The Vanishing

by Gary Winston Brown

  “You’ll let me know if you turn up any more on this?”

  Justin nodded. “You’ll be the first to know.”

  50

  KAREN PLACED TWO overnight bags and a utility case in the back seat of the Suburban and closed the door. Mark unfolded a map on the hood of the truck and drew a tight circle around the vicinity of Rohnert Park.

  “Sonoma State University is about one-hundred miles from here,” he stated. “Should take about ninety minutes to get there.”

  “What’s our plan of attack?” Dan asked.

  “Like I said, start poking around. Turn over a few rocks, see what crawls out. You and Cynthia take the east campus. Karen and I will take the west.” Mark turned to Martin. “There’s a small town just north of the university named Kettawash. It’s a popular hangout with the university crowd. Might be worth a shot. You and Claire check it out. Let me know if you come up with anything worthwhile.”

  “You got it,” Martin replied.

  “And remember, no heroics. If you pick up a lead, you let me know. We still don’t know what we’re up against here. Understood?”

  Martin smiled. “Yes, Dad.”

  “I’m serious, Martin,” Mark said firmly. “You call me on my cell and wait for backup. You do nothing until we arrive.”

  “It’s your operation, Mark,” Martin said. “You’re the one calling the shots. Don’t worry, we’ll wait.”

  “All right.” Mark said. He folded the map and tossed it onto the front seat. “Let’s saddle up and roll out.”

  51

  MAGGY STRETCHED OUT on the back seat of the Navigator. In less than an hour they would arrive in Kettawash, yet in the thirty minutes that had passed since they had left the estate Claire had hardly uttered a single word.

  “What’s wrong?” Martin asked, attempting to break the barrier of silence between them.

  Claire simply stared out the window.

  “I don’t know about you,” Martin continued, “but I find conversations much more interesting when two people are talking. Then again, I could just sit here and chat away, but I’d probably end up in an argument with myself and spend the next ten minutes trying to figure out just how the hell that happened. If maybe you were to contribute a sentence or two…”

  Claire interrupted. “They’re going to kill her, you know.”

  Stunned by the blunt finality in Claire’s tone, Martin struggled with his reply.

  “You can’t allow yourself to think that, Claire. If Amanda’s there, we’ll find her and bring her home. No one’s going to kill her. I promise you that.”

  “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep, Martin.”

  “That’s a promise I intend to keep.”

  “Justin said Krebeck is ex-CIA, right?” Claire asked.

  “So?”

  “So that means he’s trained to kill and knows how to cover his tracks as if he wasn’t even there. He won’t hesitate to kill Amanda when he realizes we’ve come for her. And then he’ll kill us, because he knows the first thing we’ll do when we’re safe is contact the police. Eventually, the cops will hand him over to the CIA. When that happens, they’ll throw him into a hole so deep and for so long that daylight will become a foreign concept to him. I don’t think he’s going to let that happen easily, do you?”

  “Maybe you’re right, Claire,” Martin replied. “Maybe the odds are stacked against us. But I’d rather face those odds than walk away. I’ve got questions too. Krebeck may be my only link to finding Melanie, and I’ll follow that bastard straight into Hell to find out if he’s the piece of the puzzle I’ve been searching for. So, I guess as much as I’m helping you, I’m also helping myself.”

  Martin’s cell phone rang. “Yes?” he answered sternly.

  Mark hesitated before speaking. “You okay, Martin?”

  “Yeah.” The reply was curt, to the point.

  “Doesn’t sound like it,” Mark said. “Is everything all right with you and Claire?”

  “Sorry, Mark,” Martin apologized. “You caught me at a bad time. Everything’s fine.”

  Mark persisted. “If you two have any differences, settle them now. If we’re going to pull this off, I need to know you’ve both got your head in the game.”

  “We’re good,” Martin replied. “What’s on your mind?”

  Martin’s tone told Mark he was lying, but the point had been made. “Call me when you get to Kettawash. By the time we reach Sonoma State, we’ll have had a twenty-minute head start on you. I want to meet up and compare notes after we’ve worked the campus.”

