A Cold War Read online

  “First time I met Tommy,” she said, “he started in on the jokes. I remember he asked me what Alaskan women had in common with a bottle of beer, and when I said I didn’t know, he said, ‘They’re empty from the neck up.’ And so I told him I wasn’t an Alaskan woman, but was born and raised in Boise. That was my mistake. From that moment on, he called me his ‘sweet potato,’ ‘small fry,’ or ‘hot patootie.’ You ever hear the Meat Loaf song ‘Hot Patootie’? That became our song.”

  “It’s a good song,” said Hamilton with a smile. “It was in that crazy movie with the drag queen mad scientist, wasn’t it?”

  “The Rocky Horror Picture Show,” said Danni.

  “That’s the one.”

  From the corner of his eye, Hamilton could see Martin turn and look at him with surprise. He hadn’t expected him to know either the song or the movie. Like most people, he had trouble imagining a cop as a human being.

  “So, how long have you lived in Alaska?” Hamilton asked.

  “Just over a year,” she said. “I arrived the July before last. I didn’t intend to stay, but everything seemed to click. There were so many men around here, I sort of felt like a supermodel. Of course, that was before I learned what every woman in the state knows: the odds are good, but the goods are odd.”

  “I resemble that remark,” said Hamilton with another smile.

  “How long have you and Mr. Carter been going out?” Martin asked. Hamilton was surprised his patience had lasted as long as it had.

  “He first sat in my chair about eight months ago,” she said. “He came every two weeks for a trim and said he’d never been so well groomed his entire life. The third time I was cutting his hair, he asked me out. Tommy said he’d rather spend money wining and dining me than spend it on his hair.”

  “Take us back to the morning of Tom’s flight,” Hamilton said. “Did he say anything about his destination or his client?”

  Danni sighed and gave a little shake of her head. “My mama always used to say I had a brain like a sieve. I’ve never been good at remembering things.”

  “From what I understood when we talked,” said Hamilton, “Tom worked part-time for a private air charter, and he also had his own side jobs.”

  Danni nodded. “He has some regular runs for Arctic Charter, or as Tomcat calls them, Shark Chowder, but he’s only a part-time employee there. Tommy has his own side business. That was how he was able to afford his plane.”

  “And this last flight was booked through his business, right?”

  She nodded slowly. “I think that’s one of the reasons he didn’t want to cancel. He makes a lot more money doing his private charters. He also knew his client was expecting him, and there was no way to contact him.”

  “And why was that?”

  “His client didn’t have a phone, and I guess he was traveling. Tommy had to fly to a meet-up spot they’d prearranged.”

  “Do you know where that was?”

  Danni shook her head. “I do know Tommy had to get up really early. It was pitch-black outside. He said it was going to be a long day for him. That’s why he told me he had to be gone before the butt-crack of dawn.”

  She smiled. “That’s how Tommy talks.”

  “If Tom went to a meet-up spot,” said Hamilton, “I assume that means his client wasn’t in Anchorage.”

  “That’s right. I’m pretty sure he was flying to a meet-up spot on some lake north of here.”

  Her face pinched up as she tried to remember more. “A lake near Stalk Meaner. I don’t know where that is, but Tommy has nicknames for just about everything and everywhere.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “It’s like he calls Anchorage Rainchorage, and Fairbanks Square Banks, and Wasilla Meth-silla, and Homer Homeroid.”

  Hamilton repeated the nickname. “Stalk Meaner?”

  Danni nodded her head.

  He racked his brain trying to make a connection with Stalk Meaner. “I’m guessing he meant Talkeetna,” he said.

  “Maybe,” said Danni, shrugging. “I’ve heard the name, but I don’t even know where that is.”

  “As the crow flies, it’s fewer than a hundred miles from here. There are a lot of planes that fly in and out from there. It’s a popular takeoff spot for glacier flying and flightseeing of Mt. McKinley and Denali National Park.”

