Midnight Sun (67 page)

Goldenview Drive

Tuesday,
June
21st

0
8
:15 a
.m.

The
house
at
the
end
of
the
winding
driveway
would
have
been
called
a
log
cabin
by
folks
who
weren
’
t
familiar
with
real
Alaskan
log
cabins.
Real log cabins like the type
inhabited
by
homesteaders
and
people
in
remote
areas
of
Alaska
and
Northern
Canada
’s Yukon Territory
seldom
measured
more
than
four
or
five
hundred
square
feet
in
size
and
were
made
of
eight
-
inch
logs,
the
largest
that
could
be
found
in
mass
quantities
in
the
A
rctic.
They
often
had
dirt
floors,
sometimes
covered
with
rough
-
hewn
boards
or
slats
laid
right
on
the
surface
of
the
ground
. Few
had
electricity
or
running
water
,
and
were
typically
heated
by
a
single
potbellied
wood
-
burning
iron
stove
,
or
,
if
the
owners
couldn't
afford
that
convenience,
by
a
fifty
-
gallon
drum
converted
into
a
barrel
stove.
The
barrel
stoves
were
not
very
pretty,
but
they
definitely
could
put
out
some
serious
heat
on
a
cold
winter
night.

This
house
,
on the other hand
,
was
more
of
a
log
fortress
than
a
cabin.
Constructed
of
massive
sixteen-inch
spruce
logs
imported
from
British
Columbia
,
it
was
practically
impervious
to
anything
less
than
armor
-
piercing
artillery
shells.
At
over
four
thousand
square
feet
,
the
mini-mansion
looked
like
a
rich
man
’
s
fantasy
of
what
rustic
frontier
life
should
be.

Steven
Farrah
jogged
up
to
the
house.
Sweat
soaked
through
his
gray
cotton
running
clothes,
forming
dark
triangular
patches
on
his
chest
and
back
and
seeping
in
a
pattern
beneath
his
armpits.
He
slowed
and,
breathing
heavily,
walked
over
to
the
Audi
parked
in
the
large
open
area
in
front
of
the
standalone
garage
built
of
the
same
logs
as
the
house.
The
two
buildings
were
connected
by
a
ten
-
foot
-
long
breezeway.
He
reached into his pocket and pressed a button on the key fob to unlock the vehicle
,
reached in
and
clicked
the
garage
door
opener
attached
to
the
sun
visor
,
then
clos
ed
and lock
ed
t
he
car.

The
panels
of
the
two
-
car
-
wide
door
r
ose
slowly
like
the
eyelid
of
a
giant
C
yclops.
Blinded
by
the
bright
summer
sun
,
he
barely
caught
the
man-shaped
shadow
inside
the
garage
as
he
drew
near.
His
heart
lurched
and
he
instinctively
reached
into
his
waistband
for
the
Sig Sauer P232
he
always
kept
there.
The
shadow
moved
toward
him
from
deep
within
the
dark
room.
The
scuff
of
a
shoe
on
the
cement
floor
hastened
his
draw.
Just
as
he
pulled
the
weapon
to
full
height
,
a
voice
called
out.