Eric sat down, propping one foot on the bench and resting his arm on his knee. “Where does Miriam fit into all of this?”
“I wish I knew.” Was she guilty or in trouble? Rachel turned on the computer, typed Sheikh Al-Fassi in the search box, hit enter, then clicked on the first entry. “I suppose she could have been taking the photographs.”
Eric scowled. “I doubt it. What are you looking for?”
“This.” She turned the screen toward Eric. The web page documented the sheikh’s commitment to the reintroduction of the peregrine falcon and preservation of the Houbara bustard. It gave details about an extensive research facility he had established near Riyadh that was used for propagation of the species. “The peregrine is an endangered species, right?”
“Technically, they’ve been delisted, but they’re still protected by the Migratory Bird Treaty Act.”
“Do all birders agree delisting is the right thing to do?”
“Of course not. In fact, a lot of us think we’ll see a decline in the population now that they’ve lost their protection. Personally, I think it’s too early to delist them.”
All the pieces were there, and yet something didn’t fit. The sheikh wanted birds. Miriam had birds. But even if Forest facilitated, why would Miriam sell the birds? She didn’t need the money. Or did she? Hadn’t she told Rachel that most of her assets were tied up in Bird Haven? Was she so land rich and cash poor that she would have stooped to participation in Forest’s scheme?
Rachel’s head, still aching from last night, was now clogged with new details. She studied the photographs again. In the background was a small cabin constructed of thin, notched, pine poles and nestled against the base of a large spruce tree. “Do you recognize this place?”
“Ja. It’s a cabin that was used by the professors and students when they were gathering information on the peregrine populations in the park. It was off-limits to everyone but the professors and the graduate students.”
Her pulse quickened. That narrowed things down. Only a certain number of people knew it was there. “Do you know how to get there?”
“Sure. We checked it out the other day.”
“With the birdwatchers?”
Eric nodded, swinging his leg down from the bench. “It was empty.”
“Did you go up there yourself?”
“No.”
“Who went?”
Eric frowned. “Charles, Harry, and Forest.”
CHAPTER 16
“If Aunt Miriam was hiding in the cabin and one of them knew it, he could have gone in while the others checked around the perimeter. Do you know how to get up there?”
“Ja, but I think we need to call Vic Garcia,” Eric said. He rubbed his palms on his jeans and blotted his upper lip with the back of his hand. “We need Vic to send someone up there, and to pick up the others.”
He was right. Charging up to the cabin without a plan was dangerous.
Rachel dialed the Sheriff’s Department. The sheriff was out on a call.
“There’s been an accident in the canyon,” the woman on the desk said. “A cement mixer overturned, and it’s blocking the road in both directions.”
“This is an emergency,” Rachel said. “I have to talk with him.”
“I can try reaching him by radio. Hold, please.” The desk clerk clicked off.
Rachel tapped her foot impatiently. After several minutes, the woman came back on the line. “He’s not responding. I can have him call you when he comes in.”
“But we need someone up here now,” Rachel insisted, switching the phone to her other ear. Response time in New York City was better than this.
“Is this a life-threatening emergency?”
“Possibly”
“Is someone injured?”
“No.”
“Then I have a deputy on duty, but unfortunately he’s out on another call, too. I can send him up when he’s finished if you like.”
“Please do that.” Rachel slammed down the phone, then shut down the computer and clicked the cover shut. “Igor said something about today being the day. I don’t think we should wait.”
“There’s no way to know who or what we’re dealing with out there. Look at what happened last night. Besides, it’s all just speculation on our part.”
“What if Aunt Miriam’s in danger?”
“That’s a chance we’ll have to take. One or two hours isn’t going to make the difference.”
“It can.”
They faced off. After several unsuccessful attempts at badgering Eric into divulging the cabin’s location, Rachel scooped up her laptop and Miriam’s spare set of car keys, and stormed out, leaving him to wait for Garcia’s call. She knew trying to find the cabin with nothing more than a general sense of direction would be tantamount to finding a person in Manhattan using only psychic ability. Odds of about seven and a half million to one. And trekking alone into the wilderness was out of the question. Who else besides one of the men might know the cabin’s location? Lark!
