Killer Summer

Sumner looked at the map on the screen overhead. A line drawn on it terminated in a T with a fairly large circle drawn around it.

“I know you made an effort to get down here,” Walt said. “But, honestly, you’re of more value to us, and to your daughter, waiting for that call back in your hotel room.”

“Forget that. Like I said, reroute the call. Do what you have to do, but I’m not going anywhere. Who’s in on this, Sheriff, besides you? Who’s on this investigation?”

“It’s a big operation, at this point. Prior to this, we had issued a BOLO for the suspects. Law enforcement for the five-state region are on alert-the FAA, the Air Force, Homeland Security, the FBI. Given recent events, this country doesn’t take lightly the commandeering of jets.”

“The FBI, Homeland? I don’t want them on this. They’ll screw it up, shoot it down without regard to who’s on board.”

“Everyone’s apprised of our suspicions… it’s a fluid situation.”

“Fuck that, she’s my daughter! Do you have kids, Sheriff?” Sumner asked.

“I do. Two daughters, a little younger than yours.”

“And if they were your daugh-” He caught himself.

“My nephew,” Walt reminded. “Believe me, I don’t want anyone else on this case any more than you do. But the only way to keep that from happening is to find that jet tonight before the Bureau or other agencies get their act together. It’s all about timing. Nothing much is going to happen on their end tonight. It’ll take them a while to even get here.”

Reminded of arrivals, Walt checked the wall clock.

His father’s plane was due.

58

Summer zipped and buttoned her pants, releasing a pent-up breath of relief. She peered around the tree trunk, having chosen a spot in the woods with a decent view of the lodge, partway down the hill and well away from the stairs. A tendril of gray smoke rose from the lodge’s chimney.

Her mother had been an expert problem solver, getting from A to Z in as straight a line as possible. Priding herself on being like her mother, Summer had resolved long ago to show her father that she need not depend on him for her every thought and deed. Pushing away her panic, she would think her way out of this on her own.

Kevin had yet to appear. He was either hiding inside the lodge or had been caught. Not only was he of no use to her, he probably needed her help. He’d made a big deal out of her being the prize these men were after. Could she use that to her advantage? Offer a trade she then wouldn’t honor? She owed him, there was no doubt about that. He’d saved her from that creep with the wandering hands, had messed up his face pretty badly. He’d gotten her out of the plane and into the woods when she was, like, a zombie. She now saw how hard it must have been for him to stay with her rather than just taking off and leaving her.

Was she supposed to leave him in that lodge, or what? She needed to think clearly.

It was growing colder by the minute. Dressed as she was, in jeans and a T-shirt, Summer wondered how long she could last. She certainly couldn’t make it through the night. If she could get up the nerve to hide under the tarp again, she’d be relatively warm. But going back inside the lodge felt all wrong. It had eaten Kevin up. She wasn’t about to let that happen to her. That left… the plane…

Would they be watching the plane?

Kevin had suggested they intended to steal the jet… that seemed possible. They’d picked the right target: her father loved that Lear more than he loved her. He’d have paid anything to get it back, if he’d had two nickels to rub together. But now that it was out of the picture, was she their target as Kevin had suggested? If so, why weren’t they looking for her out here?

Or are they?

She began to fall apart. Her sole focus for the past fifteen minutes had been to pee, but with that taken care of she was faced with too many unknowns and not enough choices, and no one to help her figure it out. That brought her back to Kevin and whether she should or even could actually abandon him.

And then she saw the woodpile to the right of the shed and heard a voice as plain as day. It was her mother’s voice.

Make a signal, the voice said.

If anyone was searching for the jet, it was from the air. There was far too much wilderness to cover on the ground. She needed to make something big so they could see her.

Smoke from the chimney… Fire!

If fire drew the attention of the three men and the cowboy, it might buy her time to get to the jet, where she’d find food, water, blankets, her father’s emergency kit, its radio and GPS. She even could picture his sacred Airphone next to his seat. “I can call anywhere in the world with this thing!” he had told her proudly so many times. The best thing she could do for Kevin was to get both of them rescued.

She reached into her pocket, found the key to the jet alongside the chisel. It warmed in her hand.

No longer cold, suddenly she was burning with anticipation.

59

The whirring of an electric drill, followed by the crunch and crack of a screw biting into wood, prompted Kevin to call out.

“No!” he shouted, banging on the closet door.

They were sealing him inside.

As the drill cried out, screws splintered the doorjambs, first one, then the other.

Kevin pounded.

“LET ME OUT!”

Nothing, not a word. Just the grinding whir of the drill, now affixing the doors to the floor.

Kevin had the knife from the Learjet, something they didn’t know about, as well as the flashlight. If only he could get them to open the door, he could fight his way out. But that wasn’t going to happen.

The minutes passed, and there was even more drilling nearby, the window perhaps, or the door to the room, or both. They were sealing him up in a tomb.

“Listen to me, kid,” now came a man’s voice from the other side. The copilot spoke in a hushed, confiding tone.

Kevin took a step back, hit the wall, and sank into a squat, his heart racing. The man’s voice also had an unmistakable note of finality about it.

“We’re doing you a favor here,” the man said. “This doesn’t involve you or Sam Elliott here, and let’s keep it that way. By morning, you’re out of here, alive and well, got that? So give it a rest. Don’t be stupid, don’t fight it, you’re safe. Stupid will get you hurt, hurt bad. Be smart, sleep it off. By tomorrow, this’ll be just a nightmare you had.”

Why hadn’t the man mentioned Summer?

Kevin thought this through from several angles.

Because they already have her.

Footfalls receding.

“This doesn’t involve you and Sam Elliott here…”

For Kevin, the operating word was here. Did here mean that the cowboy was tied up in the study? That gave him some sense of hope. Isolation scared him more than claustrophobia.

His eyes lighted on the closet’s old-fashioned plank ceiling. The rough lumber probably had been taken from the property. The ceiling, casement, and walls were all constructed of one-by-six pine boards. None of the joints fit together perfectly, having withstood decades of deep winter snow and the unforgiving climate. The gaps between the boards were about the thickness of… a steak-knife blade.

Kevin stood, slipped the flashlight out of his pocket, and switched it on. A pair of metal filing boxes were stacked in the corner. He gingerly climbed atop them to inspect the ceiling. He slipped the tip of his knife into a gap between the boards and gently began to pry them apart.