To my daughter, Anne

ISBN: 9781623091408

Acknowledgments

The author wished to thank and acknowledge his family for their continuing help and support.

The cover photo was taken by Timothy Webster.

Author’s note: Reeta’s thoughts at the very end of Chapter 28 are based on the thoughts of David Grayson in Chapter one of his book, “Adventures in Contentment.”

Chapter One

Anna Whitelaw closed the door of her roadside vegetable stand and slowly walked up the driveway toward the house. The late afternoon heat was intense so rather than entering her kitchen she followed the path through the woods that led to the brook. Quietly she sat down on the large rock that had become a lifelong friend. She removed her shoes and shifting her body to the right felt the clear refreshing water flow across her feet. The cool water brought immediate relief from the long day of harvesting sweet corn, green beans, cucumbers and zucchini. For the next half hour she sat quietly reflecting on her life of nearly fifty years on this forty acre farm in central Vermont.

Anna Jennings married Thomas Whitelaw one month after her twenty second birthday. Together they purchased the farm with the run down house for a very low price and in the ensuing eighteen years they lived a simple life raising and selling vegetables while renovating the home one room at a time. Thomas died suddenly when Anna was forty leaving her alone to raise their fifteen year old daughter, April. Anna’s first instinct was to sell the place but following a period of grief and despair she determined to raise her daughter on the place she loved and to continue the modest but successful vegetable business.

The years when April attended college were lonely ones, for while Anna had many friendly acquaintances, she had very few close friends. The vegetable business kept her busy during the warm months while in winter she occupied her time with long walks on the familiar paths of her farm and with extensive reading. Occasional bouts of melancholy nearly overcame her. Still she insisted on living life with grace and resolve.

While at college, April met and fell in love with Charles Gillison, an architectural engineering major. They married shortly after graduation and settled in the suburbs north of Boston less than a two hour drive from her mother’s home in Vermont. Anna was happy for her daughter and she was, in fact, quite fond of her new son in law. But Charles was deeply involved in his career and his urban background gave him little interest in spending time in rural Vermont. And so despite frequent contact with her daughter, Anna Whitelaw’s tranquil but lonely life continued. The dramatic change took place when, after several years of marriage, Charles and April were blessed with an infant son whom they named Jonathan.

Anna loved him from the start and in return, almost from infancy, little Jonathan most wanted to be with “Grandma Anna” on her farm in Vermont. At first it was trips with his parents on holidays and occasional weekends. Once there, the little toddler would tramp the paths and trails of the farm until his legs tired and he would call for Grandma to carry him. Their excursions always led to his favorite place - the brook - where he would endlessly throw stones into the stream. By the tender age of four he began to ask if he could stay at Grandma Anna’s house and his visits began to lengthen, often for at least a week. Together the grandmother and grandson laughed and played endlessly. There were favorite books to read and color. There were wagon rides up and down the county road. In the fall there were leaf piles to jump in and winter brought sleigh rides, snowmen and slides on the ice. But as soon as weather permitted there was the brook - always Jonathan’s favorite place. It was here that his fondest memories were created. Just below Wentworth rock, Jonathan and his grandmother carefully dammed the brook with a wall of rocks and stones that effectively created a pool nearly two feet deep and more than twenty feet in length. It was the perfect size for a child to play. By the time he had reached the age of six, Jonathan had learned to fish for the bountiful native trout indigenous to the brook. He was not at all troubled at the process of cleaning the fish and then at supper time there was the feast. Anna would carefully remove the bones from the boy’s serving and the delicious taste of the fresh fish was beyond description.

When Jonathan turned age seven he began spending the summers in Vermont. As soon as school dismissed, April drove him to his grandmother’s farm where he would remain until the day before the start of the fall session. He was now old enough to take part in the working of the farm, a task he approached with enthusiasm. Bright and by nature inquisitive, young Jonathan soon knew more about truck farming than most adults and the rigors of growing and harvesting crops made for a healthy robust child. Still, to ensure time for childhood activities, Anna hired a retired couple who lived nearby to help with the work. This arrangement allowed time for picnics in the woods, nature studies, scientific experiments and of course, hours playing in the brook. During the summer of Jonathan’s eighth year, using a manual from the local library, Jonathan and his grandmother built from scratch a working solar panel. The panel consisted of three sections each twelve by fourteen inches. Each panel was connected with hinges so that when unfolded the unit measured ten inches wide and over two feet in length. Wires connected to the panel could be attached to three nine volt batteries and when exposed to direct sunlight could produce enough energy to heat a small electric coil. To Jonathan’s delight they would often take the unit onto the hill behind the house, grill hot dogs and heat water for hot chocolate with their very own invention.

