My cell’s about to give up,” Cliff called, “but I’ve got one of those external batteries. I’ll charge it right up.”

  It turned out that most of the passengers had wireless chargers, including Lauren. Nina, Rich and Neil were exceptions, but Neil claimed he’d been keeping his cell turned off and had half a charge left. Nina had forgotten to turn hers off and had little juice left, but she shut hers down to conserve what was there. Rich’s phone was already toast, and he apologized for not having his head in the game.

  “Understandable.” Nina patted him on the arm. “You won’t be climbing any cliffs tomorrow anyway.”

  “Me either,” Dirk announced. “I’ve got a phobia about heights.” He crossed his arms and stuck out his chin, challenging anyone to argue with him.

  Kent sent him a pleasant smile. “Then you, Nina and Neil can go scavenging for more wood for the stove, haul in more water, bring more food and supplies from the mystery dweller’s cabin, and then gather as many pine cones as you can find from under the trees. Don’t pick any off the branches. Those will be too green to yield edible pine nuts.”

  Grumbling under his breath something about crazy nuts and slave drivers, Dirk withdrew from the group and began laying out his blankets for bedtime.

  “And by the way,” Kent called to him, “you and Cliff are taking first watch.”

  “What watch?”

  Cliff let out a huff. “In case you missed the memo, DJ, someone out there and/or in here is trying to kill us. We have to do whatever we can to make sure they don’t succeed, including missing a little shut-eye.”

  “But why two of us, Mr. Brown Nose? Just because you’ve turned into our fearless leader’s mindless slave doesn’t mean I have to do the same.”

  Lauren leaped to her feet. “Can it, you two. Bickering and name-calling isn’t helping anyone. Can’t you see that two guards can keep an eye on each other as well as watch for any threats from the outside? And until any of you have better ideas how we can survive in the middle of nowhere, get your attitudes right.”

  “Hear, hear.” Nina toasted with her cup of tea.

  Kent rose slowly. “Okay, now that we’ve gotten that out of our systems, Lauren is correct that the pairing up has a purpose. Multiple purposes, actually. First, since the threat could be from within and from without, the guards can help keep each other safe, come running at any cry of alarm. Second, the opposite is true. The guards need to guard each other. One of you will be assigned to the back door, the other to the front, but you will switch stations every half hour. If one of you has disappeared from his station, possibly to wreak some of the mayhem we’ve already experienced, wake me up immediately. Any questions?” No one answered. “Good. You’ll be replaced every four hours. The next shift belongs to Neil and—”

  “—Me.” Rich finished Kent’s sentence. “I may not have two good legs at the moment, but I’ve got two good ears and eyes. No one will get by me, in or out, or they’ll taste my trusty staff.” He swung the improvised crutch like a bat.

  “Hey, watch out with that thing!” Cliff ducked, laughing.

  Everyone chuckled. The laughter felt good. Therapeutic. Kent took a deep breath, and thanked God for this moment.

  Less than four hours later, he was jerked out of the best sleep he’d had in the past forty-eight hours. Dirk was screaming like an opera soprano and shaking him.

  Kent heaved into a sitting position, hand curling automatically around the pistol under his head cushion. With his other hand, he grabbed the hysterical man’s bony shoulder. “What’s happened?”

  “It’s Cliff!” The man was panting like he’d just run a mile. “He’s dead. He’s just...dead!”

  EIGHT

  Not fully awake, Lauren lunged to her feet. As the meaning of Dirk’s shrieking sunk in, her heart pounded like a mariachi dancer.

  “Where is he?” She lit the kerosene lamp on a nearby shelf.

  “By the b-back door.” Dirk’s words faltered.

  The rest of the party roused with murmurs of alarm as Lauren grabbed the first-aid kit and headed for the storage room.

  Kent darted in front of her, gun in his right hand. “I’ll go first.”

  She followed at his heels, lamp held high to illuminate the space. No one lurked in the storage room, except for Cliff, who sat slumped against the wall by the back door. Lauren rushed to him, knelt and set the lamp down. A mug lay tipped over by Cliff’s side, and a small splotch of dark liquid stained the
floorboards.

  She checked the pulse at his neck and his wrist then looked up at Kent, who hovered grim-faced. “He’s alive. Barely. If I had to guess, I’d say someone drugged his coffee, but in order to treat, I need to know what type of drug we’re dealing with.” She pulled the small flashlight from her kit and examined first one eye then the other. “Pinpoint pupils, depressed respiration. Most likely a narcotic.”

