Free Remote by Donn Cortez Page B

front, the van starting smoothly on the first try.  He’d left his own vehicle back at the motel, but there was plenty of room in the SUV for his new acquisition.  The transfer from one to the other might be a little tricky, but Tanner was confident he could pull it off.   After that, he’d just park the van on a side street and abandon it. 
    The man moaned.  Tanner hoped he wouldn’t crap himself; a smelly mess in the back of his vehicle was the last thing he needed.
    He thought about it for a moment, then shut the van off and got back out.  He walked over to the supermarket and came back with a box of adult diapers.
    “Don’t worry, baby,” he said as he climbed back in.  “You’re in good hands, now.”
    The drive back to the motel was uneventful, and he parked in a secluded corner for maximum privacy.  Before transferring him between vehicles, Tanner gave his captive an injection of flunitrazepam, a hypnotic with a half-life of up to twenty-six hours.  He hesitated, then gave him another half-dose; the original amount would have kept him unconscious for the trip to the cabin, but his itinerary had abruptly changed.
    He wasn’t going to the cabin any more.  He was going to the coast.
     

C HAPTER E IGHT
     
    It took Tanner twelve hours to get from the pines of Mount Shasta National Forest to the private marina on the shores of Burrows Bay, on Anacortes Island in Washington state.  Parkins was still out, and it smelled like he’d pissed himself, too. 
    The transfer from SUV to boat went smoothly, too.  Tanner had worried a little about the possibility of asphyxiation; flunitrazepam—more commonly known as Rohypnol—could cause respiratory distress with higher doses.  Parkins seemed fine, though, breathing deeply and evenly through his nose.
    It was almost 3 AM, the air heavy and cold.  Snow had been drifting down in thick white flakes for the last hour, piling up like frosting on the half a dozen blue-tarped boats tied up at the single dock.  Tanner secured his cargo below, then went up on deck and stared out at the icy black water and the way the snowflakes vanished as they hit it.  Like a hungry black void, swallowing up little bits of light. 
    He fired up the cabin cruiser’s engine, reversed out of the berth, then headed northwest toward the San Juan Islands. 
     
    ***
SACRAMENTO—The family and friends of Dennison Parkins are growing increasingly concerned over his disappearance.  “It just doesn’t make any sense,” his wife Arianna says.  “He goes out for long drives sometimes, but he always comes home.  We’re really worried about him.”
Parkins, 37, has two young daughters and another child on the way.  A successful real-estate agent, he’s also active in community service and sits on the local Parks board.  He was last seen driving a red Honda Civic Coupe on November 18 th .  Anyone with information should contact their local police station.
    Nikki sighed and tossed the newspaper down on the kitchen table.  “Sure hope you know what you’re doing, Jack. . .”
    Jack didn’t answer her.  She got up to get herself another cup of coffee, shaking her head.
    It was going to be a long day.
     
    ***
    The San Juan Islands were part of the San Juan Archipelago, a jumble of rocky outcroppings off the Pacific Coast of Washington State and British Columbia.  Only some were US territory; the northerly ones belonged to Canada and were known as the Gulf Islands.   There were more than four hundred and fifty in total, ranging in size from little more than boulders jutting out of the water to hundreds of square miles supporting thousands of people.  Fewer than a sixth of them had permanent inhabitants. 
    The one Tanner was headed for was on the northern edge of the American side, a twenty-five acre rock called Barrows Island.  It had exactly one residence.
    Tanner brought the cabin cruiser in to the single dock, parking it beside the lone motorboat already tied up there.