The Search Page 7

  He pedaled for the mountains. As the sun rose higher in the sky, the terrain took an upward slant. He downshifted into lower gear and began to labor up the grade. Soon he was bathed in sweat, despite the cool November air. Last night in the henhouse, he’d thought he would freeze to death.

  Exhaustion soon morphed into pain. His legs burned; his chest ached from the lung-lancing effort. Even his eyes stung as perspiration poured down his forehead.

  By the time I reach town, I’ll be too weak to ask about Meg!

  It was nearly noon when he reached the strip of buildings he had seen from the farm where he’d spent the night. It was a much smaller town than he’d expected — a gas station, a general store, a diner, and a couple of ski shops.

  All at once, he felt terribly exposed on his stolen bike. In a place this size, a thousand-dollar Trek might be known to the locals. He hopped off and stashed his ride in an alley between two clapboard structures. When he stepped out, he caught sight of himself reflected in the window of Ski Togs. He looked like exactly what he was — someone who had broken out of custody, spent the night in a chicken coop, and ridden a million miles uphill. If he approached anyone in his present condition, they’d be dialing 911 before he got the first word out. His next stop had to be the gas station bathroom, to get himself cleaned up.

  A thought occurred to him — could this toilet have been one of Meg’s targets? It scarcely mattered anymore. He knew the kidnappers had been headed this way. It was time to zero in on them.

  Leaving a lot of feathers and dust and sweat behind, he emerged and went to see the attendant. He found the man on his hands and knees behind the cash register, scrubbing the linoleum floor.

  “Hi, I’m looking for some cousins of mine. I think they passed through a couple of days ago. Maybe they stopped here.” There was no reply, so Aiden soldiered on. “There were two men and a woman, plus a young girl of eleven — no, twelve — ”

  My God, he thought to himself. She’s twelve now. She spent her birthday kidnapped.

  “Don’t remember people,” came the voice from the floor. “Just cars.”

  “The car,” Aiden repeated. “Uh — green. Yes, definitely green.”

  “Green what?”

  “I don’t know,” Aiden admitted. “Just a regular car, I guess. I’m not sure of the make and model — ”

  “Doesn’t matter,” the voice interrupted. “Haven’t seen anything green in a while. Kind of early in the season for much traffic.”

  “Season?”

  The man looked up at him. “Ski season. All it takes is a few inches of snow, and this town’s jumping.”

  Aiden couldn’t imagine this town jumping even in an earthquake. But he thanked the attendant and stepped back out to the street.

  Where to now? He doubted Meg’s kidnappers had visited one of the ski shops. His eyes fell on the general store. If they were holed up somewhere around here, surely they’d need supplies.

  He got to the shop just as an apron-clad woman backed onto the porch, pulling a wagonload of Ice Melt. Aiden jumped forward and held the door for her.

  “Thanks.” She began stacking the bags under the window for an outside display, and paused to smile at him. “Something I can do for you?”

  Aiden repeated the story about the “cousins” he was looking for. “In a green car,” he finished.

  She brightened. “You know what? I think I know who you’re talking about. A big guy, right?”

  Aiden’s heart leaped as he thought back to the burly kidnapper in the Spider-Man mask. “He’s my — uncle! You’ve seen him?”

  “Just this morning,” was the reply. “Not two hours ago. He was with your aunt. They were laying in some groceries. Fixing to stay awhile, I guess.”

  “Where?” Aiden barely whispered. “I mean, stay where?”

  She seemed surprised. “Don’t you know? They’re your relatives.”

  “I — I lost their address — that is — my mom did. ” He clamped his jaw shut. The storekeeper was beginning to regard him with suspicion.

  “Do you live around here? What’s your name?”

  “I’m — uh — I’m — ” Oh, man, he was messing this up! After all his experience as a fugitive, he should have been better at thinking on his feet. But the shock of scoring a direct hit on Meg’s kidnappers halfway up Nowhere Mountain had left him defenseless and stammering. Part of him was celebrating. He had found her — or at least, picked up her trail. Yet, at the same time, he was blowing it with the one person who might be able to help him.

