CHAPTER 15

Jack forgot the doggie bag—or maybe Darla had just made enough for two. Knowing my brother's appetite, he probably ate enough for both of us, darn him. Anyway, when he got home, I showed him the compass. (I'd found it in an old shoe box in what used to be my/his bedroom closet.)

"Good," he said distractedly, as he plopped down on the edge of the sofa with his arms across his thighs and his hands hanging down between his legs.

"Jack . . . did . . . something . . . happen tonight?" I asked cautiously from where I sat in the overstuffed armchair.

"I love her, Mac," he said, looking at me earnestly.

"I know that, Jack. That's been obvious for the past two days."

"No," he said intently, shaking his head. "I mean, I've always loved her." He had a look in his eyes unlike anything I'd ever seen before. "I just didn't realize it till tonight." He paused and then went on, "We were dancing—sort of—moving around in circles to this love songs mix her son made for her . . . and I felt like . . ."

He paused again, contemplating his feelings; then he shook his head. "Even though I really don't deserve her, I can't live another day without her, Mac. I just can't."

"You should've married her thirty-five years ago."

"Yeah, I should have. But, since I didn't, as soon as I can after we find Dad, I'm gonna put a ring on her finger and rectify that situation."

"Since you proposed to her over brunch at IHOP, I should hope so!"

"So . . . now that we've covered the subject of my feelings for and my intentions toward Darla, listen up and I'll tell you what I have planned for tomorrow."

"You have a plan? I thought we were just gonna head up to Bear Log Hollow and retrieve the packet of clues from the tree."

"Not exactly," Jack replied cryptically, a mischievous smile on his face.

Suddenly, I suspected that tomorrow was going to be a lot more fun than I'd anticipated.

(*)

It had occurred to me—the more I'd thought about it—that hiding the so-called "evidence" in the bole of a tree would've been a really stupid thing to do. What if someone decided to set up camp in that clearing, as Dad and I had done all those years ago; and what if they went exploring and came across the packet? No, Dad wasn't that foolish. I pointed that fact out to Mac and he reluctantly agreed with me.

"So, why did he tell us to go there, then?" he asked me.

"Because that's where he and Uncle George are, that's why."

"What?! Are you sure about this, Jack? Darla seems to think the packet exists and that it contains more clues to their whereabouts."

"(Only because that's what Dad led her to believe.) I'm as sure as I can be about it without actually going up there to have a look. In the meantime, I'm calling Homeland and requesting a chopper to be sent up there tonight to have a look around the area—with active infrared. . . You see, Mac, I've got a sneaking suspicion that they're gonna find two—and only two—very warm bodies camped out up there in the clearing."

"So, what're we gonna do, then?"

I smiled wickedly.

"Oh, boy!" said Mac. "I'm almost beginning to feel sorry for Dad and Uncle George—almost."

"They've led us on a merry chase, and now we're going to catch them," I told my brother.

"How? Wha'd'ya mean? They obviously want us to come up there and find them."

"Of course they do! That's the whole point! They want us to go up there and approach the tree, believing that we'll find a packet of some kind containing the so-called 'evidence,' and when we do, they probably intend to jump out and say, 'Hello, boys! What took you so long?' Then they think they'll have a jolly laugh, ask us to join them around the fire for some coffee, and we'll all talk about how clever they were to concoct this plan, and how easily duped we were."

"We weren't all that easily duped and they know it, or they wouldn't've put Aunt Edith up to lying for them," Mac pointed out.

"I was just giving an example of how it could go down. It wasn't an exact representation of what they'll actually say! I'm not a mind reader or a fortune teller. I'm just . . . imagining."

"Oh, yeah. Right."

For once, I was being the smarter brother. It felt kind of nice.

"So, wha'd'ya think, Mac? Should we have the park rangers show up, accusing them of poaching?—or maybe military or Homeland Security forces, looking for the terrorists who supposedly captured them? What suits your fancy?"

"Aren't all of those choices a bit extreme under the circumstances? And do you really think you could get any of those groups to actually cooperate in something like that?—especially if the chopper only finds 'two warm bodies' up there, like you said. Two people aren't much of a problem—to anyone but the park rangers, anyway. And, calling the park rangers to have them rounded up for something as mundane as poaching just wouldn't be that much fun."

"That's true. I hadn't really considered that." I chewed my lower lip and cogitated. I felt my brow furrow.

Mac snapped his fingers. "I have an idea!"

"Let's hear it."

"We could call every hunting, fishing and camping buddy Dad and Uncle George have and tell 'em we're throwing them a huge surprise party up there (since we're so seldom in town these days); and we could ask them all to go on up and join the fun."

I felt myself starting to smile. "So there won't be only two people." I nodded. "I like it. Only trouble is, it'll take time to get them all up there, and it's already the middle of the week. We'll have to plan it for Friday night, so all the guys'll have time to buy supplies, get packed, and head up there. Even though they're all at least sixty-five, some of them may have part-time jobs."

"You're right—they might. Planning it for Friday is fine with me. We can set everything up tomorrow. Just remember that I'm supposed to have lunch with Jamie tomorrow, too."

"Oh, yeah. I'd forgotten about that. Hey, have fun."

"Thanks, I will. But, in the meantime, I just thought of one other little problem with my plan."

"Which is?"

"Calling out the military (or Homeland Security, for that matter), only to have them find a bunch of old geezers—who would undoubtedly spill the beans about us being the ones who invited them up there in the first place—could get us into a lot of hot water."