  Martin spoke up again. “Let’s assume that was the pickup spot. You have any idea of where their destination was?”

  She shook her head and then reluctantly smiled. “I know it’s not going to help you, and I know I should be mad at Tommy, but if you’ll excuse his French, he said they were flying into Bumfuck, Egypt. That’s Tommy for you. He’s full of expressions.”

  “But we can assume they were going somewhere into the bush?” said Hamilton.

  “I think so,” she said. “Not that Tommy usually calls it the bush. He calls it BFE, or flying into the vagitation, or going into the pubes. Tommy likes his racy talk, but he’s all bark. Once I got to know him, I learned his he-man bluster was an act.”

  “What about this passenger?” asked Martin. “It seems he must have flown with him on multiple occasions. Did Tom tell you his name or say anything about this man’s business?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not even sure which one of Tommy’s passengers this was.”

  “Let’s assume this particular client lives in the bush,” said Hamilton. “Do you remember Tom talking about clients who live there?”

  Danni made a face. “I know he had runs flying Natives to their villages. And he had some arrangements with hunting and fishing guides. A lot of those guides are pilots themselves, but Tommy flew charters so they could stay working on the ground. There were also teachers he flew, along with government workers and pipeline employees.”

  She stopped talking, and a thoughtful expression came over her face. “He did talk about one fellow, though. He called him Grizzly Adams.”

  “Grizzly Adams?” said Hamilton.

  Danni nodded. “He’s this trapper who lives somewhere in the bush. Tommy said he was a real character.”

  “In what way?”

  “Tommy said he was a survivalist who thought the world was going to hell in a handbasket, and that civilization was on the brink of destruction. I guess that’s why he was living somewhere in Bumfuck, Egypt.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  At first light, Nina dug out the caulking tube. She listened for any sounds and forced herself to be patient and make sure Baer wasn’t anywhere nearby. He’d said he would be gone for days, but Nina knew better than to trust anything he said.

  She’d slept little, but still felt better than she had since arriving at the cabin. The black dog continued to weigh her down, but her world was no longer completely dark. All night she’d pondered the words that had seemed almost divinely meant for her. Over and over Nina had repeated them. Even now she whispered, “Dear Sister, Do not kill yourself. You are not alone.” It was almost like the words were some magical incantation. They were Nina’s spell against the darkness.

  With trembling fingers she pulled the packet from the tube. She was nervous. Could she have imagined that message as a form of self-preservation? The timing seemed too coincidental. It was like a suicidal person walking a deserted beach and finding a lifesaving message in a bottle. Things like that didn’t happen.

  Or maybe she’d find the simpler answer was that the note was simply meant for someone else.

  Nina prepared herself for disappointment and opened up the booklet. But then she saw the words. They were just as she’d remembered them. She hadn’t imagined them, and she wasn’t crazy.

  Dear Sister, Do not kill yourself! You are not alone.

  Nina reached out and touched the writing, feeling it with her fingertips as if she were reading Braille. The words were written in large, reassuring letters. They welcomed her to turn the page and keep reading.

  She did that, turning over the rough-hewn cover, which appeared to have been
constructed from a cereal box. The handwriting on the second piece of paper was much smaller and utilized all of the available space. The salvaged paper, she saw, had come from a large bag of flour that had been turned inside out. As Nina thumbed through the booklet, she could see that a number of the journal’s pages had come from that same flour bag. The other pages of the booklet consisted of oversize labels that had been carefully removed from their packaging.

  My name is Elese Martin, and since you are reading this, it is likely I am dead. I don’t want you to suffer my fate. I want you to live.

  Right now you’re wondering how I knew you were ready to take your life. When the monster took me and when I realized help wasn’t coming, I also searched every inch of this cage looking for something sharp to kill myself. Like you, I didn’t find anything. I am glad of that now.

