Cold Fear (39 page)

SEVENTY-THREE

The Governor’s
intercom buzzed in
his Capitol Building office in Helena.

“The Department of Corrections director, sir. Says it’s
urgent on the Hood case.”

“Put him on hold, please.” The governor’s cell phone was
trilling as the attorney general and John Jackson swept into the room.

“Gentlemen? Do we have more from the Mounties? Did we
find her?”

Faces grim, they ignored him, switching on the large TV.
A live network news channel.

BREAKING NEWS was the caption under a map of Glacier National Park, Montana. A graphic showing a lightning bolt near the Canadian border
and the words HELICOPTER CRASH as the newsreader described details.

“Crash?
Just a minute,”
the governor said to his cell phone call. “Turn it up.”

“We think Isaiah Hood was on that chopper.” The attorney
general was pressing numbers on his cell phone.

“What?”

“…if you’re just joining us, we have a confirmed report
that an air ambulance, a Mercy Force flight from Missoula General Mercy
Hospital, has crashed in the Rocky Mountains in the northern extremity of
Glacier National Park. Five people were aboard. Four are believed to have
survived and are in stable condition. The fifth person is missing….”

“Missing?”

“It’s Isaiah Hood, sir,” the attorney general said.
“He’s escaped.”

The governor’s intercom buzzed again.

“The director of DOC calling back, sir.”

The governor punched the line: “Tell me what happened.”

“It was a traumatic medical emergency. We were bound by
the regs to transfer him to Missoula.”

“But you had security aboard?”

“One rookie officer. He was the lightest. It was a
last-minute situation because of weight restrictions.”

“But how…tell me just how the hell did this--?”

“Missoula Tower picked up a transmission from the pilot
that Hood had hijacked the flight. Directing it northbound through the park--”

“But how? What was this medical injury of his? He’s high
profile. I should have been told. Why wasn’t--?”

“One of his seizures. We think he feigned illness.”

“Oh,
you think
that, do you?”

The governor hung up. “John, how bad are the survivors?
Update me.”

“A pilot, a guard and two emergency nurses. Preliminary
reports indicate all are alive. In process of being transported to Mercy General.
Families alerted.”

“Get me on the line to them.”

“U.S. Marshals, State Police FBI, Transportation are
first in line.”

“Relatives then,” Governor Nye ran his hands over his
face, thinking. “Where the hell is Hood? Have they started looking? Do they need
the National Guard? We’ve got to pick him up before he finds Paige….Jesus,
right in the same region…why was he directing them? John, turn that up again,
please.”

“All right,” the newswoman at her desk said to the
camera, “stand by. We’re going live to Van Heston, our reporter covering the
story in Glacier National Park….”

“…Tawni, let me preface--hold it--” Static. A man in his
early thirties was talking to the camera. His voice urgent, dramatic. “OK,
Tawni, let me preface by saying this is unconfirmed. I repeat unconfirmed, but
what we’re hearing are two astounding developments. First, the Mercy Force
helicopter that crashed is, according to sources, or was, transferring a
patient from Montana State Prison to a local hospital. The patient--this is unconfirmed--was
Isaiah Hood, the inmate scheduled for execution at midnight tonight. Also
unconfirmed is that he hijacked the flight, directed it toward Canada before it crashed within a few short miles of the Canadian border….”

The governor’s stomach was lurching.

“…again, Tawni, it is all unconfirmed. There is
speculation he was bound for Canada, which has no death penalty and a somewhat
involved extradition process…”

“Van, you said there were two developments?”

“Yes, coming to the second. Prior to the crash, the FBI
was said to be ‘aggressively’ questioning the parents of Paige Baker. They have
fallen under suspicion because of doubts about Hood’s guilt in the murder of
Emily Baker’s five-year-old sister, in the park twenty-two years ago. Sources
tell us that the FBI was taking a hard line with her parents to answer for
their daughter’s whereabouts. We know that Doug Baker, Emily’s father, has an
attorney. The Bakers, we are told, were undergoing further questioning by the
FBI when word came that the Royal Canadian Mounted Police found a recent
footprint, consistent with the footwear worn by Paige Baker, a few yards inside
the Canadian side of the park.”

The governor’s intercom buzzed again.

“It’s CNN, sir.”

“Not now. Tell them we’ll make a statement later.”

The intercom buzzed once more.

“No press, please,” the governor said.

“It’s the White House, sir.”

The Attorney General was on his cell phone. Jackson turned the TV volume down.

“Put it through.”

“Governor?” A man’s voice.

“Yes.”

“It’s the Oval Office. Please stand by for the
president.”

The governor pursed his lips, knowing full well what
this was all about.

“Governor,” the famous voice was deeper over the phone.
“Our hearts go out to everyone involved in the events in Montana.”

“Thank you, Mr. President.”

The governor rubbed his eyes, knowing the chief’s
iron-clad stance on the death penalty was legendary when he was governor of his
state. Never blinked. Even under extreme political and international pressure.

“How are Cynthia and Ellen, Grayson?”

The president had the names right. Probably had
executive staff pull up his Montana bio, he thought, touching the pictures of
his wife and daughter.

“Fine. Thank you. We’re appreciative no lives were lost
and for your call, sir. Thank you.”

