Thursday, June 27th
THE CESSNA 172 Skyhawk shuddered and lurched from side to side before dropping seventy feet through thick cloud cover.
Gale cinched his seat belt tighter around his waist then gripped the seat rest. Two decades before, he had gotten his private pilot’s license to scout for elk in the off-season around the ranch. But he quickly realized that he didn’t have an affinity for flying, plus the fuel it required was too expensive. He hadn’t flown a plane in nearly eighteen years and much preferred to either keep his feet on solid ground or let a professional do the flying.
Over his headset, the pilot yelled: “Hold on!”
As the plane rolled left then fell, the vibration in the small cabin made Gale feel like he was a conduit in an electric current. Trask and Emily groaned behind him. Raindrops ran off the plane’s windows, and a clap of thunder sent a violent tremor through the cockpit.
Gale sat next to the pilot, who backed off the throttle. The plane dipped and bounced, but the pilot held firm and just when Gale thought he couldn’t take it anymore, they finally descended into clear air.
Gale could hear the pilot’s sigh of relief through the headset speakers, then he pointed.
“That’ll be Eagle over there.”
Gale looked out the Cessna’s windshield at the cappuccino-colored water of the Yukon River stretched out beneath them. Countless tributaries jutted off from the main channel, and Gale could see the colored specks of houses in the distance on the far southern shoreline.
After the heated exchange in his office the day before, Emily and Trask had packed in a hurry while Gale made the necessary arrangements to get them all to Alaska as fast as possible. He’d alerted Sergeant Plant of their intentions to head north and she confirmed that Cassie’s missing person report had been entered into the state’s clearinghouse. Their request of a release of records at the US Border Patrol station could now be issued.
The flight out of Helena to Seattle had gone off without a hitch. So had the red-eye from Seattle to Fairbanks. They landed at six that morning, and Gale chartered the small, four-seat, single-engine Cessna from a sight-seeing operation to get them to Eagle.
While they loaded their rifle cases and daypacks onto the Cessna, Gale had taken the opportunity to dial and redial the Village Public Safety Officer Support Office in Eagle.
His calls went unanswered.
This communication problem bothered him. He had found out through Sergeant Plant that the VPSO in the area was named Max Tobeluk, a six-year veteran of the Alaskan volunteer service and that Plant, too, had been trying to get ahold of him to no avail.
The Cessna sailed smoothly over the vast expanse of wilderness and banked above the small town before it straightened out in front of the muddy runway and touched down. The pilot hit the brakes and taxied to a small, two-plane hangar. An orange wind sock flapped against its lashes next to a sign outside the small building that read: WELCOME TO EAGLE AIRPORT.
The pilot helped them unload their equipment, then shook Gale’s hand. “You need a ride out of here, give me a call.”
Gale thanked the man and watched as the plane taxied down the runway and took off again.
It was nine a.m., and the tiny airstrip sat deserted.
“Map said it’s a half mile to town, guess we’re walking.”
Gale took the hard-plastic case of his Colt Anaconda out of his luggage and unlocked the clasp. He cracked the cylinder and loaded the pistol, put on his holster, and cinched the weapon in place.
Emily did the same with her weapon. Trask carried most of the supplies.
Eagle seemed asleep when they arrived, but the VPSO’s office on Front Street was easy to find. It was an elevated, brown shanty that stood on six feet of cement cinder blocks a mere fifty yards from the Yukon’s shoreline. Gale climbed the front steps and hammered on the door. He waited several moments, then peered through the window, trying without luck to catch a glimpse between the shades and the sill.
“Em, does your phone have reception?”
“Half a signal.”
“Call that VPSO’s number for me.”
Gale pressed his ear to the door as Emily called; he heard a faint ringing from inside then heard it go to voice mail.
“Should we ask someone where this guy is?” Trask said.
Gale told them to stay put and he circled the building and found a white Ford Expedition with the VPSO logo painted on its side sitting next to a garage. He was about to go back to the front of the building when he heard something across the street.
A man with the body composition of a pear dragged a two-wheel dolly to a stack of crates that lined the side of a storefront.