  With a sinking heart, he realized that all his attempts to appear friendly and normal were only making things worse.

  “I — I gotta go!”

  He turned and ran back to the alleyway where he had stashed the bike. Stupid, stupid, stupid to talk to people without having his story straight in his own head.

  He wheeled out onto the main drag, tossing the woman what he hoped was a casual wave. Maybe she would consider him just an oddball, because if she called the cops —

  No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than the squad car appeared, far too soon for her to have sounded the alarm. It was pure coincidence — bad luck. But it was too late to flee. The cruiser was coming right toward him. His only chance was to brazen it through, ride on, act like he belonged.

  He could see the young deputy’s eyes now, giving him the once-over, taking note of the expensive Trek. And then — just like that — it was all over. The car drove on; the moment passed.

  Aiden let out a long tremulous breath. He was safe.

  While he was silently congratulating himself, he heard a fateful noise. The squad car braked, reversed, and backed up alongside him. The window rolled down, and the officer stuck his head out.

  “Richard Pembleton?”

  Caught!

  Aiden blasted away from the cruiser, fear driving his pedaling legs. Behind him, the car swung around into a three-point turn.

  It was a small head start, not nearly enough for Aiden to outrun a motor vehicle. His only hope was to take the bike where the cruiser couldn’t go. He steered around the second ski shop and took off along a dirt path behind the buildings. He could see the deputy paralleling him along the road.

  How am I going to get away?

  His eyes fell on the sign:

  BLUE VALLEY SKI RESORT — GUESTS ONLY

  He shot down the gravel lane, which traveled across a high ridge. The ski lodge was visible through the trees far below. And, beyond that, the farms to the east.

  Behind him came the sound he’d been dreading — automobile tires crunching on the gravel. The cop was still trailing him, but gaining fast. There was only one possible escape, one place the deputy could never follow.

  He pulled off the lane and piloted the bike into the trees. The slalom that followed took his breath away — swerving and steering, threading the needle, bouncing over uneven ground between countless trunks.

  “Kid, no!” came the cop’s voice. “It’s not worth it!”

  Aiden set his jaw as the branches scraped his face and flailed at his body. That’s because it isn’t your sister. It was plenty worth it.

  Besides, the trees were thinning out. He could see daylight just ahead. The Trek burst out of the grove — and the earth seemed to drop out from under him.

  The slope was steep, the speed dizzying. By the time Aiden realized where he was, the bike was already traveling upward of forty miles per hour. Somehow, he had blundered onto the main ski slope!

  The Trek kept on accelerating until he could hear the wind roaring in his ears. But he didn’t dare slam on the brakes for fear of rolling, head over heels. If that happened, the best he could hope for would be a body cast.

  He tried to pump the hand brake lightly, stuttering the tires. It did nothing — it was probably supposed to do nothing at that speed. He was too scared to steer away from directly downhill. Rough terrain could wipe him out entirely. Besides, he was already going so fast that he lacked the stren
gth to move the handlebars in either direction.

  The slope blurred as the force of gravity pulled the Trek in a screaming descent. Aiden’s mind worked even more furiously than his wheels. What could he do? How might he save himself? Every passing instant ramped up his velocity. Should he jump? It seemed crazy.

  But five seconds from now it’ll be that much crazier because I’ll be going even faster!

  All he could do was hang on, struggling to keep the bike upright.

  And then the blizzard hit.

  Blizzard? That’s impossible! Two minutes ago, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky!

  Yet there was no mistaking it. Ice-cold needles raked his face. Wildly blowing snow reduced visibility to zero. The Trek plowed downward through the storm. With a stab of terror, he realized he could no longer see where he was going. If he hit anything — a tree, a rock, a fence — he would be dead instantly.

  It called for a split-second decision, and he made one, too quickly even to allow for a silent prayer. He coiled his body like a spring and hurled himself free of the bike.