So went the childhood of Jonathan Gillison, and as the years passed the thought never crossed his mind that this wonderful life would ever end. Anna thought of it often. How she loved the boy. How she looked forward to his visits. What peace and joy he had brought to her life. Still she knew that it would not last forever. The change began when Jonathan reached age thirteen. Soccer was popular in his school and community and when Jonathan joined a summer league his visits to Vermont were restricted. Then there were the girls. While he was not especially handsome, Jonathan had an appealing personality that fostered popularity - a trait that he enjoyed and promoted. Interestingly, the computer age also contributed to his loss of interest in Vermont for he found it both fascinating and appealing. He had a natural aptitude for the new technology and soon was called on by family, friends and even teachers to troubleshoot computer problems. He found the idea of spending time at his grandmother’s, where a computer was unavailable, distressing. And so by the time he finished high school Jonathan rarely went to Vermont and once he entered college, Anna Whitelaw barely heard from her grandson at all. And while his absence from her life caused sadness, Anna took the disappointment with her usual stoic grace.

Jonathan Gillison entered college with the goal of preparing for a career that would produce a large income. His dream for success included a fancy apartment, a flashy car and a vibrant social life. To that end he enrolled in a pre law program that included extensive computer training. His expertise with computer technology was remarkable and an aspect that he found most intriguing was “hacking.” Unbeknown to anyone, Jonathan discovered that he had access to nearly everything; the files of his professors, the emails of acquaintances, peoples’ financial records, Jonathan could almost always gain entry. And happily for him, he was equally skilled in covering his tracks so that only another expert could follow his trail. He graduated with honors, was easily admitted to a prestigious law school and in less than two years passed the Massachusetts bar exam with flying colors. Faced with numerous employment offers he chose a firm that offered the best salary if not the highest ethical reputation. At the tender age of twenty four, Jonathan Gillison had the world on a string.

Chapter Two

The red brick building was impressive. It stood five stories high with a parking garage on the ground level and four floors of office space above. The grounds surrounding the structure were elegantly maintained with green lawns, manicured shrubbery and seasonal flowers. Jonathan’s small office was located on the first floor and contained only a desk, a chair and a computer. A camera was mounted near the ceiling, positioned in line with the computer screen. When he entered the office for the first time, Jonathan’s superior had pointed to the camera and remarked, “Only assigned work goes on in this office.” The message had been clear.

His assignments involved divorce cases exclusively and resembled private detective work more than lawyering. He never went near a courtroom nor did he ever meet with clients, most of whom were men who had botched their marriages, were in danger of losing huge sums of money, and were looking for the least expensive way out of their distresses. “Your job is simple,” Jonathan’s superior would say. “Everyone has a secret, something they are ashamed of, something they will do almost anything to keep private. Your job is to find that secret and bring it to me. I then use it to force a settlement favorable to our client.” Armed with only the name of the client’s wife, Jonathan would begin the unpleasant task. He used his skills as a computer “hacker” to find the “dirt” on the unsuspecting woman. When faced with the evidence, the wife almost always backed away from her demands and settled for a fraction of the original proposal. His skill at finding the incriminating evidence, be it an embarrassing e-mail, a compromising photo, an old arrest record - whatever, earned him the recognition of his superiors. Whenever an important case arose they would say, “Get this one to the Gillison kid, he gets results.” And as his workload increased, so did his salary along with the benefits it provided. These rewards allowed Jonathan to push aside the twinges of guilt he often felt at the lives he was destroying.

