David Morrell: The naked edge

"He might not even be wet. After all, he was trained to plan for the worst. But even if he is soaked, he doesn't care. These conditions are luxurious compared to some of what we went through in Delta Force."

"You know," Rutherford said, "I'm getting tired of hearing about the good old days in Delta."

"You did say you wanted my opinion."

"And what's your opinion of what we ought to do now?"

"Get started."

"… your chance to end this peacefully and give yourself up!" Rutherford's amplified words drifted across the park. He used a public-address system, the speakers of which were mounted to the top of the van.

He waited. Two minutes became five. He turned from the rain on the windshield. "Counselor, I asked him three times. I put a lot of sincerity into it. Do you think that's enough fair warning?" Without waiting for an answer, he raised his microphone and said, "Go!"

On the right, the northern flank moved into the park while those on the south, west, and east formed barricades.

Cavanaugh opened the van's side door.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting some exercise."

The van was on Teg Drive, a street that bordered the eastern side of the park. Feeling the cold rain pelt his head, Cavanaugh passed through the line of men on that side and followed the northern flank as it continued into the park.

Initially, there weren't any obstacles, just the creek flowing through a grassy field. Then the searchers reached trees along the creek and slowed their advance. Dead wet leaves lay along the creek, their autumn colors now dull.

Sensing someone next to him, Cavanaugh turned and saw Jamie.

He smiled.

"You'll get soaked," she said.

"So will you," he replied.

"Yeah, but walking in the rain is romantic," she told him.

While some searchers examined the area among the trees, others came to a playground: swings, slides, climbing equipment. They passed metal picnic tables. They reached a shelter and checked its washrooms as well as it rafters. They looked under a bridge that crossed the creek. They attempted to pry up a storm-drain lid, but it was too heavy. They peered into various garbage cans secured in wooden frames. More trees. Another bridge. Another. They arrived at the new playground that a sign said was called Kiwanis Park. Climbing equipment was nestled in a grotto surrounded by rock walls and fir trees. An open shelter had picnic tables under it. Its rafters were exposed, no place to hide.

That was it. They'd come to the southern flank of men, houses behind them. The end of the park.

Suddenly, Rutherford crossed the soaked grass toward Cavanaugh and Jamie.

"Nothing!" he said, flicking rain from his face. "Mosely was right! Duran's playing games with us! He isn't here!"

"That was just a first pass." Cavanaugh's wet clothes stuck to him. "They checked the obvious things. Now they should go through the park again, noticing details."

"What about the neighboring houses? He might be hiding in a garage or a shed."

"No. The houses aren't in the park. When we played the game, we never broke the rules and went out of bounds."

Rutherford shook his head unhappily and walked to the men who'd searched the area. He spoke to the officer in charge, who looked eager to get out of the rain but who nodded and shouted orders, motioning for the line to reverse direction.

Rutherford came back to Cavanaugh and Jamie. "Show me the details that bothered you."

"The ground under every picnic table needs to be checked," Cavanaugh said, walking.

Rutherford thought about it. "Sure. The grass under some of them is worn away until there's only dirt. If he dug a hole there, it would be easier to disguise than if he dug up the grass. The problem is, he'd need a cover, something solid that he could put dirt on and slide over the hole after he got in."

"When we drove into town, I noticed a half-dozen construction sites," Cavanaugh said. "The night before last, he could have grabbed a square of plywood and something to dig with."

"Where would he have put the dirt from the hole?"

"Spread along the creek bed. Covered with leaves."

"How would he have carried it?"

"In a bag he found at a construction site. An empty cement bag is strong enough to hold forty pounds."

"But the dirt on the plywood lid would look freshly dug."

"Not if Carl packed it down until he was satisfied that it looked like the dirt under all the other benches. Leaves on the lid would hide the cracks at the edges."

"Ventilation?"

"A tube coming up next to a table leg."

"Well, if that's where he's hiding," Rutherford concluded, "he's in rising water. He'll need to climb out soon."

"You'd be surprised how snug and dry you can make a hole in the ground with a little help from a plastic sheet."

"More of the good old days in Delta?"

"Actually, the good old days when Carl and I were kids. This is one of the tricks he used against me."

In the rain, the line searched the park in greater detail, moving picnic tables, looking under play equipment, examining the edges of shelters for signs that someone had dug under the concrete pads. They found nothing.

"They need to do it again," Cavanaugh said. "Those garbage cans in wooden frames. Let's push them aside and see if Carl's in a hole under one of them."

Carl wasn't.

"That storm-drain lid needs to be pried up. The tunnel needs to be checked."

But the tunnel was filled with water.

"Look for evidence that Carl dug under the concrete paths."

Four hours and five crossings later, Rutherford said firmly, "We're wasting our time. He isn't here."

"But-"

"Either he tricked you, or else you made a mistake about the place he meant."

"This is it. There's no other place."

Rutherford studied the shivering, wet, exhausted men. Many of them coughed. Wind gusted. Dark clouds thickened. "I'm calling off the search."

"No. Please."

"They've been out here since three in the morning," Rutherford said. "Somebody'll end up in the hospital."

"Just one more time."

"To prove that you're wrong? As far as Mosely's concerned, that would be the only good thing to come out of this. Okay, Aaron. Just for you. One more time."

They probed the sand under the playground equipment. Farther along, they did the same to the wood chips around the climbing-gym.

Yet again, they found nothing.

Water trickling down his face, Rutherford pointed toward TV news cameras near the park. "They should air this after a Three Stooges marathon. I can only hope the rain blurs any shots they took of me." He turned toward the searchers. "We're finished, everybody! The buses will arrive soon! We'll take you somewhere warm and dry!"

"Coffee," someone said.

"Steaming pots of it," Rutherford promised. He stared at a puddle in the grass. "A thousand men. Some flew in from across the country. Food. Lodging. Buses. Vans. Weapons. Equipment." He gazed up at Cavanaugh. "Nothing to show for it. Mosely's waiting for me to report to him. I can imagine his reaction when I tell him how much everything cost. This time tomorrow, I might be looking for a new job."

Shoulders bent, Rutherford walked toward Teg Drive and the van. The lines disintegrated, soaked men wandering toward the nearby streets.

Burdened with discouragement, Cavanaugh remained in the middle of the field. Jamie stood next to him, the rain gusting at them. Emptiness made him feel colder.

"Want to take a stroll?" he asked.

"It's been a fabulous experience so far. Let's prolong it as much as possible."

He couldn't help smiling. "I love you."

"Of course, you do. I don't want diamonds or fancy clothes. All I want is to share the glamour of your life."