  This book must be our secret. Don’t give the monster any reason to suspect its existence. He is suspicious enough, and hypervigilant. Luckily, our cage is too small for him to enter. He conducts his searches by pulling out the covers and whatever he can reach. Hide the tube in the base of the pen.

  When the monster stole me on my honeymoon, I went from the loving arms of my husband, Greg, to being raped by a man I hated. That is what the monster does. He rapes and defiles. The monster says that I am the “second” Mrs. Baer. He says his first so-called wife drowned, but I don’t believe that. I think she chose death as her escape.

  Reasoning does not work with the monster. Do not waste your breath. These are your only two options: kill him or escape. Or better yet, kill him and then escape. Harden your heart. That is the only way.

  The monster has kept me confined for over two years, which is how I know his routines. From the middle of September until approximately the end of February, he lives in this cabin. He moves to his second cabin when the hunting and trapping plays out here, making it his home in March and April. That winter cabin is smaller and even more primitive than this one. He stays there until the breakup, which is when the icy rivers give way to running water. That is when the monster travels to what he likes to call his “summer retreat.” It is his fanciful term for a prison he has made out of a long-abandoned military post used during the Cold War. My last two summers were spent in a bunker I think of as an underground dungeon. For weeks at a time, he went off to work summer jobs, leaving me locked up belowground. No one heard my screams.

  That is why you must plan your escape now. Leaving from here is your best chance. The monster thinks this spot’s remoteness, and the daunting winter, make escape impossible. You can take advantage of that. In the smaller cabin and in the Cold War bunker, there are fewer opportunities to get away.

  In the pages that follow, I will provide you with information and maps, and whatever I can tell you about this area. Know thy enemy. And remember that you are not alone. I am with you.

  I hate the idea of my family and friends not knowing what happened to me. And I hate the idea that I could not say my good-byes. When you escape, you must be my voice.

  Love, Elese.

  Nina ran her finger along Elese’s signature. She knew it was just her imagination, but the signature seemed to be giving off heat.

  It almost felt as if Elese was there with her. As if her secret sister knew her.

  Nina turned the page. At its top was the heading RULES OF SURVIVAL.

  In precise but tiny handwriting, Elese enumerated those rules:

  Your First Rule is to survive. Do whatever it takes. There will be countless reasons to give up and die. None of those matter. You must endure.

  The Second Rule is to prepare for your escape. Every day you must learn whatever you can, even if it doesn’t seem important. And every day you must be planning. You don’t know what it will take to get away. Assume it will take everything.

  The Third Rule is to study your enemy. You have to learn what he already knows. You will have to know what he is likely to do. Do not let your hatred blind you. Study his every movement as if your life depends on it. It likely will.

  The Fourth Rule is to be unafraid. Fear leads to doubts. Fear leads to inaction. If you believe in yourself, your old life will remain within your grasp.

  The Fifth Rule is be ready to act. The right time might be at any time. When planning your escape, do not assume there will be a perfect time or perfect opportunity. An imperfect opportunity might be your best and only chance to act.

  The Sixth Rule is to prepare for war. And in order to prepare for war, you must know your own weaknesses, as well as the weaknesses of the enemy. If you are deficient in one area, do your best to improve. Learn how to compensate for your shortcomings, and prepare to exploit his. If the monster is overconfident, take advantage of his hubris. Prepare for war. And in war, if you know what the enemy will do, then plan accordingly.

  The Seventh Rule is to respect the land. Do not curse the bitter cold; that’s wasted energy. In this environment there are a thousand ways to die. It is up to you to find the thousand and one ways to survive.

  The Eighth Rule is that when you get the chance, you must kill the monster. Visualize his death. Consider the many ways in which his death could be achieved. Do not rule anything out as being wrong or something you could not do. When Baer abducted you, he stole your life. If you are to reclaim that life, you must end his.

  Nina was only two pages into Elese’s book, but her heart was racing, and her hands were damp.

  She was thinking about preparing for war.

  She was thinking about surviving.

