“If that’s true, why isn’t the world full of clairvoyants?”
“It can take decades, even a lifetime, to train your mind this way. Most people will never be able to do it. Once in a rare while, you might be able to do it for a short time and get a glimpse of that world. Haven’t you ever had a moment of déjà vu or a premonition of something?”
Riley focused on the strawberry. After a few seconds, her mind drifted to the missing newlyweds. Emerson had a way of making the impossible sound reasonable. “Maybe,” she said.
TEN
ARENTED FORD EXPLORER WAS WAITING ON THE tarmac of the Jackson Hole Airport. Riley left the plane and walked to the SUV. She looked at the snow-capped Teton mountains in the distance, and took a deep breath of the fresh, crisp air. The town of Jackson was the sole vestige of civilization in the area. It was about seven miles south of the airport and completely surrounded by the Gros Ventre Wilderness. To the north was Grand Teton National Park and beyond that Yellowstone.
They piled into the car and drove out of the airport, turning left on U.S. Highway 26. After a couple miles, Riley exited the main highway onto the more scenic Teton Park Road. They passed crystal clear Jenny Lake and a couple miles later, fifteen-mile-long Jackson Lake came into view. They drove in silence along the lake, appreciating the natural beauty of the wilderness, the occasional elk at the side of the road, and even a grizzly bear rummaging through the marsh.
“This really is the middle of nowhere,” Riley said.
Emerson was reading through the Yellowstone guidebook. “Yellowstone is home to sixty-seven different mammals, including bears, wolves, bison, cougars, wolverines, bighorn sheep, beavers, and coyotes.”
“I sure would like to see a beaver or two on this here vacation,” Vernon said, ducking before Wayan Bagus could slap the back of his head.
The scenery became increasingly dramatic, and after a little over an hour of driving they passed through Yellowstone’s South Entrance. Conifers covered rugged hillsides. Streams meandered through high country meadows. Smoking pools of geothermally heated water dotted the landscape, and huge hairy bison grazed along the side of the road and posed for photos, slowing traffic through the park to a near standstill.
At Yellowstone Lake, Riley turned left onto the Grand Loop Road. A little later, a huge rustic-looking log hotel with a steeply pitched shingled roof and gables came into view. Riley pulled up to the front entrance, and a valet parked the car.
Vernon looked up at the building and whistled. “That’s one big log cabin.”
“The biggest in the world,” Emerson said. “Even more impressive considering that it was built back in 1903.”
Riley, Vernon, and Wayan Bagus walked through the front doors and explored the lobby while Emerson got their room keys from the front desk. Like the exterior, the inside of the hotel was luxuriously rustic, constructed from logs and four stories tall with balconies encircling each level. A massive stone fireplace with a beautiful ironwork clock and hearths on all four sides dominated the space.
There was a steady exodus of people from the lobby. It had been almost an hour since the last eruption of Old Faithful and crowds were beginning to form outside to watch six thousand gallons of boiling water shoot up to 180 feet in the air.
“I have to admit this would be pretty awesome, if it wasn’t for the fact that there’s a secret society of crazy park rangers after us,” Riley said to Emerson when he returned.
“So you have finally come around,” Emerson said. “You acknowledge the Rough Riders.”
“I acknowledge something. I’m not sure what it is.”
He handed her a room key. “I rather think the possible presence of the Rough Riders adds to the experience. The difference between adventure and adversity is attitude.”
“It’s hard to have a good attitude about someone trying to throw you off a balcony,” Riley said.
It was five P.M., and a tour group was forming, led by a pretty twenty-something-year-old park ranger wearing a gray two-pocket shirt, green shorts with a belt, and a broad-brimmed khaki campaign hat. About a dozen hotel guests were standing in a circle around her, waiting for the last tour of the day to begin.
Wayan Bagus pointed at the park ranger. “Emerson,” he whispered. “That’s the same uniform the men who forced me off my island were wearing, except the shirt and pants are a different color.”
“One more indication that we’re on the right trail,” Emerson said.
Riley tagged after the tour guide, and Emerson, Vernon, and Wayan Bagus tagged after Riley.
“Hello, everyone, my name is Beth,” the guide said, “and this is the south section of the Upper Geyser Basin tour. The tour starts here with Old Faithful. Old Faithful is one of many geysers in this part of the park. It isn’t actually the biggest or even the most regular, but it is the biggest most regular geyser in Yellowstone.”
A chuckle went up from the crowd, and Emerson shifted his body weight from side to side. Small talk was Emerson’s kryptonite, and he was already losing patience with the tour.
Beth spent a couple minutes regurgitating facts about Old Faithful before moving on to its history. “Back in the nineteenth century, before the National Park Service was created, the United States Cavalry was in charge of Yellowstone and used Old Faithful as a makeshift laundry. They’d put their soiled uniforms in the geyser, and they’d be ejected clean and warm. But don’t any of you get any bright ideas! The inn’s housekeeping department does a much better job!”
There was another chuckle from the crowd and an audible groan from Emerson.
After a couple more minutes of stock jokes about Old Faithful, the tour moved on to its next stop, a conical mound with an opening in its top.
“This geyser is named the Beehive Geyser. Can anyone here tell me why it’s named Beehive?”
No one from the crowd said anything. Emerson looked like he was about to jump out of his skin. Vernon was grinning from ear to ear.
“Anyone? Anyone?” Beth said. “I’ll give you a hint. It’s not because it’s filled with honey.”
Vernon raised his hand. “I reckon it’s because it looks like a house of bees.”
Beth smiled at Vernon. “Correct.” She looked over the crowd. “Does anyone have any questions so far?”
Emerson perked up. “I do have a question. Where is the top-secret government research facility?”
“Pardon?” Beth said.
“I’m only interested in the one located over the giant pool of lava capable of destroying the earth,” Emerson said.
The crowd was silent. An older couple took a step away from Emerson.
“You know. The one where you keep the kidnapped visitors who”—Emerson made air quotes with his fingers—“ ‘know too much.’ ”
Riley nudged Emerson and whispered into his ear. “For the love of Mike, Emerson. Asking crazy questions during a public tour is rude, not to mention insane. How do you know if you can trust this guide? She could be one of your Rough Riders. She could text Tin Man that we’re here.”
Emerson nodded at Riley and gave her a thumbs-up. “Right. Understood. I’ll find out.” He turned back to the tour guide. “One follow-up question. Do you have any unusual tattoos?”
Riley smacked her forehead. The rest of the crowd was staring at the park ranger, waiting for her response.
“Um. No secret government labs, but at any given time, there are a wide variety of scientific studies being conducted at Yellowstone,” Beth said. “The Yellowstone Center for Resources is responsible for coordinating all the research programs. It’s with all the other administrative buildings at Mammoth Hot Springs in the northwestern corner of the park.”
“Do you really kidnap people who know too much?” a twelve-year-old boy in the crowd asked.