Banging in through the unlocked front door after only a cursory knock, Rachel found Lark cuddled in the easy chair, surrounded by Dorothy and Cecilia.
Lark glanced up. “You look a little teed off. Something the matter?”
“I think I know where Aunt Miriam is, but I can’t get ahold of Garcia and Eric refuses to help me.”
“What?” Dorothy said.
“Where?” Lark asked.
“I’ll show you.” Rachel recounted the events of the previous evening and her morning’s conversation with Eric while she booted up the computer.
“We heard about the car,” Dorothy said. “The fire chief told me he thought it was a rental, and that the Sheriff’s Department was having trouble tracking the owner. What with all the tourists in town, it never occurred to me it was yours. Are you okay?”
“I’m a walking sprain.”
Lark rearranged her foot on the ottoman. “Tell me about it.”
Rachel brushed aside a twinge of guilt. “Lark and I found one of Bursau’s computer disks,” she explained, opening a photograph file. “This was on it. If you ask me, based on this picture, Forest is our man.”
“I don’t believe it,” Dorothy protested. She turned to Lark. “Has she lost her mind?”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no? We’re talking about Forest Nettleman,” cried Cecilia.
The bag of ice placed across Lark’s ankle crashed to the floor as she leaned forward to study the photograph displayed on the laptop monitor. “Remember I told you about rumors of his arrest, Rachel? Well I talked to my father this morning. It seems Forest was an ecowarrior back in the sixties. Before it was fashionable.”
“What, may I ask, is an ecowarrior?” Dorothy’s face was a study in distaste.
“A person who believes in taking radical steps to protect the environment,” explained Rachel.
“That sort of defines any of us,” Cecilia said, uncrossing a pair of comely legs.
Lark stretched for her ice bag, repositioning her ankle on a pillow. “Apparently Forest got into environmental activism while he was a freshman at Northwestern University. He was arrested the first time in 1962 for chaining himself to an elm tree at a building site in Evanston, Illinois. He spent three days in jail and was sentenced to ninety days of community service.”
“The first time?” echoed Dorothy.
Cecilia leaned toward her sister and whispered, “Oh, my, if he’s a jailbird, he’s certainly not suitable husband material.”
“Cecilia!”
“Well…”
Dorothy shook her head in disbelief. “He seemed so normal. It doesn’t seem possible that someone like Forest would get mixed up in something like this murder.”
“It looks like he’s in it up to his eyeballs,” Cecilia said, flipping her fingers toward the picture of him with William and the sheikh.
“To really understand it, Dorothy, you have to know some history of the environmental movement,
” explained Rachel. “I did some research, and discovered that most of the early conservation movement in the U.S. was through established organizations like the Sierra Club, the National Audubon Society, the Wilderness Society.”
“Your basic mainstream America,” Lark commented.
“Right. Then in 1970, the first Earth Day was held and the radicals came out of the woodwork. With the Vietnam war grinding to a halt, the protesters needed a new cause.”
“The environment?” Dorothy asked.
Rachel nodded. “It was short-lived, though. By the mid-seventies the people wanting to work for conservation groups were career-oriented, degreed professionals.”
“Like Forest,” Cecilia said.
“Except, I bet some of them felt like the cause was lost,” Lark added.
“Right again.” Rachel stood and paced the length of the fireplace. “They formed a group called Earth First! in 1980. Disgruntled conservationists, they set out to be radical—in style, positions, philosophy, and organization.”
“What did they do?” Dorothy leaned forward with rapt attention.
“Earth First!-ers spiked trees, sabotaged heavy equipment, cut fences. They placed an emphasis on strategic monkey-wrenching in defense of the wild.”
Cecilia’s mouth dropped open. “You’re saying Forest was a gang member?”
