me never to let an injustice pass without a firm response, these
experiences also instilled in me a loathing of violence as an easy
solution. To protect myself and those I love, I will use lethal force
when I must, but I’ll never enjoy it.
With Orson at my side, I approached the Suburban. No driver or passenger
waited inside. The hood was still warm with engine heat, the truck had
been parked here only minutes.
Footprints led from the driver’s door around to the front door on the
passenger’s side. From there, they continued toward the nearby fence.
They appeared to be similar if not identical to the prints in the
planting bed under Jimmy Wing’s bedroom window.
The silver-coin moon was rolling slowly toward the dark purse of the
western horizon, but its glow remained bright enough to allow me to read
the license plate on the back of the vehicle. I quickly memorized the
number.
I found where a bolt cutter had been used to breach the chain-link
fence. Evidently, this was accomplished some time ago, before the most
recent rain, because the water-smoothed silt was not heavily disturbed,
as it would have been by someone doing all that work.
Several culverts also link Moonlight Bay to Wyvern. Usually, when I
explore the former army base, I enter by one of those more discreet
passages, where I have used my own bolt cutter.
On this river-spanning fence as elsewhere along the entire perimeter and
throughout the sprawling grounds of Wyverna sign with red and black
lettering warned that although this facility had been shut down at the
recommendation of the Defense Base Closure and Realignment Commission,
as a consequence of the end of the Cold War, trespassers would
nevertheless be prosecuted, fined, and possibly imprisoned under a list
of relevant federal statutes so long that it occupied the bottom third
of. the notice. The tone of the warning was stern, uncompromising, but I
wasn’t deterred by it. Politicians also promise us peace, perpetual
prosperity, meaning, and justice. If their promises are ever fulfilled,
perhaps then I’ll have more respect for their threats.
Here, at the fence, the kidnapper’s tracks were not the only marks in
the riverbed. The gloom prevented me from positively identifying the new
impressions.
I risked using the flashlight. Hooding it with one hand, I flicked it on
for only a second or two, which was long enough for me to figure out
what had happened here.
Although the breach in the fence apparently had been made well ahead of
time, in preparation for the crime, the kidnapper had not left a gaping
hole. He’d created a less obvious pass-through, and tonight he had
needed only to pull the loosely hanging flap of chain-link out of his
way. To free both hands for this task, he had put down his captive,
ensuring against an escape attempt either by paralyzing Jimmy with
vicious threats or by tethering the boy.
The second set of tracks was considerably smaller than the first.
And shoeless. These were the prints of a child who had been snatched
barefoot from his bed.
In my mind’s eye, I saw Lilly’s anguished face. Her husband, Benjamin
Wing, a power-company lineman, had been electrocuted almost three years
ago in a work-related accident. He’d been a big, merry-eyed guy, half
Cherokee, so full of life that it had seemed as if he would never run
short of it, and his death had stunned everyone. As strong as Lilly was,
she might be broken if she had to suffer this second and even more
terrible loss so soon after the first.
Although she and I had long ago ceased to be lovers, I still loved her
as a friend. I prayed that I’d be able to bring her son back to her,
smiling and unharmed, and see the anguish vanish from her face.
Orson’s whine was filled with worry. He was quivering, eager to give
pursuit.
After tucking the small flashlight under my belt once more, I peeled up
the flap of fence. A soft twang of protest sang through the steel links.
I promised, “Frankfurters for the brave of heart, ” and Orson shot
through the gap.