by Russell Fee
The clearing was more than a clearing. It was a huge meadow, at least a hundred yards long and almost as wide. Surrounded by woods, it formed a barren oasis in the middle of nowhere. Julie walked through the knee-high grass until she reached the center and stopped. Silence enveloped her, and the expanse and high stretch of the amber sky stripped her bare of defenses. She had never felt more exposed and vulnerable. She stood alone, thought of Jackson, and waited for the shot that would kill her.
Chapter 58
Callahan stood in his office with his finger on the wall map. “Here. Right here is where I found the dog by itself.” Amanda nodded. She had raced to the station after Callahan’s call and frantic explanation about Max and Julie. “It must have been chasing after Max or trying to find him when I saw it. My guess is that Max and whoever took him are somewhere around here.” Callahan drew a circle with his finger on the map. “It’s a stab in the dark, I know,” said Callahan.
Amanda stared at the map for a moment and then pointed to a spot. “Max was on the beach here with the dog while Julie shopped. Is that what she said?”
“Yes,” answered Callahan.
“Where you saw the dog is almost three miles from there. If Max was taken on the beach like Julie thinks, could the dog really have followed him that far? Isn’t it more likely it was lost?”
“The dog knows its way back to the house from the beach. I don’t think it was lost. I think it was trying to follow Max. It’s all we’ve got,” said Callahan. “But if we find Max, maybe we can find Julie too, before they get to her. We have to try. Let’s go.”
“Wait,” said Amanda. “That area is nothing but forest—dense forest. They won’t be there. And we’d never find them there if they were. But think about it. Once they get what they want, they won’t stay on the island. They’ll get off as fast as they can. To do that they’d have to go by water.” Amanda pointed to the area Callahan had circled. “That forest ends at the water on the east side of the island, and it’s the closest point to the mainland. They’ll have a boat, and they’ll escape from the island there.” Amanda jabbed her finger on an isolated spot on the island’s shore straight east from where Callahan found the dog.
She and Callahan left the station fully armed, in body armor, and with the dog.
Chapter 59
The blaze of the setting sun burned along the tree tops as Amanda ghosted the Vigilant along the eastern shore of the island. The light faded as Callahan scanned the beach with binoculars. This was their second time cruising along the shore of the point.
“Nothing. No boat, no footprints in the sand, nothing,” he whispered.
“Should we come about and try again?” whispered Amanda.
“No. Stop here and anchor. We’ll wade to the beach. Now it’s the dog’s turn.”
* * *
The silence of the meadow was so complete that, at first, Julie thought the hum was the rush of blood in her ears. The hum swelled, and a dot, darker than the sky, appeared above the trees and grew larger as it floated towards her, descending until it hovered a few feet above the ground in front of her. Julie stared down at the contraption with confused fascination until the drone rose to eye level. A net basket hung beneath it, and when the drone wobbled twice, she understood she had to place the plastic bag in it. When she did, the drone shot straight up, tilted slightly, and disappeared behind her with a high-pitched whine.
Chapter 60
Callahan and Amanda slid over the side of the Vigilant and into the water, holding their weapons above their heads. The dog jumped in after them and paddled to shore. When it reached the beach, it zigzagged up the foredune and then dashed into the woods. Callahan and Amanda chased after it, clawing their way up the dune on all fours.
When they reached the top, they plunged into the woods after the dog and found it whining at the wall of a yellow domed tent. The entrance to the tent was zipped shut, and as Callahan moved to unzip it, the dog spun around, bared its teeth, and growled.
“Don’t turn around, put your weapons on the ground, and take two steps forward. Do it now or you’re both dead and so is the boy.” The voice had a sinister, chilling calmness, and Callahan and Amanda obeyed. “Now the two of you get on your knees and then lay flat on the ground, arms outstretched.” They both lowered themselves until they were prone in the dirt a few feet apart, their bodies extended like two plunging divers.
Callahan lifted his head. “Let the boy go,” he said.
“Not possible. Not now. We had a good plan. Everything would have been fine: no problems for us and no one gets hurt. But you fucked up that scenario, Sheriff.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Callahan saw Amanda’s fingers slowly claw into the sand and contract. Her head was angled toward him. His nod was almost imperceptible. “It can still be that way if you leave us here and go. Kill us and you’ll have problems you’ll never escape,” he said.
“Enough bullshit,” said another voice. “Do them now.”
Amanda spun on her back and heaved the sand into the faces of the two men as Callahan leaped to his feet and hurled himself up at the man closest to him.
Two shots exploded simultaneously and rang through the trees until there was silence.
* * *
Amanda felt a hand grasp her arm as someone lifted her to her feet. Blinded by the gun blasts, she could see only a shadow behind the orange flash that hovered in front of her eyes.
Callahan pushed up on the inert body pinning him to the ground and rolled it off him. He staggered to his feet. Two men lay face down in the dirt almost in the exact spots where Callahan and Amanda had been sprawled, the backs of their heads blown away.
“Good detective work; bad negotiating, Sheriff,” said the bent man.
“It’s you,” said Callahan and reached down to pick up his rifle and handgun.