  The impact was utter devastation. If it hadn’t been for the cushioning effect of the soft snow, he probably would have sustained a concussion and more than one broken bone. The momentum sent his body tumbling, and for a moment he feared that he would logroll all the way to the bottom, to crash into the wreckage of his stolen bike. But after a few seconds, he bounced to a stop in the deepening powder.

  He did a quick self-exam — arms, legs, body parts. Everything seemed okay, except for the taste of blood from where he had bitten his lip. Gingerly, he got to his feet and weighed his options. The deputy was probably already on his radio, sounding the alarm. Town wasn’t an option. Neither was the ski lodge at the bottom of the hill. He had to disappear and lie low until the heat was off.

  He began to trudge through the driving storm until an astonishing sight met his eyes. A wheeled cart sat at the edge of the slope. On its flat back sat something that looked like a small cannon. The “blizzard” was shooting out of its barrel.

  Amazed, Aiden walked out of the barrage. The sky was blue and cloudless.

  A snowmaking machine!

  He looked up and down the mountain. There were several others creating these wintry conditions. Wasn’t it just his luck to hit the ski hill when the lodge decided to make artificial snow?

  On second thought, he realized it was luck. Very good luck. The whiteout conditions were hiding him from the cop above and the hotel below. Twenty yards beyond the snow machine the cover of the woods beckoned.

  He dropped to all fours and scooted for it.

  On a different mountainside, thirty miles to the west, Meg sawed furiously at the ropes that bound her wrists. It was more difficult than she’d anticipated. The twine was thick, the nail file dull, the position awkward. It was almost impossible to maintain a proper grip on the manicuring tool. Drop it, and she’d be in big trouble. She had to be careful, and care took time.

  Patience, she told herself.

  It was hard to be patient when, at any moment, Spidey or Tiger might walk in on her. When they checked on her next, she had to be miles away.

  It became a little easier once she’d worn a groove in the rope. She could feel the fibers splitting, ever so slowly, one at a time.

  Keep going. This could be your last chance.

  She was almost loose when there was a click, and the door opened. Petrified, she could think of nothing to do but pretend to be asleep.

  Footsteps in the room. Who was it? Spidey? Tiger? She palmed the file, praying that none of the frayed ends of twine would show. Seconds seemed like weeks.

  Go away … go away … go away … go away …

  At last, another click. She had passed the test, and she was alone again.

  Her relief was so great that she nearly fumbled the file out of her fingers. Heart pounding, she went back to work, double speed.

  The pressure of rope against skin suddenly loosened as the bonds fell away. With her hands free, she took less than a minute to untie her ankles.

  In a flash, she was at the window, easing up the sash, hoisting herself silently up, over, and out. The desire to be away from the house and her captors was so strong that she sprinted through the woods, heedless of direction.

  She stopped for breath only when the searing pain of her lungs would permit her not one step more. Only then did she allow the thought to enter her mind.

  I have no idea where I am.

  Peering through the trees at the valley below, she could not make out a single sign of life — not a house, not a road, not even power lines. She remembered the uphill slope of the ground as she’d been carried to the cabin. So downhill was the direction she had to follow. This place was isolated, but it wasn’t Antarctica. If she went far enough, sooner or later she was sure to run into somebody.

  Meg prayed it would not be one of her kidnappers.

  * * *

  Sheriff Atkin watched a tub-sized hot cup of coffee ease through the low doorway to his office, followed by all six feet seven inches of Emmanuel Harris.

  “Sit down, Agent Harris, by all means,” the sheriff invited. “What can I do for the Bureau today?”

  “Richard Pembleton,” Harris said grimly. “Have you caught up with him yet?”

  Atkin grimaced. The last thing he wanted to discuss with this fed was how a teenager had escaped from this very trailer — especially since they still had no idea how the boy had managed it. Harris was going to think he was some kind of hick.

  “One of my deputies spotted him, but Pembleton gave him the slip.”

