think he’s not alive.”
I didn’t reply.
She stayed silent awhile, then said, “It could have been you.”
It could have been, but if it were me out in the woods around the Custer Hill Club, things may have turned out differently. Then again, maybe not.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
We continued west on Route 3, a road that seemed to have no reason to exist, except to look at trees while you went from nowhere to nowhere.
Kate had picked up a few brochures from the airport and was perusing them. She does this wherever we go so she can enhance her experience; then, she regurgitates this stuff back to me, like a tour guide.
She informed me that Saranac Lake, the town and the airport and this road, was actually within the boundaries of Adirondack State Park.
She also informed me that this area was known as the North Country, a name she found romantic.
I commented, “You could freeze to death here in April.”
She went on, “Large parts of the park have been designated as forever wild.”
“That’s pretty depressing.”
“The area designated as parkland is as big as the state of New Hampshire.”
“What’s New Hampshire?”
“Much of it is uninhabited.”
“That’s fairly obvious.”
And so forth. Actually, I could see now how someone could be lost in here for days or weeks, or the rest of their lives, but I also realized that someone could survive if they had some experience in the woods.
Route 3 was actually a decent two-lane road that occasionally passed through a small town, but there were stretches of wilderness that aroused my agoraphobia and zoophobia. I could see why this guy Bain Madox would have a lodge up here if he were up to no good.
Kate said, “This is so beautiful.”
“It is.” It sucked.
There were yellow signs with black silhouettes of jumping deer, which I guess were to warn the deer to jump out of the way of cars on the road.
Around a turn was a big sign that had a black painting of a bear and the word CAUTION. I said, “Did you see that? Did you see that bear sign?”
“Yes. That means there are bears in the area.”
“Holy shit. Are the doors locked?”
“John, stop being an idiot. Bears won’t bother you if you don’t bother them.”
“Famous last words. How do you know what bothers a bear?”
“Stop with the fucking bears.”
We continued on. There wasn’t much traffic going our way, and only a few vehicles passed us going back toward Saranac Lake.
Kate said, “Tell me why we’re going to the Custer Hill Club.”
“Standard police procedure. You go to the place where you last heard from the missing subject.”
“This is a little more complex than a missing-person case.”
“Actually, it isn’t. The problem with the FBI and the CIA is that they make things more complicated than they need to be.”
“Is that a fact?”
“Yes, it is.”
“I need to remind you that we don’t want to alert Madox or anyone there that a Federal agent was on his property.”
“I think we’ve discussed this. If you were on the Custer Hill property with a broken leg, no cell-phone service, and a bear nibbling on your toes, would you want me to follow orders and wait for a search warrant to look for you?”
She considered that, then said, “I know that a cop will risk his life and his career to help another cop, and I know you’d do the same for me-though you may be conflicted about my dual role as your wife and as an FBI agent-”
“Interesting point.”
“But I think you have another agenda, which is to see what the Custer Hill Club is all about.”
“What was your first clue?”
“Well, the stack of airline passenger lists and car-rental contracts in my briefcase, for one. And you inquiring about Global Oil Corporation aircraft, for another.”
“I just can’t seem to fool you.”
“John, I agree that we need to push the search for Harry, but beyond that, you’re getting into something that may be a lot bigger than you realize.” She reminded me, “The Justice Department is interested in this man and this club and his guests. Do not screw up their investigation.”
“Are you speaking as my colleague, my wife, or my lawyer?”
“All of the above.” She paused for a moment, then added, “Okay, I’ve said my piece because I had to say it and because I really worry about you sometimes. You’re a loose cannon.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re also extremely bright and clever, and I trust your judgment and your instincts.”
“Really?”
“Really. So, even though I’m technically your superior, I’ll follow your lead on this.”
“I won’t let you down.”
“You’d better not. And I also want to remind you that nothing succeeds like success. If you… we… go beyond our orders, then we’d better have something to show for it.”
“Kate, if I didn’t think there was more to this than oil-price rigging, we’d be sitting around the state trooper headquarters now, drinking coffee.”
She took my hand, and we drove on.
About forty minutes after we’d left the airport, I saw a sign for Route 56 north, and Kate said, “Bear right.”
I hit the brakes and reached for my Glock. “Where?”
“Here. Bear right. Go.”
“Bear… oh…
“Turn fucking right.
I turned onto Route 56 north, and we continued on. This stretch of road was real wilderness, and I said to Kate, “This looks like Indian Country. What’s it say in the brochure about Indians? Friendly?”
“It says that the peace treaty with the Native American population expires on Columbus Day 2002.”
“Funny.”
We drove for about twenty miles, and a brown sign informed us that we were leaving Adirondack State Park.
Kate said, “The desk sergeant said the Custer Hill Club is on private land inside the park, so we passed it.” She glanced at the Hertz map. “There’s a town called South Colton a few miles up ahead. We’ll stop and ask for directions.”
I continued on, and a small group of buildings appeared. A sign said: SOUTH COLTON-A SMALL TOWN WITH A BIG CHIP ON ITS SHOULDER, or words to that effect.
There was a gas station at the edge of the small bump-in-the-road town, and I pulled in and parked. I said to Kate, “You go ask for directions.”
“John, get off your ass and go ask for directions.”