  “No problem. I’ll call you soon.”

  “Good. And Martin?”

  “What?”

  “I understand the pressure you’re both under right now. Believe me, I do. But you and Claire have got to keep it under control and not let it get the better of you. If we end up chasing ghosts, then we’ll follow up on the next lead, and the lead after that. All right?”

  “Thanks, Mark. I needed to hear that.”

  “Tell Claire to keep her chin up. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  Martin exited the interstate at Kettawash and slowed to negotiate a gauntlet of flashing construction lights. Repair crews tended to steaming ribbons of freshly pressed asphalt. Maggy sat up, sniffed the air, then snorted her disapproval of the foul smell.

  “Keep your eyes open for a gas station,” Martin said. “I could use a cold drink and Maggy should probably stretch her legs, if you know what I mean.”

  Claire looked over her shoulder. “Need to tinkle, girl?”

  Maggy wagged her tail and panted eagerly.

  Martin smiled at Maggy in the rearview mirror. “Remember to wash your hands when you’re done, fur face,” he said.

  “One mile ahead,” Claire said.

  “Say again?”

  “The sign we just passed says there’s a gas station one mile up the road.”

  “We passed a sign?”

  “You were looking at Maggy. I guess you didn’t see it.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Claire pointed to the Speedway sign as they rounded the turn. “There.”

  Martin pulled into the gas station and parked between two tractor trailers. Maggy jumped into the front seat after Claire opened her door, then followed her into the parking lot.

  Martin attached the lead to Maggy’s collar. “I’ll take her for a quick bathroom break,” he said.

  “Okay,” Claire replied. She reached inside the SUV and picked up her dossier.

  Martin looked at her quizzically.

  “What?” Claire said. “Just a little light bathroom reading.”

  Martin smiled, rolled his eyes. “I’ll meet you back here when you’re ready.”

  After Maggy had found her favorite spots, Martin returned to the truck. A tall, bearded man dressed in baggy overalls and a worn t-shirt stood at the driver’s door, his hands cupped against the window, peering inside. Maggy snarled. Suddenly aware of the dog, the old man stepped back.

  “Something I can do for you?” Martin asked the stranger. Uncomfortable with the man’s presence, Maggy strained on her lead and bared her teeth. Martin considered commanding her to settle down, but dismissed the idea for the moment.

  “Your dog,” the man asked. “Is it dangerous?”

  “That depends.” Martin replied. “If you’re asking if she’s trained to attack, the answer is yes.”

  The stranger stared at Maggy. “I don’t like dogs, ‘cept them that like me,” he said. “Got bitten bad by one once. Never much cared for ‘em since.”

  The old man placing his hands in his pockets and shuffle-stepped in front of an eighteen-wheeler. “Sorry, mister,” he said. “I was just looking at your car. I always wanted one of these, but I suppose ‘ol Nellie Blue here is the closest I’m ever gonna get to it.” He patted the hood of his truck.

  “This is your rig?” Martin asked.

  “Yep,” the man said proudly. “Bought and paid for twelve years
now. Best maintained truck on the road. Do all the work myself. By my way of figuring, if I take care of ‘ol Nelly, she’ll take care of me.”

  “Sounds like smart thinking.” Maggy continued to growl. Martin pulled gently on her collar. “Maggy,” he commanded. “Control.” The retriever immediately lay down on all fours.

  “Say, she’s smart,” the old man said. “She a police dog?”

  “Used to be,” Martin said. “Now she’s just a big baby. But she remembers her training.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make her mad.”

  “I know you didn’t,” Martin said. “You’re welcome to take a look inside if you like.” Martin released the door locks with the remote control.

  The old man walked to the Navigator. “You sure? I don’t want to be a bother or nothing.”

  “It’s no problem at all.”

  The man wiped his hand on his shirt and held it out. “Name’s Bentley. Earl Bentley.”

  Martin shook his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Bentley.”

  Claire walked across the parking lot to the two men. Assured the situation was under control and the danger passed, Maggy sat up and wagged her tail.