  “What can we do for him?”

  Lauren scrambled in her kit. “Here it is. Thank You, Lord! I thought I saw this.”

  “What is it?”

  “Naloxone auto-injector. If he’s not too far gone, this stands a good chance of counteracting the overdose.” She administered the injection as the rest of the party crowded around.

  “Back, everyone!” Kent barked. “Give them space.”

  She rummaged in the kit. “No activated charcoal. If we could have forced that down him, it would have absorbed any narcotic remaining in his stomach.” She looked up at Kent. “Help me get him laid out in the infirmary. I need to intubate to aid his breathing.”

  Cliff was not a small man, and Lauren expected several helpers would be needed in the transport, but Kent slung Cliff over his shoulder and hustled to the infirmary without a hitch in his stride. Lauren scrambled to follow. She shouldn’t have been surprised. Soldiers were trained in evacuating the injured.

  Mom’s firmest tones admonished the others to stay on their own side of the partition. In this moment, Lauren didn’t mind that her mother could be a miniature major general.

  She finished the intubation and sat back on her haunches to wait. Long seconds ticked past in a silence that crimped Lauren’s lungs like the very room was holding its breath. A soft groan left the patient, and his chest began to rise and fall visibly, where before his breathing had been undetectable. Tears stung the backs of Lauren’s eyes and one crept onto her eyelash.

  Blinking rapidly, she gazed up at Kent. “He was deep in the woods, but he’s on the way back.”

  A smile flickered on Kent’s lips, and he squeezed her shoulder. “He can thank God you were here with us.”

  Lauren dropped her gaze. How many more passengers might need her services before this ordeal was over? What if she couldn’t save them all? She’d already lost one. The supplies in the first-aid kit weren’t intended to last for long, and they were already dwindling dramatically.

  “Since no narcotics are in the first-aid kit,” Kent said, “the drugs used to lace the coffee were not stolen from the kit.”

  Lauren’s breath hitched. “That means someone has their own supply.”

  “What would we be looking for specifically?”

  “The list is fairly long for the treatment of anxiety or chronic pain like Xanax, Diazepam, Oxycontin or Hydrocodone, to name a few. You’re going to search luggage?”

  Lips thinning, Kent jerked a nod.

  “Don’t be too surprised if you uncover a treasure trove of such prescriptions,” she said. “The lifestyle these guys live makes it almost certain they’ll be treated with opioids or sedatives at some point in their distinguished careers.”

  Something like a growl left Kent’s throat. Lauren totally got the frustration. She was vexed too—and not only about the physical jeopardy they were all in.

  What about that kiss she and Kent had almost shared? The guy was more of a danger to her heart than she would have thought possible. Must be the stressful situation. Surely, if—no, when—they got out of this valley and back to civilization, she’d look back on this intense attraction as a fleeting madness.

  Why did that sensible idea feel like a stone in her heart?

  “We have to take a look in the luggage anyway,” Kent said. “Maybe we can expose someone with fewer pills in their bottle than ought to be there.”

  He walked away, and Lauren took in a deep, quivering breath. Lord, help us stop this monster before someone else dies at his hands. The straightforward prayer left her heart with a fervency that she’d lacked since...well, ever.

  “Everyone get your luggage out of the storage room and bring it in here.” Kent’s deep tones hacked into the murmur of strained voices outside the infirmary. “We are conducting a search for narcotics, and from this point on, our belongings will be kept out in the open under the eyes of us all.”

  “Wait just a minute, you can’t just go rummaging—”

  “I will toss your things from one end of this room to the other if I must.” Kent interrupted Dirk’s petty outrage. “Far better if you form an orderly queue and submit to a voluntary search. If you have nothing to hide, that is.”

  “I may as well tell you that I take Xanax,” Neil said.

  Anti-anxiety medication—Lauren mentally cataloged the drug.

  “If you must know, I take Klonopin,” Dirk volunteered in a grudging growl.

  Given Dirk’s tendency to avoid any stressful activity, Lauren surmised the prescription was for panic attacks. Why did he stay with the profession he was in? Money? Powerful motivator.

  “Oh, just great!” Rich’s exclamation emerged like a mournful sigh. “I may as well confess.”

  Heart twisting, Lauren rose from her patient’s side and stepped around the shelving to the common area. “What have you done?”