Gale hurried over to him.
“We don’t open till ten today,” the man said, without looking up. “Cisco truck didn’t show up until late last night and I’m the only one on shift.”
“I’m trying to find the public safety officer, you know where he is?”
The man turned his chubby face to Gale. “Who, Tobeluk?”
“Max Tobeluk. He’s not in his office and he’s not answering my calls.”
“Yeah, he wouldn’t be.”
“Why’s that?”
“ ’Cause he’s probably piss drunk somewhere.” The guy squinted at Gale, his eyes going from his cowboy hat to the pistol on his hip. “What’re you, some sort of cop?”
“Not a cop, just need the public safety officer.”
The guy looked at Gale for a long beat. “Villagers won’t talk to him anymore. He’s staying in town now. If he’s here, check the lime-green piece of shit on Chamberlain and Fourth. There’s a busted-up truck in the front lawn.”
Gale started back to the office to grab Trask and Emily.
“Oh,” the guy called after him. “Make yourself known before you start banging on his door. That drunk bastard’s trigger-happy when he’s surprised.”
Gale thanked the man and collected Trask and Emily and led them up Chamberlain and stopped at Fourth. A lime-green, dilapidated shack sat against the forest. A 1970s Bronco sat in the front yard; tall saw grass grew out of the empty chassis.
Gale approached the shack’s warped door and knocked, calling out, “Max Tobeluk!”
There was a loud crash and the sound of glass bottles breaking. Someone cursed from inside.
Gale hammered on the door again.
A dead bolt was thrown and the door creaked open exposing a shirtless man with high, sunken cheekbones. The man leaned a supporting elbow against the doorframe and squinted through bloodshot eyes.
Gale almost recoiled from the stench of booze.
“What do you want, man?”
“You’re Max Tobeluk, the public safety officer?”
“Sorry, off duty.”
Tobeluk made to shut the door; Gale slid his boot between the door and the doorjamb.
“I’ve been trying to get ahold of you since yesterday.”
Tobeluk blinked.
“Sergeant Plant has been trying to get ahold of you, too.”
This seemed to awaken the man and he looked at Gale as if seeing him for the first time. Like the fat guy down the street, Tobeluk stared at Gale’s cowboy hat before his gaze settled on the revolver at his hip.
“I’m sorry, who are you?”
“Jim Gale. I need you to take me downriver so I can find my daughter.” He gave Tobeluk a brief explanation of Cassie’s last known location via the satphone, how she didn’t show up to work three days before. “I need an authority on scene just in case the troopers need to be called in.”
Tobeluk shook his head. “You need an MPR filed—”
“A missing person report was filed last night. Sergeant Plant faxed it to your office.”
Tobeluk swayed, then saw Trask and Emily waiting on Chamberlain Street, their luggage at their feet.
“You brought friends.”
“Get dressed and meet us at your office before I call your sergeant and tell her you’ve been partying on
the clock.”
* * *
Tobeluk eyed Emily as he fumbled with his keys and climbed the front steps to the VPSO building. His brown uniform looked like it hadn’t seen an iron in months, and his belt was cinched two notches too loose, causing his Taser to rest halfway down his upper leg. He noted the pistol in Emily’s holster and smiled smugly.
“Everyone in the family own a Colt pistol with a cattle bone grip?”
“Every public safety officer armed with a Taser?” Emily retorted.
Tobeluk’s smirk fell, and he opened the door.
The office was small and consisted of a cluttered desk with a blinking fax machine and a phone. Papers spilled out of the fax machine tray and onto the floor. A massive topographic map of the region hung on the wall. Tobeluk turned on the light. Dirty dishes and coffee mugs lay strewn on the counter next to the sink, and the place smelled of mold, plywood, and Lysol. Tobeluk grabbed as many of the dishes as he could and deposited them in the sink. Two empty bottles of whiskey rested on the messy desk. He snatched them up and threw them in the trash. Then he fired up the Keurig coffeemaker.
“Anyone want a cup?”
“I’d like to get downriver,” Gale said, impatiently.