  Her eyes ran up and down the page, scanning the eight rules. It almost felt like Moses had come down from the mountaintop with his stone tablets. There was a difference, though. Part of his message was Thou shalt not kill.

  Nina preferred Elese’s message: Kill the monster.

  She turned to the next page.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “It’s October.”

  “Thanks for the news flash, but I have a desk calendar.”

  “You should have consulted it. You told me you would get back to me in October.”

  Hamilton was usually able to swallow his anger, but he’d had enough of Greg Martin’s attitude. “Today is October first. I didn’t tell you I would get in touch with you on the first fucking day of October. I said that after I looked into a few things, I’d get back to you. That was four days ago.”

  Instead of backing off, Martin said, “We got a real lead. It’s the first real lead we’ve had in three years.”

  “We’re not even sure it’s a lead. It could be a coincidence.”

  “Carter is still missing, isn’t he? What did his friends say?”

  Danni Houston had provided him with the names of Tomcat’s three best friends. He had contacted them to see if he could learn anything more about Grizzly Adams.

  Hamilton took a deep breath. He shouldn’t have let Martin get under his skin. A few months ago his doctor had put him on ACE inhibitors for hypertension. He hated that he was taking blood-pressure medicine. It made him feel like an old man.

  “One friend said Tomcat liked to talk about sex and sports a lot more than he did about his work. And I’m still playing phone tag with another friend. But I did get a few things out of a guy named Canardy, who Tomcat nicknamed Canary.”

  He tapped his pen against the desk. “According to Canary, on a few occasions Tomcat talked about a big, bearded mountain man who lived in the middle of nowhere and made his living trapping and hunting.”

  “That’s our link to Blackbeard.”

  “That’s not a link. Four out of five men in Alaska have beards.”

  “That sounds like a made-up statistic.”

  “It’s the statistic of someone who has lived here all his life.”

  Maybe that was the problem, thought Hamilton. He’d lived in Alaska all his life. Carrie had been brought up in Oregon. Early in their marriage, the two of them had talked about settling somewhere else, but Hamilton had found one reason or another to stay in Alaska. Hi
s fifteen-year-old daughter, Dorothy—whom he still thought of as Dot—had already announced her intention of going to college in California.

  “What else did this Canary say?”

  “He seemed to recall Tomcat calling Grizzly a nut job, and said he was waiting around for World War III. According to Canary, Grizzly told Tomcat the world was ‘a red cunt hair’ away from being destroyed during the Cold War, and that it was even less of an RCH now.”

  “I always wondered how that phrase came into being.”

  “I think we can safely rule out Shakespeare and the Bible.”

  “Have you looked into the Talkeetna connection?”

  “It’s a potential Talkeetna connection, and no, I haven’t had time. I did try to get AST to check on that, but the troopers said they were too busy with their own leads to take a look at it anytime soon. With the reward money that Donnelly is offering, they have more so-called leads than they know what to do with.”

  “We’re onto something. I know it.”

  “I don’t know about that. But I’m still looking.”

  Hamilton had never stopped working the Elese Martin case. His pride wouldn’t let him. Just because he was pretty much a one-man band in Seward didn’t mean he hadn’t tried to do everything right. He supposed he had a chip on his shoulder, the cop out in the boonies who wanted to believe he was good enough for the big leagues and hadn’t blown the case.

  “Since you’re not getting anywhere with the troopers, maybe you should try and get an appointment with Terrence Donnelly.”

  “What’s the advantage in that?”

  “Donnelly has lots of juice. If you can get his point man on board with what we’re working on, maybe he can get us the resources we need.”

  We and us, thought Hamilton. Since when had they become a team? He thought about giving Martin a reality check. They weren’t a team. But Hamilton decided not to pull his chain up short.

  “I’ll add it to the list,” the cop said.

  “I’m thinking about getting a haircut three days from now. You okay with my stopping by your office afterward?”