  “Claire, this is Mr. Bentley,” Martin said. He pointed to the tractor-trailer. “He owns Nellie Blue here.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Earl said. He extended his hand to Claire and accidentally knocked the file folder out of her arms. The contents of the dossier fell to the ground. A gentle breeze lifted the sheets into the air, scattered them around the front of the rig, and sent them scurrying across the parking lot.

  “Oh, my gracious! Look what I’ve done,” Earl Bentley exclaimed. Together they corralled the loose papers and photographs. “I’m terribly sorry, ma’am. My wife says I’m clumsy enough to crack the eggs inside a chicken.”

  Claire laughed. “It’s all right, Mr. Bentley. No harm done.”

  Atop the pile of papers, the old man noticed the surveillance photo taken at the University. He stared at the picture.

  “Something wrong, Mr. Bentley?” Claire asked.

  “No ma’am,” he replied nervously.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Well, it’s just that, I think I might know him.” Earl Bentley pointed to the thin man in the photograph standing beside Amanda.

  “Know him?” Claire asked. “What do you mean?”

  Martin took the photo from Claire, handed the trucker the picture. “Take a closer look, Mr. Bentley. You say you know the man in this picture?”

  “Well, know him may not be the right way to put it,” Bentley replied, “but he sure looks the spitting image of a fellow I gave a ride to a few days ago. His car had broken down about ten miles north of here. I saw him walkin’ along the side of the road, so I offered him a ride. Strange sort. Truth be told, he made feel kind of uncomfortable.”

  “Why is that?” Martin asked.

  “Hardly said two words to me the entire way,” the trucker explained. “I offered to drop him here, where he could call for a tow, but he said it wasn’t necessary. Just had me drop him off on the side of the road. Then he walked into the woods and disappeared. Strangest thing I’ve ever seen. I’ve been driving these highways for forty years and given a lot of rides in my time, but no one ever made me wish I’d just kept on goin’ the way he did.”

  “And you’re sure this is the man you gave the ride to?” Martin asked.

  “Sure as I can be. Why? You and your police dog lookin’ for him?”

  “Something like that,” Martin said. “Would you mind showing us where you dropped him off?”

  “Sure, if you need me too. I’m always willin’ to help the police.”

  “We’re not the police, Mr. Bentley. But we are looking for this man. And your instincts were right. He is dangerous. We need to know where you saw him last. Will you help us?”

  “Hell, yes.”

  “Then lead the way. We’ll follow you.”

  52

  MARK ANSWERED HIS cell phone on the second ring, though he never got the chance to speak. “Oyama.”

  “Mark, it’s Martin. Forget the university. We may have found Reginald Fallon. Meet us in Kettawash. I don’t have time to explain everything right now. Just get here as quickly as you can.”

  Martin ended the call.

  Mark stared at the phone. He’d never heard Martin sound so anxious, so concerned.

  Kettawash.

  He punched the gas.

  The car lurched ahead and raced down the highway.

  53

  UNHITCHED FROM THE restricting weight of the trailer she had faithfully pulled for the past twelve years, Nellie Blue rallied up the country road, sending plumes of dust billowing up behind her. Martin followed the cloudy wake at a distance. Corn stalks raced past the windows of the Navigator as though they were driving headlong into the fields rather than alongside them.

  “So, what happens now?” Claire asked as she gazed through the breaks in the corn rows as they rushed past. In the distance, a rugged mountain climbed into the sky. Near its peak, a family of hawks soared graciously on isotherms of cool, crisp air.

  “What do you mean?”

  “If Mr. Bentley is right, and it was Reginald Fallon he recognized, what do we do?”

  “We do as Mark said. We wait until the rest of the team arrives.”

  Claire sat silently, then spoke.

  “I disagree.”

  “Too bad.”

  She turned in her seat, faced Martin. “Martin, listen to me. First, we need to find out if this is even worth following up on, don’t we? If Mr. Bentley is wrong and we end up dragging the others away from the university for nothing, then we’ve wasted valuable time; time they could have put to better use where they are now, showing Amanda’s picture around campus. I say we look around. Not long. Ten, fifteen minutes at the most.”

