Cry of the Wild

  "Oh, no, you don't! Questioning Riley is my only hope of ever finding out where Derrick may be. I want to be damned sure the man's caught. I'm in on this to the end, Sam."

  His eyes darkened. "I don't want you getting hurt."

  "And I don't want you hurt, either. We've done well so far as a team. Let's not rock the boat."

  "We have, haven't we?" he whispered, his expression far more eloquent than the words he spoke. After a long, emotion-packed moment, his mouth quirked in a sad smile. "I'm sorry about—" His gaze shot to the sofa. "Not very chivalrous of me, popping up that way."

  Crysta laughed softly. "No, it wasn't. But given the rea­son, I'll reserve judgment until next time."

  Would there be a next time? Sam wanted that more than he could admit, but part of him knew that both of them would be better off if the occasion never again rose. Crysta had her own set of problems; she didn't need to take on his.

  "Well." Sam wandered over to the fire, not quite able to look her in the eye. "All that's left is for us to unearth the ivory. If we can find the cleaning location, there should be enough evidence there for us to go to the police. Then we can have the searchers brought back in."

  Crysta could scarcely contain her excitement. "If we need them. If I see anything familiar at the cleaning location- something I've seen in my dreams—I might be able to find Derrick myself."

  Sam glanced up, a grin touching his mouth. Despite the fact that time was running out for him and Crysta, this was a major triumph; a moment for joy. He would share in that with her and worry about tomorrow later.

  "The quickest way to find a possible cleaning location would be from the air. It's probably convenient to the river, for ease of transport by pontoon plane."

  "Todd's still here. Do you think he'd take us up?"

  "I'm sure he would." Sam strode across the room to her and clamped a hand on her shoulder. Guiding her toward the door, he grabbed her windbreaker off the chair and handed it to her. "Let's go commandeer ourselves an air­plane, shall we?"

  Just as Sam reached for the doorknob, Tip burst in. "Where are you going, Dad? It's almost bedtime."

  "Crysta and I have some things we have to do," Sam re­plied gently.

  Tip looked crestfallen. "I thought maybe we could read to each other for a while. I bet Crysta likes to read."

  "As a matter of fact, I do."

  Guilt stabbed Sam. He had been ignoring Tip for days, and it bothered him to be leaving the boy alone again. Tip often had nightmares and sought Sam out for reassurance. "I'm sorry, son. Maybe we can read before bedtime tomor­row night."

  Tip's gaze slid to Crysta. "Will you r-read with us? The book we're d-doing now is really good. It's about buried treasure."

  Crysta took Tip's hand and gave it a warm squeeze. "You know, Tip, if we find Derrick, he might be ill or hurt. If he is, he'll have to be taken to a hospital. Since I'm his sister, I'll want to go with him. I may not be here tomorrow night."

  Tip's face fell. "You won't come back, will you?"

  Crysta hesitated, but only for an instant. "And never see you again? Not on your life, kiddo. We're fast friends, re­member?"

  Tip's mouth arched in a reluctant grin. "For real?"

  "Of course, for real. For always, Tip. I'll come back. Maybe with Derrick. Wouldn't that be fun? We could make popcorn, and all of us could read together."

  "I'd like that. W-would you like that, Dad?"

  Sam couldn't say how much. "Hey, Tip, how about if I ask Jangles to stay with you tonight? I bet she'd enjoy some company."

  "Okay." Tip brightened visibly. "Maybe we can make popcorn."

  After leaving the apartment, Sam glanced at Crysta. "I have to talk with Jangles. Mind waiting a few minutes?"

  As anxious as Crysta was for them to be on their way, she knew Sam had other obligations, as well. "Not at all. We'll both feel better if we know Tip's all right."

  The sincerity Sam saw reflected in Crysta's gaze made his stomach tighten. Was it remotely possible that maybe, just maybe, he'd finally found a woman who wouldn't resent Tip? As he hurried through the lodge to find Jangles, Sam cautioned himself against reading too much into Crysta's behavior. She might sing a different tune entirely when faced with a lifetime of making allowances for Tip.

