Page 96 of High Frequency

“Because it … Drive … accessed last … morning …”

Abruptly, the line goes dead.

I try to reconnect, but notice where I had a single bar before, I now have none.

It’s a short walk back to the ATV, where I check my phone again.Nothing. I can turn back, but I’m probably more than halfway to the cabin already. I really don’t want this to be a wasted trip.

I just wish I could give the sheriff a heads-up, but I’ve heard sometimes text messages make it out when you have spotty reception, so I quickly type one out to my boss.

Call Bellinger: Exxon security video tampered with?

Who all had access?

I’m checking the cabin, spotty reception here, will call when I can.

Then I sit down on the ATV with my walking stick between my legs, fire up the engine, and continue on up the mountain. I may need that walking stick because these machines make a lot of noise, and I’d prefer not to advertise my approach should someone be there. Wolff showed me where it is on the map, and I know there’s a narrow path off the trail that takes you to the cabin. I figure I can find some place to hide the ATV from sight, and move in on foot.

The whole way up there I replay the conversation with the SAC. Was he saying someone accessed the files Wednesday morning? He must have, because there was obviously nothing missing from the files I downloaded.

Whodidhave access to that folder? Ewing, obviously, and whoever sent it to him in the first place. I remember him mentioning he’d ask one of the guys to have a look at the tapes, but I don’t even know if he got around to it. Things have been rather hectic this past week.

I almost end up driving past the cutoff to the cabin on my left. The path is narrower than the trail, but would still fit the ATV if I wanted to drive it all the way up. Instead, I roll the vehicle off the trail and into some underbrush a few hundred feet farther down. Then I grab the walking stick and start to backtrack.

It’s not until I’m only a few feet from the pathway, I notice tire tracks in the looser sand on this side of the trail. They appear to turn onto the path. Someone seems to have come up the trail from the other side of the loop. They may actually be there right now.

I stop and pull my phone out to check how many bars. I have none, but I must’ve hit a pocket with some reception at some point, because my text to Junior seems to have gone through. I quickly type out an update.

Instead of walking up the smaller trail, I duck into the trees. At least they give me some coverage. I check my belt for my sidearm on my hip and the small of my back for handcuffs. At this point, all I want to do is confirm someone is there and wait for others to arrive, but I won’t hesitate to stop them if they try to leave.

I don’t see an ATV, but from what I can see from my vantage point in the trees, the cabin itself is pretty basic, a front door with a small window on either side. It’s nestled in the trees, which is good for me, because it gives me cover while I check out the sides and the back to see if anything is parked back there. It’ll also give me a chance to check for possible additional access or exit points. My goal is to gather information so when backup arrives—I hope—we can draw up a plan of attack.

The going is tough with that damn walking boot hampering me, and I’m tempted to take it off, but I don’t think that’s gonna get me far. Instead, I do my best to keep cover as I circle the cabin.

No vehicles, and only two small windows at the back. No door, which means only one way in or out, since those windows wouldn’t be big enough for someone to get through.

Encouraged by the fact whatever ATV made those tracks coming up here appears to be long gone, I approach the rear of the cabin, hoping to get a glimpse inside.

The window is caked with dirt and I use a tissue I had wadded in my pocket and some spit to clean a tiny corner, enough for me to see through.

The inside looks like one open space, no doors, no plumbing, just what appears to be a chemical toilet in one corner and several jugs of what I assume is water, lined up against the far wall. There’s a kitchen chair with its back underneath one of the front windows, and there appears to be an animal hide of some sort on the floor.

I move to the next window, giving a small patch a quick clean before I bring my eye close to it. I have a slightly different perspective from this angle and just catch the corner of a mattress which must be butting up against this wall.

As fast as I can manage, I round the cabin to the front to see if I can get a peek into one of the front windows. These ones seem to have been cleaned a bit more recently than the ones in the back. I peek over the windowsill and almost have a heart attack when I hear a scream from inside.

The hair on the back of my neck stands on end, as I process what I’m looking at.

A woman, huddled on the mattress in a corner of the room, shackled to the wall, mouth wide open as she screams. It’s not until she finally quiets and stares straight at me, I recognize her face.

Shelby Vandermeer.

My brain is trying to grapple with the fact a woman I saw just a few hours ago, at her parents’ store, is now held captive inside a cabin on the mountain. She’s even wearing the same clothes she had on earlier.

While I’m still trying to process, my body is already in motion, moving toward the door, only to find it locked.

It’s a very basic mechanism; a hinged metal plate that slips over a ring through which a padlock is hooked. A good kick might do the trick, but I don’t think my ankle would survive. I put my shoulder into it but that doesn’t do much good, and the last thing I need is a bum shoulder to go with my ankle.

I scan my surroundings for anything I could use, pick up a brick-sized rock, and slam it on the lock. It likely won’t do much for the padlock, but I might be able to loosen the metal bracket from the wood it’s screwed into.

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