Nelson Demille - Wild fire

Mikhail Putyov,” I said. “No sign of him at Custer Hill. How about his home or office?”

“I called his office first, and his secretary, Ms. Crabtree, said he wasn’t in, so I said I was a doctor and this concerned a serious health matter.”

“That’s a good one. I never used that.”

“It works every time. Anyway, Ms. Crabtree loosened up a bit and told me that Dr. Putyov hadn’t shown up at work, hadn’t called, and that her calls to his cell phone went right into voice mail. She had also called Putyov’s wife, but Mrs. Putyov did not know where her husband was.” Kate added, “Obviously, Putyov never told anyone where he was going.”

“Did you get Putyov’s cell-phone number?”

“No. Ms. Crabtree wouldn’t give it to me, but she gave me hers for after hours, and I gave her my beeper number.” Kate added, “Ms. Crabtree sounded concerned.”

“Okay, so Mikhail is AWOL from MIT. How about home?”

“Same. Mrs. Putyov was on the verge of tears. She said that even when Mikhail is with his mistress, he calls and makes an excuse for not coming home.”

“He’s a good husband.”

“John, don’t be an asshole.”

“Just kidding. So, Mikhail is not just AWOL, he’s missing in action.”

“Well, he is as far as his wife and secretary are concerned. But he’s probably still at the Custer Hill Club.”

I shook my head. “If he was, he’d have called. A man in his situation, with FBI chaperones, doesn’t disappear and put his wife, family, or office in a position to think about calling the FBI. That’s the last thing Putyov wants.”

Kate nodded, then asked, “So…?”

“Well,” I said, “apparently, not everyone who walks into the Custer Hill Club leaves in the same condition as when they arrived.”

“Apparently not.” She pointed out, “You’ve been there twice. Want to try again?”

“Third time’s a charm.”

She ignored that and continued, “So, I Googled ‘Putyov, Mikhail,’ and pulled up some published articles and unpublished pieces that other physicists had written about him.”

“Do they like him?”

“They respect him. He’s a star in the world of nuclear physics.”

“That’s nice. Then why is he hanging around Bain Madox?”

“There could be a professional relationship. Although, for all we know, it could be some sort of personal relationship. Maybe they’re just friends.”

“Then why didn’t he tell his wife where he was going?”

“That’s the question. Anyway, all we know for sure is that a nuclear physicist named Mikhail Putyov was a guest at the Custer Hill Club and is now missing. Anything beyond that is speculation.”

“Right. Hey, did you call The Point?”

“Yes. There were two new messages from Liam Griffith saying it was urgent that we contact him.”

“Urgent for who? Not us. Did you say we were shopping for moose heads in Lake Placid?”

“I told Jim at the front desk to tell anyone who calls that we are expected back at The Point for dinner.”

“Good. That might keep Griffith cooled off until he shows up at The Point and discovers he got snookered.” I asked, “Did Walsh call?”

“No.”

“See? Our boss cut us loose. Nice guy.”

“I think we cut him loose, John, and now he’s returning the favor.”

“Whatever. Screw him. Who else called?”

“Major Schaeffer called The Point, as per your suggestion. His message to you was, ‘Your car has been returned to The Point. Keys with front desk.’”

“That’s nice. He forgot to leave the stakeout team in place, but he didn’t forget to cover his butt with the FBI.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that you were cynical?”

“Sweetheart, I was an NYPD cop for twenty years. I’m a realist.” I reminded her, “I think we’ve been through this before. Okay, what else?”

She dropped her favorite subject and continued, “A man named Carl-sounds familiar-called and left a message that said, ‘Dinner is on.’ Jim asked for the details, but Carl said that Mr. Corey already had the details and please bring Ms. Mayfield, as discussed.” She added, “So, Madox wasn’t leaving his name, or anything that could connect our disappearance to him or his lodge.”

“ What disappearance?”

“ Our disappearance.”

“Why are you so suspicious of people?”

“John, fuck off.” She continued, “We also had three voice-mail messages in our room.”

“Griffith and who else?”

Kate referred to her notes. “Liam Griffith, at three forty-nine, said, cheerily, ‘Hi, guys. Thought I’d see you earlier. Give me a call when you get this. Hope all is well.’”

I laughed and said, “What an asshole. How stupid does he think we are?” I quickly added, “Sorry. That sounded cynical-”

“Second voice mail asking if we’d like to schedule a massage-”

“Yes.”

“Last voice mail from Henri, who sounds cute, asking what type of mustard you’d like with your… pigs-in-the-blanket.”

“See? You didn’t believe me.”

“John, we have more pressing matters to deal with than-”

“Did you call him back?”

“I did, to keep up the pretext that we were returning to The Point.”

“What did you tell Henry? Deli mustard, right?”

“I did. He’s very charming.”

“He wanted to show me his woodcock.”

She ignored that. “I also made a massage appointment for both of us tomorrow morning.”

“Good. I’m looking forward to that.”

“We’re not going to be there.”

“This is true. Well, I’m sorry to disappoint Henry after all the trouble he went to, but I’m not sorry to miss cocktails with Liam Griffith.”

Kate looked a little fatigued, or maybe worried, and I needed to give her a pep talk, so I said, “You did a great job. You’re the best partner I’ve ever had.”

“I’m your boss.”

“Right. Best boss I’ve ever had. Okay, so, the FAA-”

The phone rang, and I said to Kate, “You expecting a call?”

“No.”

“Maybe it’s Wilma. Your husband is on the way.”

She hesitated, then answered the phone. “Hello?” She listened, then said, “Thank you. Yes… I’ll tell him. Thanks.”

She hung up. “It was Wilma. Duct tape is outside our door. She says my friend should move his van.”

We both laughed, but clearly we were on edge. I went to the window, checked out the terrain, then opened the door and retrieved a big roll of duct tape.

I sat at the kitchen table and began wrapping the makeshift evidence bags, as per rules and regulations. I said to her, “Tell me about the FAA.”

She didn’t reply and instead asked me, “Why don’t we just get the Hyundai back from Rudy, take those evidence bags, and drive to New York?”

“Do you have a pen? I need to sign this tape.”

“We could be at 26 Fed at about…” She looked at her watch and said, “About three or four in the morning.”

“You can go. I’m staying here. This is where it’s happening, and this is where I need to be. Pen, please.”

She handed me a pen from her bag. “ What is happening?”

“I don’t know, but when it happens, I’ll be here.” I signed the tape and said, “Actually, we should split up in case… Okay, you drive Rudy’s van to Massena, rent another car, and drive to New York.”

She sat on the chair beside me, took my hand, and said, “Let me finish telling you what I’ve learned, then we’ll decide what to do.”

This sounded like she had an ace up her sleeve, which was probably the bad news. Whatever it was, it was pressing on her mind.

I said, “The FAA. Bad news?”