Page 3 of Heston
“As of now,” Mark Houston interjected, “we have no way to know which way they went or exactly where they are. You’ll be spread damned thin. Do your best to find them.”
“Where’s the White go after the Fryingpan joins it?” Heston asked.
Something cracked in the background before Murphy could answer. Must’ve been the Sit Room door banging open because Mother called out, “Got his coordinates, Murph. If he’s still got his phone. If not, I’ve got his last known location. Don’t have a clue where Kelsey is. Her GPS hasn’t pinged all day.”
Which meant her cellphone was either turned off or broken.
“Then where the fuck is he?” Murph growled. Another first: the one and only F-bomb Heston had ever heard come out of the Vietnam vet’s mouth.
“GPS puts his last location east of Emmons Glacier, Murph,” Mother snapped. “North of Baker Point. Forget the Fryingpan. He’s in the White because Kelsey’s in the White.”
“God, no,” Heston growled. Kelsey and Alex both in a glacier-fed river? In the middle of no-damned-where on that mountain? What the hell happened?
“At least we won’t have to search both rivers,” Asher whispered.
“You sure about that wild-assed guess, Mom?” Murphy was in rare form if he dared call her Mom.
“When am I ever not sure about what I tell you, Murph?” Mother bit back at him.
Tempers were frayed thin if these two were already at each other’s throats.
“Why were they even up there?” Heston asked Mother, Murphy, and Mark, not wanting to interrupt, but needing to know.
Mark took over. “Sorry TEAM. We’re a little stressed. Should’ve filled you in sooner. Alex and Kelsey were on a much-needed getaway. Kelsey wanted to hike the Wonderland Trail that circles Mount Rainier, but yeah, something went wrong. Only intel we’ve got so far is from the SOS Alex sent before he went dark. Which wasn’t much, just that Kelsey took a headshot and fell in the river. At that time we didn’t know which river. Now we do. Bottom line, he couldn’t get to her in time and, yeah, he’s probably in that same river trying to save her. Thanks, Mother. We really appreciate everything you’ve done. Anything else you can tell us?”
Sasha Kennedy, affectionately called Mother or Mom, must’ve been standing closer to Mark, judging by the volume of her voice over Heston’s commlink. “I’ve been on Jed McCormack’s geo-synchronous satellite system since Murphy got the call at ten AM our time, people. Which is seven on the Pacific Coast. Which means Alex and Kelsey were up too damned early!”
Heston thumbed his cell phone on. The screen showed East Coast time at eleven fifteen; eight fifteen in the Pacific Northwest. Kelsey had been in the water for more than an hour. Alex, possibly—no, scratch that—make it just as long.
“Too many trees and undergrowth,” Mother complained, plenty of irritation in her tone. “I can’t see the terrain, but Alexwas definitely close to the White when he made the last call. Which tells me he’s tracking Kelsey, or trying to. Only the chance he’ll find her is damned slim. The White used to be a placid run-off stream, but lately, it’s a dangerous stretch of rapids known for white water, underlying boulders, fallen trees, undertow, whirlpools, and—”
“Hypothermia,” Ember Dennison’s voice spoke up from somewhere in the Sit Room. “Those are all glacier-fed rivers, guys. Ice-cold water might slow down Kelsey’s system enough to help her survive, if she was dressed in cold weather gear, and if she was healthy when she fell in. But if she’s been shot, she’s bleeding from her brain, and—”
“Right. Understood,” Mark cut in somberly. “The cold might not help at all, Ember. Got it. Mother, continue. Hurry.”
Heston quickened his run. Limp bodies in turbulent waters still bled. Might even bleed faster.
“We believe Alex was shot, too. Can’t confirm, but can’t deny he was probably the intended target, not” —Mother’s voice cracked— “not her. Not poor Kelsey.”
Heston gritted his teeth at the nightmare taking place too far away for him to do either Alex or Kelsey any good. He and Asher raced the rest of the way to the helo pad, nodded to the man who would get them to SEA-TAC, former Air Force colonel and A-10 pilot, Decker Edison. Within seconds, their asses were strapped into the rear seats of the latest experimental helo out of McCormack Industries, and their safety headsets were in place.
This helo was a sleek, black, and deadly-quick tiltrotor that could easily transform into an airplane while in flight. Originally engineered for the FBI’s SWAT use inside densely populated cities during riots, it came with tiltrotors that allowed it to land vertically with very little engine noise. Because of its flat-black paint, non-reflective bullet-proof windows, and silent approach, it had quickly become the Bureau’s prized weapon against thegrowing mob violence within American cities. It hadn’t been designed to transport troops or heavy payloads, and it offered more air speed than other tiltrotors, including the V22 Osprey. To date, McCormack Industries was the only defense contractor to produce a helicopter/tiltrotor that reached MACH 1 air speed.
“Ready to take off, Mark, Murph,” Heston advised curtly.
“Thank God you youngsters are quick on your feet,” Murphy replied huskily. “Find Alex. Find Kelsey. God…” His voice cracked. “Find those kids as quick as you can. Bring them… bring them home.”
“Yes, sir,” Heston vowed.
“Safe travels,” Mark added hoarsely. “We’ll be sending every available agent to assist, but you two are point. Do what you can, as fast as you can. Stay in touch.”
“Copy that,” both Heston and Asher answered.
“I’ll report as soon as we hit SEA-TAC,” Heston added. “Again once we’re on Rainier.”
“Hope you’ve got warm coats in those gear bags. It’s only September,” Mark offered, as if Heston didn’t know what time of year it was. “Winter starts early at high altitudes.”
Decker sent Heston a thumbs-up over his shoulder.
