Blink And They Are Gone

CHAPTER ONE

Tiny shards of granite clawed at his cheek as he pressed his face against the rock. Heart pounding, his fingers searched for the slightest hold, pulling his body against the cliff, winds tearing at him, trying to snatch him away.

Gritting his teeth he groped for an anchor, somewhere to secure his cam. Being lead on this tricky climb was a huge responsibility and John Lovell was determined not to let his team down. This was the first time he had been given this opportunity, and he was not going to fail.

Reaching around the buttress he managed to jam his cam into a crack in the rock face. John glanced back and smiled to his three other climbing companions. “Got it in, seems to be holding firm.”

The faces looking back at him were grim with concentration. This was one of the most difficult climbs in Yosemite National Park. This section especially was called a Screamer. A fall so long that the climber has time to scream. They knew it was going to be tricky giving the difficulty of the manoeuvre and this route. They would lose touch with John momentarily as he secured the anchors.

Not waiting for a response, John pulled himself around the crest of the buttress using his experience as a seasoned static climber to edge around into the next section, a short chimney leading them up to the next stage of the climb.

Successfully securing the rope in the cam, John rested for a moment. He shook the lactic acid free from his muscles and reached back to his chalk bag. This was the crux of the climb, and he needed to keep his team safe. Using a Flagging technique, he dangled one free leg as a counterbalance keeping his centre of gravity close to the wall and under control. Pausing he took deep breaths.

The wind suddenly dropped away, causing John to frown, the sudden stillness creating an eerie calm. As he rested, pressed against the rough granite surface, his body began to detect a strange vibration. To his horror and confusion, he felt the rock liquify.

Freda was climbing as Second. It was her responsibility to be John’s safety net. As a belayer she was the person who managed John’s rope to secure him in the event of a fall and give him slack as he ascended. The slight tugging of the rope told her he was securing it through the cam and she waited for his signal to follow him around the buttress into the chimney. To her horror the rope suddenly went slack. Her muscles braced, instinctively ready to take the sudden weight of a body in freefall. “Brace!” she shouted to her team behind her. “Brace.”

Each one tensed their muscles waiting for the yank on the rope that never came. It took a few seconds for them to realise there was no weight pulling on them. Freda didn’t waste any time. She pulled herself around the buttress expecting to see John using a jam technique in the crevice as he searched for another route. Instead, she was met by an empty chimney. The rope was still through the cam but the end was swinging loose, apparently cut through.

Quickly she secured the rope and the other’s safety, gathering up the courage to look down, expecting to see the spattered remains of John on the jagged boulders below. There was nothing. He had simply vanished.

The sky was a brilliant blue, weather mild and spring in full throw. Shona Marconis walked steadily behind her husband Frederick as they made their way along one of the easier sections of the Appalachian Trail. She breathed deeply as the crisp clean air, fragrant with early flowers, danced around her.

She heard the sound of running water to her left, the river hidden by a stand of mixed pine and deciduous trees, the dark green leaves and pine needles blocking the view. “I’m just going to fill my canteen, Freddy,” she called. Frederick stopped and turned back, nodding in agreement. They both picked their way through the fallen pine needles and deadwood till they reached a small stoney beach leading down to a bubbling stream. All around were large granite boulders, scattered amongst the pebbles like giant marbles.

“Here, let me.” Frederick took Shona’s canteen and his own, carefully picking his way to the stream.

“Remember to take it from the white water.” Shona called to him as she rested against a large boulder warmed by the spring sun.

“I know, I know.” Frederick smiled, “I’m not senile yet.”

“Never said you were, sweetie and it wouldn’t matter to me anyhow.” Shona sighed and watched Freddy crouch down and fill the canisters. A strange vibration worked its way through her body. Her head became fuzzy and the rock she was leaning against suddenly gave way.

“There we go, all filled.” Frederick turned round to see Shona’s hiking sticks lying on the ground next to a boulder. “Shona?” He called out as he walked back to where the sticks lay. “Shona!” Frederick raised his voice, alarm beginning to build. “SHONA!”

She was gone.

A mini-camper van slowly pulled into the deserted carpark at Crater Lake, Oregon. At the wheel, a very attractive woman sat calmly and surveyed her surroundings. Her strawberry-blonde hair, high cheekbones and green eyes could turn many a man’s head. An asset she often used to her advantage.

As she leaned back in the seat, those emerald eyes flicked over the vista, taking in every detail. Viara Bartos knew from experience that places may seem deserted but there was always someone snooping around, sticking their noses into other people’s business.

She hoped that the cold spring morning and early hour would keep most campers away. Ahead of her lay the beautiful clear blue waters of the lake, still as glass and caressed by the steep slopes of the mountains surrounding it.

