Chapter 7 #2
“I’ll be back tomorrow after my team has a chance to evaluate what I have, and they’ll check with the installation contractors. Tomorrow shouldn’t take too long. I’ll just need to make sure there is nothing else they require before I fly back since your perimeter is so large.”
Charles stood at the front door. "How long before I see a proposal?"
"Two weeks. We'll do a full analysis, design multiple options, and present recommendations." Cole loaded his equipment into the truck bed. "Once you approve a design, the installation company will provide a timeline."
"Good." Charles shook his hand again, that practiced smile back in place. "I look forward to seeing what you come up with."
Cole drove back down the private road, waiting until he was out of sight of the house before pulling over. He grabbed his phone and called Logan.
“You done for the day?” Logan asked.
“Yes. Initial assessment is completed. Got what we need for design work, but I’ll let you tell me what else I need to reassess for the perimeter. I’ll go back over tomorrow.”
“Sounds good. You should be aware that the storm coming is dumping snow west of your location and now looks to be circling around.”
“Fuck,” Cole grumbled under his breath, his eyes now skyward, noting the changes.
“Gotta tell you the client is a piece of work—arrogant, demanding, and I overheard a phone conversation that sounded sketchy as hell.
We'll do the job because the contract's signed, but I recommend we don't pursue additional work with Northern Summit Resources. The owner is a shithead.”
Logan chuckled. “Duly noted. Now get somewhere safe before the storm hits.”
Cole checked the weather radar on his phone.
The storm had accelerated, moving faster than the forecasts predicted.
He wouldn't make it back to Fairbanks before it arrived.
The nearest town was Cantwell, about twenty miles south.
Small place, but it would have a hotel or at least somewhere to wait out the weather.
He punched the coordinates into his GPS and headed south. The sky darkened as he drove, clouds rolling in like a gray ceiling dropping lower by the minute. The first fat, heavy snowflakes started falling as he reached Cantwell's outskirts.
The town consisted of maybe a dozen buildings clustered along the highway. A general store, a café, a gas station, and what looked like a small motel with a hand-painted sign advertising "Clean Rooms, Reasonable Rates." Good enough.
Cole pulled into the motel parking lot as the snow began falling in earnest. The office was warm and smelled like old coffee. An elderly man behind the counter looked up from his newspaper.
"Need a room?"
"Two nights, probably. Depends how long this storm lasts."
"Smart. This won’t be a huge one, but enough to chase most people inside." The man pushed a registration card across the counter. "Cash or card?"
"Card." Cole filled out the form and handed over his credit card. "Any place to eat in town?"
"Bear Paw Tavern, just down the road. Donna makes a decent burger." The man processed the payment and handed over a key attached to a plastic tag bearing the number 7. "You're in luck. Last room available. Storm's got everyone scrambling for shelter."
Cole grabbed his overnight bag from the truck and let himself into the room. It was clean, if dated—floral bedspread, wood-paneled walls, and a television that probably got three channels on a good day. But it was warm and dry, which was all that mattered.
He texted Logan again. Staying the night in a little town with a hotel. Cantwell. Will head back once the storm clears.
Through the window, he watched the snow fall harder, already accumulating on the vehicles in the parking lot. The storm had caught up with him after all. But at least he was ahead of it instead of in it, flying blind through whiteout conditions.
His phone buzzed with Logan's response. Stay safe. No rush getting back. We've got time to work on the Penson design.
Cole stretched out on the bed, hands behind his head. Charles Penson's voice echoed in his memory. “I don't care who's around looking at goddamn moose. If they're a problem, take care of them.”
Who was around? Hikers? Researchers? Someone who'd noticed Northern Summit working outside their permitted areas?
Not my problem, he reminded himself. I’m here to evaluate a client’s security system, not investigate the client's business practices.
But something about that phone conversation sat wrong in his gut. The casual threat in Penson's voice. The assumption that money and connections would solve whatever problem he was facing.