*      *      *      *      *

Since computer hacking had long been a hobby for Jonathan, he loved the challenge of decoding what unsuspecting individuals and organizations thought secure. Through time it became a type of addiction, quietly absorbing more and more of his time. Whether it be friends or acquaintances, movie stars, political leaders, famous institutions or governmental agencies, he sought out their most private information. Sometimes his discoveries were shocking. There before his eyes were documents, e-mails and photos so scandalous that careers could have been destroyed, characters assassinated, relationships ravaged, even criminal indictments brought. But Jonathan never pursued those possibilities. It was not for him to judge others or expose their activities. He was on no moral crusade to unmask corruption. Nor did he have any interest in using the information for blackmail or extortion. For him it was simply the thrill of the hunt. It was the intoxicating feeling of power. He could know all things. Often in a social setting he found himself gazing at a person while thinking, If you only knew what I know about you. If you had any idea what I could do to you if I simply chose to. If you knew the power that is mine for the taking. Aware that there were others as crafty as he, Jonathan never did his hacking at home but rather used the numerous internet cafes located throughout the Boston area. Often on a weekend afternoon he found himself in such a place, drinking his favorite espresso while looking at the private affairs of others.

It happened so casually, almost by accident. He sat in a quiet café in a suburb north of Boston, a blank computer screen in front of him. With nothing particular to look for he casually typed in the name of his law firm. Browsing through the home page he thought of how little he knew of the place where he was employed for over two years. Indeed he had never seen the offices that occupied the top three floors of the building. He scrolled by the pictures of the firm’s top executives, stopping to read the brief biography of each. The faces were recognizable to him from passing in the parking garage. Suddenly the challenge confronted him. He determined to discover all that he could about the firm for which he worked, and he determined to do it in a manner that could never be traced back to him.

Accessing his company’s files proved a daunting task. Despite his considerable skills Jonathan found the roadblocks as sophisticated as on many government sites. Several sessions later he was frustrated by his near total lack of progress. The break finally came when an attorney, rushing to make a court date, carelessly left an open file. The reckless act had occurred on a Friday with Jonathan discovering it the following day. Once inside that firewall his skills took charge, and he began to negotiate his way through the firm’s network. The cyber journey disclosed the usual workings of a law firm indicating a corporate law division along with such staples as estate planning, bankruptcies and real estate. But in the course of his investigation he came across the address of a Miami based organization and when he gained entry to their site his jaw dropped and beads of perspiration formed on his brow. There before him was clear evidence of drug smuggling and prostitution. Difficult as it was to learn that his employers were involved in these activities, he was even more stunned by what appeared to be a human trafficking operation. Quickly Jonathan scribbled some notes onto a scrap of paper, logged off the site and exited the café.

The following morning Jonathan drove to a café south of Boston, one that he had never before frequented. He parked his car several blocks away and as he walked along the quiet streets he found himself checking for surveillance cameras. Once at the café he sat at the counter and casually drank his espresso. Careful observation of the establishment convinced him that no cameras were present to record his visit. Casually he found a quiet corner and logged onto the computer. Using the notes from yesterday he was able to quickly enter the network of the Miami Company. He was intrigued by the carelessness of the operation for with his considerable skills he was able to negotiate his way, for the most part, wherever he wanted. Within two hours he had made a clear connection of communication between his firm and the Miami group. Further he had unmistakable evidence of a triangle of compromising e-mails from his firm to Miami to a high political official at city hall. Quietly he took the tablet of extensive notes and left the café. He returned to his apartment where for an hour he sat on the sofa, eyes closed and deep in thought. Strangely he found himself thinking of his idyllic childhood on his grandmother’s Vermont farm and for a long time he saw, in his mind’s eye, the brook where he spent so many carefree hours. Guilt gripped him as he realized how, in recent years, he virtually ignored the gentle woman who cared so much for him. After a time his mind refocused and he began to formulate a plan. He had no choice. He needed to download the incriminating evidence that he had discovered. It needed to be recorded on a disk and sent to the proper authorities. The act would be dangerous. Almost certainly his action would alert the computer network that its security had been breached. Equally certain was the fact that the powerful firm for which he worked would track down the intruder. His life would be in peril. His only hope was to carry out the deed and then vanish until the guilty parties were safely under arrest. It would not be a simple move. The firm’s resources were sufficient to find him wherever he fled. They almost certainly had access to private detectives and perhaps “hit men” capable of doing whatever was necessary to protect their multi million dollar illegal enterprises. Yes, he would need to vanish into thin air. At first he thought about some distant city where no one knew him, but further thought convinced him that no city was safe. Somehow they would locate him. Rather, he decided to find a place so remote and inaccessible that no one could get to him. And so he began to gather information on the necessities of wilderness survival.

