“At three hundred hours tomorrow morning, we'll secure the four approaches to the park.” Using a red flashlight beam, Rutherford indicated areas on the map. “Once we know he can't escape, we'll wait until daylight. There's no use going in blind. The northern flank will progress into the search area, checking every conceivable place where someone might hide. The other flanks will remain in position to make sure the target stays trapped. Some of you might be wondering why every flank doesn't converge on the park, squeezing him into the center. That way, all of you would be part of the action. The answer is, we don't want you shooting each other in a crossfire if the target puts up a fight.”
The group was so confident about their skills that they assumed Rutherford was joking. They chuckled, continuing to bond.
“We've got a great deal to accomplish in a very short time. Equipment. Weapons. Transportation. Timing. There'll be two staging areas: here and a high school a half mile from the park.” Rutherford looked toward an official at the side. “West High. Is that right?”
The official nodded.
“After the students go home, we'll conduct practice drills in the track behind the school. Before we enter the search area, the streets near the park need to be blocked off. We also need to evacuate the homes that border the park. This is Special Agent Murphy from the FBI office in Des Moines. She'll organize you into north, south, east, and west units, as well as traffic diversion and evacuation teams. After that . . .”
One hour later, with the briefing almost concluded, Rutherford said, “Finally I want to introduce a man who knows the target intimately. They grew up here. They played in that park so often that it was practically their backyard. They served in the military together. They worked as protective agents together.”
Cavanaugh climbed to the platform. Hundreds of faces studied him. New personnel entered through a door in back. He took the microphone from Rutherford. It made an electronic hum, then settled down.
“I won't take long. You're tired of listening. You want to get started.”
They nodded, their eyes bright with the urge to hunt.
“When you see the park, you might conclude that there's little cover and it won't be hard to find him. You might feel confident because there are so many of you and you're going against only one man. Those attitudes could get you killed. Never forget that your quarry is ex-Delta Force. He has world-class training in camouflage and concealment. Fighting in unexpected ways is one of his specialties. Death is one of his specialties. When you go into that park tomorrow morning, you're entering his world. Suspect everything.”
An FBI agent raised a hand. “But surely he realizes there's a good chance you won't show up alone tonight. Why would he gamble you won't turn him in?”
“Actually, I think he expects me to betray him by bringing help,” Cavanaugh said.
The group looked puzzled.
“He wants to prove how superior he is,” Cavanaugh continued. “For him, everything's a competition. He doesn't care if I bring even a small army to catch him. He's telling me he can outsmart all of you.”
23
“Ten feet apart! No more than that!” Rutherford shouted. “We don't want any gaps in the line. On command, you'll step forward at the steady pace you've been practicing. Supervisors will follow, making certain each line remains straight. Most of you will keep your eyes toward the ground. Every eighth man will study the trees in case the target tries to hide in one. Each hollow. Each pile of leaves. Each fallen tree limb. Assume they conceal the target. Some of you will be in the creek bed. Look for tracks. Look for evidence that someone dug into a bank. If any of you think you've spotted something, blow the whistle you've been given. The line will stop while a team behind you checks the area in question. Your supervisors will tell you when to move forward again.
“Each of you has a firearm. Remember to keep it aimed ahead of you toward the ground or, if you're the eighth man, upward toward the trees. You know the basics. Do not point your weapon at anything you don't intend to destroy. Do not put your finger on the trigger unless you intend to pull it. Do not fire unless you're aware of what's behind your target. In other words, gentlemen and ladies, don't shoot each other. The rules of engagement are as follows. Capture, if possible. But remember, the target is ruthless and dangerous to an extreme. We want to interrogate him, but not at the expense of anyone's life.”
24
“The personnel at the armory will be driven to the high school before dark,” Rutherford told Cavanaugh after the briefing. “We'll use school buses. No one will pay attention to school buses going to a school. Starting at two hundred hours, each unit will walk the half mile from the school to the park. I don't want the noise from a lot of buses warning the target that we're coming. He might slip away before we're all in place. En route to the search area, the teams will be under orders not to talk.Can you think of anything else?”
“Rig a plane with an infra-red camera,” Cavanaugh said. “Tonight, have the pilot fly over the park while someone takes photographs. Maybe you'll get Carl's heat signature on the pictures. You might find out where he's hiding.”
“Please, remember my client's cooperation when his trial starts,” William said.
25
The teams consumed hundreds of pizzas and sodas in the school's cafeteria. Afterward, they sprawled in the corridors and the gymnasium. Knowing that they'd soon be on the move, they dozed as best they could. At 1:30, they were wakened. They used the toilets whether they felt the urge or not. At two, they left the building. In the dark, a cold breeze made them zip their coats shut and shift from one foot to the other. As they assembled in their assigned groups, they heard a plane fly over.
Obeying the command not to speak, they hiked to the park. By three, they reached their appointed areas, spread out in lines that flanked the park, and waited. Lights came on in houses behind them. Troubled questions prompted orders to evacuate, automobiles soon driving away. Then the night became quiet.