“From the ground floor up.” Rachel pivoted. “And based on what he said about the Nettleman Bill the other night, I’m beginning to think he went left when the groups fractured in the early nineties.”
“Fractured in what way?” Dorothy asked.
“There was an internal push by some members of Earth First! to pacify and deradicalize the movement. Sort of the ‘ecocrats’ versus the ‘ecoterrorists.’ Anyway, the factions split, and the ecoterrorists formed new groups, blending with radical animal rights activists under banners like People for the Ethical Treatment of the Earth.”
“PETE,” Lark said.
“You’ve got it. Instead of lobbying for change in the conventional ways, these guys encourage members to take extreme actions in their fight for the Earth. Some groups even go so far as to advocate death to human beings. They have an ‘end justifies the means’ mentality.”
Lark studied the computer screen. “You know, I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it.”
“Oh, my, I hope they don’t object to our using binoculars in the woods.”
“Cecilia!” Dorothy gasped.
“Well…”
Rachel swept her hair into a ponytail, cupping her hands around the back of her head. “The question is, what do we do now?”
“These guys sound dangerous,” Lark said. “I think we have to wait for Vic.”
“And what if we’re too late? Igor said something was going down today, and today is when Mike Johnson is showing the sheikh the birds. I think we need to hike up to the cabin and see if Aunt Miriam’s there.”
“Maybe she’s there voluntarily,” Cecilia suggested, twining and untwining her fingers in her lap.
“How can you say such a thing?” Dorothy said.
“It’s okay. It’s a possibility,” Rachel said. Cecilia looked smug. Dorothy and Lark looked shocked. “Aunt Miriam could still be trying to protect Uncle William. Maybe in return for Forest’s silence she was blackmailed into going along with his plan. Let’s just say I’m not willing to sit around and wait to find out.”
“Me neither,” Cecilia said. “What do you want me to do?”
The other two women nodded that they were in, too. Rachel stared out the window, then turned to Lark. “Do you know where the cabin is?”
“Yeah, I can even show you. There’s a trail map of the park in the right-hand top drawer of the desk in my office.”
Rachel retrieved it and opened it in front of Lark.
“I’m not a hundred percent sure.” She studied the map, her braid swinging forward across her shoulder. “But, I think the best way is to go up to the Twin Owls trailhead. You’ll find a jeep road that heads off at the junction of the two hiking trails. The day we went climbing, we veered right toward the Twin Owls formation. The other trail parallels Black Canyon Creek from a distance, and eventually joins the Cow Creek and Lawn Lake trails. The jeep road goes straight, and it doesn’t look like it goes very far. But if you scoot behind the cabins, it goes back for quite a way. When you get to the end, you’ll see a path heading off to the left.”
Rachel tracked Lark’s finger on the map. “Sort of ten o’clock from due north.”
“Yeah. Get me a pen and I’ll draw it for you.” Lark etched a heavy line for the jeep trail, a lighter dashed line for the path, then marked the site of the cabin with a large X.
“How far back do you think it is?”
“Maybe nine miles altogether.”
“You can’t go traipsing up there by yourself,” Cecilia said.
Four days ago, she might have agreed. In fact, four days ago the odds of getting her to brave the wilderness were nil to none. But things had changed. “Are you going with me?”
Cecilia straightened her shoulders. “Yes.”
“Cecilia!”
“Oh, be quiet, Dorothy. Can’t you see the girl’s determined? And I can’t say I blame her, either. If Miriam is up at that cabin, she may be in real trouble, and there’s no telling when Vic or his deputy will show up.”
“I don’t think this is such a great idea,” Dorothy said. “What if Mike Johnson arrives with the sheikh while you’re attempting your rescue? You’ll be outnumbered.”
Rachel hated to point out that they could be outnumbered anyway.
“Wait, I have an idea.” She picked up the phone, dialed Black Canyon Creek Ranch, and asked for Mike. Holding her hand over the mouthpiece, she whispered, “We’re in luck. He’s still there.”