  Martin said nothing.

  Brake lights beamed through a dust cloud as Nellie Blue rumbled to a stop. A whooshing hisssss escaped the air brakes.

  “Fifteen minutes,” Claire repeated. “That’s all, Martin. Please?”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Martin said. He turned off the ignition.

  Earl Bentley opened his door, gripped the grab bar on the side of his truck and climbed down the cab’s steps to the ground. He walked back to the Navigator.

  “There,” he said. He pointed to a narrow clearing in the woods on the opposite side of the road. “That’s where I dropped him off.”

  “Are you sure that’s the spot?” Claire asked.

  “Oh, yes ma’am,” Bentley replied. “Sure as my wife makes the best peach cobbler this side of Seattle. Let me show ya.”

  The elderly trucker walked across the road to the clearing. A cluster of branches, brittle and gray, slumped down over the trunk of a once noble willow. He folded back the branches and revealed a numbered sign affixed to a fence post.

  “See?” he said. “Mile marker 14.5. Up the road is 15, down the road’s 14. When you drive for a living like I do, remembering your last mile marker can save your bacon. Broke down once myself on a back road upstate, just outside Ettersburg. I got on my phone and gave the towing company the number of my last mile marker. They had me and ‘ol Nellie Blue hooked up and on our way to a steamin’ bowl of truck stop chili in no time. Yep, one thing I never forget are mile markers. And your man walked into the woods right here at 14.5.”

  “You’re a very astute man, Mr. Bentley,” Martin said.

  Earl Bentley beamed. “Well, sir, coming from you, I’d call that a mighty fine compliment.”

  Martin watched as Claire walked to the Navigator, rummaged through the rear cargo hold, then returned wearing a pair of binoculars around her neck. In her hand, she held a digital camcorder.

  “Seems like a beautiful afternoon for a walk in the woods, doesn’t it?” Claire said with a smile.

  “Nice try,” Martin said. “I can practically see the wheels spinning in that pretty little head
of yours. You heard what Mark said. We stay put until we have backup.”

  “Who said anything about needing backup?” Claire said. “I simply thought we’d take Maggy for a stroll through the woods, snoop around, do a little birdwatching, snoop some more...”

  “Funny, you seem to be understating the whole snooping around part. Or do you think I didn’t catch that?”

  “I was?” Claire replied innocently.

  Martin sighed. “I suppose you’re right. I can’t see what harm we can get into by taking a walk. But not for long.”

  “Half an hour, tops.”

  “You said fifteen minutes.”

  “Twenty minutes,” Claire pressed. “Not a second longer.”

  Martin sighed. “I am in such deep shit.”

  “Yes, but at least you’re in it with me.”

  “Wonderful. I feel better already.”

  “Maybe it’s none of my business,” Earl Bentley interjected, “but are you two sure you’re going to be okay?”

  “Thanks, Mr. Bentley,” Martin said. “We’ll be fine.”

  Bentley continued. “It’s just that I grew up in these parts. I know the woods and the mountains ‘round here so well I got spring water runnin’ through my veins. I could see to it you don’t get lost. Believe me, these woods take on a whole different look when you’re not sure where you’re going.”

  “I don’t know about that, Mr. Bentley,” Martin said.

  “It’s Earl,” the trucker insisted. “Truth be told, I’d feel mighty terrible if the two of you set off on your own then I hear tomorrow that the Forest Service is looking for ya ‘cause you got lost when I could have done something to make sure that didn’t happen.”

  “I appreciate your offer to help, Earl,” Martin said. “Really, I do. And no offense, but it could be a bit of a trek. You sure you’re up to it?”

  Earl Bentley took off his worn New York Yankees’ baseball cap and pointed to his thin crown of white hair. “Here’s a lesson for ya, young fella. Just ‘cause there’s a little snow on the volcano don’t mean there ain’t plenty of fire in the furnace.”