UnAlaska

39. Road Blocks

The FBI's rented van continued down the gravel road, following the faint tire tracks. Their heads swayed in unison as they crashed over rain-filled potholes. They saw the wet splash against their windows, the color of brown silt, then it slowly intermingled with rain and washed away. The tires scrabbled loudly on the wet gravel.

Laura pulled her borrowed FBI windbreaker tight. The heater buzzed, filling the interior of the van with damp, crowded warmth. In the horizon, and through the dense thickets of douglas fir and hemlock, they saw the distinctive red and blue flashing halo of police patrol cars.

Laura sat up. "What's that about?"

Paul met her eyes in the rear view mirror. "The Unalaska PD set up roadblocks, after the explosions and fire. They're blocking most of the main routes into town."

Laura nodded. "Reassuring for the town too, I'm sure."

Paul shrugged. "Sure. I guess. We coordinated it with them." He slowed down to skirt the edges of a large mud-filled pothole in the center of the road. It glowed dimly in the beam of the van's headlights, diffused by countless rain drops. The windshield wipers spun furiously. "We're hoping it slows down progress, if the kids are in a van somewhere."

Jacqueline's face was skeptical. "You can't cover every road. There are too many snaking into the woods around here."

Paul nodded. His hands were resting at an easy ten-and-two on the black vinyl steering wheel. "It's true, but any road block is a gamble right? You never know you'll get it right." He lifted his right hand. "We had two big reasons." He raised one finger. "Number one, we figured they have a base of command in the town somewhere. Probably not central, it would be too visible. We guessed it was in an industrial area. Quiet enough, with spaces big enough to hide a van and some people. Comms are a mess in the woods anyway. No cell reception, and too far for basic radios. This whole thing is too tightly planned for them to be doing it on their own. There has to be a command center."

He steered one handed around the next pothole. They skirted the edge and muddy water splashed the windows again. He raised another finger. "Second, we figured they would be taking the kids to another location if they got to town. This town is tiny, it wouldn't take long to search everything. Everyone knows everyone, and they'll stick out like a sore thumb trying to buy food or gas anyway."

He sighed, and put his hand back on the wheel. "We did the math, and the right seaplane can make it to the Russian far east from here. There's an old port town, Provideniya, that's most likely. 800 miles, and a Cessna can reach 1,000 on a full tank. So, we figured they would go to a base of operations in town and then jump on a seaplane. From there, getting them back from bumfuck, Siberia is a mess. It would be out of our hands, and into the State Department's. I'm sure they have powerful parents, but sometimes that doesn't matter. It can just depend on what we need from Russia, or vice versa."

Laura shuddered. She pictured Juni, curled into a fetal position against the tin-can walls of a Cessna, speeding away to Siberia. It was grim. But, she couldn't fault Paul's logic. When they had worked together, he was always a clear thinker, always stepping things through one logical leap at a time. "I wondered the same thing. Otherwise, why choose a place like this? The Aleutians aren't a big destination. It would have been easier to run a snatch and grab in Ketchikan or Juneau if a basic kidnapping was their goal."

Paul looked at her in the rear view mirror again. "Exactly."

Jacqueline said, "We figured out some of these pieces on board. We knew they timed this just right, so they would have the kids in hand when we docked in Dutch Harbor. They planned to take them off in a cargo container while we loaded cargo, then secret them away from the docks. The parents were all in a movie or the main dining room, and the employees were all dead or tied up."