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Authors: William Kent Krueger
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“Mom?”
“No. They’ve spotted the door to a plane.”
EIGHT
Day Three, Missing 49 Hours
D eputy Quinn was calling him Cork now.
“That’s right, Cork,” he said. His cold wasn’t so much in evidence anymore. “One of our planes spotted debris in a high mountain canyon in the Washakie Wilderness. It’s in an area that’s part of a formation known as Heaven’s Keep.”
“Debris?” Cork said.
“What they could clearly see appeared to be the door of a plane. It’s resting on a broad ledge that’s free of snow because of the high winds. Which also means that it’s going to be difficult to get to.”
“Any sign of the passengers?”
“Not at the moment.”
“How are you proceeding?”
“We have a chopper already in the air on its way to the location. If the pilot can find a reasonable place to land, he’ll attempt it. We have EMTs onboard. We also have a ground team prepared to head in, but that will take much longer, of course.”
“When will you know if the chopper’s able to land?”
“Probably within the hour. I’ll keep you posted. That’s a solid-gold promise. And will you pass the information along to Ms. LeDuc?”
“I’ll call her right now.”
When he hung up, Cork told the others what he’d learned, which was no more than they already knew. He called Sarah LeDuc and explained.
“Only a door?” she said.
“It’s a start, Sarah. At least we have a location. As soon as I hear anything more, I’ll let you know. Stay near your phone.”
When he hung up, Rose said, “I can’t just sit and wait. I’m going to make some lunch. Anyone want to give a hand?”
Annie took her up on it, and the two of them headed to the kitchen. The others stayed in the living room. The television was tuned to CNN, but the sound was off. Cork stared at the screen, where the standoff in Kansas was center stage. Footage shot across the plains showed desolate hills, yellow-brown beneath a blue sky that, despite its swimming pool color, looked as empty and desolate as the land. There was nothing rising across the whole of the horizon except the dark, distant buildings of the compound where Hargrove and his followers were encamped. They’d chosen the place in order to be lost to the world, Cork figured, but they’d screwed themselves royally. Best laid plans.
Looking at all the emptiness made Cork realize how closed-in the house felt, how constraining. What he really wanted was to be in Wyoming, looking for Jo. He wanted to be on the helicopter that was at that moment speeding to… what? Her rescue? Only a door. That’s all they saw. Only a door. And what did that mean?
“A door,” Stephen said, as if he’d read his father’s thoughts.
By now, everyone knew about Stephen’s dream, which Meloux, like Stephen, believed was a vision.
“Maybe it’s the door,” he said.
Jenny said, “Don’t get your hopes up.”
Stephen gave his sister a challenging look. “Why not?”
“I’m just saying we don’t really know anything yet.” She was less than gentle in her reply.
What she meant, Cork thought, was that the door was wreckage. And wreckage wasn’t good. Maybe she was trying to help Stephen see things more realistically, but her own nerves were frayed, and it came out as an accusation. They all were feeling the strain. He could see it in the pinch of their faces, hear it in the taut cadence when they spoke, feel it in the despair that hung in the house like fouled air.
He said, “Stephen, let’s do some surfing on the Internet.”
“Looking for what?”
“For hope,” Cork said. “Come on.”
They went upstairs to Stephen’s room and for half an hour looked on the Net for stories of miraculous survival in frigid conditions. What they came up with was a half dozen tales of men and women whose luck and courage had brought them out of impossible situations: a party that had survived the ill-fated Scott polar expedition; the crash of a Canadian military transport in the
“No. They’ve spotted the door to a plane.”
EIGHT
Day Three, Missing 49 Hours
D eputy Quinn was calling him Cork now.
“That’s right, Cork,” he said. His cold wasn’t so much in evidence anymore. “One of our planes spotted debris in a high mountain canyon in the Washakie Wilderness. It’s in an area that’s part of a formation known as Heaven’s Keep.”
“Debris?” Cork said.
“What they could clearly see appeared to be the door of a plane. It’s resting on a broad ledge that’s free of snow because of the high winds. Which also means that it’s going to be difficult to get to.”
“Any sign of the passengers?”
“Not at the moment.”
“How are you proceeding?”
“We have a chopper already in the air on its way to the location. If the pilot can find a reasonable place to land, he’ll attempt it. We have EMTs onboard. We also have a ground team prepared to head in, but that will take much longer, of course.”
“When will you know if the chopper’s able to land?”
“Probably within the hour. I’ll keep you posted. That’s a solid-gold promise. And will you pass the information along to Ms. LeDuc?”
“I’ll call her right now.”
When he hung up, Cork told the others what he’d learned, which was no more than they already knew. He called Sarah LeDuc and explained.
“Only a door?” she said.
“It’s a start, Sarah. At least we have a location. As soon as I hear anything more, I’ll let you know. Stay near your phone.”
When he hung up, Rose said, “I can’t just sit and wait. I’m going to make some lunch. Anyone want to give a hand?”
Annie took her up on it, and the two of them headed to the kitchen. The others stayed in the living room. The television was tuned to CNN, but the sound was off. Cork stared at the screen, where the standoff in Kansas was center stage. Footage shot across the plains showed desolate hills, yellow-brown beneath a blue sky that, despite its swimming pool color, looked as empty and desolate as the land. There was nothing rising across the whole of the horizon except the dark, distant buildings of the compound where Hargrove and his followers were encamped. They’d chosen the place in order to be lost to the world, Cork figured, but they’d screwed themselves royally. Best laid plans.
Looking at all the emptiness made Cork realize how closed-in the house felt, how constraining. What he really wanted was to be in Wyoming, looking for Jo. He wanted to be on the helicopter that was at that moment speeding to… what? Her rescue? Only a door. That’s all they saw. Only a door. And what did that mean?
“A door,” Stephen said, as if he’d read his father’s thoughts.
By now, everyone knew about Stephen’s dream, which Meloux, like Stephen, believed was a vision.
“Maybe it’s the door,” he said.
Jenny said, “Don’t get your hopes up.”
Stephen gave his sister a challenging look. “Why not?”
“I’m just saying we don’t really know anything yet.” She was less than gentle in her reply.
What she meant, Cork thought, was that the door was wreckage. And wreckage wasn’t good. Maybe she was trying to help Stephen see things more realistically, but her own nerves were frayed, and it came out as an accusation. They all were feeling the strain. He could see it in the pinch of their faces, hear it in the taut cadence when they spoke, feel it in the despair that hung in the house like fouled air.
He said, “Stephen, let’s do some surfing on the Internet.”
“Looking for what?”
“For hope,” Cork said. “Come on.”
They went upstairs to Stephen’s room and for half an hour looked on the Net for stories of miraculous survival in frigid conditions. What they came up with was a half dozen tales of men and women whose luck and courage had brought them out of impossible situations: a party that had survived the ill-fated Scott polar expedition; the crash of a Canadian military transport in the
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