Saving Jason (25 page)

W
e swept back and forth across that section of the valley four times. We saw no more snakes, but, according to Roy Robertson, that was due to our failure to see them rather than there being only one rattlesnake in the whole valley. We took a break in the shade of the cliff each time we reached it. We drank water—“rehydrated” was how Robertson put it—and let a film of sweat appear. Then, stepping back out into the sunlight, the sweat instantly evaporated, and for a minute it felt as cool as springtime.

“Coyote,” he said, pointing at the ground.

I saw what looked like dog tracks in the sand. There seemed to be a lot of them.

“We may be near a den,” Robertson continued. “Keep an eye out.”

“I thought you said they weren’t dangerous.”

“All wild animals are dangerous. What I said was they rarely attack. But they will defend a den.”

“It looks like there were a lot of them here,” I said.

He smiled. “Does it? Or it could be just a few moving around—agitated over something.”

I looked up. The cliff looked like a single rock, the face smooth and weathered. Two-thirds of the way up—some twenty feet over our heads—the rock was split laterally in a long gash, creating a recess that in spots was two feet tall but dwindled down to nothing.

The crevasse was well-shaded from the sun. I imagined the rock would still be cool in there. If I’d been a child looking for cover, that’s where I would have headed.

“Could the Kid have climbed up there?” I asked.

Hal looked up and ran his hands over the smooth rock. “I’ve done some rock climbing and I know I couldn’t do it.”

Robertson stood back and eyed the whole wall. “We should check. I don’t see how the boy could have managed it, but I don’t like not looking into every possibility.”

The cliff was a lot taller than any of the rocks in Central Park, but no steeper or smoother. I didn’t know how the Kid could have done it, or where he’d get the confidence to try, but in my mind I could easily picture him creeping up the face of a mountain. Coming down was a different story entirely.

“If he’s up there, he has no idea of how to get down,” I said. “He’d be like a cat in a tree.”

“I don’t believe it,” Hal said.

“Hey, Kid!” I called out. “It’s your dad. It’s Jason. Come on out. I want to take you home. Your real home, okay?” I didn’t expect an answer, so I wasn’t disappointed when I failed to get one. “How do we get up there?” I asked. “Anybody got a ladder?”

“No, but we can rappel down,” Robertson said. “We’ll hike around the base and come up the back side. According to the map, the land flattens out up there. I’ve rope and some equipment in my pack.”

“Now?” Hal asked. We had only covered about half of the valley.

“I don’t think he’s there, because I don’t see how he could get up there,” Robertson said. “But it’s out of the sun and safe from everything that walks, runs, or slithers down here. If I could climb up there, that’s where I’d want to be. Let’s go. We can come back and finish our sweep later in the day.”

The lines on the map appeared in my mind. “Head up to the east. It looks steeper, but it’s not. The west-side approach goes through much rougher country.”

Robertson checked his map and a moment later agreed. “He’s right.”

For the next half hour, we made our way up a steep incline at the upper end of the valley. All three of us were reeling with exhaustion by
the time we got to the top of the rise, but looking back we could see that the top of the rock was now slightly beneath us. We rested for a minute while Robertson scanned the valley with his binoculars.

“There’s a group of searchers a bit to the west. I can’t tell if your man Willie is one of them or not.”

There seemed to be a lot of vegetation for a desert. A lone man could have hidden nearby and easily followed us without being seen. “He could be anywhere,” I said. “We can’t worry about him. Let’s just stay alert and find the Kid. The sooner we’re out of these hills, the better.”

“Agreed,” Hal said, but he didn’t stop looking.

It took us only minutes to hike back down to the top of the cliff.

“Hey, Kid. Can you hear me?” Still no answer.

The rock was solid up top with no place to dig in anchors. We dropped our backpacks and executed a quick reconnaissance of the cliff.

“Can you two take my weight?” Robertson asked.

“I’ll go,” I said. “He doesn’t know you. And besides, if anyone is going to fall, I’d rather it was me.”

Robertson ignored every maniacal word I said. “Can you take my weight?”

“Yes.” I would.

“I’ve done this kind of thing a hundred times or more. Follow my instructions and we’ll do just fine.”

Hal and I each took the end of a line and wrapped it around our waists. Robertson hooked both ropes to his harness and made sure they ran free and stopped when he squeezed the clamp.

“Just lean back and let the harness do the work. I’ll take him to the bottom and you two can hike around to join us. Questions?”

“Suppose we’re not in the right place? Suppose you have to move.”

“Then I’ll find a spot to take the weight off and you two can take turns sidestepping.”

We stood ten feet apart and about six feet from the edge. Robertson controlled the lines. He walked backward, paused at the lip, and
then continued down out of our view. He wasn’t heavy, but I was relieved when I felt a sudden slack in the line.

