Judge & Jury - James Patterson [89]
We stepped out on the tiny balcony overlooking Beagle Sound. The clouds were low and dark and swift-moving. Mountains rose from the flat land on the other side of the gray channel. A cold, nasty wind smacked us.
“Don’t ever say I never took you anywhere interesting.”
Andie put her head on my shoulder. “No, I can’t say that about you, Nick.”
We both knew the fun was now officially over.
Chapter 110
IN THE MORNING we went downstairs, and after breakfast, we made some inquiries at the front desk. The wavy-haired clerk greeted us as if we were lovers on a holiday, eager to tour the sites. “Would you like to see the penguins?”
“No penguins.” I took out our map. “We’re looking for ranches outside town. Maybe you can help?”
“Ahhh, la estancia,” he replied, using the term for the sprawling farms that had been privately owned since the 1800s but were now tourist destinations in national parks.
I handed him the map. “We’re actually looking for a particular one. It’s called El Fin del Mundo.”
“El Fin del Mundo,” the clerk repeated, nodding. “The End of the World.”
“You know it?”
“No.” He shook his head. “But it is well named.”
If I was here on official business there would have been dozens of ways I could have located Cavello. But unfortunately, they all involved the local police. I was sure privacy was a guarded commodity down here, and I didn’t want to attract attention.
“There are many estancias north of town.” The clerk took out a pen. He circled an area on the map. “Here, near the skiing. Or here.” He circled another area to the west. “You have a car, Señor?”
I nodded. “A four-wheel drive.”
“You will need every bit of it.” He grinned as if in on a private joke.
We left town, taking a different route from the way we came in, toward the northeast. The road hugged the coast for a while, passing deserted islands. In the distance the mountains of Chile ringed the horizon.
Then we turned at the mountain road and started to climb, really climb.
“Let me guess,” Andie said, feigning disappointment. “You really don’t want to see the penguins?”
“After we find Cavello.” I grinned. “I’ll make sure we leave some time.”
We drove up into the high valleys above Ushuaia. The plains were greener here, spotted with vegetation, the mountains sloping and tall. We passed a few wind-battered road signs. BRIDGES ESTANCIA. Another with an arrow pointing the opposite way. CHILE.
The scenery was spectacular—frozen falls shooting down from steep, high cliffs, crevices packed with solid ice. We passed a beautiful lake, craggy mountains curling out of it that were twisted into shapes I had never seen before, bathed in a luminous bronze light.
We spent the next two hours bouncing up every marked road we could find. We passed a few wooden gates. All false alarms.
I was sure we were more likely to find Bigfoot up here than Cavello. On the way back, we wrapped around the mountains and came down to the west through the Tierra del Fuego Park. At some point we saw the biggest block of ice imaginable. It was at least thirty feet tall and covered the top of a valley between two peaks for miles.
We came across three ranches. Each was huge and in a beautiful setting, tucked into the mountains, overlooking barren coastline and sea. None were the one we were looking for.
I groaned, completely frustrated. Who knew what Remlikov meant by ‘near Ushuaia’? We didn’t even know in what direction.
When we drove back to town around 4:00 p.m. the sun was heading down. It was one of the most scenic days of my life, but that wasn’t why we came. We drove back through the seedy streets and pulled up in front of our hotel.
“Señor!” Guillermo, the desk clerk, waved as we came in. “Did you find it?”
“I found the end of the world.” I snorted with frustration. “Just no ranch.”
He seemed excited. “I asked my wife, Señor. She is Dutch. She works at el pasillo de ciudad. City hall.”
I waited for him to tell me.
“El Fin del Mundo. She knows of this place.”
I went over and let him fold