There were several trails leading off from her chosen car park and she sat as close to the edge as she dared. From her vantage point, Viara stared at Wizard Island sitting in the middle of the ice-cold waters, like a large pimple on an otherwise blemish-free face. She smiled at her analogy. Glancing at the open envelope sitting on the passenger seat, she scanned her instructions. The mark will be at Cleetwood Cove on 12th April. Fishing alone.

She reached back for her work bag and took out her faithful SIG Sauer P365 with custom noise suppresser firmly in place.

Stuffing a couple of extra magazines into her camouflaged tactical armoured waistcoat, she stepped out into the cool crisp air. With a careful tread, she made her way down the trail as stealthy as a cougar.

Sighing deeply, the lone fisherman expertly cast his line, baited for trout. His powerful arms sent the line flying out over the lake. It had been a slow morning so far, but the scenery and the peace more than made up for it. Stephan Grodrik was used to mountains and the stunning, brutal, vistas of nature. His homeland had more than its fair share of such views, but there was something different about this place, something unearthly.

As he stood by the shoreline, his sixth sense began to tingle. A member of the Swedish Secret Service, Stephan, honed in both body and mind to be alert for danger, turned his head slowly, casually scanning his immediate surroundings. Even in such an isolated place like this, trouble might have followed him. Carefully he laid his rod down on the rest, casually brushing off his high-end, waterproof trousers. With nonchalant steps, he made his way back to the granite boulder he had laid his gear against. Gear that included a standard issue Glock semi-automatic handgun.

Leaning against the boulder, he was protected from any rear attack. The lake was clear and the island too far away, even for an expert sniper. That left the trail coming down from the right or the short stretch of beach leading to woodland to his left. Knowing how dense the forest was he discounted that approach. Carefully he bent down and picked up the Glock.

Viara had spotted her target. She appreciated his athletic build, but the fee had been paid so the job was on. With slow measured steps she worked her way down the path, using as much cover as possible. Freezing, she watched him lay down the rod and stroll back to a large boulder on the rocky shore, disappearing behind it. Shit, she cursed inwardly. This was going to get personal and she didn’t want to get into a tussle with someone as well trained as this guy. Weighing her options, Viara knew she had no choice but to creep around the boulder and hopefully surprise him while he dozed.

She looked down and scowled at the pebbles and rocky beach. It was going to be almost impossible to creep up on him. She would need to resort to plan B.

Stephan heard a distinct footstep coming from the pathway. Holding tight to his Glock he tucked his hand inside his jacket and waited.

“Hello. Is anyone here?” The female voice reverberated around the boulder. “I’m a bit lost. Do you know where this is?”

Stephan leaned forwards, just enough to see a strikingly beautiful woman tottering carefully across the stony beach. She wore standard hill-walking trousers with a faint grey camouflage pattern, a long-sleeved top under what looked like a fashionable black body warmer. Her boots were of the highest quality Gortex rough terrain footwear, expensive.

“Hey.” He looked out further, keeping his gun hand under his jacket. The woman looked up and smiled, waving her hand.

“Oh, thank goodness I’ve found someone. I’m looking for Phantom Ship Island.” The woman approached closer. “I’m a bit of a ghost hunter.” Her steps became steadier as Stephan studied her closely. She smiled again. “Maybe you’ve seen my YouTube channel?”

“I don’t really watch that sort of thing.” He smiled back. Sensing something was off he kept his guard up and made no attempt to expose his body any further.

Viara was now at the other end of the huge boulder, she needed to be just a bit closer. Her mark was suspicious. She placed her left hand against the rock and pretended to lose her balance, throwing her right hand behind her, gripping the handgun tucked into the custom-made pocket on the back of her waistcoat. “Whoops!”

Her mock exclamation quickly turned to a real scream as a tremor vibrated its way up her arm and through her body. She heard her mark cry out in alarm then felt the rock beneath her palm liquify.

Everything was over in a millisecond. The stillness that had descended around the cove was lifted and nature returned to normal. On the beach lay Stephan’s bag and fishing gear. Both Viara and her mark had vanished. The fishing line twitched and the rod jerked violently. A trout had taken the bait.

CHAPTER TWO

Dave Brown leaned back in his chair and studied the three pale-faced climbers crammed into his small office. Today had promised to be non-eventful and now he was looking at a possible suicide or even murder. Brushing the crumbs of his lunch off his desk he took a long sip of coffee before addressing the tearful group.

“So, to get this straight, you were all on the Red Zinger climb on El Capitan and you were at the buttress leading into small chimney?” He sat with his pen in hand as Freda Holstein spoke up.

“Yes, that’s what we said.” She tried not to sound frustrated but this was the third time she had told the story.

Undeterred by her terse response, Dave continued, “And John Lovell was taking lead for the first time?” The girl nodded, her lips tight. Dave cleared his throat, “When he went round the buttress, he called back to say he was securing the cam. Then,” he looked down at his notes, “the rope went slack.”

