Page 22 of Wired Ghost

The pilot took the chopper even lower, circling around the edge of the forested hump of land, which was well-defined and easy to follow. A clear demarcation existed between the rough, black lava field and the edge of the rise whose elevation had become its own “island.”

“There!” Ohale pointed to a break in the trees, his thick arm and beefy hand a solid signpost for Raveaux’s binoculars to follow. The pilot circled back in a tight loop, and Raveaux’s stomach lifted and tightened uncomfortably.

Sure enough, emerging from a gap in the trees, a faint set of tire tracks had created a noticeable path across the virgin black stone. Now that they’d identified the gang’s escape route, the track was fairly easy to follow from above. The chopper pilot increased their speed.

“No telling how long ago they abandoned the camp,” Raveaux said into his comm. “What if they’re off the lava already?”

“Then we’re shit out of luck for this part of the search,” Ohale replied. “But we’ll up the security at the airports, harbors, and roads—anywhere they might re-enter civilization. I heard there’s a new lava flow ahead of us on the plain, though—maybe they’re trapped on this side of it. If so, we’ll be able to grab them up.”

Raveaux glanced back over his shoulder at the Guardsmen in the back of the chopper. They looked tense and serious; some of them were checking their weapons, others closing their eyes to gather inward, tapping into whatever energy resources they could before another lap of tension.

Raveaux had often found police work to be that way—long stretches of waiting and boredom, punctuated by intense danger and stress. Somehow, the combination was addicting—and not just for himself. It felt good to be back in the field in the middle of a dangerous operation. There was no room to think about anything but the immediate moment.

“I see signs of the fresh lava flow,” the pilot said. “We are coming up on anotherkipukajust before it.”

Raveaux swung his binoculars directly ahead. This wooded mound was much smaller, a mere hillock covered with a few trees and bushes. Directly beyond it, smoke generated by a fast-moving flow of magma made a clear line. An awesome sight, the glowing, molten rock river was more than ten feet wide and had erased everything in its path as it made its way to the sea.

The faint tracks made by the meth gang dead-ended at the edge of the lava river, below thekipuka.

The chopper circled around over the area as Ohale, Wong, and Raveaux scanned the ground. “There’s nowhere for them to go,” Ohale said. “They must have hidden their vehicles somewhere on thekipuka—maybe covered them with branches or something.”

“Or, they left earlier than we thought they did and got through before the lava cut off their escape.” Raveaux turned to make eye contact with the Guard leader. “Lieutenant, I recommend setting down and checking over thekipukamore closely; see if they’ve found a place to hide.”

Ohale shook his head. “Negative on that, Raveaux. We should check the route all the way to wherever it joins a main thoroughfare. We might still find them along the way if they made it through before the flow cut them off.”

The Lieutenant nodded. “Let’s do both.” He told the chopper pilot to follow the track as fast as he could. “If they got trapped, we haven’t lost any time. They’ll still be stuck behind the lava flow.”

Another uncomfortable surge forward hollowed Raveaux’s stomach, as the chopper retraced the faint double pair of tire tracks, continuing across the plain. But there was no further sign or interruption until the track swung up to merge with a flat area of Saddle Road.

“End of the line,” the pilot said.

“Circle back to the hill near the flow,” Lieutenant said. “We’ll go in for a look on foot.”

Soon, the chopper settled gently on the lava, several football-field lengths from thekipukaand the lava flow river. “I don’t want to get in trouble in case that flow decides to change direction,” the pilot said.

Even though there was no sign of movement on the roughly five-acre hillock of thekipuka, the open area between them and their destination made Raveaux nervous—they had no cover whatsoever if the perps decided to start shooting.

“Hopefully they realize there’s nowhere for them to go,” Ohale was clearly thinking along the same lines. “We’re a rescue mission as much as anything.”

“Maybe we should communicate that clearly,” Raveaux said. “Any of you got a white shirt? A surrender flag?”

“We don’t even know if they’re there for sure,” Ohale said.

“Don’t see the harm, and it might reduce the risk for our men,” Lieutenant said. “Meanwhile, it’s a good sign that no one has taken a potshot at the chopper now that we’re down.” He turned to his men, clustered near the chopper. “Renfield! A word.”

Ohale and Raveaux drew close as one of the men detached himself from the group and came to the Lieutenant’s call. “This is Sergeant Chet Renfield, our hostage rescue negotiator. We made sure he was part of our team in case we ended up with some kind of standoff situation. Renfield, what do you think about sending a peaceful message in case we’re being monitored?”

“I like that idea.” Renfield’s expression was obscured by the faceplate of his helmet, but Raveaux glimpsed deep sun lines bracketing intelligent dark eyes. “I brought my negotiation kit; it contains two walkies, and other communication devices, including a reflective white vest and flag. I can put them up and use my bullhorn to communicate. If they aren’t hiding out on thekipuka, no worries—we’ll do a quick sweep and be done. If they are, it might save a kneecap or two.”

Raveaux suppressed a shiver inside his combat vest. He’d seen too many men shot in the extremities to find it a joking matter; life could still easily be permanently altered by a non-fatal gunshot wound.

Renfield climbed back into the chopper for his rescue kit. He returned a few minutes later, wearing a white reflective vest over his body armor and carrying a triangular white flag on a thin, flexible pole. “I’ll go ahead of the team and leave the walkie near thekipuka. If they confirm that they are willing to talk, I’ll plant the flag, wait for them to pick up the walkie, and we’ll go from there.”

Ohale and Lieutenant Wong agreed. The Guardsmen formed up, spreading out to back up and cover Renfield.

Raveaux squatted in the lee of a boulder, feeling apprehensive and useless. He wasn’t adding anything to this operation—what was he doing here, when Sophie was still missing? This situation could take hours to investigate and resolve . . . but maybe she was with them.A hostage.

If so, why hadn’t they shown themselves?

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