Chaos in Jeopardy: Chapter 2: The Road through the Caucasus Mountains

"Michael, I'm hanging over the edge here," growled Billy through clenched jaws, staring wide-eyed out the sleek scarlet-red rental car's passenger window at the road's narrow shoulder. The lane hung over a sheer rock cliff covered with hunched shaggy pines. Billy could see all the way down to the pale blue river, opaque from glacial silt, well below the road at the base of the canyon.

Ignoring Billy's pleas to slow down, Michael smiled and swung the car's wheel into the curve and gunned it, accelerating up the narrow road, which zigzagged as it climbed the steep valley, pushing the powerful car higher and higher into the mountainous terrain of the Caucasus Mountains north of Baku.

"Come on, slow this brawny brute down!" Billy's knuckles turned white as he tightened his grip on the passenger door's handle and futilely pressed his foot to the floor. His ears popped from the rapid ascent and his stomach churned from him being thrown side to side.

"You're a worse traveler than Casey," said Michael, his keen eyes straining to see several curves ahead.

"Huh, I am not," exclaimed Billy. "Do you remember that time after flying through the storm, he vowed he'd never set foot in a turbo-prop again? A wee lassie has more guts than Casey!"

"Of course I remember, he kissed the tarmac!" Michael laughed recalling his astonishment to see Casey's rare moment of weakness. "Yeah, and so now you have Casey's lassie guts too?"

"It doesn't help Rick to get ourselves killed!" Billy gripped the dashboard and added in his thickest Scottish brogue, "I'm just being sensible."

Michael and Billy had left the city of Baku behind them hours ago in hot pursuit of Casey, who was on motorbike in hot pursuit of the white panel van carrying Rick, who had been kidnapped and was being transported along this road into the mountains.

On the other side of the mountain range lay Russia to the north and Armenia to the west. They thought the van was headed to one country or the other, and, despite bringing a briefcase full of documents, the border crossing was bound to be tricky. Not that they couldn't handle it, they were confident they could, but, unfortunately, in addition to that challenge, Rick's GPS tracker was not working.

"Stop fussing," said Michael. "Everything's going according to plan."

"Almost according to plan," retorted Billy. "Except for the fact the GPS is busted or ..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, ... or, they found it," said Michael, "and broke it."

"We're right bastards," said Billy, smiling, thinking of the search Rick must have been subjected to for them to find the GPS tracker on him. Billy thought of the kidnapping and the search as just another hazing joke for the new guy.

"Who thought they'd go this far? Losing them the only mistake we can make and I'm not going to make it. I don't want Higgins to find out I messed this up."

Knowing it was useless to argue with Michael when he was bothered about Higgins, Billy gazed out at the extraordinary beauty all around him, the shining sun in the cloudless azure sky, the picture-postcard views, and breathed in the cool fresh mountain air. If they weren't in the middle of a high speed chase after an unknown opponent who had kidnapped Rick, he would welcome a day driving the sporty car through these rugged snow-capped mountains.

Swerving nimbly around the many pot-holes and fallen rocks that littered the road from the cliffs above, Michael wove back and forth, easily overtaking all the rusting utilitarian Russian vehicles slowed by the road's steep grade, pushing the engine to its limit.

After rounding a blind curve they suddenly saw Casey standing beside his motorbike at the cliff's edge, waving both arms to stop them. Michael jammed on the brakes and screeched to a halt behind him.

"What's he doing?" said Billy, glad to stop, even if only for a moment. "Did he run out of gas?"

As soon as the car was parked, Michael and Billy jumped out and ran over to Casey.

"What's wrong?" asked Michael. "Why did you stop?"

"He's down there!" cried Casey, pointing down the hillside at a some broken pine trees. In the distance below them they saw a barely visible white van skidding through the forest and rolling towards the river.

"Oh no!" gasped Michael, and the three stared horrified as the van sped down the hillside, all three fearing that the van's occupants would not survive the violent and rapid descent. They watched as the van slowed its pace at the valley's base. They desperately hoped that it would snag on a rock or a bush before breaching the river's edge, but the van continued to roll forward propelled by momentum.

All three held their breaths watching it approach the riverbank where it teetered, almost pausing for a moment, and then, agonizingly slowly, it slipped into the water. The van rolled a few feet into the water and began to float, gently bobbing on the surface like a cork, held back from drifting out into the swift flowing river by tree branches.