Tobeluk picked up Cassie’s missing person report pages that the fax machine had spat on the floor. He sat behind his desk and punched the blinking light on his answering machine.
He lifted the receiver, pressed it to his ear, and moved through the voice mails in silence. When he finished, he hung up, cursed under his breath, and went through Cassie’s MPR.
“You don’t carry a cell phone?” Trask asked.
“Dropped it in the river last week,” Tobeluk said, and then looked to Gale. “So Plant said Cassandra is with her dog?”
“Yes, Maverick, he’s a German shepherd.”
Tobeluk flipped over the front page of the report and scribbled something on the back. Gale noticed the man’s hand shook as he wrote.
“And you have the coordinates where she made that last call?” Tobeluk said.
Emily took out her iPhone, opened Google Maps, and showed Tobeluk the area of Cassie’s last known location.
“That’s eight miles downriver, we’re not going to be able to use the road.”
“Why not?”
“Flooded from the rain in the last week, won’t be serviceable for at least a couple days.” He paused in thought. “That’s probably why Cassandra never showed up for work. She’s probably stranded down there. Happens a couple times a year during tourist season.”
Gale fought the temptation to argue with the VPSO that Cassie had a satellite phone with her—that she could have called someone if she was in trouble—but he knew bringing it up would amount to more time in the office, and less time searching for his daughter.
“Anything else I need to know before we take the boat downriver?” Tobeluk asked.
“No,” Gale said. “Not right now.”
“Good, let’s go get your daughter and her dog.”
Chapter 10
FRIGID YUKON WATER splashed Gale in the face and he wiped at his eyes with his forearm. The VPSO’s Zodiac boat rose over a large swell of white water and slammed down. Gale loosened his grip on the throttle.
After inflating the Zodiac back in Eagle, Tobeluk’s hangover had hit him full bore and the VPSO had retched on the shoreline.
Gale demanded that he drive the boat. Tobeluk didn’t argue.
As they jetted down the river, the VPSO sat up front and kept his chin tucked to his chest. Emily and Trask sat behind him and Emily cinched the straps on her life vest and scooted to the middle of the boat’s bench, her eyes never leaving Google Maps on her iPhone. An hour into their trip, Emily shouted over the revving motor: “One more mile to the confluence!”
Gale stood tall and let off the motor. The late-morning sun shimmered off the river’s silted waters and the sweeping ridges and forests beyond the rocky shoreline. Gale checked to make sure the waterproof rifle cases were still secured below the bench and gunned the motor again.
“There!” Emily said, ten minutes later and pointed ahead where the wide berth of the Yukon split off into a narrow tributary. Gale maneuvered the boat and steered it down the narrow body of water. The current was calmer than the main channel and within five minutes, Emily was indicating the western shoreline where a boulder the size of an automobile sat next to a swirling eddy against the bank.
“GPS says this is where she made the call, Dad.”
Gale ran the boat up onshore and cut the engine.
Emily cupped her hands around her mouth, “Cassie!”
Her voice got lost in the sound of flowing water.
Gale grabbed the rifle cases and took out his .300 Winchester Magnum. He loaded the magazine, then chambered a round. Emily and Trask each took their 12-gauge, pump-action shotguns and loaded in rifled-slug and buckshot shells.
Tobeluk stumbled out of the boat, groaning as he clutched his forehead.
“You going to be okay?” Trask asked.
Tobeluk waved him off and fumbled for his own shotgun, a .10-gauge Remington 870.
Emily yelled Cassie’s name again.
“Map says the road is a quarter mile from the river. She might not be able to hear us until we’re farther inland,” Gale said.
The forest looked like a wall of green before them. Gale walked the tight bank searching for an opening in the foliage. He found a game trail slicing through a tangle of willows and called the others over.
The forest floor was soggy, the mud sucking at their boots. Gale led the way. Every dozen yards or so, Emily and Trask would call out Cassie’s name and wait for a reply.
None came.
After ten minutes of walking, the forest began to open, blue sky spilled through the canopy, and the sun glinted off an unnatural surface in the distance.
“That’s Cassie’s truck!” Emily cried.