Just before five, it started to drizzle.
26
“Rain!” Rutherford's voice was loud inside the van. “The forecast predicted it wouldn't start until late afternoon!”
“Inexact science,” Cavanaugh said.
“By then, we'd have caught Duran! We'd have been out of here!”
The downpour pelted the van's window. At 6:30, what should have been a brilliant dawn was a dismal gray.
“Where are we going to find rain gear at this hour!” Rutherford complained. “The men are soaked! They'll get hypothermia!”
A car sped toward the van and skidded to a stop on the slick pavement.
“Finally,” Rutherford said.
A man hurried from the car. Flecked with moisture, he scrambled inside the van and handed a manila envelope to Rutherford. “Here are your photos.”
Impatient, Rutherford sorted through them. Frowning, he handed them to Cavanaugh. “See anything?”
“A few hot spots,” Cavanaugh said. “This one's so small it's probably a squirrel. This other one looks like a dog.”
“But no heat signature that looks like it came from a human being?”
Cavanaugh studied the photos a final time. “No.”
“Then he lied to you, or you misunderstood the place he meant. He's not in there.”
“Wrong,” Cavanaugh said. “This is definitely the place, and this is part of his game.”
“But a human being gives off heat. The infra-red image would show it if he's in the park.”
“Unless he shielded himself so a camera wouldn't detect the heat.”
“Buried himself?”
“It's one possibility.”
“In that case, we don't have to worry because he's drowned by now!”
“He might not even be wet. After all, he was trained to plan for the worst. But even if he is soaked, he doesn't care. These conditions are luxurious compared to some of what we went through in Delta Force.”
“You know,” Rutherford said, ??
?I'm getting tired of hearing about the good old days in Delta.”
“You did say you wanted my opinion.”
“And what's your opinion of what we ought to do now?”
“Get started.”
27
“. . . your chance to end this peacefully and give yourself up!” Rutherford's amplified words drifted across the park. He used a public-address system, the speakers of which were mounted to the top of the van.
He waited. Two minutes became five. He turned from the rain on the windshield. “Counselor, I asked him three times. I put a lot of sincerity into it. Do you think that's enough fair warning?” Without waiting for an answer, he raised his microphone and said, “Go!”
On the right, the northern flank moved into the park while those on the south, west, and east formed barricades.
Cavanaugh opened the van's side door.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting some exercise.”
The van was on Teg Drive, a street that bordered the eastern side of the park. Feeling the cold rain pelt his head, Cavanaugh passed through the line of men on that side and followed the northern flank as it continued into the park.
Initially, there weren't any obstacles, just the creek flowing through a grassy field. Then the searchers reached trees along the creek and slowed their advance. Dead wet leaves lay along the creek, their autumn colors now dull.
Sensing someone next to him, Cavanaugh turned and saw Jamie.
He smiled.
“You'll get soaked,” she said.
“So will you,” he replied.
“Yeah, but walking in the rain is romantic,” she told him.
While some searchers examined the area among the trees, others came to a playground: swings, slides, climbing equipment. They passed metal picnic tables. They reached a shelter and checked its washrooms as well as it rafters. They looked under a bridge that crossed the creek. They attempted to pry up a storm-drain lid, but it was too heavy. They peered into various garbage cans secured in wooden frames. More trees. Another bridge. Another. They arrived at the new playground that a sign said was called Kiwanis Park. Climbing equipment was nestled in a grotto surrounded by rock walls and fir trees. An open shelter had picnic tables under it. Its rafters were exposed, no place to hide.
That was it. They'd come to the southern flank of men, houses behind them. The end of the park.
Suddenly, Rutherford crossed the soaked grass toward Cavanaugh and Jamie.
“Nothing!” he said, flicking rain from his face. “Mosely was right! Duran's playing games with us! He isn't here!”
“That was just a first pass.” Cavanaugh's wet clothes stuck to him. “They checked the obvious things. Now they should go through the park again, noticing details.”
“What about the neighboring houses? He might be hiding in a garage or a shed.”
“No. The houses aren't in the park. When we played the game, we never broke the rules and went out of bounds.”
Rutherford shook his head unhappily and walked to the men who'd searched the area. He spoke to the officer in charge, who looked eager to get out of the rain but who nodded and shouted orders, motioning for the line to reverse direction.
Rutherford came back to Cavanaugh and Jamie. “Show me the details that bothered you.”
“The ground under every picnic table needs to be checked,” Cavanaugh said, walking.
Rutherford thought about it. “Sure. The grass under some of them is worn away until there's only dirt. If he dug a hole there, it would be easier to disguise than if he dug up the grass. The problem is, he'd need a cover, something solid that he could put dirt on and slide over the hole after he got in.”
“When we drove into town, I noticed a half-dozen construction sites,” Cavanaugh said. “The night before last, he could have grabbed a square of plywood and something to dig with.”