As soon as the van hit the water Casey jumped over the barrier at the edge of the cliff.

"Stop!" shouted Michael, pulling out his cell phone. "You'll get yourself killed. Casey, just wait." Michael punched a number into the phone. "Just wait!" He covered his ear, turned his back to the pair and the traffic noise, and spoke into his phone.

"Can't wait!" cried Casey, and he began to climb down the steep slope. "It's my fault. I've got to get him out of there before it goes under!"

As Casey clambered swiftly down the hillside, Billy followed, shouting at him over the clatter of falling rocks and snapping of brittle branches, "What happened? Were they going too fast? Were you crowding them?"

"No! I mean, I didn't think so," said Casey, panting as he hopped and stumbled, grabbing onto branches, half-falling and half-running down the steep rocky slope. "I just lost sight of it for a second and then I rounded that corner and saw ... oh no!"

Casey and Billy paused to stare at the van as it floated a few feet out from the bank, pushed by the current, trapped in tree branches that were bending under the strain.

Casey stood as close to the bank's edge as he could go, frustrated and eager to dive into the icy river, surveying the rocky gorge and the plume of mist rising from a waterfall only a few dozen yards downstream.

"Are you sure Rick's in it?" asked Billy, reaching the spot a few seconds after Casey.

"Yes, I saw them put him in it!" Casey unzipped and peeled off his leather biker jacket, unbuckled his bullet-proof vest, and tore off his t-shirt. "It's the one I've been trailing for hours!"

"You're not going in!" exclaimed Billy. "The water's cold as ice, you'll go hypothermic in seconds!"

"I have to try," said Casey, shirtless, squatting to unlace his heavy boots. "It's my fault!"

"It's not safe," said Billy, grabbing Casey's arm and pulling him. "They're armed!"

"They'll be knocked out," cried Casey, shrugging off Billy's grip and yanking off his boots and socks.

Casey grabbed a branch and jumped down into the rushing river. His feet cramped painfully from the bitterly cold water, his yells of agony drowned out by the rush of the raging torrent. White sprays splashed off dozens of jutting rocks as the river narrowed towards a waterfall. He strode forward until the water was above his knees, his leather biker-pants soaked and clinging to his legs slowing him down. The van was only a few more yards away, held tenuously by the branches. He feared at any moment it would burst free and float out into the treacherous current.

"Stop," called Billy. "It's too dangerous!"

Casey kept wading despite the biting pain from the icy water. His legs would soon be numb and useless, he needed to move quickly.

The van was pushed by the current and whirlpools farther downstream, slowly escaping the branches one by one, always staying a few feet ahead of Casey, bobbing ever more violently, and just as the water level rose to the bottom of its windows it broke free of the remaining branches and drifted into the swift current, picking up speed, heading rapidly towards the waterfall.

Gripping a rock, frustrated and helpless, Casey cursed and pounded the waist deep water with his fist, watching the swift current carry the van out of his reach, very close to being swept away himself.

"Come back," cried Billy, pulling off his jacket, getting ready to wade in, fearing Casey would fall unconscious in the frigid water and be torn to bits on the jagged rocks or drowned by the waterfall. It was bad enough to lose Rick, he didn't want to lose Casey too.

Michael had sprinted down after them and just that moment reached the shoreline. He bent over, hands on his thighs, gasping for breath.

Pausing on each word to suck in a lung-full of air, Michael yelled, "Come. Back. Right. Now!"

Casey turned and waded back to the shore, at every step stopping to peer over his shoulder at the floating van, crushed that he hadn't reached it in time to get Rick out. Just as he neared the bank, his legs gave out and he stumbled, landed on his knees, and fell face first into the water. Michael and Billy grabbed him by his arms and dragged him out of the water. Exhausted and numb, Casey was unable to move, his feet bright scarlet and legs nearly frozen.

As they watched the sinking van in horror, it snagged on a submerged rock, tilted on its side, only barely visible above the waves. They were frantic, wondering if Rick might still be alive, wondering if he was about to be drowned, wondering if he was screaming for their help.

Suddenly a thunderous pounding thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack reverberated off the canyon walls and a search-and-rescue helicopter appeared around a cliff, a bright yellow angel in the blue sky.

"There's an army base nearby," Michael yelled over the helicopter's deafening rotor blades. "As soon as Higgins realized Rick was in peril, he started pulling strings."