  The agent held out a photograph. “Is this him?”

  The sheriff nodded.

  “First things first,” Harris told him. “That’s not Richard Pembleton. He’s safe at home in Maryland. The kid you’re looking for is Aiden Falconer.”

  The name brought instant recognition from Atkin. “The Aiden Falconer? But what would he be doing around here? Why should he care about Lincoln’s mascot?”

  “He was probably using the other boys as cover. The kid’s a chameleon. He’s convinced that his sister’s being held around here somewhere.”

  The sheriff nodded. “The kidnapping. I heard about that.”

  Harris regarded him intently. “Any chance Aiden’s onto something? Mysterious strangers? Suspicious activity?”

  Atkin shrugged. “There are plenty of places to disappear in our mountains. But we’re not exactly centrally located for a ransom operation. Is the Bureau planning a big play up here?”

  Harris shook his head, thinking of Sorenson at the Falconer home, hopelessly entangled in rules and procedures, incapable of action. “I’m just here for Aiden. What kind of help can you give me?”

  The sheriff turned to his radio. “Let’s see what my deputies have turned up.”

  Under cover of the woods, Aiden made his way back up the hill. He kept the road in sight, but didn’t dare show himself — not with police cars cruising the main drag every few minutes. In a town that amounted to no more than two blocks, this counted as a dragnet. He hadn’t survived a daredevil thrill ride down the mountain just to get arrested on Main Street.

  Yet he couldn’t stay hidden forever. Meg was being held around here somewhere, maybe not too far away. He had to find her. Then the police could have him and anything else they wanted. But none of that was going to happen if he couldn’t leave these woods.

  His plan was to wait until dark. Surely it would be safe to come out then. He sat down on a rock, practicing his story about cousins in a green car. He was going to have to be a lot smoother than he’d been with the lady at the general store.

  Dusk was falling. Soon it would be time. He hunkered down at the sound of a car, noting with relief that it wasn’t a cruiser. He hadn’t seen one in a while. Maybe they were giving up. After all, he wasn’t exactly a fleeing murderer.

  With a shiver that ran through his entire body, he realized that he was looking at the receding trunk of a g
reen sedan.

  Abandoning all caution, he burst out of the woods and hit the pavement running. In a full sprint, he tried to do the impossible — catch up to a motor vehicle. For a moment, it was working. The sedan slowed down for the two-block length of town, and Aiden actually gained on it. But then it made a sharp left onto a side road and disappeared from view.

  No!

  He turned on the jets, propelled by anguish and disbelief. A direct connection with his sister! So close! And now it was gone.

  He barreled through town and made a left in the car’s wake, struggling up a sharp grade. Desperately, his eyes raked the area. The road was steep and winding, dotted by a few small houses and ski chalets. No vehicles in the driveways; no sign of the sedan.

  He forged on, refusing to be discouraged. Deep down, he knew that if the car had been heading ten miles up this road, he would never get there. And even if he did, by that time it would be so dark that he wouldn’t be able to tell green from black.

  “Hey, son, are you okay?”

  Startled, Aiden stopped in his tracks. A man stood on the front lawn of a small cottage, rake in hand, by a mound of leaves. “Funny place to run a marathon,” he observed.

  “Did a green car just come by here?” Aiden panted.

  The man laughed. “I’ve heard of dogs chasing cars — ”

  Aiden thought fast. “They left a credit card back at the gas station.”

  “You’re looking for the Harpers’. It’s a split-level stucco house about half a mile up the road, on the left.” He hesitated. “Listen — when you approach the place, make sure you don’t look like you’re sneaking around. Their boy is just home from the service. He’s an okay kid, but he’s still pretty tightly wound. He saw action in Iraq. You don’t want him to think you’re a burglar.”

  “Thanks.” Aiden trotted on up the street, his heart rejoicing. He recalled the terrible day — was it really less than a week ago? — when Meg had been taken. A big man, a woman, and a smaller man. Father, mother, son.