Cole had met men like Penson before. Rich, powerful, used to getting their way. The kind who saw laws and regulations as suggestions for other people. The kind who left messes for others to clean up while they walked away.
He grabbed his jacket and headed out. The café wasn't far, and he needed food more than he needed to sit in that room thinking about Charles Penson and his sketchy phone calls.
The Bear Paw Tavern was not a dark bar, but a warm, family-oriented restaurant.
It appeared busy with locals escaping their homes before the storm trapped everyone inside for a couple of days.
Cole claimed a spot at the bar and ordered the burger the motel clerk had recommended, noting that her name tag said “Donna.” While he waited, he watched the other customers.
Mostly working folks, judging by their clothes and the conversations drifting past. Talk about the weather, about supplies, and about getting home before the roads became impassable.
And there, in a booth near the window, was a group of men wearing Northern Summit Resources patches on their jackets, talking and laughing over plates of food.
Cole turned back to his burger when it arrived, but he was aware of them now. Penson's employees, probably snowed in just like everyone else.
The burger was as good as advertised. He ate slowly, in no hurry to get back to the empty motel room.
Through the window, the snow continued falling, transforming Cantwell into a white-shrouded ghost town.
By morning, the roads would be buried. By tomorrow night, the whole interior would be locked down tight.
But when it passed, he knew the roads would be cleared enough to travel.
Hoping he got the news that he didn’t need to revisit Penson’s house, he continued to enjoy his meal.
Cole paid his bill and nodded to Donna as he slid from the stool. At the last second, he turned and asked, “Do you know of any moose watchers around here?” He immediately winced at the ridiculous-sounding question. “Never mind—”
She laughed and said, “Well, I guess some of the tourists could be called moose watchers.”
Still wincing, he turned to head back out, but her words stopped him.
“I suppose some people might call Janice a moose watcher.”
He shifted back to face her and asked, “Janice?”
“Yeah. She’s a wildlife veterinarian. Been here about four months.”
“In town?”
“No. She’s got a cabin…” Donna’s words slowed, and she lifted her brow. “But you’re a stranger, and I’m not going to tell you where she is.”
“That’s okay,” he rushed to offer an assurance. “I just overheard something about a moose watcher and wondered what they were talking about.”
“Oh…” she said, nodding while an uncertain expression remained on her face.
“Thanks.” He smiled and headed to the door.
Once outside, he trudged back to the motel through snow that was already ankle-deep.
Room 7 felt smaller than before, the walls pressing in.
He turned on the television and found a weather channel, then watched the meteorologist trace the storm's path with barely contained excitement.
"First major winter storm impacting interior Alaska, but it won’t be a bad one for the locals.
We’re predicting about eight to ten inches to fall through tomorrow, and drifts may reach up to twenty inches.
Travel not recommended, especially for those who are not used to driving in snow. Have a good night and stay safe!"
Cole turned off the TV and opened his laptop. Might as well get started on the preliminary report while he was stuck there. He pulled up the photos from Penson's property and began organizing them by location and security concern.
The work focused his mind, gave him something productive to do instead of dwelling on phone conversations that weren't his business. Once he had a solid draft of the assessment completed, he sent it to LSIMT and the design team.
He closed the laptop and stretched out on the bed, listening to the wind howl outside. Somewhere out there, beyond the storm, was the research area where someone had been "looking at goddamn moose." Someone Charles Penson considered a problem enough to threaten.
Not my problem, he told himself again, but then something Donna said hit him. Janice. Cabin. He sat up, grabbed his phone, and sent a message to the compound. Can you find any wildlife veterinarians who are in the Cantwell area? First name is Janice.
A message immediately came back. For you to ask, it must be important. Working on it now.
It was Frazier’s night for duty in the compound, and Cole knew Frazier would dig until he discovered an answer.
Sliding back into bed, he knew the odds of the Janice that Donna referred to and the moose-watcher Charles referred to were probably not the same, and there was no threat.
But he couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe there was a connection.
And if so, he couldn’t walk away. Better to find out I’m wrong than to ignore something important.