Christmas Kidnapping

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THE FIRST FLAKES of snow began to fall as they moved away from Jack’s truck. They had parked the vehicle off the road, hidden by a thick stand of juniper, to the west of the fishing camp. It had taken almost an hour to reach the camp from Durango, the last thirty minutes on a winding snow-packed road that crossed and recrossed the Pine River. “We’ve got to hike about two miles,” Jack said. “We’ll have to find a place where we can watch the camp without being seen.”

Andrea pulled down the knit cap on her head and checked that the gun was secure at the small of her back beneath her winter coat. She hoped she wouldn’t have to fire it, but she would if it meant saving Ian. “I’m ready,” she said.

Jack led the way into the snowy woodland. He moved swiftly but silently, sinking to his shins in snow with each step. Andrea tried to follow in his tracks but was soon out of breath and sweating beneath her layers of clothing. As the snow began to fall harder, she told herself this was a good thing. The storm would keep everyone at the camp inside and the snow would help muffle the sound of their approach.

After they’d walked for half an hour or so, Jack stopped. Andrea moved up beside him and looked down on the river some ten feet below. Ice rimmed the frothing brown water. “If we walk along the riverbank from here, we should come to the camp,” he said.

She shivered, as much from fear of what lay ahead as from the cold soaking through her clothing. Jack pressed something into her hand—the key to his truck. “Do you think you can make it with Ian back to my truck by yourself?” he asked.

She stared up at him. “You’re coming with us, aren’t you?”

“I plan to. But just in case something happens—can you find your way by yourself?”

She folded her hand over the key, then slid it into her coat pocket. “I can do it. I follow the river, then turn left. That will eventually take me to the road. Your truck is parked just past the telephone pole with the sign tacked to it about a farm auction next month.”

Jack clapped her shoulder. “Good job, remembering that sign.”

“How’s your leg?” she asked. All this hard hiking couldn’t be good for his wounds.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” He turned away and started walking again before she could say anything else.

When he stopped again, she could make out the corner of a building maybe fifty yards ahead, the wood siding painted dark green, icicles hanging from the metal roof. Jack dropped to his knees and motioned for her to do likewise.

Snow soaked into her jeans and wet the cuffs of her coat as she crawled along behind Jack. She couldn’t see anything from this height other than snow and Jack himself ahead of her. Then the undergrowth receded and they were in the clearing, behind a building. At the corner of the structure, Jack stood, his weapon drawn. She rose also, her back to the building, heart thudding painfully.

Jack peered around the side of the building. “What do you see?” she whispered.

“Nothing,” he said. “But there are a lot of buildings here. We’re going to have to get closer if we’re going to find Ian.”

The camp looked deserted, the windows in the cabins boarded up, the sign that read Office on one building hanging crooked from a single nail. But the tire tracks in the packed snow of the drive looked fresh, and the smell of wood smoke mingled with the scents of pine trees.

There were nine cabins overall, eight arranged in a half circle, with the office, a larger structure that looked as if it had once contained a residence as well as a store, sitting to one side, nearest the narrow drive that led from the main road. A rusting metal arch marked the entrance to the camp, the sign hanging from the top unreadable from Jack’s position.

He waited, ears straining to hear any sound beyond the whistle of wind through the trees. The cabin they were standing behind was probably empty. In the five minutes or so they had been standing here, he hadn’t heard any sounds from inside. If someone had so much as walked around in there, he and Andrea would have known about it.

Behind him, Andrea shifted her weight from foot to foot, feet crunching on the snow. He checked his watch. A few minutes past ten thirty. If Anderson or whoever he worked for was planning an ambush, they were probably already in place. They’d done a good job concealing themselves, though it would be easy enough to take up positions in the cabins and wait for Jack and Andrea to drive into the yard. Then the kidnappers could converge and take them prisoner or simply open fire and kill them before they had a chance to act.