Killer Summer

50

Walt should have been looking at a team of twenty trained deputies at his spanking-new Incident Command Center. Instead, he was looking at four, two of them civilian clerks. Five on-call deputies were on their way, but still twenty to thirty minutes out. Overhead displays, satellite links, the Ethernet-all seemed to be laughing at him in almost empty space.

The Subaru was Kevin’s. The Learjet was gone. They had a para-sailor’s 911 report that a low-flying jet had hit a flock of geese and, when last seen, its engines were smoking or on fire. The timing of the sighting matched the cell-phone-following GPS program that placed Kevin over the town of Ketchum.

Walt attempted not to show the despair he felt, but this last bit of news had sent a wave of panic and dread through him-recalling the US Airways jet that had taken less than two minutes to crash-land in the Hudson. He caught himself staring at the phone, expecting it to ring. He’d lost his brother several years earlier. He couldn’t bear to lose his brother’s son. He reached to loosen the top button of his uniform, but found it unbuttoned already.

He was not a man to shrink from responsibility, yet, for a moment, he just wanted to walk out the door and keep going. No more phone calls, no more bad news. He watched the clock on the wall’s second hand jerk around its face.

Walt caught Fiona staring at him from a seat in the otherwise empty front row. She grimaced and cocked her head silently, checking that he was okay. He returned an indifferent shrug, his eyes revealing the dead space inside. He so did not want the phone to ring.

“Okay,” he said, getting the attention of the four other people in the room, including Fiona. “Pull together Search and Rescue. Apprise Joaquin up in Stanley of the situation. Update the Challis sheriff. And we’d better at least notify the Forest Service to prepare for a fire response. If the plane goes down… well, it’s mostly forest up there.”

The speakerphone beeped.

“Sheriff?”

Walt steeled himself, resolving not to fall apart in front of this group.

“Go ahead.”

“The MC has a Theodore Sumner trying to vid-chat with you. Do you want to take it?”

Walt worked the laptop. The screen came alive, as did an overhead monitor. Walt didn’t want the man’s face overhead but didn’t know how to shut it off.

Teddy Sumner’s stress could be measured by the sweat on his upper lip and the pain in his eyes.

“I’ve got it,” Walt said, punching the phone and slipping on a headset. “Go ahead, Mr. Sumner.”

“Good evening, Sheriff,” Sumner began. “As I suspected, my pilot is in his hotel room, watching television. But I asked him to call for the plane, and, of course, you’re also right that it’s gone. It took off right around the time you said it did, which, I can assure you, it did without my permission. The only conclusion to draw is, my jet’s been stolen. Why? I have no idea. With proper notification, it will be seized the moment it lands anywhere, although, fully fueled as it is, it could reach Mexico. If that happens, I’ll likely lose it. I asked my pilot about the key-there are only two-and he has his. When I looked for mine-I’m loath to admit this-it was missing. As is my daughter, which, I’m told by Mr. Webb, you’re aware of. Putting two and two together, my daughter took my key and got someone to fly my plane, though, for the life of me, I refuse to believe it.”

“That’s not how it went down,” Walt said.

He briefed Sumner on the Sun Valley Aviation security video, and allowed how they had three suspects, all known for participating in major robberies, though he did not name them.

“It’s possible that one of the three convinced or coerced your daughter to take your key,” Walt continued. “It’s also possible-probable-that your daughter and a companion are on the jet. Circumstantial evidence supports that theory: a phone call made to this department.”

Sumner’s reaction was immediate: stunned breathlessness. Then a father’s fury filled his eyes, and he choked out, “Not possible… That can’t be right.”

“In the spirit of full disclosure, her companion is assumed to be my nephew, Kevin Fleming. Kevin’s employed by the Sun Valley Company and works in the lodge, where, as I understand it, you’re staying.”

“Your nephew?”

“And your daughter, yes. Believe me, I want them to be anywhere but on that plane. We have a report, sir, that it may have suffered some damage while in flight.”

“Come again?”

“Geese… a flock of geese. We have an eyewitness report that both engines were smoking and on fire. We’re organizing a Search and Rescue.”

“Good God, on fire? My jet? How certain are you Summer’s on board?”

“It’s not all speculation. We’ve got the phone call, some mapping software. And the times match. The evidence is fairly conclusive but not definitive. I would like to stress that point.”

“What’s she doing on that jet?” He looked as though, if he could have reached through the screen and grabbed Walt by the collar, he would have. “Your nephew put her up to this! Christ Almighty, I’ll have his hide.”

“We know nothing about what led up to this. What little we do know, we’re acting on by deploying Search and Rescue. Beyond that-”

“Beyond that…?”

“We’re of the opinion that the theft was not an act of terrorism. We have, however, notified the proper federal authorities, as mandated by law. They will scramble fighters and force the jet down-”

“Jesus, stop!”

“Unless this was meant to be a robbery, as I believe, likely an insurance scam, in which case the thieves never intended to fly very far. The mountains block tracking radar, Mr. Sumner. And seventeen million makes for a very attractive target,” Walt added.

“And they lured Summer into this scheme somehow?”

“We can’t confirm your daughter’s or my nephew’s involvement, only that the evidence suggests they’re aboard that plane.”

“What a cock-up!” Sumner shouted. His spittle flecked the camera lens and Walt’s screen. “On fire?” His face seemed to melt down to his chin as belief slowly registered.

Down to his heart, Walt was thinking, feeling the same thing in his own chest.

“Let’s hope not,” he said.