Gale took another step, circumventing a thicket of brush and stopped in his tracks.
“Oh my God,” Emily blurted and tried to get around her father.
“Don’t, Emmy!” Gale said, grabbing his daughter by the arm, while staring in disbelief at the sight before them.
What remained of Cassie’s red Cabela’s tent was strewn about the muddy clearing and across her deflated raft. The nylon and polyester fabric looked like it had done battle with a chainsaw. Food wrappers, punctured cans, and cooking condiments littered the campsite like confetti.
Cassie’s Toyota Tundra was parked on the road embankment, its Bridgestone tires sunk in eight inches of mud. The green pickup’s tailgate and back cap were wide open—Cassie’s purple sleeping bag spilling out of the back.
But what made Gale’s heart quake wasn’t just the condition of the camp—it was the pancake-sized tracks in the mud.
“CASS—”
Gale covered Emily’s mouth with his hand and held it there, her eyes opened wide in confusion. Gale indicated the tracks, and Emily’s eyes grew even wider. He slowly released his hand from her mouth and held up a finger for silence.
He unslung his rifle and raised it, his eyes roving the perimeter of the forest for any signs of movement.
“Those are brownie tracks,” Tobeluk hissed. “Big brownie tracks.”
“Nobody moves,” Gale said, thumbing off his rifle’s safety. He took a cautious step forward into the demolished campsite. The mud was deeper than in the concealed forest, and he sunk up to the tongue of his boot. He took three more steps and came to the first track and stopped. No water pooled in the deep indentations, or in the four-inch claw marks.
Tobeluk was right. They were grizzly tracks.
Fresh grizzly tracks.
Gale crept sideways and came to the truck’s open tailgate. He poked his head inside. Maverick’s blankets lay in a clump next to Cassie’s sleeping bag. The driver’s-side door was unlocked. Cassie’s satellite phone and iPhone were on the passenger’s seat. Her car keys jutted from the cup holder where she a
lways put them. He let them be and returned to the tracks.
From what Gale could see, the grizzly had entered the camp from the southeast and seemed to have poked its way through the demolished tent, stopping periodically near the opened food wrappers. No crumbs or sign of food lay in the mud. This wasn’t the first animal to come through the camp, he decided.
Gale followed the tracks as they lumbered to the road and headed north.
“Dad, what’s going on?”
“The rain, what day did it start?” Gale asked Tobeluk.
The public safety officer shook his head, his eyes never leaving the destroyed tent. “Um… the… the morning of the twenty-third?”
Gale’s attention returned to the Tundra. The sunken tires in the muddy earth, the raft oars secured to the roof. Break this down, Gale thought, trying to keep his mind under control—the Tundra got stuck in the mud, she might have walked back to Eagle—but why didn’t she use the satellite phone to call for help?
I need to check the phone.
Gale went to the cab of the truck and grabbed the Globalstar satellite phone and tried to turn it on. It was dead, so was the iPhone. He grabbed Cassie’s keys, put them in the ignition, and turned the engine over. The satellite phone’s charger stuck out of the center console. He plugged the satphone in and a red light appeared on the charging port.
Too dead to make a call.
But why didn’t she charge her phone and call out?
“Jim.”
Gale stuck his head out of the truck and saw his son-in-law holding Cassie’s mud-soaked .375 H&H Magnum rifle in his hands.
“Where did you find that?”
Trask pointed next to the log, near the stone fire pit.
Gale took the gun, dropped the magazine plate, and ran the action. Four bullets hit the mud.
“Hasn’t been fired.” Gale held Cassie’s rifle, staring down at the wrecked tent, and felt a spasm of panic spin up his spine.
“Did a bear?” Emily croaked.
“No,” Gale said, pointing to the tracks. “This one was just scavenging.”
Gale tried to run through the situations in his head that could explain the state of the camp—maybe Cassie and Maverick had to run from a bear? She could have escaped with her daypack and her pistol. He tried to remember if she had her survival equipment and a small secondary tent with her. Tobeluk knelt then and pushed the remnants of the tent aside, exposing Cassie’s day-pack.
Sleeping Bear Page 6