“Where would he have put the dirt from the hole?”
“Spread along the creek bed. Covered with leaves.”
“How would he have carried it?”
“In a bag he found at a construction site. An empty cement bag is strong enough to hold forty pounds.”
“But the dirt on the plywood lid would look freshly dug.”
“Not if Carl packed it down until he was satisfied that it looked like the dirt under all the other benches. Leaves on the lid would hide the cracks at the edges.”
“Ventilation?”
“A tube coming up next to a table leg.”
“Well, if that's where he's hiding,” Rutherford concluded, “he's in rising water. He'll need to climb out soon.”
“You'd be surprised how snug and dry you can make a hole in the ground with a little help from a plastic sheet.”
“More of the good old days in Delta?”
“Actually, the good old days when Carl and I were kids. This is one of the tricks he used against me.”
28
In the rain, the line searched the park in greater detail, moving picnic tables, looking under play equipment, examining the edges of shelters for signs that someone had dug under the concrete pads. They found nothing.
“They need to do it again,” Cavanaugh said. “Those garbage cans in wooden frames. Let's push them aside and see if Carl's in a hole under one of them.”
Carl wasn't.
“That storm-drain lid needs to be pried up. The tunnel needs to be checked.”
But the tunnel was filled with water.
“Look for evidence that Carl dug under the concrete paths.”
Four hours and five crossings later, Rutherford said firmly, “We're wasting our time. He isn't here.”
“But—”
“Either he tricked you, or else you made a mistake about the place he meant.”
“This is it. There's no other place.”
Rutherford studied the shivering, wet, exhausted men. Many of them coughed. Wind gusted. Dark clouds thickened. “I'm calling off the search.”
“No. Please.”
“They've been out here since three in the morning,” Rutherford said. “Somebody'll end up in the hospital.”
“Just one more time.”
“To prove that you're wrong? As far as Mosely's concerned, that would be the only good thing to come out of this. Okay, Aaron. Just for you. One more time.”
They probed the sand under the playground equipment. Farther along, they did the same to the wood chips around the climbing-gym.
Yet again, they found nothing.
Water trickling down his face, Rutherford pointed toward TV news cameras near the park. “They should air this after a Three Stooges marathon. I can only hope the rain blurs any shots they took of me.” He turned toward the searchers. “We're finished, everybody! The buses will arrive soon! We'll take you somewhere warm and dry!”
“Coffee,” someone said.
“Steaming pots of it,” Rutherford promised. He stared at a puddle in the grass. “A thousand men. Some flew in from across the country. Food. Lodging. Buses. Vans. Weapons. Equipment.” He gazed up at Cavanaugh. “Nothing to show for it. Mosely's waiting for me to report to him. I can imagine his reaction when I tell him how much everything cost. This time tomorrow, I might be looking for a new job.”
Shoulders bent, Rutherford walked toward Teg Drive and the van. The lines disintegrated, soaked men wandering toward the nearby streets.
Burdened with discouragement, Cavanaugh remained in the middle of the field. Jamie stood next to him, the rain gusting at them. Emptiness made him feel colder.
“Want to take a stroll?” he asked.
“It's been a fabulous experience so far. Let's prolong it as much as possible.”
He couldn't help smiling. “I love you.”
“Of course, you do. I don't want diamonds or fancy clothes. All I want is to share the glamour of your life.”
29
They walked east of the park and reached an upward-sloping street called Hafor Drive. As the rain strengthened, Cavanaug
h held Jamie's hand and went a half block before stopping in front of a gray, two-story, colonial house. It had carefully pruned evergreen shrubs, an ambitious flower garden (now wilted in autumn), and a well-maintained lawn.
“This is where I lived. In my memory, every house on the street is a brilliant white. But as you see, they're all different in reality. Gray. Brown. Blue. Maybe they always were. I guess I only imagined they gleamed.” Cavanaugh pointed toward the second level. “There, on the left, that was my bedroom. The house on that side had the dog I played with.”
“The one that disappeared?”
“Yes. The house farther along on the left is where Carl lived. Now that I think about it, in my memory that one definitely doesn't gleam. I knew too much about Carl's father and what went on inside that house. So long ago.” Cavanaugh turned to look down the street toward the rain-veiled park. “I can see Carl and me on the sidewalk, heading for the creek and those trees.”
Cavanaugh became silent.
The rain gusted.
“I know he's down there.”
30
They lay under blankets on a motel-room bed, but despite a long, hot shower, they still had trouble getting warm. Beyond closed draperies, the sound of the rain lessened. Afternoon became evening. Shadows deepened. They held one another.
Someone knocked on the door.
A blanket around him, Cavanaugh crossed the room. Standing next to the door, avoiding the peep hole, which could be a target for a bullet, he asked, “Who is it?” The response made him open the door, allowing William to enter.
“Hi, Jamie,” William said cheerily, as if accustomed to seeing her in bed.