Jonathan Gillison had a brilliant mind and he mobilized the best of his mental resources as he developed a plan. His first objective was to devise a “decoy” strategy. With that objective in mind he began to download onto his personal computer detailed maps of Atlanta, Chicago, Houston and Los Angeles. Further he located articles on strategies for vanishing in an urban environment, how to avoid security cameras, the most secretive forms of travel, even methods of physical disguise. His hope was to be long gone when his “hacking” operation was uncovered. Then he assumed that detectives from his firm would discover the downloaded data on his hard drive and embark on a wild goose chase to these large urban areas. Meanwhile using the anonymity of internet cafes and book stores, Jonathan became an expert on every aspect of wilderness survival. He learned about freeze dried foods as well as the hunting and gathering of edible indigenous products. He studied various types of shelters and how best to construct them. He memorized the list of lightweight tools, medicines and supplies vital to wilderness survival. He even studied methods to survive emotionally from the effects of isolation and uncertainty. With his list complete and a suitable location established he took a weekend trip, bought the materials with cash and stashed them away on a lonely, remote mountain.

Chapter Three

Sully smiled at the light coming from Susan Wilkes’ classroom at the end of the long corridor. Slowly he walked down the hallway until he reached the open doorway. “I will be locking up in ten minutes,” the gentle maintenance man said. “I am sorry Mr. Sullivan,” Susan replied. “I lost track of time again.” The clock read eight o’clock as she left the classroom and walked quickly to the parking lot. The late October New Hampshire night was dark and cold as she began the twenty minute drive to her apartment. Remembering that she was completely out of shampoo, Susan turned into the sprawling strip mall and parked near the drug store. Quickly she made her purchase and returned to her car, a cold wind biting against her face. It was not until she was back on the highway that the figure rose from the floor of the rear seat and a hand locked firmly on her shoulder. “Get on the four lane and drive north,” the husky voice said. “And no funny work-I am watching that you don’t flash your lights or wave for help. For a few moments Susan was too stunned to realize what was happening, but the reality of her situation soon set in and tears welled up in her eyes. The story was all too familiar. Some monster would seize an unsuspecting victim whose family and friends would then experience the trauma of the disappearance only to learn later that their loved one had been humiliated and degraded before being murdered. If only I had locked the car, she thought as she heard the voice again. “North,” the voice ordered as she approached the major highway and blindly she obeyed.

The night was dark with clouds and traffic was sparse as she drove into the New Hampshire wilderness. Clearly the monster behind her had a destination in mind and as the terrain became more and more desolate, Susan was sure of the reason. Her mind raced from thought to thought. Less than two years ago she was living in Florida with her father. But he had been offered a university position in London, and she had taken advantage of that development by accepting a teaching position in a small New Hampshire town, only a few hours drive from her brother Benjamin’s home in Vermont. Tears rolled down her face as she thought of Benjamin and how he would react when he heard the news. Please let them find my body, she prayed for she knew that her brother would spend his life searching if she was never found. Once she thought of pressing the accelerator to the floor and crashing the car, but she knew that she could never do that. She considered pleading with the man behind her but that would only satisfy his thirst for power and control and so she wept quietly and continued driving.