"You told Higgins?" asked Billy.

"Of course," shouted Michael. "Rick's in trouble."

The three watched as the helicopter hovered over the van and a soldier with a set of grappling hooks was lowered by cable. But, just as he got close to it, the van sank below the surface. Suddenly there was nothing for him to attach the hooks to.

Michael, Billy, and Casey gasped and groaned as the helicopter lifted sharply and wheeled in the air. The soldier was hoisted back up into the helicopter.

"They'll have divers," yelled Michael, praying fervently that they would deploy them immediately for a rescue attempt, and not later for a recovery operation.

Soon the helicopter circled around and dipped to the point directly over where the van had been, hovering a few feet above the surface of the river. One after the other, three black-suited and masked scuba-divers jumped out of the helicopter and into the icy current. Each diver held a grappling hook, and they pulled on it, dragging its cable with them below the waves.

"I can't believe this," cried Casey. "He won't make it. It's too cold! It's my fault."

"No, it isn't your fault," comforted Billy, pulling the t-shirt onto Casey. "You did everything you could. It is risky work. Rick knew the risks when he joined the agency. Dammit, if he doesn't make it I'll miss the little Mexicano. It won't be the same without him."

"The little Puerto Rican," snapped Michael, despondent. "Can't we get at least one thing right today?"

The hovering helicopter 's blades flattened the ice-blue water where the three divers had disappeared, beating out a spray of white froth, and the three cables tethering the helicopter to the divers hung slack in the middle.

The seconds ticked by, each one seeming like an hour.

Billy grabbed Casey around the waist while Michael tugged and yanked on his clinging drenched leather pants, peeling them off. Then Billy and Michael slapped and rubbed Casey's legs and feet, to warm them and restore blood flow. Stoically, Casey bit his lip, hiding the excruciating pain he suffered, as his traumatized nerves regained sensation.

"I gave Rick four chocolate bars," said Casey sadly. Drops of water from his wet hair trickled down his exhausted face and neck making black streaks on his t-shirt. "That's all I had left. It was the last thing I did for him."

"You did your best," reassured Michael, massaging Casey's toes. "You almost got yourself drowned."

"They have to get to the van before it vanishes into the depths," said Casey. "Mountain rivers are notoriously difficult to search."

"Yes, the only thing worse than a dead man," said Billy, "is a dead man whose body is missing. Good god, who will tell his mother?"

"Ah, the mother of Asopao soup fame," said Michael. "Higgins volunteered to inform Rick's mother."

Billy and Casey looked at Michael in surprise.

"Higgins?" said Billy. "Not you?"

"Apparently they're friends," said Michael with a puzzled look. "He says he's spoken with her a few times."

"Blimey!" said Billy. "Will wonders never cease."

"I know, it's unbelievable!" Michael shook his head in response to their shocked stares. "I'm surprised Higgins has friends of any kind, and Rick's mother too!"

The three pondered this strange news and continued to stare at the helicopter. As much as the hated it, there was simply nothing else they could do but wait. Billy sat with his arms around Casey, supporting him, and Michael wrapped their jackets around his bare legs to warm him.

Finally, four or five agonizingly long minutes later, the divers surfaced, all three heads bobbing on the sparkling blue water like black balloons.

Billy, Casey, and Michael stared at the divers, transfixed, trying to divine whether they had found anything or not.

A diver raised his hand to signal the pilot and the divers dispersed, swimming outwards from the point where the cables entered the water. The helicopter rose very slowly until the cables pulled taut, then it rose even more slowly, pulling up on the cables.

They watched as the roof of the van broke the surface, then the whole vehicle appeared, curtains of water pouring from its windows and doors, splashing back into the river.

At the sight of the van, Billy and Michael jumped up and cheered.

The helicopter flew towards them bringing the van with it, dripping and swinging below it, to the shoreline.

"That's it!" screamed Casey, struggling to get to his feet. "Those are the plates."

Billy, Michael, and Casey, ignoring the cuts to his bare legs and feet, scrambled over the riverbank's sharp rocks and gravel to the approaching van, and, as soon as it was within reach, they swarmed on it, yanking on the door handles.

Michael pried open the driver's door, grabbed the driver and hauled him out. The soaking wet man fell limply on the ground. Dead. Drowned.

Billy and Casey pulled open the back doors and jumped in.