  Bitter memories washed over Sam. He couldn't let Tip be hurt again. Setting himself up for a big fall was one thing, but putting Tip through another rejection would be crimi­nal.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Cessna circled, rattling and shaking as it lost altitude. Crysta pressed her face against the window, scanning the landscape below. The sunken roof of a cabin came into view. She groped behind her for Sam's hand and gave it a squeeze.

  "I don't think that's it," he whispered so Shriver wouldn't overhear. "There's no trail leading from the river, no sign of traffic."

  From up front Todd said, "What is it you two are look­ing for? I'm pretty familiar with the area. Maybe I can help."

  Before boarding the plane, Sam and Crysta had decided the less said to anyone about their suspicions, the better. Sam followed through on that feeling now by ignoring Shriver's question. He leaned forward. "Bank to the left, Todd. The place we're looking for should be fairly close to the lodge."

  Todd did as instructed. Watching the man's skilled ma­neuvering of the plane, Sam considered the repercussions Todd or any other pilot might suffer if he were caught smuggling ivory. It would be insane to take that risk. Un­doubtedly the pilots involved were blissfully unaware of their illegal cargo. Anger welled within Sam. People who slaughtered walrus obviously didn't have much in the way of conscience. They didn't care who they took down with them.

  That thought led Sam back to the most troubling ques­tion of all. Who were the culprits? Their uncertainty” had been the main reason he and Crysta had decided to reveal as little as possible about their reasons for this air search.

  Focusing along the wing, Crysta spotted another cabin. She reached back to jab Sam's shoulder.

  "That could be our baby" Sam said softly. "There's a path winding up from the river." In a louder voice, he said, "Circle around, Todd, and swing in low."

  Crysta's pulse accelerated. As the plane swooped toward the earth and she got a good frontal view of the cabin, a feeling of deja vu washed over her.

  "Sam!" she whispered, her tone urgent.

  He turned to look at her. lifting an eyebrow. "You say yes?"

  She gave an emphatic nod.

  "Hey, Todd, can you land, along this stretch of river?'"'

  Todd took a pass, giving the waterway a thorough study. "It looks good from here. Wanna try her?"

  "Yeah, set us down."

  After landing the plane, Todd insisted on accompany­ing Sam and Crysta to the cabin even though Sam assured him that they were, at this point along the river, within walking distance of the lodge.

  "Hey!" Shriver said, lifting his hands. "Why go off and leave you to walk? I've got nothing better to do."

  Even though he preferred that the pilot not come along, Sam could think of so good way to discourage him. Be­sides, if his and Crysta's suspicions proved correct, Shriver was probably one of the pilots who had been hoodwinked into hauling the illegal cargo. And in that case, it seemed only fair that he be along when Sam and Crysta gathered enough evidence to present to the police.

  As the two race struck off walking, Crysta fell is behind them. For some reason she felt uneasy. Was Derrick frying to reach her, perhaps? She tried to clear her mind, but in her excitement over finding this cabin made serenity impossi­ble..

  About a half mile from the river, Sam stopped and scanned the ground. He looked up and pointed to a thicket of brush. Through the network of green leaves, Crysta spotted something gleaming in the sunlight.

  "Four-wheelers!" Sam cried. He and Todd waded into the brush.

  "Can you believe it?" Todd pulled back branches to re­veal one of the bike-like rough-terrain vehicles. "Who'd leave these here?"

  Sam m
et Crysta's gaze, his own questioning. Since Crysta could think of no way they could conceivably continue this foray without leveling with Shriver, she gave Sam a reluc­tant nod. Without giving names, Sam explained to the pilot their reason for coming here. He finished by saying, "If we're correct, I'd guess that the smugglers use these all- terrain vehicles to carry the ivory from the river inland."

  Shriver gave a low whistle. "Talk about a smooth oper­ation. A plane brings in a load from the killing fields and puts down here on the river. They haul the ivory to this point, load it onto the bikes, and take it to be cleaned. Af­ter that, they hide it in boxes of canned salmon, and back onto the bikes it goes! Then from this point they drag it to the lodge, hang around until a pilot is making a flight out and load it up. I can't believe all of us pilots were so dense!"

  "You can't blame yourself," Sam replied. "Canned salmon doesn't exactly wave a red flag."