"Yes, it could," I admitted. "Any ideas on how to get around the 'spill the beans' part?"

Mac shrugged. "I guess we could invite them up there using Dad's and Uncle George's names instead of our own. . . If we use Dad's computer to send out emails, and have each guy we send an email to contact someone else whose email address Dad doesn't have on his list—"

"—or who maybe doesn't have a computer . . ." I put in.

"—but who isin Dad's Rolodex . . ."

"—we could get more people up there," I concluded

"But won't they be suspicious if they're asked to call someone else that they have every reason to believe Dad could contact himself?"

Every time we thought we had a good plan, Mac had to come up with another wrinkle! Man, there was a lot of work involved in being sneaky!

"Okay, how about this," I proposed. "We have him say something like, 'Could you contact So-and-so for me? I've got my laptop up here with me, but I didn't bring my Rolodex, so I don't have his number to call him.'"

"How's Dad gonna email anybody on a laptop in the middle of the woods?" Mac asked me—sensibly, I might add.

"Okay, okay. . . Let me think." I started pacing. A HUGE light bulb went on over my head. I snapped my fingers as I stopped in my tracks. "Got it!"

"What?"

"We send them all telegrams." As my brother started to protest, I said, "Yeah, yeah, I know: It'll cost a bundle. But, boy, it'll be worth it!"

"And what are we going to say in these telegrams?"

"'Come to campground, Pike National Forest, Friday, 1900 hours. Bring full gear. Map posted at O'Shaughnessy's Outpost.' Of course, we can shorten it to save money, cut out the prepositions, abbreviate Friday, National, hours, and O'Shaughnessy—stuff like that."

"They might wanna know why they're being invited up there . . ." Mac pointed out.

"Okay. So we add, 'Good time to be had by all.'" I looked at my brother, arching my eyebrows expectantly.

He nodded. "Sounds good. The only loophole on this one—aside from the cost—is that people at the outpost are bound to recognize whichever one of us goes up there to post the map."

"I have a friend who might be willing to post the map for us."

"For a fee?"

"Of course."

"And what if someone makes him a better offer to spill the beans?"

I smiled. "I'm talking about O'Shaughnessy himself, little bro. When I tell Shaun what's been going on with Dad and Uncle George, he'll be glad to help us get revenge."

"Then why charge a fee? It's not as if he needs the money . . ."

I shrugged. "It's company policy—handed down since his grandfather's time: they've always charged a fee to post bills on their walls."

"You think you can trust him?"

"If the Feds come around asking questions, he'll describe someone who doesn't exist—a perfect description, right down to the squiggly hair jutting out of his left eyebrow. . . And I'll make certain he understands that the man is supposed to be in league with terrorists. I'm pretty sure he can pull it off."

"Still, someone might see you and recognize you when you take him the map."

"Are you nuts? Do you think I'd take the map to the Outpost, when the whole purpose in getting Shaun to do it is to keep anyone from seeing me? Get real! I know where he lives!"

"So, does he have a cabin up there, or something?"

I shook my head. "Nah, he lives in Aurora—got a nice, well-insulated, solar-powered log home. Cool place. He's usually there after ten at night, or before six in the a.m."

"Okay," said Mac. "Well then, I guess we'll have to find a large-scale map of Pike and do a little 'X marks the spot' thing on it. Other than that, there's still the matter of preventing the attacking Federales—whatever group we decide to pick on—from suspecting that it's a set up when they get there and find nothing but a bunch of old geezers on a camping trip."

"In other words," I said, "we've gotta convince them that whoever made the anonymous tip had good reason to believe there was something really underhanded going on up there."

"Precisely. But how do we go about it? I'm still trying to figure that one out."

"While the two Great White Hunters are away from camp, a certain covert operative is gonna plant the up-till-now non-existent evidence in the bole of a specific tree."

"And what are we going to use for said evidence?"

"Doctored photos and forged documents; what else?"

"Can you handle it by yourself?"

"Probably not. I'm not as computer savvy as you are. If you'll help me with the pictures and the documents, I'll make the drive up there and place the packet in the tree. We'll have to be careful and handle everything with gloves on, of course."

"So, then, shall we get up bright and early; write and send off the telegrams; and get on Dad's computer to find a map and put together some incriminating evidence before I go to lunch with Jamie?"

"We'd better. Tomorrow's Thursday, and we only have tomorrow to get it done if we're gonna get all the guys up there by Friday evening."

"Good point. I'll try to keep my lunch with Jamie short, then."

"Don't worry about it. If you get me started in the morning—show me the ropes—I think I can probably carry on while you're gone. Just don't be longer than a couple of hours."

"I doubt I'll be gone much more than half that—even with travel time. Jamie's using her lunch break from work to go with me. She may not wanna take more than half an hour."

"Knowing Jamie, you're probably right. So, I'll just have lunch, too, while you're gone; and we'll continue working when you get back."

"Any idea when the telegraph office opens?"

"Nada. We'll just have to call and find out." After a ten-second-or-so pause, I asked, "Say, can you send telegrams over the telephone?" I was still concerned about being recognized if I went to Western Union in person.

"I think so. If you've got a credit card to pay for it with, you can order just about anything over the phone."

"If not . . ."

Mac shrugged. "We can always try a disguise."

"I guess. In the meantime, why don't we get into Dad's Rolodex and start looking up names and addresses of likely guests to be invited to this unique party we're throwing?"

"Why not? It's something to do."

"How many do you think we oughta invite?" I asked.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe somewhere between twelve and twenty . . ."