“What are you going to say to him?” Lark asked.
“I…” Rachel held up her hand. “Hello, Mike? Rachel Stanhope. I just wanted to apologize for missing the tour of the mews last night.” She flashed the women an ‘okay’ sign. “I was waylaid leaving the bar. Could I impose on you for another chance? Maybe this afternoon?” She waggled her head. “Of course, I understand. Another time, then.” Rachel cradled the receiver, doubled her fists, and brought both elbows to her sides. “Yes.”
“Is he giving you another tour?” Lark asked.
“Not today. He says he’s scheduled to take Sheikh Al-Fassi small-game hunting in thirty minutes.” For any chance of success, she and Cecilia needed more than that for a head start. But there was still time. “What the two of you are going to do is create a diversion designed to give Cecilia and me some extra time.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Lark said.
“Look, whatever is scheduled to happen, is happening today, in half an hour. If Mike Johnson and the sheikh are delayed, we buy ourselves that much extra time to get to Miriam.”
“If she’s at the cabin.”
“Where else could she be, unless she’s…?” Rachel let the question hang, refusing to give in to the thought. It was a plan born of desperation, but a plan nonetheless. “If we can just keep Johnson at the ranch, then Cecilia and I may be able to reach Miriam.”
Lark sat up straighter. “So what kind of diversion are we talking?”
“Something that throws a monkey wrench into their plans,” Dorothy said, getting into the swing of things.
Cecilia grinned. “Why not give them a dose of their own medicine?”
“Such as?” asked Rachel. There was nothing quite like a band of radical birdwatchers.
“How about disabling their cars?” Dorothy suggested.
“In broad daylight?” Lark tapped her cast. “Count me out.”
“That is a problem,” Cecilia clucked, then snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it. Potatoes! If you jam them tight inside an exhaust pipe, the car sputters and dies. It takes three or more days for the potato to shrink enough to be blown out. I doubt most people would ever figure it out.”
“Where did you learn that trick?” Lark asked.
Cecilia puffed herself up. “I’ve seen my share of radical days.”
“It’s that Jimmy Meyer’s influence,” Dorothy declared.
“Is not.”
“Is too.”
“Now that we’ve settled that,” Lark interrupted, “I guess we should synchronize our watches and get this show on the road.”
Rachel and Cecilia headed out after helping load Lark into Dorothy’s car. They took the road to Bird Haven while Dorothy and Lark went to Safeway to buy a five-pound bag of potatoes.
Eric’s truck was still parked in front of the Raptor House, and Rachel hoped he didn’t spot them driving by in Miriam’s car. She wondered if the sheriff had called, but knew she couldn’t stop to find out. If she did, Eric would never let her leave.
The jeep road at the trailhead was barely visible. Two tracks of flattened grass wound into the forest from the far side of a small parking area. Tire tracks and small dirt clods indicated the road had been driven recently, but not by many.
Rachel steered Miriam’s Land Cruiser onto the trail. “Hold on. Here we go.” The vehicle jounced along the narrow road.
Trees crowded close on either side, branches scraping against the doors like fingernails dragging across a blackboard. Thin slivers of light filtered through the dense tree cover, casting lacy snowflake-patterned shadows on the ground and dashboard.
They hit a rock, and the springs in Rachel’s seat squeaked. She bounced. The seat belt snapped tight across her sore shoulder, making her wince.
Cecilia fiddled with the map. “How far do you think we’ve come?”
“To the end of the road.”
Rachel stopped and sized up the turnaround in front of her. It was a small area. Tire tracks matted the grass in tight circles, crushing the small white flowers growing like sprigs of rock candy in the thin soil. “We can’t leave the car sitting out in the open. We’ll have to find a place to hide it.”
Cecilia pointed to a large boulder on the left. “We could try sneaking it in behind that big rock.”
“Or we could try driving closer.” Rachel pointed to an area that appeared to open to the west of the wall of trees.
Rant of Ravens Page 17