  The executive dropped his gaze. “I have prescription Oncet for a bad back. I’ve been hoarding it for myself since my knee got injured. I should have been sharing it with Phil.” He pulled a pill bottle from his pants pocket.

  “You didn’t lace Cliff’s coffee with it?”

  Rich’s mouth dropped open then shut with a clack of teeth. “No! Why would I want to hurt Cliff? He’s been such an asset to us all in this mess.”

  “That’s exactly why someone wanted to hurt him,” Kent said. “Now, please go get your luggage, everyone. What I said stands. We’re going to search and see what conclusions we can draw. Lauren, please take possession of Rich’s prescription bottle and count the contents. If the date of fill and number of pills remaining don’t match, let me know. I believe we will entrust all our prescriptions to your care from now on. You can dispense them as we need them.”

  With haunted expressions and soft mutters, the passengers complied. Lauren returned to her patients. Cliff’s eyelids were fluttering, and he moaned a little. She could possibly remove the airway as soon as he came fully awake. Phil lay unmoving in his spot with his eyes closed, face pale and foot elevated, but the agitation in his breathing betrayed that he was awake.

  Lauren knelt beside him. “Rich has offered to share his prescription painkiller with you. Would you like that?”

  The man nodded, and she administered the medication. Then she counted the pills remaining and compared that figure to what should be there. The number matched. Rich had not used these pills to overdose Cliff.

  The harsh hiss of zippers and snapping of locks from the other side of the partition indicated the luggage search was under way. Lauren rose and took up a post near the end of the shelving unit that separated her infirmary from the common area. From there, she could monitor her patients and observe the progress of the luggage search at the same time. Particularly, she focused on the body language of Dirk and Neil, the remaining able-bodied executives. Dirk paced, scowling. Neil stood still, rubbing his bristly chin. Typical behaviors for them.

  While Kent riffled through the luggage contents, Lauren’s mother stood by with a pad and paper and took notes. Then she received any confiscated medication containers into an airplane emesis bag. Quite a number of snack foods were also unearthed and set aside for sharing at meal times.

  “I have a question.” Lauren interrupted the proceedings.

  Kent’s stormy gaze fixed on her. “Go ahead.”

  “Did Cliff make his own coffee, or did someone make it for him?”

  Her mother let out a soft gro
an and turned toward Lauren. “It was me. I made it for him.” All eyes fixed on her. “I made a cup for Dirk, too.”

  Kent stepped in front of Dirk, halting his pacing. “Where is your coffee cup?”

  Blinking rapidly, the smaller man pointed toward the front door. “O-over there. Where I was stationed.”

  “Bring it to me.”

  Steps choppy, gaze lowered, Dirk complied.

  Kent frowned into the mug. “This is nearly full. You didn’t drink it. Why?”

  “Well...you see... I—uh...”

  “You knew it was poisoned!” Neil burst out. “Probably because you put the narcotic in there yourself.”

  Dirk’s face flamed. “That’s crazy, you useless old coot! I’m not stupid. If I wanted to make sure to look innocent, I would have put only a little narcotic in my coffee and downed it.”

  “You’re displaying your devious mind, Dirk.” Lauren stepped forward and took the mug from Kent. She swirled the contents and sniffed. Then she dipped a fingertip into the brew and placed a drop on her tongue. Acrid, but no more so than strong instant coffee usually was. “I can’t tell if this is laced with anything. The coffee taste and smell is too strong.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Kent said. “I know why Dirk didn’t drink it.”

  “Do tell.” Dirk crossed his arms over his chest and lifted his chin.

  “You fell asleep, probably right away. In fact, I doubt you attempted to change places with Cliff even once during your shift. And while you snoozed, Cliff drank his coffee and nearly died.”

  “I couldn’t help it.” Dirk turned his back on everyone. “I was exhausted.”

  “Never mind.” Kent held up a translucent, brown medicine container. No pills were inside. “I found this in Magdalena Haven’s luggage.”

  Lauren took the vial and read the label. “Vicodin. Why was she on such a strong pain reliever?” She gazed up at Kent.

  He grimaced. “About a year ago she was involved in a car accident. Cracked a couple of vertebrae. When she came to work with me six months ago, she checked out perfect with her physical exam and signed off that she no longer took prescription pain relievers that might slow her reaction time, which was, apparently, a lie.”