*     *     *     *     *

It was nearly two hours since the ordeal had begun. From signs they had passed she knew that their location was a remote area of the White Mountains. She saw an exit sign and as she noted the number the man spoke again. “Get off here.” Soon they were on a desolate unpaved road and as they approached a small bridge he ordered her to stop the car. When the engine went silent she laid her head against the steering wheel and, sobbing violently, waited for his touch. Instead she heard a voice that sounded different and he said, “Please don’t be frightened. I would never hurt you.” Slowly she turned to see a young man about her age. His face and hands were cut and bleeding. The light jacket that he wore was saturated in blood. “I am very sorry,” he said, “but please listen carefully and then get away from here. The people I work for are involved in some horrible crimes, things like drugs and human trafficking. I discovered what they are doing and collected evidence. It’s all on this,” he said, holding up a small flash drive. “They eventually discovered that I was on to them and sent their goons after me. I thought that I would have more time to get my evidence organized and then disappear but they caught on to me quickly. I am going to disappear into these mountains until this ends. And that is where you come into this. Please listen carefully for you are my only hope. You must get this to the authorities,” he said, again holding up the flash drive. “But don’t go to anyone near Boston because there may be some public officials involved. You must find someone you can trust - probably the F.B.I. Don’t go to my family for I am sure they are being watched. If you are able, get word to them that I am in hiding but never, ever say where. Now you must go. I am very sorry to get you involved in this. Be very careful.” “But you are hurt,” Susan protested. “You need to be in a hospital. You will never survive in these mountains. Winter is coming. You will die here.” “I have supplies hidden here,” he replied. “I knew this day would arrive so I studied survival. Now go. You are in danger as long as you are with me.” “But I don’t even know who you are,” she answered. “My name is Jonathan Gillison,” he said. “Watch the papers. I am sure this will be in the news.” And with that he left the car, climbed up an embankment and disappeared into the night.

*     *     *     *     *

The return home seemed to take forever. It was well past one A.M. when she slowly pulled into her parking space. Quietly she went to her apartment and secured an old blanket with which she covered the bloody area of her rear seat. Back in her apartment she made a cup of hot tea and, for two hours, sat in silence as she formulated a plan. She went to her bedroom and lay awake until daylight. She took a shower, dressed and went to school. The arrival of the children calmed her nerves and the morning was remarkably normal. During her lunch break she called Benjamin on her cell phone. No one was home but after the tone she said, “Benjamin, I must see you tonight. It is very important. I hope that you don’t have plans for I must come. I will arrive between seven and eight.”

The Friday afternoon seemed to take forever, but the bell finally rang and the excited children left for the weekend. Susan waited the mandatory half hour after student dismissal. Quickly she packed belongings for the weekend and drove to Vermont. She arrived at seven-thirty. Benjamin and his fiancé, Reeta, were waiting for her on the porch.

*     *     *     *     *

Her wish was to share the ordeal with as few people as possible. Her private nature called for that but of greater importance was her awareness that anyone with knowledge of the flash drive that she carried in her purse was automatically in danger themselves. She hoped to talk with Benjamin alone but quickly recognized the need to include his parents and Reeta. It was ten o’clock when she finished telling the shocking details of her story from the previous night. Ben and his parents sat in stunned silence as they absorbed the details of her terrifying experience, while Reeta, was already plotting a strategy and it was she who broke the silence. “This is outside any of our area of expertise,” she said looking directly at Susan. “You must bring my parents into this. They are both lawyers. They will know how to proceed.” Within minutes she was on the phone talking to her mother. “We are fine,” she quickly reported, “but something has happened which involves Benjamin’s sister. We need your advice for how to help her. You need to come; tomorrow if possible. This is very important.”

*     *     *     *     *

Reeta Sorvino’s parents arrived at her apartment at mid morning on this mild Saturday in mid October. They sat on the sofa listening intently to Susan’s story. Their calm demeanor quieted her nerves as she detailed the events of her abduction. When she was done, Reeta’s father reflected for a moment and said, “We need to see the flash drive but it will be best if you don’t know its contents.” Looking towards his daughter he continued, “Take Susan for a drive. Pick up another one of these,” he said holding up the flash drive. “We need a back up.” And with that the two young women left the apartment and Reeta’s parents sat down at the computer.

*     *     *     *     *

“This is explosive,” Reeta’s mother explained when the girls returned. “It is better that you don’t know the details.” When the backup copy was secured, Reeta’s father spoke. “We have an acquaintance with the F.B.I. He will show this evidence to a federal judge who will issue warrants for wire tapping and other types of surveillance. They will gather their own evidence. I feel certain that neither you nor the young man will need to be involved in this.” “What about him?” Susan asked. “You have to let him go,” Mr. Sorvino responded. “He is safe up in those mountains and you say he has supplies and survival skills. This investigation may take a long time. Meanwhile there is nothing you can do except wait and remain completely silent. Remember, say nothing to anyone. We will somehow contact his parents and tell them that he is in hiding.”

