The Chamonix Chronicles — Episode 11

Bayless, duffle in hand, moved from the moonlit landing into the darkness of the trees.

What the hell is he doing?

Niko slipped his crocs on and kept eyes on the spot where Bayless entered the woods. He followed, moving light and quiet over the difficult ground. He was well acquainted with night travel on river banks. He considered calling to Bayless, but something about this was secretive, and Niko wanted to know more before announcing himself.

Niko entered the woods in the exact spot where Bayless disappeared. He stopped and listened. Faint footsteps in the distance of the still night. He followed the sound to a well-worn path, increasing his speed, keenly listening. Bayless moved quietly ahead in the unknown darkness, but not silently, and Niko was relieved that he could track from a distance, close enough to hear, but far enough not to be detected. He crept along for what seemed like hours, but was not more than a mile.

His pulse quickened as he recognized the surroundings — the trail to Baptiste’s cabin. Niko recalled the last time he saw Baptiste — the buzz of aircraft in the distance, the gun raised, fear in the voice commanding him to leave, sorrow in the eyes.

We are getting too close. Baptiste may shoot first and then figure who is lurking. It is almost as if Bayless is heading for him on purpose … that can’t be.

After a few more minutes of tracking and creeping in the dark, listening for the soft footfalls, Niko saw a twinkle of light between the trees — a small diamond of orange in the dark woods. He saw Bayless’s silhouette floating towards it, taking an intentional and direct path.

Shit. How could you be this stupid?

Niko increased his speed. As he saw Bayless step into the radius of the cabin’s light. He heard the door open, a French voice shouted into the night. The soft arc of light reached out into the darkness. There was an mumbled exchange and then sudden movement on the porch.

Niko was running now, he opened his mouth to yell, not sure what to say, but nothing came out anyway. He was close enough to hear the compressed sound of a silenced pistol. He saw Baptiste’s outline fall in the doorway. Niko froze and covered his mouth with his hands.

Why? Why did I bring him here? Why did he kill him?

Bayless stooped over the body and fired another shot, and then dragged the lifeless form into the cabin. Niko had to hold his mouth shut to keep from screaming.

The door closed, taking much of the light with it, leaving only the square of the orange window. Niko wanted to run into the cabin and strangle Bayless. He wanted to hit himself with a boat’s oar for being so blind to this man’s intentions, for ignoring Tracey, for always trusting too much.

Niko was still, unsure of what to do, fighting back tears, simultaneously wanting to run away and dig a hole to crawl into.

I can’t leave this.

Niko gathered himself, hands shaking, sweat smelling of rancid fear, and he approached the cabin and quietly as he could. He waited under the window, which was cracked a hand’s width open. Niko pressed tight to the timber wall of the cabin and then carefully rose to peer through the window.

Baptiste lay on the ground next to his cot. His right leg was folded awkwardly under itself, and blood emptied from the holes in his inert body. Niko fought hard to to remain silent at the sight. He saw Bayless scanning the single-room cabin, holding a pistol with a silencer on it. He wore gloves and a black winter hat.

As he stared through the window at Baptiste’s face, bearded, dead, empty, Niko’s hands shook, and he felt his chest heaving as he looked at spreading pool of blood, seeping into the spaces between the pine-board floor. He wanted to run into the cabin, to break the door down and bludgeon Bayless in an effort to ease the torrent of shame he felt at the realization that he had brought death to Baptiste — the man who saved him.

Niko nearly attempted this foolish ambush, but the sobering coldness of the scene stopped him. Niko watched Bayless’s cool movements, the steadiness of his hands. It all pointed to this being routine for him. The silencer, the easy lies, the gloves and hat in the summer. Niko had seen more than his fair share of violence along his travels. Men brutalizing each other, and he had always seen either emotion or frantic necessity with it. But there was none of that here — the armor of an assassin.

Niko’s trance was broken as Bayless walked past the window.

Shit.

Niko ducked down as Bayless peered at his own reflection in the window. Niko looked up, just barely seeing him, hoping that the cabin’s interior light, emitting from candles and lanterns would keep Bayless from seeing through the window. They were no more than two feet from each other, separated by a log and pane of glass. Niko waited.

Bayless walked from the window, and Niko rose again. Inching his eyes over the sill. He saw Bayless bend over the duffle bag and remove a satellite phone. He dialed and began speaking. Niko could only hear Bayless’s side of the conversation.