Rick wasn't there. The van was empty.

Panting and perplexed, Billy and Casey jumped out.

"He's not there!" cried Casey, shivering violently, oblivious to his scratched and bleeding legs and feet.

"What the hell?" shouted Michael, grabbing Casey and shaking him. "Where is he?"

"I don't know!" cried Casey. "I don't understand!"

"Well, just thank god he's not in there," said Billy, wrapping Casey in his jacket. "Because otherwise, he'd be drowned too!"

An hour later, Michael, Billy and Casey - dried off, bandaged, and dressed warmly - were in the red sports car arguing about what to do next. Michael was sitting in the driver's seat, Billy in the passenger seat, and Casey was curled up under a pile of blankets in the cramped backseat.

All three puzzled over and discussed every detail of the trip up from Baku trying to figure out when Rick had been switched to another vehicle and how long they had been tailing the wrong one. They decided that the switch must have been made at a village they had just passed through because it was the only time Casey had lost sight of the van for more than a few moments.

They supposed that the empty van was meant to trick them into crossing the wrong border, which could throw them off the trail for days. The situation wasn't as bad as that, since he couldn't be more than a few hours away, but they had no idea which way or how to find out.

Typical of Michael's leadership style, before deciding what to do next, he asked his teammates for their opinions.

Casey wanted to drive back to Baku and search Rick's hotel room for clues. Billy wanted to go to the army base and search the dead man and the van for clues. Michael wanted to continue driving through the mountains, expecting Higgins to receive intelligence from the Armenian or Russian border before they had to decide which way to go.

"It's hours to Baku," reasoned Michael. "We'll waste a lot of time driving completely the wrong way if we go back there."

"Rick was watching the port for two days," said Casey. "He might have seen something and left some kind of hint."

Michael frowned. "The local police are on the scene and they already searched the hotel room."

"What did they find?" asked Casey. "Tell me about it."

"They taped it off," said Michael. "They had a look around but didn't touch anything. They said there was absolutely nothing there - only a few discarded candy wrappers."

"What kind of candy?" asked Casey, alert and listening intently. "How many wrappers?"

"He didn't notice."

"You see?" Casey grunted. "He didn't even notice the candy wrappers! Pathetic! This is exactly the kind of incompetent detective work you'd expect from these small-town lackeys."

Michael snorted. "Candy wrappers?"

"They might be a clue!" said Casey. "We have to search it. I know exactly what that room looked like when I left him there. If Rick left us any clues we'll have to find them ourselves."

"The army base is right nearby," said Billy. "We should search the van and the corpse, they're far more likely to have clues than candy wrappers!"

"Yes, we could go to the army base," agreed Michael. "Even just the registration of the van and the identity of the driver could be crucial."

"The army can find that out," countered Casey, "they can do it better than us. But any other clues, the subtle ones, will have been washed away. No, what we have to do is search the hotel room."

"If we travel back to Baku," said Michael, "and then get word from the border, it'll take us hours to drive back up here."

"Then let me go by myself," said Casey, pushing back the blankets and struggling to sit up. "On the motorbike."

"You're in no fit state," said Michael. "Sorry, no can do, buddy."

"Then we'll drive down and fly back," said Casey. "That's the fastest way."

"But they only have turbo-props," warned Michael. "Baku has the smallest airport in the world."

Casey gulped. "A turbo-prop will be fine then, if that's all there is."

Amazed, Michael and Billy stared at him and then exchanged a glance.

"Okay, then," said Michael, popping the car into gear and cranking the steering wheel around sharply. "I can see you're convinced we have to go back, so Baku it is."

Michael swerved the car around turning it downhill, pulled into traffic, and stomped on the gas. Soon he was weaving the car in and out of the lanes, racing around the curves, and speeding recklessly past the slower traffic.

"Michael, you're driving this lively beauty like my grandmother," said Billy, gripping the door handle firmly. "Can't you give her a bit more petrol?"

"Dammit, this mission is a disaster!" Michael slapped the steering wheel and revved the engine hard. "It was supposed to be a piece a cake and we have nothing. We haven't a clue who we're chasing or where they're going. No! We have less than nothing ... we've lost Rick!"

"Come on, look on the bright side," said Billy. "At least Rick's not dead."

"Yeah, " said Casey morosely, shivering under the pile of blankets in the back seat, "at least ... not that we know of."