Page 53 of Canyon of Deceit
Don’t go there.
I shook off my terror and concentrated on His peace to take control.
I scanned the rough terrain east to west through binoculars. A faint puff of smoke rose north of me. Part of the team or Chandler’s camp? Or a means to throw off pursuers? The last thing Chandler would permit is a fire. But the telltale signs meant humans who might have seen or heard something. I took shelter behind rocks and brush and ventured toward the smoke.
I picked up the trail, about a day old, of two adults and one child and followed faint footprints moving northerly. At times I lost the tracks where the high winds had scattered them. I’d move ahead and check out the westerly indications of life later.
Nearing a rock elevation, I crawled to the top, leaving fall foliage behind me. The terrain before me brought only more of the same barren rock. In the distance, an elk herd moved south toward more vegetation. I searched the area again to catch sight of the three, but if Tom Chandler guided them, he’d stay hidden. Blane had called this a game of cat and mouse. But I was finished playing the role of a rodent. I preferred face-to-face woven with skill.
I took a sip of water, and Blane entered my thoughts. He had provisions to last a few days and a knife. We’d shared serious talks, and I attributed those to the uncertainty of a dangerous mission. Different personalities chose different paths of conversations on rescue missions. Some people, mostly men, chose not to speak. Some were so tired that all they wanted was to fill their bellies and sleep. Some used humor to lighten the seriousness of their circumstances. And a few, like Blane, chose to engage in personal topics. He’d honored me with his story about the girl from college. His experience gave me a better understanding of his behavior and the drive to help and lead others. A trusted friend.
God was using a man struggling in his faith to accomplish good. I longed for Blane to embrace Jesus, but first he needed to wanta relationship with Him. My grandmother told me everyone had an empty spot inside him that only the Lord could fill. The man was starting to hold a fragile piece of my heart. Yet it dared not go anywhere.
How many times must I tell myself those words?
Through the binoculars, about fifty yards from me, blue plaid fabric made a stark contrast to the earth colors. Heat rose to my face, and I held my breath. Alina’s school uniform—held down by a rock. Beside the uniform sat a pair of dark-blue tennis shoes. The kidnappers wanted me to find her clothing. Through my binoculars, I explored every direction. Only emptiness. What did Alina wear now? Did the little girl lay dead or hurt in the brush and rock cropping nearby? Or were the men hiding until I approached? If Alina was dead, Rurik stepped dangerously close to a mental breakdown, the kind from which some people never recovered.
I’d survive. I always did. Just like Blane and the ghosts stalking him... Alina physically looked like my sister, Kate—white-blonde hair, blue eyes. Two little girls facing death through dire circumstances beyond their control.
I pulled out a knife from my boot and scouted a route to Alina’s clothes without too much exposure. Blane said the only reason the kidnappers would have brought Alina here was to dispose of her body, and he might have been right. Although the truth scraped at my longing to find her safe, I needed God to prepare me for what the future held. I feared the closer I crept to the uniform, the closer I’d come to her body.
Crouching low, I made my way to Alina’s school clothes. The wind rustled the brown vegetation, but I saw no visible signs of life. With dread tracking every step, I studied the little girl’s jumper, T-shirt, shoes, socks, and a headband... Droplets of blood splattered the jumper skirt and onto the tennis shoes.
A peregrine falcon feather was anchored beneath the dirt-laden shoes.
I slumped to the ground, overcome with sobs in a tsunami of grief not experienced since Kate’s death. Images of my sister on her last daymingled with my blurred vision. I wrestled to rein in my emotions, but my futile efforts increased the intensity. Alina hadn’t contracted a deadly disease. She’d been kidnapped to prove a point by ruthless men. Chandler and the kidnapper probably watched my display of grief, enjoying my loss of control. What they failed to perceive was how the unscrupulous crime strengthened my resolve for justice.
I struggled to my feet and turned in every direction. “You coward! You miserable animal!” I raised my voice and my fist. “I’ll find you. You will pay for what you’ve done to Alina.”
Haunting silence echoed around me, mocking my tattered cries. I rolled up the school uniform and stuffed it into my backpack. Every rock and bush were sealed to memory. Disturbing a crime scene struck me as wrong, but by the time anyone arrived, the wind would have blown away the evidence.
I pursued the compass of logic. The kidnappers had two options—leave the Guadalupe Mountains with charges of kidnapping and murder on their tail or resort to cave mode until we pulled back, allowing them to escape. Both scenarios labeled them as wanted men. Both scenarios put them in hiding. Rurik had paid the ransom, and they might have escaped to Russia or another third-world country.
Why leave Alina’s clothes and not her body? I hoped she still lived, and I clung to her survival. If she was alive, what unpredictable spot held her? The tracker in her shoes and necklace had led us to these mountains, and unless she wore a second pair of shoes with trackers, our search was futile. Had Chandler been surprised that we pursued him into Dog Canyon? Many areas around me contained the seclusion he craved. Had he hiked in with supplies? A helicopter could bring him whatever he needed.
I crept back to higher ground. From the sun’s slow descent, I barely had time to get back to where the FBI team had camped the previous night, which left Blane alone. I lifted my face to a gray sky and met a sharp wind that stung my cheeks.God, show me the right direction.
Think like Chandler... Put yourself in his shoes.
Cunning, evil, game player.
Speculation took control of my thoughts.Help me focus. What if the clothes were planted to throw me and the rescue team off the real trail? What if they had a change of clothes for Alina? What if they’d discovered the tracker in her shoes?
What attracted Chandler to Dog Canyon? Why bring a helpless child over a perilous trail? Something in this locale called to him... but what?
Concentrate.
Pulling out the paper map from my shirt pocket, I smoothed it with my hands. A destination rose in my memory, and I refolded the map. Yes, I’d been there.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Rifle fire split the afternoon air, jarring me into alert mode. Then another crack. Given the terrain and the wind, the shot had originated from the west. The sound hadn’t come from Blane’s direction, and I breathed out my relief. Had the rescue team found Chandler?
My knife hadpointlessinscribed on the blade.
No more rifle fire sounded. Only wind and high desert quietness greeted me. I’d come this far to check out a secluded site, and I’d not leave until I was sure Chandler hadn’t taken Alina there.
I followed a trail toward a deserted cave I’d stumbled onto about three years ago. Behind thick brush and rock, it offered protection from the elements. The way wasn’t noted on any trail guides, and none of my park ranger friends talked about it, especially with the unspoken agreement with the Apache nation to keep the caves sacred and unmarked. If Chandler and other men were in the cave, Alina would have found it difficult to climb the steep slope.