Chapter Four

Jonathan Gillison, cut and bloody, wearing only a jacket over his shirt and jeans, scrambled up the deep embankment. The smooth surface of his loafers offered little traction on the rough terrain. Though his pain was intense, Jonathan was determined to locate the small grove of evergreens a hundred feet or so up the side of the mountain where he had hidden three large plastic tubs containing survival supplies. The dark, moonless night offered no help as he stumbled blindly upward. When he was certain that he had reached the right altitude he began to move laterally left and right hoping to stumble on the precious cache. A feeling of fear and confusion was overcoming him when he felt the first drops of cold rain. Within minutes he was completely soaked and the realization struck him that he would surely die of exposure on his first night in the wilderness. Stumbling blindly to and fro he came upon a patch of ground that was slightly level. He determined that he would remain on that spot until daybreak, nearly five hours away. He placed his hands beneath his drenched shirt until they found the protection of his armpits. Then he began to jog in place and said with endless repetition the phrase, “I will survive.” The rain continued throughout the night as the temperature dipped into the upper thirties. Many times he decided to give up and simply lie down, but through the pain, freezing cold and despair he forced himself to keep moving. Thoughts of his childhood on his grandmother’s farm and the dream of one day seeing her and making things right sustained him until quite suddenly he saw the beginning of morning light. For several minutes the new visibility extended only a few feet but as it expanded he clearly saw that the combination of fear, pain and darkness had completely altered his sense of direction. His ascent up the mountain from the road below had veered sharply northward taking him at least one hundred yards away from the grove of evergreens where his cache was stored. When he spotted the trees a new wave of energy swept through his nearly frozen body and ignoring the pain he scrambled across the mountain until he came upon the gray plastic tubs. Removing the several layers of duct tape proved almost impossible with freezing fingers and no knife but by using the edge of a sharp rock he managed to open the first tub only to discover that it contained freeze dried food, and other supplies useless to his current state. He strained to lift the remaining two tubs in hopes of determining which was most likely to contain the two tarps, one plastic and one canvas, as well as the mummy bag. Unable to decide he began the difficult task of opening a second tub. By the time he cut through the tape his fingers were bleeding but his eyes brightened when he saw the contents. It was with great difficulty that he removed the brown plastic tarp and folded it in half. He then did the same with the one of heavy tan canvas. Then he slid the folded plastic tarp inside the canvas determining that the interior one would keep him dry while the heavy canvas would manage the wind. Finally he removed the new mummy bag and as he slid it between the tarps he saw the tag that read, “good to minus forty degrees.” He removed all his clothing and leaving it in a pile on the ground he slipped his freezing body into the sleeping bag and zipped it closed. His body shook violently and for awhile he feared that he had faced the exposure too long and that he would die in that place. But quite suddenly he felt a change. The warmth of his body could not escape the sleeping bag and he ceased shaking. Unaware if he was recovering or dying, he fell into a deep state of unconsciousness.

*     *     *     *     *

He never knew how long he slept but it was probably more than a day for when he emerged from his cocoon the morning sun was shining and the day was warm. He sat on the ground for several minutes before going to the plastic tub and locating the box of granola bars and the twelve small bottles of water that he had brought for emergency. Quickly he consumed three bars and as he ate he found his mind refocusing. Aware of his nakedness and his wounds he opened the third tub that contained clothing and medical supplies. Slowly he soaked his only wash cloth with peroxide and began the long task of cleansing the wounds where the barbed wire had torn his flesh. The damage was throughout the front of his body with the deepest cuts on his hands and legs. Cuts to his face and neck were painful but superficial. The cleansing task exhausted him but before sleeping in the warm sun he spread out his soaked clothes on a nearby rock. He awoke at high noon and observed that his clothing was nearly dry. Carefully he dressed himself and found that just the feeling of dry clothes created a sense of calm and the ability to plan.