  "I suppose not." Todd shook his head, giving the four- wheeler's rear tire an angry kick. "What d'ya say we use these bikes ourselves?"

  "No," Sam replied. "There could be someone at the cabin. The noise of the bikes would warn them we're com­ing."

  "That's true." Shriver flashed Crysta a smile. "Looks like we'll have to hoof it."

  Once again Crysta fell in behind the men. The trail veered to the right across a meadow and came to a shallow slough. Both Todd and Sam wore the green waterproof boots, but Crysta was in sneakers. Without so much as a word, Sam swept her into his arms to carry her across.

  Looking back at Shriver over Sam's shoulder, Crysta watched the pilot step off into the shallow water. Sunlight struck his boots, glistening on the green rubber. A chill of recognition crawled up her spine. Her first dream crystal­lized in her head. The green rubber boots. Not conclusive, Sam had said. And he was absolutely right. The boots were commonplace up here. But the strange way Todd Shriver tied his laces was not.

  Todd didn't lace his boots in a crisscross, like most peo­ple, but in a ladder-rung fashion. Tip's painting. While looking at it, Crysta had sensed she was almost, but not quite, grasping something she had overlooked, and she'd begun examining the background. If only she had kept her focus on Todd's boots!

  The boots in her dream came flooding back to her. She distinctly remembered now that one pair had been laced horizontally from hook to hook, straight across like ladder rungs. Crysta stiffened.

  "What is it? Am I hurting you?" Sam asked, tipping his head back to look at her face. "Crysta, what is it?"

  Todd glanced up and halted in the middle of the slough. His gaze met Crysta's. For the first time, Crysta saw ex­pression in those icy orbs. Hostility. She tried to speak, couldn't. Shriver reached into his pocket.

  "Sam," Crysta croaked, but she was too late. Shriver withdrew a deadly-looking revolver from his pocket and aimed it squarely at Sam's broad back, a target he couldn't possibly miss at this close range. Sam stepped up onto the bank, still oblivious. "Sam? Oh, God, Sam, Shriver's—"

  With a quick pull of his thumb, Shriver clicked the gun off safety. The metallic sound stopped Sam cold.

  "Go ahead and finish, Ms. Meyers.’Shriver's in on it'— isn't that what you meant to say?"

  The pilot smiled a nasty smile, all attempt at subterfuge abandoned. Looking at him now, Crysta realized what it was about him that had always nagged at her. It wasn't that his face was boyish and a little too perfect. It was the lack of compassion to be read there.

  "I had hoped to avoid this until we reached the cabin," Shriver told them. "It would have been so much more tidy that way." He shrugged. "Oh, well, it just brought things to a head sooner than planned. We'll just keep walking, hm?"

  Sam set Crysta on her feet and turned to regard Shriver with glittering eyes. "You weren't an innocent party, after all."

  "You're extremely slow at figuring that out. We've been walking on eggshells for two days now, convinced you were only inches away from realizing. Especially after I followed your cab and saw you touring the warehouses. Riley about came unglued when I told him." He shrugged. "Of course, he's been worried from the start, ever since he followed you into the woods that first day—you remember, Sam, when Ms. Meyers tailed you? The time you tackled her. Riley overheard you arguing and started predicting trouble even then."

  "So there was something behind me!" Crysta cried. "I thought so, but when I stopped and listened, I couldn't hear or see anything."

  "It's not hard to hide in this country," Shriver pointed out. Gesturing with the gun, he added, "Let's start walk­ing. When you guys came and asked me to bring you out here, I got word to Riley before we left. We knew it was the beginning of the end, at that point. From the air, we knew you'd see the trail leading to the cleaning location, then get suspicious and want to see it. My partners struck off in this direction as soon as the Cessna lifted off. It's a ways to walk, but as you've already determined, they're used to it. We're all supposed to meet at the cabin to solve the problem you two present. Riley, as always, has some very inventive so­lutions."

  "Partners?" Sam repeated. "Who else is involved?"

  Crysta had a sinking feeling that she knew the answer to that question. A picture of Jangles conferring in the woods with a strange man flashed through her mind. In retro­spect, Crysta couldn't believe she hadn't connected the Tlingit to the walrus slayings the moment Sam mentioned them. It all fit together now. Jangles, a native of Alaska, was the perfect person to help out up here in a poaching and smuggling operation.

