IDAHO FALLS, IDAHO. OCTOBER 30.
8:15 A.M. MOUNTAIN STANDARD TIME.
“We’ll split up and go look by the reservoir.” Wright was pouring copious amounts of sugar into his coffee.
“Good plan.”
Jake had met the assistant director at the diner near the industrial park, where Senator Canart’s body still lay.
“What do we do about him?”
“Leave him for now. We have more important things to do.”
A senator left rotting in his own office, Jake thought. Not good publicity for the CIA, but if anyone can hide the truth, it’s the agency.
In the bathroom, Jake surreptitiously read another text from Divya. Her flight had been delayed in Salt Lake, so she rented a car and was navigating through the snow on what was usually a four-hour drive.
Of course, Jake didn’t reveal that to Wright. He hadn’t revealed anything that Divya or Schue told him. He could tell Wright was on edge and wondered whether it was normal work stress or something else.
And Divya’s suspicion? What had she come across?
He figured Wright needed him for the search. As long as that was the case, he posed little danger to Jake. If and when they found Meirong, that dynamic could change, if Divya was right.
They drove toward Ririe Reservoir separately, which suited Jake just fine. The lake was another two miles beyond where Meirong had escaped. The landscape was wide-open and the visibility reasonable—high storm clouds were still hanging in the hills, but the snowfall was sputtering out.
They found no trace of their target between the parking pull-off near the promontory and the state park at the reservoir. It was feasible that Meirong had broken into one of the park’s summer cabins to stay warm. Without a coat or shelter, she didn’t stand much chance.
Jake pulled over at the boundary to the park and lowered his window. Wright pulled up alongside in his rental Jeep.
“I’ll drive the east loop,” Jake said. “The west loop is just through there. Meet back here?”
Wright nodded and spun around to enter the west loop, in the direction of tent campsites and the visitor center. Jake headed toward the summer cabins.
The blank canvas of snow was marred by occasional animal tracks—mule deer, mainly—a few of which Jake stopped to inspect in case they proved to be shoe prints. No dice.
Cabins dotted the east loop, where the road formed a ring and came back onto itself. The austere cedar lodgings looked spartan even from outside. They had been winterized—inch-thick plywood was nailed over the windows and doors. It would take quite a bit of muscle to remove the barriers. Not an easy task for most people, much less a petite woman.
Still, Jake made the circle slowly, inspecting each small building for any sign of an overnight occupant. In the middle of the oval, a dim light shone on the side of the restrooms. No barriers blocked the doors.
Jake killed the engine and got out, tucking the Mariner into the back of his waistband. He followed the snow-covered path from the road to the concrete building. He didn’t notice any tracks, but given the wind and precipitation that meant little.
On the front of the restroom, between the men’s and women’s doors, hung a park bulletin: ATTENTION ICE FISHERMEN: DO NOT CLEAN YOUR CATCH IN THE RESTROOMS.
The bathroom was open for the winter.
Jake reached for the door to the ladies’ room. He entered to find a nestlike pile of unspooled toilet paper beneath the hand dryer. A bed?
Leaving the bathroom, Jake looked more closely for tracks and found slight indentations covered with fresh snow leading through the cluster of cabins. Two sets. Coming and going. He followed them until the path of the traveler was apparent. Back toward the main entrance and the intersection of the east and west loops.
Jake jogged back to the Charger and drove to the meeting point. Wright wasn’t there. He looked around for Meirong. Finding no sign of her, he parked and waited.
A few minutes passed. Anxious, he started the engine and steered the Charger onto the two-mile west loop, where Wright had been searching.
He found the Jeep, running and with its driver’s-side door open, parked in tent site 132. The sites were surrounded with dense grand firs, and beneath them was a layer of willowy brush.
Jake could see Wright’s tracks leading from the Jeep into the quagmire of vegetation.
What the hell? He parked the Charger, Glock in hand. He heard the crunch of frozen twigs near Wright’s entry point into the forest.
“Wright!” Jake yelled. The noise subsided.
Jake was thirty yards from the Jeep. A burst of motion flew from the shady trees. Someone running through the snow. A woman. Meirong.
“Stop!” Jake shouted louder this time, hoping to frighten her. Instead she moved faster—into the Jeep, slamming the door as he closed in on her. She nearly ran him over backing up. In the mirror, Jake glimpsed her horrified eyes before she slammed the Jeep into drive and sped off.
Where was Wright? Jake had no time to stop and search for him. With a vehicle, Meirong would become considerably harder to track.
Jake ran back to the Charger. He fishtailed through the campground’s S-turn and slid onto Ririe Road.
Meirong had a good lead—an eighth of a mile or more. She pushed the Jeep to its limit as she descended toward the highway. Jake matched her on the narrow, frozen road.
Near the intersection, the snow was changing to slush. Meirong took a right, almost colliding with an eighteen-wheeler, and sped east toward the laboratory.
* * *
As he had expected, Wright’s rental Jeep was parked at the laboratory. Jake drove the Charger into a space but didn’t get out. He watched through the slats of the blinds, where he could see Meirong rushing about. She was aware of Jake following her, but it didn’t matter. She had nowhere else to go.
The gun that killed the senator was safely in the trunk of the Charger. It was possible that Meirong had another weapon somewhere inside, or the shotgun that killed the janitor at Game and Fish, and given her acumen with firearms—now having killed two men, the senator and the janitor—Jake didn’t want to risk an up-close encounter.
It was senseless for him to go into the building anyway. His target was isolated, and Divya was on her way.
Whether Divya could be fully trusted was another question. Jake had no idea where anyone’s allegiances lay, except his own. Charlotte Terrell. Esma.
Shit. Meirong had been looking for a way to communicate, not a weapon. She pushed aside the blinds and held up a newspaper, marked up with black Sharpie in block print. LEAVE ME ALONE OR I WILL KILL ESMA.
He started to get out of the car to plead with her, but she retreated from the window.
Goddammit.
Jake dialed the hospital. He discovered it was Dr. Antol’s day off. Jake did his best to impress the gravity of the situation on the new attending doctor, but the man didn’t buy it. Jake demanded Dr. Antol’s home number.
“You know I can’t do that.”
Jake tried to explain, told the young doctor about the chip, the Chinese, and the kidnapping in Idaho. The details didn’t have the desired effect of persuasion.
“I’ll keep a close watch on her, like all patients” was all he would promise.
Jake hung up.
Deputy Statler. His next-best bet.
“Jake, where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“I can’t really say. But I need your help.”
“What’s going on? Is Charlotte safe?”
“I’m working on that. I need a favor.”
Where he failed with the doctor, Jake succeeded with Layle.
He remembered Meirong reaching to her left shoulder when she explained the device. “It’s above Esma’s heart somewhere. Left clavicle.”
“A month ago, if I’d heard that story, I would have said you’re crazy. But I believe you.”
“Go to the hospital now and help Esma. Don’t take no for an answer.”