“I’m here, but too far to the west to see much. We’re all going to walk slowly back to the east, one step at a time. Stafford, you first. Then me. Then Hal. Got it? No time for rehearsals. Let’s do it. Waltz tempo. One, two, three.”

On one, I stepped to my left and waited. A moment later, Hal completed the pattern.

“Good. Maybe three or four more like that and I’ll be there. I’ve got to lean out to clear an overhang, so be prepared to take my weight again. Ready? Three steps this time.”

We crossed another five feet and waited. Even if we all screwed up enormously, the remaining fall was only twenty feet. A fall would be damaging but not fatal. The greater danger was either Hal or me losing our balance and getting pulled over the edge.

“This is a good position. I’m going to stand on the crack here. Stay braced in case I slip. Got it?”

We both yelled an acknowledgment. The tension on the line disappeared. I found that I was holding my breath as though every cent I ever had, every love I’d ever known, and every atom of my being was on the line and the roulette wheel was spinning, the ball already jumping in the opposite direction.

“Mr. Stafford?”

My heart stopped.

“Your son is here. He’s okay.”

Life went on as before. The universal clock ticked away another second, but I had aged a lifetime.

“Thanks, Roy. What can I do? How do I help?”

“You two just hang loose for a minute. He’s having a drink of water.”

The rather impractical desire to jump over the edge and somehow fly down to comfort my son was almost overwhelming. The instinct for self-preservation—I would have broken my neck, I was sure—took over and prevented me.

“How does he look?”

“Not too bad. A little sunburn. Your dermatologist won’t like it. Dehydrated, for sure, but his eyes are clear. He doesn’t seem to be afraid of me.”

“That’s great,” I said, because I couldn’t think of anything else.

“Or the bats.”

“Holy hell, no.”

“They’re clean. Not too many. Maybe a handful. They don’t act rabid, but you’ll probably want to get him to see a doctor soon anyhow.”

A New York doctor. “Marvelous.” I wanted to rush to the rim to try and get a look at my son, but in the process I would have given Robertson enough slack to break his neck. “Just get him out of there and down.”

“I’m working on it.”

He spoke softly to the Kid—too soft for me to make out any words. Whatever he said must have been magical, because he called up again a minute later. “Can you take both our weights? I’ve got a harness on him, but he can’t rappel. You’ll have to lower us.”

Hal yelled back. “We don’t have enough slack. I’ve got maybe ten feet I can give you—maybe another four to six feet if I walk to the edge, but that doesn’t do it. You’ll still be too far off the ground.”

“That will have to do.”

The Kid growled loud enough for us to hear.

“You okay, son?” I said. “That man is my friend. He’s there to help you.”

“We’re all right. He’s got a handful of toy cars up here. I guess he was afraid we might leave them. Give me a minute. Well, well. There’s two empty water bottles up here. Your son’s a pretty smart guy.”

I hadn’t even thought to count the water bottles back at the house to see if any were missing. Smarter than his dad.

“Let us know when you’re ready,” I said.

It wasn’t an approved mountaineering technique. The tension came on the lines in a sudden jerk, enough that it would have pulled
me off my feet if I wasn’t prepared for it. Hal and I watched each other, trying to match the other’s work as we slowly paid out the line.

“Keep talking to us, Roy. We can’t see a thing.”

“We’re okay. Keep a-coming.”

The line ran around my back and off to my left, so that as I eased with one hand, I could brake with the other. The tag end was coming closer.

“We should get closer,” I said.

Hal nodded.

“Just a foot at a time.”

We took the first step. The weight threatened to pull us off balance.

“Easy,” Robertson called out.

“Easy for you to say,” Hal grumbled.

“We’re going to do it again,” I yelled.

We took two more steps. That took us within a foot of the edge of the cliff. As the angle of the rope steepened, the weight increased substantially. The strain was starting to tell. By craning my neck I could see the Kid dangling below, strapped to Robertson, his arms wrapped around the man’s neck.

What I couldn’t see was how much farther they had to go to reach the ground. I had another three feet of line.

“Give us a read. How much to go?”

“Six feet? Seven?”

“We don’t have that much line left.”

“Give me what you’ve got. We’ll be fine.”

A twisted ankle miles from the camp during the midday heat could be a huge problem. A broken leg might be a death sentence.

Hal and I let out the last few feet of line. It was psychology, not physics, but the load felt twice as heavy as it had a moment before.

“That’s it,” I cried.

“Okay. Give me just a second.”

Hal and I had all of our attention focused on the two bodies dangling below us. We had forgotten about Willie.

I was looking straight down, trying to guess the remaining distance to the ground, when I felt Hal’s line go slack and the full weight of Roy and my son almost pulled me off the cliff. Hal was falling, his body limp and spinning as though he had been pushed. I dropped the rope and tried to save myself.