  Shriver's mouth twisted at Sam's question. "Who else is none of your business. But you'll know soon enough."

  "Why you?" Crysta asked. "For the money?"

  "Things like this have a way of getting out of hand, you know? Nice guys, trying to make a little extra cash on the side, and, kaboom, the first thing you know, Derrick gets suspicious, Riley gets trigger-happy, and you're in so deep you can't get out. Do you think I ever intended to kill someone? Once Riley pulled that trigger, it was too late to bail out."

  Sam tried to reason with the man. "For God's sake, Shriver, you're not in too deep yet. But if Riley shot Der­rick, do you think he'll hesitate to kill us? For your part in that, they'll put you in prison and throw away the key."

  "I think one count of murder and ivory smuggling is sufficient to do that." Shriver shook his head. "Not this fella. I'm not doing time. The only reason I got into this in the first place was for a little excitement and some extra cash to impress my ex-girlfriend. She dumped me for a guy with more pocket change. I don't think a prison uniform would turn her on, do you? Besides, why should I rot in a cell? It's not my fault that Riley has a quick trigger finger and no conscience."

  "If you go through with this, you're crazy!" Crysta cried.

  "It's your fault, you stupid broad!" Shriver waded to­ward them, keeping the gun trained on Crysta. "One move, Barrister, and she's dead, so don't decide to play hero."

  Sam stepped back, keeping his hands in plain sight.

  "Why is it my fault?" Crysta demanded. If she could keep Shriver talking, maybe she could distract him long enough for Sam to make a move. It always worked in mys­tery novels, and as far as Crysta could see, stalling was the only chance they had. "I'm a victim in this."

  "An extremely nosy victim." He jabbed her in the hip with the gun. "Turn around, both of you, and keep your hands above your heads. Now, start walking! That's good."

  Crysta heard a splash as Shriver exited the slough behind them, the squeak of his rubber boots on the grass. Her back tingled. What if he decided to shoot them now?

  "I just came here to find my brother," she said shakily.

  "Yeah, yeah. Wasn't the salmon we stuck in your bed warning enough? That should have been your cue to get the hell out while the getting was good, but you stuck around."

  "I suppose you'll tell me next that it was you who trapped me in the sauna?"

  "No, I don't have the stomach for that kind of thing. That was Riley's special touch."

  "But how?" Crysta asked. "You and Rile
y were both out on boats fishing."

  "Correction. You thought we were. We landed down­river and walked back upstream."

  "You stood by while he trapped a helpless woman inside a sauna and built up the fire?" Sam asked.

  "Hey! He wanted to go in first and have a little send-off party—give her something to go out smiling about. At least I drew the line at that. Don't be offended, Ms. Meyers. That isn't to say I wasn't tempted. You've got the nicest set of-"

  Sam stopped and turned. "Shriver, say one more word, and, gun or no gun, I'm gonna make you eat those pearly whites."

  Shriver kept the gun aimed at Crysta. "I don't think so, since she'd go first. Besides, I was paying her a compli­ment."

  "She can do without that kind of compliment."

  "Fine. Just keep walking."

  Clenching his teeth, Sam did as he was told. Crysta fell in beside him, so frightened she felt sick, and not just for her­self.

  "Shriver, please," Crysta pleaded. "Stop this, now, be­fore Riley gets here. Sam has a son to take care of. What will Tip do without his father? Think about what you're doing, the lives it will ruin!"

  "It's out of my hands. Riley calls the shots. Just keep walking."

  It was the longest journey of Crysta's life. At the edge of the meadow, they entered a line of trees, which bordered another clearing. About a hundred yards away, Crysta spotted the cabin. Following the rutted four-wheeler path through the tall grass, she absorbed her surroundings.

  Sam glanced down at her, his expression grim. "This is outside the official search area," he told her softly. "That explains why the pilot in the Huey didn't report it. Using the spot where I found Derrick's shredded gear as a center point, the volunteers searched in a radius they could con­ceivably cover on foot in a day's time. When they widened the circle, they found the faked bear attack site and ended the search."