“Yes sir, that’s what we’ve been telling you. I thought he had slipped and we braced to take his weight.” Freda choked back a sob at the memory.

“But when you didn’t feel any weight, you climbed round to find him gone.” Dave was becoming more sceptical.

“Yes, he was gone and the rope looked like this.” She held up the sliced end of a climbing rope.

“You say you couldn’t see his body below, right?” Dave gritted his teeth.

“We looked but couldn’t see anything. He wasn’t in the jam and he wasn’t lying on the rocks below.” Freda looked at her companions for support. “We came back down as quickly as we could, we need to send search and rescue up to look for a body.”

“So, you don’t think he could have survived the fall?”

“No, it’s a screamer.” Freda let a tear roll down her cheek, the horror of the situation hitting home.

Dave looked her in the eye, “Did you hear him scream?”

Freda blinked in confusion at the question. “No, no we didn’t.”

“Huh.” Dave sucked his teeth. “Wait here. There’s someone I need to talk to.” He left the room and closed the door, making his way to the small gift shop in the building adjacent to his office. His grim face conveyed everything to Maisie, the server. “Get me the sheriff, this could be serious.” She nodded and used her landline and put it on speaker.

“Hi, Mariposa County, Sherrif’s Office,” the familiar voice answered.

“Ann, this is Maisie. Ranger Dave needs to speak with Tom.”

Dave took the phone from Maisie, waiting for the sheriff to get on the line. “Tom, I need some boys out here. Got a missing climber. He allegedly fell and is probably dead.”

“What do you mean allegedly?”

“Well, that’s it. Can’t seem to find the body and his group say he just vanished. I looked at the rope he was secured by and it looks cut.”

“Shit, Dave.”

“Yeah. You got some mountain rescue boys on call? I think we need to search the whole goddam peak.”

“I’m on it. Can you keep the climbing group there, we’ll need to talk to them.”

“Sure thing. They looked pretty shocked, but their story just doesn’t make sense.”

“Be seeing ya soon.” The line clicked as the sheriff hung up. Dave bit his lip and sighed.

“Maisie, can you rustle up some refreshments for these guys? I need to stall for a while.” Dave knew Maisie was an angel and she nodded, making her way out the door.

“I’ll pop down to the store, get some sandwiches and stuff.” She waved as she got into her car. Dave watched her, dark clouds darkening the sky as the first heavy raindrops began to fall. Frowning, he glanced at the long-range weather report. No storms forecast. This felt completely wrong. Within minutes torrential rain fell from the sky, stabbing the ground with arrow-like precision.

Frederick Marconis sat with dignified calm, giving no hint to the anguish and panic he felt inside. The office of the Shenandoah National Park Rangers covering this section of the Appalachian trail was comfortable and well maintained. The Senior Officer, Gordon Clanner, had responded immediately to his report of Shona going missing and a well organised search was underway.

Gordon knew that they would need a full search team on this. No doubt they would bring the search dogs ready to pick up any and all traces of scent. Frederick had spent several hours searching the area, checking the river, calling her phone, but to no avail. He had sensibly turned back, reaching the park services office in the early evening. Although exhausted and emotionally traumatized, Frederick had given as much detail as he could and Ranger Gordon Clanner had leapt into action.

Gordon stood, smiling reassuringly at the elderly man in front of him. He made his way out to the main reception, closing his office door behind him. He glanced through the small office window, checking that Frederick had his back to him and picked up the phone.

Shona was not the first to suddenly go missing on this trail and she would no doubt not be the last. The ranger’s office had already clocked up at least ten other missing persons this season, including two young children.

From the ten previous reports six bodies had been recovered. Two found floating face up in a small river. Gordon knew this in itself was bizarre. Most drowning victims were discovered face down, something to do with the gases in the body.

Two more were obviously predated on, probably a cougar looking for an easy meal. Another had turned up along another trail, miles from where she had gone missing. There had been speculation that she had been murdered, but an autopsy showed cause of death as exposure. A very odd thing in the height of summer. Of all the bodies found, hers was one of the most bizarre. She was barefoot, but otherwise fully clothed. He had seen this sort of thing in the past and when a body was found without footwear a chill would run through his body. These were the cases they didn’t like to talk about.

One child had been found alive within forty-eight hours, wandering barefoot eight miles from where he had disappeared. Not a straight eight miles, but eight miles over a huge mountain range, an impossible distance for a child of six to have travelled in the time. When questioned the child had no memory of what had happened. One minute he was with his parents, the next he was walking across a field towards a small farmstead.

Gritting his teeth, Gordon waited for his call to be answered.

“Hi, Maryland Sheriff’s office, how may I help you?” The measured tones of the clerk filtered down the line.