Robertson hit the ground and rolled easily, the Kid on top of him. They were down and safe. Hal’s arms hit first. He collapsed into a lump and didn’t move. I teetered over the drop, windmilling my arms in an attempt to fly backward just an inch or two to where my balance would return. It was no use, I was falling.

A hand gripped my shirt and plucked me back to safety. My knees were rubber, my mind overwhelmed with relief. I didn’t question my good fortune, I exulted in it. Until I hit the ground and saw Willie standing over me.

He held a big semiautomatic handgun pointed at my face. The bore looked like a tunnel to hell.

“Get up. Slowly.”

I
rolled up onto hands and knees, feeling like I had been saved from a possible lingering death, only to face a quick and certain one.

“Don’t shoot. I won’t try anything.” It was no lie. I had nothing left.

“On your feet.”

“Stafford? Stafford?” Robertson called out. “Where are you?”

“Look out!” I yelled.

Willie smacked me across the back of the head with the pistol, not hard enough to stun, but it shut me up. To seal the deal, he fired the gun twice, barely aiming, down at the bottom of the cliff.

“No!” I screamed, leaping up at him.

He easily swatted me away. “Get moving. That way.” He pointed with the pistol back up the trail to the hills above us. I started walking. He grabbed my pack and slung it over his shoulder.

I staggered forward, realizing only when I was up and walking that I was bleeding. Trickles of blood ran down from the back of my head, soaking into my shirt. I smelled of blood and fear. I was a predator attractor. Soon, I would be transformed into a vulture attractor.

“You didn’t have to shoot them,” I said.

“I didn’t. I aimed to miss.”

“So, you just shot
at
them.”

“I don’t kill innocent people,” he said.

“I read about you. You’re a convicted murderer.”

“You read about that? Then you also know I’m dead. One statement is as true as another.” He waved the gun to get me moving again. “It was line-of-duty. But the DEA was under pressure and they needed a fall guy. They offered me up as sacrifice.”

“You’re not going to kill me?”

“No. I’m holding you for delivery. That’s what the client wanted.”

“So, what is your deal?”

“You alive. In exchange for a suitcase full of hundred-dollar bills.”

“I can get you a better deal.”

“Too late. If I don’t show up with you, they come after me. It makes the decision process very streamlined.”

“I can get you a new identity. Make you a millionaire. Set you up anywhere in the world.”

“Right now, I’m being hunted by the FBI, DEA, and the marshals. That’s enough, don’t you think?”

“You may be disappointed, you know. Your friends are going to be late. That’s if they show at all. You’d be better off making a deal with me right now.”

“Is that right? What happened? Their plane get redirected? Turbulence over Cincinnati? Don’t bullshit me, please, Mr. Stafford. It’s been tried. I’m not a good candidate.”

He knew my name, therefore he knew my history. Discovering it was no more difficult—easier even—than finding out his background.

“If you know me, you know I can deliver what I promise.”

“Can we drop this? Keep moving.”

“They were recognized. Practically every law enforcement agent in the state is down by Ribera right now. They’re holed up in a gas station. I just hope they’ve got brains enough to surrender, because they’re not getting away.”

“Who are you talking about?”

“The Maras. The four kids from Tucson. The
sicarios
.”

Willie laughed. It wasn’t a nice sound. “Dude, the Maras don’t even know your name. I tried, don’t get me wrong. I spoke to some people—made a few calls. If any of that Mijos crowd are still alive, they’ve got other concerns. I tried to make a deal, but there were no takers down south. Sorry if that disappoints.”

“So who, then?”

“Who do you think?”

“Someone from the East Coast, maybe?”

“Snap.”

“Give me a name.” I knew the name, I just wanted the confirmation.

“Ho ho. Keep walking.”

“One million dollars. Where do you want it?”

“In my hand. No? Sorry. No deal.” He pushed me hard. I stumbled but stayed on my feet. “Come on. Up the hill.”

“So if you’re not going to shoot me, why shouldn’t I run?”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t shoot you. I said I wouldn’t kill you. I don’t think these people would mind if you arrived with an extra hole or two.”

The hill fell away before me and I could see where we were headed. The abandoned farmhouse with the sagging roof, sunbaked walls, and slanting porch. I had my bearings. We had been traveling in a northwesterly direction—away from the morning sun—and had come just over a mile. That put the LKP base camp three miles to the east and a touch north. If I could get away, and stayed on the game trails, I could cover it in half an hour or less. The big question would be water. Willie had my pack. I’d need to get it away from him, or at least get into it.

The aliens had taken all the bicycles.

What?
What was the matter with me?