“Now listen, if you need any
more
federal help to
see this thing through--I mean this is a federal park and federal jurisdiction,
except for the prison. But if I can provide you with any resources, do not
hesitate to call me.”

The governor swallowed. He knew the subtext of the call.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Our thoughts and prayers are with you for a peaceful
resolution.”

“Yes, I really should be--”

The president cut him off, dropping his tone to a
gut-tightening degree.

“You really should be
reconsidering your national aspirations, Governor. You were supposed to be
strapping this guy to a gurney, not giving him goddamned helicopter rides over
the Rockies.”

The line went dead in the governor’s ear.

SEVENTY-FOUR

Doug Baker’s
tears stained the
print-out pages as he read the Internet copy of the
San Francisco Star
article his lawyer gave him that morning.

“It’s important you see what the rest of the country
sees, Doug.” She left him in the small room of the command center where the FBI
was holding him.

He read the story over and over:

“Baker was responsible for her sister’s death. It comes
as the FBI searches in vain for Baker’s 10-year-old daughter, Paige”

Then from the count attorney’s report, “She begged me to
save her…. I will never forget her eyes staring into mine as she fell. God, please
forgive me.”

The horror hammered at Doug’s heart, but he refused to
succumb to it, composing himself, seeking strength from the mountains where
Paige was. He ached to be out there searching for her.

He tossed the pages aside.

Concentrate. Concentrate on what you know.

Emily was psychologically chained to her tortured
childhood. If she was present when her little sister was murdered by Isaiah
Hood, naturally she would feel guilty. That is how he saw it.

But could you ever truly know what is in a person’s
heart?

Did he know Emily? Really know her? She kept so much
hidden from him. What if she was sick? What if she was guilty?

Doug scanned the mountains, rubbing his eyes. What
should he believe? Believe this. He did not kill his daughter. He was guilty of
some terrible behavior, but he did not kill his daughter. And he did not
believe Emily killed her.

“You sure about that?”

“Do you believe your wife could have harmed your
daughter?”

Emily would give her life for Paige.

No.

They were guilty of being victims of horrible
circumstances. Look at the awful wound on his hand. Tossing his ax as if hiding
it. Arguing in front of that family. A New York detective, Crow had told him.
Losing it in front of a New York cop the day before his daughter disappears and
then he shows up with an ax-murderer’s gash on his hand. Doug did not blame the
FBI for their suspicions.

But everyone’s thinking on this was dead wrong.

He heard more helicopters outside, the activity
intensifying. He yearned to take part in the search. What was happening now? No
one told him anything. No one updated him.

What if Paige is dead?

A gentle knock. The door opened. Agent Tracy Bowman and
Maleena Crow with Emily. His eyes brightened.

“You’ll have just a few moments with your wife,” Bowman
said.

“Then what? What is happening?”

“Just a few minutes. I’m sorry that’s all I can tell
you.”

Crow touched his shoulder. “Doug, I am working on
getting you released.” Nodding to the Bakers, leaving with Bowman, closing the
door.

Emily stood before him, looking broken; her hands were
clenched in fists touching her lips, eyes brimming with tears.

“Doug, they think I--you--we, oh God…”

He took her in into his arms. Doug drew strength from
holding her. “I know everything. Maleena gave me the article.”

“I did not hurt anyone, Doug.”

“I believe you. I did not harm her, Em.”

She nodded and swallowed. “I know.”

“You listen to me. We are going to get through this. She
is not dead. We have to believe that.”

“Doug, the police, they said so many horrible things.
They take the truth and mix it up and then they showed me part of the search
when we thought it was her b-b-body--”

“What was it? Did they find her?”

Emily shook her head. “An animal in a crevasse. So
awful. It has been horrible. Then they said a student has accused you of some
sort of violent act with her. They said your wound, your ax, her T-shirt--Oh
God--

“I know. Emily. I know about that stuff. The student
business is not true. A kid with problems at home. The ax, the blood and
T-shirt. We know all of it. But I never hurt anyone. I can’t blame the FBI.
That is why I took the polygraph, to prove I have nothing to hide. We have to
believe Paige is alive. Whatever we are going through, it is far worse for her
out there. If we give up hope, it’s over. She has to feel we are pulling for
her against all the odds.”

Emily nodded.

“Em, she has Kobee. She’s a smart girl. I’ve been going
over it. I think she had food and water in her pack--”

“She doesn’t have her pack anymore, Doug.”

“What?”

“They found it. In the crevasse, where there are bears.
But they did not find her--Oh--I--God--”

A knock sounded.

It was Maleena Crow, breathless. “There’s been a break.”

“Oh Lord, what?”

“Just inside the Canadian border, the Mounties found a
footprint matching her sneaker. It is very fresh. They also found an empty
water bottle from San Francisco Airport.”

“I bought her bottled water there before we boarded!”
Emily said.

Doug looked hard at Maleena. “You’re sure of this?”

“Elsie Temple, the park’s superintendent, just told me.”

Doug felt as if a mountain of pain had shifted.

“It’s a sign that she’s alive,” he said.

“It’s something for sure.” Crow nodded. “I’m working on
them to return you to the mountain command post. That’s where the focus will be
now.”