“The guns stay on the ground, Sheriff. You and your deputy won’t need them to get back to town.” Volkov raised the pistol he held in his hand and pointed it at Callahan and Amanda. He knelt over the body closest to him and searched the clothing, patting it down and feeling inside the pockets. He rolled the body over and repeated the process. He stood, stepped over the body and searched the second dead man. He found nothing on either. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folding knife. He flicked it open with one hand and, keeping the gun trained on them, walked over to the tent and sliced open its side. Through the slit Callahan could see Max sitting on a sleeping bag, his wrists and ankles bound with plastic ties and his mouth taped. His eyes were wide with fear and confusion. The dog jumped through the tear and began frantically pawing Max’s chest until Max toppled over.
Volkov put the knife in his belt and walked behind the bodies. He picked up the plastic bag containing the hard drive and flash drives. “I’ll keep this,” he said.
“What are you doing on our island?” asked Callahan.
“Paying back a debt,” answered the bent man.
“And what debt is that?” asked Callahan.
“Someone saved my life and gave me a new one. I came here to save hers, but I came too late. I stayed to discover who was responsible for her death. They had her lover killed, and I knew they would come for you, the woman, or the boy. It turned out it was the boy. I was waiting.” Volkov kicked one of the bodies. “These two were working for them. One or both were going to tell me where I could find them—Volkov tapped the knife—but the bastards can’t talk now, can they?” He reached into the bag and held up the hard drive. “They wanted this, so this is what I will use to lure the killers out from under their rock. Then I will pay back the debt.”
“You’re going to kill them,” said Callahan. It was a statement not a question.
“Take the boy, and the three of you get back on the boat,” said Volkov.
* * *
Callahan pulled up the anchor, and Amanda started the engines of the Vigilant. As she motored into deeper water, they heard a large outboard roar to life beyond the point.
“No,” said Callahan. He looked at Max hunched next to him, still frightened but alive, the dog huddled by his side. “We’re paying back a debt.”
Chapter 61
The trauma from the kidnapping had been severe for Max and Julie. Julie’s uncontrollable bouts of crying and Max’s crippling night terrors that began after the kidnapping continued, and she and Max were in therapy with a psychologist several times a week on the mainland. The therapist prescribed medication for anxiety and depression, which seemed to have little effect. Julie rented an apartment in Charlevoix where she and Max would stay until she felt Max was ready to return to the island. Julie didn’t know how long that might be.
Callahan and the dog spent a lot of time alone together at the house with the dog whining continually, missing Max. Callahan’s life didn’t feel whole without Julie and Max, and he wondered if things would ever be the same for the three of them. He kept his distance while they were on the mainland. He sensed Julie wanted it that way. She had not urged him to visit them. They only talked by phone in short, strained exchanges, withholding what couldn’t be said. Callahan believed Julie and Max had suffered a living nightmare because of him, and he feared that when Julie came back, she would tell him to leave.
He’d begun to drink again, alone. The whiskey set off mood swings, a catalyst to the drugs circulating inside him to keep his face from rotting and peeling away.
Callahan was about to pour himself another drink when the doorbell rang. He responded instinctively, and he was at the door opening it before he realized he didn’t have on his mask. Father Martin Boucher stood on the porch looking up at him with a bemused expression.
“Caught you by surprise, did I?” he said. “Is this a bad time, or can you invite me in?” Boucher stepped around Callahan and into the house without waiting for an answer.
Callahan touched the left side of his face and then pushed the door shut and headed for the bedroom. When he came back to the living room, he had on his mask.
Boucher lounged comfortably on the couch with his legs crossed, revealing the faded jeans he wore under the brown robe of his Franciscan order. His bare toes wagged from the tips of leather sandals.
“Will you share a jar with me?” said Callahan pointing to the bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey on the coffee table.
“Non, merci, unless you have Cognac. It is my downfall,” said Boucher. Callahan shook his head. “Ah well. It seems no one on this island has it. C’est la vie.”
Callahan sat down in the chair on the other side of the coffee table from Boucher and poured himself a dollop of Jameson. He took a sip and then shrugged a silent What’s up?
Boucher pressed the tips of the fingers of both hands together as if in prayer and was silent a moment before dropping his hands in his lap and saying, “You’ve heard of Irish Alzheimer’s?”
“No,” said Callahan, “but I’ll bite. What is it?”
“They forget everything but the grudges,” answered Boucher.
Callahan chuckled and nodded.
“You understand,” said Boucher, smiling.
“Yes, I do,” said Callahan. “I grew up in an extended Irish family, most of whom aren’t speaking to each other today.”
“Then you comprehend the half-truth behind the humor?” pressed Boucher.
“No, but I believe you’re about to tell me.”
“Mais oui. It has been my experience as priest on this island full of the Irish that they are slow to forgive, very slow. They eventually do but only others, never themselves. And they only half forgive. That is ironic and unthinkable for a Frenchman or even a French Canadian like myself.”
“Is there a point to this, Martin?” Callahan tilted his head back, slowly draining the last finger of whiskey from his glass and then reaching for the bottle of Jameson.