I felt dizzy. Light-headed, and at the same time headachy. Heat prostration. Loss of blood. The combination would kill me long before I got to the camp.

“I need water,” I said. My voice croaked. “If I don’t get water, I won’t make it another ten steps.”

Willie must have felt it, too.

“Don’t do anything we would both regret.” He stripped off the backpack and removed two bottles of water. There would be four more and then we would be done. Our tongues would turn to shoe
leather. Our eyes would shrivel in their sockets, but by that time we wouldn’t care. We’d be comatose.

I tried to take a sip of the water but gulped half of it down before I was able to stop myself.

“Thank you,” I said. My fantasy of a minute earlier had fled. I was beaten, humiliated. Grateful to my captor for a simple sip of water. How quickly Stockholm syndrome sets in.

“Move,” he said, pointing down the hill toward the house.

A distant drumming played on my eardrums. For a moment, I was sure I had imagined it. Then I heard the regular beat of a helicopter and my hopes returned—and were immediately dashed. The helicopter was there to take me away, not to rescue me.

“They’re coming. We’ve got to get out in the clearing, so hustle, old man.”

Willie was no more than ten years my junior. The heat was getting to me again. The insult stung.

“Screw you. See if you can keep up.” I started running down the trail.

Willie laughed at me and let me get a ten-yard head start before coming after me. I poured it on. The helicopter was coming closer. I looked wildly around for taller trees, more cover, and broke from the trail. The ground was rough, I tripped, but kept my legs churning and managed to stay upright and moving.

“Get back here!” Willie yelled. I ignored him and he was forced to follow.

I could see the helicopter swooping over the small valley in short arcs. They couldn’t see us. I knew because I had been up there just the day before.

The machine flew right over me. I wanted to scream and cower, but I kept moving. The chances of escaping the helicopter were better if I stayed still and hidden, but I couldn’t with Willie coming behind me. Another narrow game trail appeared before me. I stepped onto it and ran for all I was worth. I could hear Willie closing in on me.

He fired.

Terror releases adrenaline.

Special Agent Marcus Brady had once lectured me on the ineffectiveness of handguns. It is next to impossible to hit a man-sized target at twenty paces while running over broken ground. I believed him. Nevertheless, when the gun boomed behind me, my adrenaline levels soared.

Despite the noise generated by the helicopter, the pilot or one of his passengers must have heard the sound of the big semiautomatic because the machine tilted suddenly and flew straight for us. I ran, trusting the canopy of pinyon trees to keep me at least partially hidden as I pounded down the path.

The helicopter passed directly over me—and kept going. But as it went, it flushed a family of javelinas, who burst out from the shelter of a dense thicket of sagebrush and onto the trail. They were coming straight at me, barking like terriers with head colds.

Without hesitation, I dove headfirst into the surrounding shrubbery. At least a dozen of the creatures rushed by me. I looked back. Willie was frozen in the middle of the narrow trail. The wild pigs hit him at knee height. He staggered and, too late, tried to run out of the way. He was hit again and again, in less than a second, until he fell awkwardly—awfully—to his side and emitted a sharp scream of pain. The animals kept running and disappeared a moment later, leaving dust and a groaning man.

I stepped back onto the trail, alert for the pigs’ return or the presence of any stragglers. Willie was on the ground. I checked his hands. They were empty. The gun had fallen only a few feet from him, but it was no threat. Willie’s right leg was bent at the knee—the wrong way. He wouldn’t be moving on his own any time soon.

The helicopter returned, moving slowly this time, hunting for us. I stayed low and off the trail. Someone must have seen Willie lying in the open because the machine lifted up and flew down toward the clearing in front of the house, where it came down in a tornado of brown dust.

I picked up the gun. It was heavy.

“Just tell me who sent you and I’ll let you live,” I said.

Willie looked me in the eye and saw right through me. “Bullshit. You’re no killer.”

He was right, and I had no backup line. I threw the gun into the brush.

“I’ll find you, Stafford. You won’t even see it coming.”

I rolled him onto his side and he screamed from the sudden pain.

“Thaaat’s nice,” I said. I took three bottles of water out of the backpack and gave him one. “It’s going to take some time for them to hike up here and find you. I’ll be long gone.” I rummaged some more and took the binoculars, sunscreen, and two power bars. He wouldn’t need them and I might.

“I should have just killed you and brought them your nuts in a plastic bag,” he said, his voice cracking from the pain.

“Why do they want me alive?” I said.

He laughed. “I think they’ve got a few questions for you before they kill you.”

They wanted to know what I had already told Blackmore. They would torture me to find out and then kill me themselves. Willie wasn’t an assassin—he was just a traitor for hire.

“You should get that leg looked at, sport. It’s not going to mend well.” I stood up, kicked him once in the leg just because I could, and ran up the trail.