Page 93 of Love Me Dangerous

By lunchtime,I’ve driven the entire western perimeter, stopping to scout with the binoculars or check for weak sections in the fence. The security camera checkpoints are operational, but that’s no surprise, given that an entire team of specialists maintains and monitors the equipment. The wilderness-safe gates installed in cooperation with TheWinter Range Project must be activated by hand, but I don’t see any evidence that the wires have been moved.

The fence continues along the edge of a steepening valley called Miner’s Gulch while the road climbs a steep and windy track to a bald rise. From here, it’s a clear view across the gulch to the forested foothills of the wilderness area and everything beyond Finn River Ranch.

After zipping up my coat and sliding on insulated work gloves, I grab the binoculars and step out of the truck. The alpine breeze bites my cheeks. I stand with my back to the cab for shelter and lift the heavy binoculars to my eyes.

Growing up in Alaska, I’ve spent plenty of time outside—not just in our backyard playing catch with William and Dad or caring for our animals but hiking and camping, and, like everyone else, salmon fishing in the late summer. But it’s weird spending entire days outside by myself. I’m not used to that. In Alaska, hiking alone is a great way to end up being a grizzly bear’s breakfast.

I glass each section slowly, looking for anything out of place. Forested ridges, broad valleys, high meadows, the rocky slopes.

The distant grind of a two-stroke engine snaps my attention westward. I scan with the binoculars, looking for the telltale dirt cloud. Just as I spot it, the bike disappears into a hidden valley, the metal frame flashing in the sun for one fleeting instant. The wind swallows the last of the sound. I scan the area, but there’s no sign the bike was ever there.

I reach back into the cab for the map, wincing at the sting in my side, and line up the topography to pinpoint the bike’s location. The crisp paper flutters in the wind, so I fold it in half and tuck it under my arm, then check again with the binoculars to be sure.

It’s wilderness, all right.

I scan beyond the place where the biker dropped out of sight, hoping he’ll pop out again, but it’s like the landscape has swallowed him whole. Was there just one rider, or more?

Maybe the biker or pair of bikers are cruising around for fun. It’s possible they don’t know they’re on wilderness land. An honest mistake. There’s no fencing to delineate the border with the adjacent Forest Service land. But my gut tells me there’s more to this.

And there’s one sure way to find out. I’ll have to exit the ranch land and approach that distant gulch from the other side of the river.

On my drive back down, I scarf two sandwiches and an apple, then fill the thermos cup and drive one-handed to the gate, saluting the guard with my cup as I pass.

I drive up Finn River Valley to the forest service road heading toward the wilderness area. The map is unfolded next to me, the dots and X’s from my fieldwork looking sparse in the vast area.

That same niggling detail scratches the surface again.

Stu’s words echo in my thoughts.There’s a way. We just haven’t found it yet.

From inside my pack, my phone chirps.

I toss back the last of the coffee and check the phone’s little window.

It’s Sawyer.

Alarm bells erupt in my brain. We aren’t scheduled to talk again until Sunday.

“Hey.” I turn on a gravel road and pull over so I don’t risk losing him in the mountains.

“Can you talk?”

The wind is snatching his words, so I roll up the window. I take a quick scan of the area, but I’m alone. “Yeah.”

“Something big went down today at the ferry terminal downtown,” he says in a rush.

“Okay.”

“Federal agents and local cops arrested two guys. I think Kristov might be one of them.”

“What?”

“They haven’t released names, but the sheriff did a press conference about it. One of the guys they nabbed came off the ferry and tried to flee when the cops closed in. Someone got footage. They must have sold it to the TV station because it’s been playing nonstop. The other guy assaulted one of the officers.”

“If we don’t have names, how do you know one of them is Kristov?”

“The guy who tried to flee? He used to work at the train yard.”

“So?”

---