Boucher leaned forward and placed the palm of his hand over the top of the bottle, preventing Callahan from picking it up. Callahan glowered at Boucher but then let go of the bottle and leaned back in his chair.
“You haven’t forgiven yourself, Matt,” said Boucher.
Callahan’s budding friendship with Martin Boucher had sprouted on unfertile ground. He was leery of priests and had long since stopped attending church. Despite his early resistance, the friendship evolved; and he now found Martin’s company comfortable and consistently enjoyable. He was grateful for it. Yet he stayed guarded, careful not to let the friendship evolve to a point where either one of them felt free to intrude upon taboo ground. He had let his guard fall only once. He had confided to Boucher of his still crippling guilt over Sali’s death. That had been a mistake. It was now apparent that Boucher considered that confidence a license to push into protected space. Callahan was beginning to feel very uncomfortable.
“You’re talking about Sali,” he said. “Please don’t.”
“I’m talking about Sali and Julie,” said Boucher. “And I must. After Max’s kidnapping, they both haunt you, yes?”
“You want to give me absolution? Is that it? I’ve told you, I gave up the confessional years ago. It’s not for me.” Callahan shook his head. “Those who’ve loved me most have come to harm because of me. I could have gotten Max killed. Nothing can correct that, nothing. So don’t try.”
Boucher leaned forward. “You don’t need absolution. You’re not to blame for anything. But still you blame yourself. This is the Irish in you, non? I am here as your friend, not your priest. So please listen to me, Matt. We can never predict the consequences of our actions, especially those motivated by the good inside us. We can only act fearlessly and hope for the best. Evil is all around us. When it comes unbidden, we are not to blame. That’s why the most powerful weapon against evil is forgiveness. Tu comprends, you understand?”
Callahan sighed and started to speak, but Boucher didn’t wait for an answer. “You’re a fighter, Matt. Use that weapon to prevent this evil from doing more harm. Don’t let it destroy you or Julie. She and Max need you. Julie doesn’t blame you. She knows you were trying to protect them. She’s just worried about Max and still suffering for him. Forgive yourself for their sake and for yours. It will take time but start now.”
Boucher sunk back into the couch and smiled. “There, I am done, fini. I have spoken out of turn, perhaps. So now I shall share a drop of that whiskey with you to help us both overlook my indiscretion. I suppose I must get used to its taste. Mon Dieu, it is the most offered drink on this island. A pity.”
Chapter 62
As the commuter plane descended to the Charlevoix Municipal Airport, wisps of clouds periodically blurred the view of the shoreline’s sharp stretch. Callahan tightened his seatbelt as the plane bounced and swayed while it left the lake behind and flew over land. The flight from the island took no more than fifteen minutes, but he preferred the three-hour ferry ride, even in rough water. Claustrophobia and acrophobia seemed the dual goals of the plane’s design and flight plan. But he chose to fly this time because he wanted to reach Charlevoix and Julie and Max before he lost his resolve about seeing them. He hadn’t called or texted them first; hadn’t even packed an overnight bag. He’d just given Amanda the key to the house to take care of the dog and had her drive him to the airport where he’d bought a ticket. He didn’t know what he was going to say or what reaction his visit would provoke. He felt slightly sick with anxiety.
The plane bounced twice and then rolled smoothly on the runway before it began to taxi to the terminal.
* * *
Callahan faced the door of Room 6 that Julie had rented at the Dune Crest Inn along Route 31 outside of Charlevoix. The glare of the sun through the glass doors at either end of the hall faded to shade before reaching the efficiency unit, and Callahan stood in a pale circle of light cast down from the ceiling. The hallway was empty, and he felt isolated and alone. He raised a fisted hand twice to rap on the door and lowered it twice without knocking. He’d been standing several minutes with his ar
ms at his side when he lifted his hand a third time and knocked.
He heard a commotion inside the room, and he stepped outside the view of the door’s peephole. The door opened a few inches, and Julie peered through the crack. Then she disappeared, and the door shut. Callahan was about to walk away when he heard the chain lock slide and rattle as it fell. The door opened, and there was Julie with Max behind her. Callahan tried to speak but couldn’t as he watched her eyes fill with tears.
“I’ve missed you,” she said.
“I’ve missed you too,” stammered Callahan.
“Where’s the dog?” said Max.
Chapter 63
Palatial summer homes shouldered each other for prime space along the hills sloping to the shore of Round Lake, the bright blue dollop of water between Lake Charlevoix and Lake Michigan. The bridge spanning the channel which connected the small lake to Lake Michigan had opened, and boat traffic glided by the deck of the restaurant where Callahan, Julie, and Max had just finished lunch. Max waved to the people on the boats as they passed. Most waved back.
Callahan watched the activity along the ferry dock just beyond the bridge as the dock crew drove cars onto the ferry and forklifts scuttled up the loading ramp with containers of construction materials, appliances, food for the island’s grocery stores, and luggage. Passengers had already started to line up for boarding. “We’d better get going. The ferry leaves soon,” he said and signaled the waiter for the check. As the waiter approached, Callahan’s phone rang.
He took the phone from his pocket and connected with the caller. “Callahan here,” he said. He smiled a quick apology to Julie.