“What aren’t you telling me?” he said.
She looked surprised, perhaps a little too theatrically so. “What do you mean?”
“Your story makes sense up to a point.”
“What point?”
“That you’re here out of the goodness of your heart, some protective sentiment about Lizzie. You’re smart, you’re tough, and you’re not about public service and goodwill toward people. So why are you here?”
She smiled coquettishly. “Maybe I’m worried about you.”
“Right,” Cork said.
“Stranger things, Horatio…” She leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “See you in a couple of hours.” She stood up, but when she turned, she let out a small, startled cry. “Henry.”
Cork swung around and saw that Meloux stood very near, his dark eyes fixed on the lake.
“What is it, Henry?”
“I have been thinking about the bear trap.” Meloux walked forward and waved toward the two islands. “Only one way in.”
Cork followed his gesture and saw how the moon lit the water in the channel, a glittering path between the two black formations. He thought about it. The most direct way to the portage on the other side of the lake. The stone slabs breaking the water, requiring a slow, careful passage. He understood that whatever moved between the islands would be an easy target.
“You think he’s on one of the islands, waiting for us to pass?”
“If his heart is set on killing, it would be a good place.”
“How can we be sure?” Dina asked.
“Somebody needs to check it out,” Cork said.
Dina shook her head. “Even if you headed there now, you’d be a sitting duck in all that moonlight.”
“If he’s awake and watching.” Cork studied the island. “But if he’s awake and if he’s watching, he’ll be looking this way and not watching his back.”
Meloux laughed quietly. “You are thinking like the bear now.”
“You’re going to circle around behind him?” Dina said.
“It seems to me like the best approach.”
“Not alone.”
“I’m not risking anybody else.” Cork scanned the eastern sky, still heavy with night. “How long before first light, Henry?”
“An hour,” the old man said. “Maybe less.”
“Then we should get started.” He woke Fineday and Morgan and explained to them what was up.
“I’ll go,” Fineday said.
“It’s already decided, Will.”
“I’m not going to just sit here and see what happens.”
“That wasn’t what I had in mind.” Cork looked toward the sky. “It’ll be light soon, and if Stone’s waiting for us, he’s sure to be watching. We need to make certain his attention stays focused here.”
“How?” Morgan asked.
“I think someone should cook breakfast. The wind’s blowing toward the island and the smell ought to get his attention. There should appear to be a lot of activity going on.”
“I don’t want to sound pessimistic,” Dina said, “but what if he shoots you, slips off the island, and gets away?”
“We need to close the back door, make sure he stays there. That’s where Will comes in. And you, Howard. As soon as you can see enough to make your way through the woods, I want each of you to circle the lake from a different direction, post yourselves about two-thirds of the way around on either side, someplace where you have a clear view, a clear shot if Stone tries to leave. Dina, you’ll be seeing to the same thing from this side. That way, you’ll each have a third of the lake covered. As soon as we confirm that Stone’s on the island or as soon as any shooting starts, you’ll be responsible for radioing base, Dina, to get the critical response team out here right away.”
“What about you?” Dina said.
“I’ll be leaving very soon to paddle to the back side of the island.”
“I already told you, in the moonlight you’ll be a sitting duck.”
“The moon’s low enough that it casts a shadow of the trees onto the lake, see?” He pointed toward a black, ragged lip of deep shade that lay over the water all along the western shore. “If I stay in the dark there, keep to the shoreline, and circle carefully, Stone shouldn’t be able to see me.”
“You hope,” she said.
“Whatever we do, there’s risk. You and Meloux, you’ll have to make it look good, like we’re all still one happy family here at the campsite.”
Meloux nodded thoughtfully. “It is a good plan, Corcoran O’Connor. Worthy of a good hunter.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Henry. Let’s roll.”
The first thing he did was to contact base, explain the situation, and make sure that Larson had the CRT standing by. There were only three walkie-talkies. Cork took one and gave the other two to Morgan and Fineday. He tuned the radio to the same frequency so that initially Dina could communicate with the others, then change frequency when she needed to communicate with base. He checked his rifle, stuffed extra cartridges into his jacket pockets, and with Morgan’s help quietly set one of the canoes on the water.
“Half an hour to first light,” he said to Dina. “As soon as Howard and Will take off, get a fire going, start something cooking, anything.”
“How does peanut butter and jerky sound?”
“Awful. But see what you can do to make it smell good, okay?”
Meloux said, “I can think of a few tricks.”
“Thanks, Henry.”
“Good luck.” For the second time that morning, Dina gave his cheek a kiss.
Morgan said, “I wish you good luck, too, but don’t expect a kiss from me.”
Fineday offered his hand. “Thank you, Cork. I owe you.”
“All right, then.”
He stepped into the canoe, shoved off, and dipped the paddle. A few strokes out, he glanced back. In the dark among the trees, his companions had become nearly invisible. He glanced toward the islands and hoped the same was true of him.
Lamb Lake was an oval with a circumference that Cork roughly calculated to be about two miles. If he didn’t care about noise, he could easily make the trip to the backside of the islands in twenty minutes, but paddling quietly took more time. He was painfully conscious of the gurgle of water that accompanied each paddle stroke. Once, because he couldn’t see clearly in the shadow of the trees, the canoe bow scraped a rock with a disquieting rumble.
In a while the birds, those that had yet to migrate and those that never would, began to sing, to call, to argue, to declare territory. Cork hoped the noise would help mask his own sound and he bent harder to the paddle.
By the time he slid around the southern end of the lake, out of the protective shadow of the tree line into moonlight, a faint evanescence had crept into the eastern sky, the promise of morning. The Northwoods began to take shape like a photo tediously developing. Cork glanced toward the campsite. A yellow tongue of flame licked among the trees there, and he knew that Morgan and Fineday had begun their mission. They were spreading a net across Lamb Lake, and if they were lucky they would snag Stone in it. If they were very lucky, no one would be hurt. But Stone was well named, and Cork was a realist. He would be satisfied if Lizzie and all those who’d come with him to look for her made it out of the Boundary Waters safely. He tried not to think of himself beyond the point of his own mission, which was simply to find out if Stone was on one of the islands, waiting. The possibility that they might have anticipated correctly and actually surprise him fueled Cork’s tired body and brain. He felt remarkably ready.
A rat-gray light seeped over the lake. When Cork reached the shoreline almost directly opposite the campsite, the whole woods had emerged in particulars. Individual trees stood out, irregularities of the shoreline