“Yea. It’s done.”

Bayless listened and looked annoyed.

“Am I sure?” He nudged Baptiste’s limp body with his foot. “Jesus. Yes, I’m sure.”

There was a pause.

“Yes. It’s him.”

Another pause.

“How do I know? I worked with the damn guy for three years. I’ll get a picture if that’s what you need.”

Bayless scratched his face with the side of the pistol as he listed.

“Not yet. I just started looking. You said to let you know the second he was dead, so I called.”

Bayless scanned the room.

“Yea. It’s a mess in here, but I’ll find it.”

Bayless listened.

“I said I’ll find it. It’s more important to me than it is to you.”

Bayless was pacing the room now. Stepping over Baptiste’s body as he traversed the small area. He was becoming more and more agitated as he listened.

“I know, just a few loose ends to clean up — a rube fishing guide and his wife.”

There was a pause.

“It’s not sloppy. There was a no other way to get up here. A plane tips him off, there are no roads, and I can’t get up this maze of rivers on my own.”

Bayless pulled the phone a few inches from his ear as the voice on the other end of the line raised loud enough for Niko to hear it through the cracked window. “All this shit is your fault. Not my problem. Find the goddamn thing and kill anyone who saw you up there. If you don’t, I’ll kill you myself. Am I clear?”

Bayless stopped his pacing. “Clear.”

He lowered the phone dropped it back into the duffle. He looked at Baptiste, laying lifeless on the floor.

“Where the hell did you hide the damn thing? You always were sneaky as hell.” He laughed.

Bayless placed the pistol on a small table as he began to search the cabin.

Niko, enraged by Bayless’s casual discussion of Tracey’s demise, moved towards the porch. In his anger, he was not as quiet as he should have been on the aged steps, and a plank creaked under his foot.

There was movement inside — a metallic object sliding over wood. Niko stepped back down from the porch and hustled behind a tree just as Bayless opened the door, a distinct silhouette against the faint light from inside the cabin. He was holding the gun in front of his chest, steady and intentional in his movements. He scanned the woods and listened — the primal search for that sound in the dark. Niko’s heart thudded against his chest.

After a prolonged silence, there was a rustle in the bush on the other side of the porch as a very large racoon waddled into the light. Bayless shot it and returned to the cabin, closing the door once again.

What do I do now?

Niko’s breath was frantic and his hands shook. He scrambled back to the window and watched again as Bayless tore into the little home. He kept the gun in hand now as he stepped over Baptiste like he was a pile of dirt. He flipped the cot, and the table, and even Baptiste’s body, systematically searching every element of the room in a circular pattern. About half way around the room, he turned over a cabinet and examined its underside. He pulled at a corner of the wood and removed a false bottom and pulled a cloth bag from it. He opened the bag and reached in, manipulating and examining the contents. He smiled and then placed it into his own duffle before zipping it all shut.

Niko, still in shock, had not considered the real peril of his current location.

I can’t hide. He’s heading back to camp.

At that moment he remembered the flare pistol he kept on the drift boat. He had put it in there when he bought the thing, but hadn’t even looked at it since.

No use fighting him here unarmed.

Niko pushed his emotions down, sealing his mind from the fear and grief and shame enough to gather himself. He stood up and sprinted away from the cabin, back down the path in the moon’s faint light under the pines and out onto the flat. His anger grew with each step. Anger with himself for being fooled, for bringing this danger to Baptiste, for not seeing Bayless for what he was. Tracey was right. He was blind to clever maliciousness, to the assholes of the world. He always was, and it seemed that he is doomed to continue the pattern. All of his experience still had not prepared him to understand someone like Bayless.

He ran to the boat and leaned over the gunwale, heaving hard from the sprint. He dug into the dry box, rummaging around, throwing unused and forgotten pieces of equipment onto the deck — rain coats, old life vests, blankets, ancient fishing tackle, an air horn. As the minutes passed, he cursed his disorganization.

“What the hell good is a damn flare gun if I can’t find it?” he whispered.

Then he heard the clicks of the boulders behind him.

“You shoving off without me?” Bayless called out.

Niko turned and peered into the moonlit night. Bayless was about twenty feet away, holding the duffle in one hand and the pistol in the other. His gloves and hat had been removed, and he was smiling.

…

Check back next week to see who makes the next move!