The two of them had traveled all night from Washington, DC to Whitefish, Montana—a trip that had taken them to Denver, their hometown of Missoula, and the short flight to Kalispell that morning. Jake had slept like a baby. The congresswoman had spent far too much time on her cell phone checking e-mail and listening to voice mails. It wasn’t until they were actually on the ground in Whitefish that they learned about the shooting there and the kidnapping of Professor James Tramil.
They entered the hospital, which was more like a clinic, and quickly found the room holding the police chief. It was the one with a gaggle of reporters hanging around for a statement.
“Go into the bathroom for a minute,” Jake said to Lori. “I’ll get rid of the reporters.”
“I do have to go,” she said and shoved her way through the door before the reporters recognized her.
Jake smiled and walked up to the group of reporters, a serious look on his face and a hurried pace as he got closer. “There’s been another shooting,” Jake yelled. “Down at the post office.” He swung his arm toward the front door.
It worked. Every last one of them rushed out the door to try to get the scoop on the new shooting.
Jake knocked on the bathroom door. “They’re gone,” he said.
Lori came out and hit Jake in the chest. “No kidding. They’re going to be really mad when they find no shooting.”
“Really? Well that’s just sick.”
“You know what I mean.”
Jake and Lori got to the police chief’s room and went inside. A young cop with a flattop pointed his gun at them.
“Put the gun away before someone gets hurt,” Jake said calmly.
“I didn’t hear about any new shooting,” the officer said, his gun still aimed at them.
“Put the gun down, Tom.” This came from the man in the hospital bed. “Don’t you recognize Congresswoman Lori Freeman? Montana only has one of them.”
The young man smiled. “Oh yeah,” he said, lowering his gun into its holster. “I voted for you.” He looked confused. “So there’s no shooting at the post office?”
Jake shook his head. “Just trying to get rid of the reporters outside. Would you please guard the door from outside? Make sure none of them get in here.”
The young patrol officer looked at the police chief in the bed.
“Go on,” Chief Grimes said. “And don’t say a word to any reporters.”
“Yes, Sir,” the officer said as he left the room.
The both of them introduced themselves officially. When done, Lori said, “Tell us what happened.”
The police chief explained in detail, as if testifying before a jury, all that had happened in the past twenty-four hours. At the end he said, “Johnny, the officer killed, was my wife’s nephew. I got him a job on the force. I suspect she’s not very happy with me right now. She’s down at Big Sky skiing this weekend with a bunch of her girl friends. You’re familiar with that area Mister Adams? I understand you’re from Missoula.”
“Yes, I am,” Jake said. “You said the shooter was the same man from the Amtrak train. How do you know that?”
The chief picked up his phone, clicked a button and turned it to Jake and Lori. “A cell phone photo taken by a woman on the train. That’s the guy who shot me. Buzz cut and horned rimmed glasses.”
“Where do you think the man took the professor?” Lori asked.
Chief Grimes tried to hunch but it brought a grimace from the pain. “Don’t know. But not far. Within a few minutes we shut down every highway into Whitefish, the airport, and we’ve got folks posted at the train station. They’ve gotta be somewhere close.”
“You’ve got enough personnel to cover all this?” she asked him.
“Yeah,” Chief Grimes said. “We got help from the state police and the county sheriff’s office. The FBI is on its way.”
Jake thanked the police chief and then hauled Lori outside. They had taken a taxi there and had it wait for them, but now Jake realized they needed a vehicle of their own. He really needed to get back to Missoula to pick up a few things, yet he wasn’t sure how he would do that right now, especially if the police chief was correct and they had been able to keep the kidnapper and Professor Tramil somewhere in Flathead County. However, he also knew that there wasn’t a blockade that could not be beat. He’d proven that many times himself.
“What are you thinking?” Lori asked him on the drive back to the airport.
He didn’t want her to know what he was really thinking. That he needed to get a gun. That Professor Tramil had perhaps twenty-four hours before that man killed him, assuming he could hold out that long. And there was more. Instead of the truth, he settled on something else. “I’m thinking we need to get a vehicle and then a proper breakfast.”
“Agreed.”
They did just that. The only vehicle left at the airport was a Ford Explorer with four-wheel-drive, a ski rack, and beefy tires. A lot of folks used this area as a jumping off point to Glacier National Park in the summer. But the winter was limited. Most of the roads were closed in the park. Snowmobiling was banned. But some hearty souls used cross country skis to access some of the lower elevation trails. There were other areas in the county to snowmobile, though. And, considering the fresh snow, Jake guessed many were taking advantage of that this weekend.
He drove them to a family restaurant in downtown Whitefish, where they sucked down eggs, hash browns and burnt coffee. They were in a back corner booth, Jake hoping nobody would recognize the congresswoman. So far nobody had.
“Where do we go from here?” she asked him and then took a sip of her coffee.
“I don’t know.” That was honest. “They could be anywhere.” Jake stared at his phone and wondered if he knew someone who could help them. But it wasn’t like he could have the NSA redirect satellites like they do in the movies, and pinpoint their location. Well, he might know someone.
“Maybe we should drive down to Missoula,” she suggested.
That was one possibility. He would be able to stop by his storage unit and pick up a few things there. Like a gun. Or two. He checked the internet on his cell phone and quickly found what he was looking for before shoving the phone back in his pocket. He threw cash for breakfast onto the table and got up.
“Let’s go, Lori,” he said. “I gotta see a man about a horse.”
She got up and said, “This better be a euphemism. Because it’s too cold to ride horses.”
Jake drove to the edge of town to a gun shop and bought a Glock semi-auto handgun in 9mm Luger with two extra magazines, along with a conceal holster for his right hip and three boxes of jacketed hollow points. In and out in an hour, including the background check.
Back in the Ford Explorer now, Lori said, “You’ve got to love America. A quick breakfast and buy a handgun all before noon.”
“That’s right, Lori. And don’t let those assholes in Washington try to change that.”
“Oh, I won’t. You gonna let me shoot that?”
“I was hoping you’d ask,” he said and started up the rental. Then he drove out of town to find a place to shoot. With wilderness all around, it wouldn’t be a long search.