Chapter 1

It was my last trip. I walked along behind the idling snow mobile with its three tethered freight toboggans, slowly checking the loads of each of the ten-foot sleds. Slowly was the order of the day, in winter camping. Sweating could easily lead to hypothermia as the body chilled.

The temperature was twenty below zero actual, with a stiff wind as the blizzard gathered strength around me. Its blowing and drifting snow would obliterate any trace of my passage through the Boundary Waters.

My quite illegal (in the recreational area) snowmobile would drag the last of my earthly possessions through the motor forbidden park to the hidden, also illegal, cabin of my childhood friend Robert. His family's cabin, built long before Voyagers Park, even before the State of Minnesota itself existed.

I cast a last nostalgic look at Robert's Dodge Ram One Ton four-wheel drive pick up with the long gooseneck trailer, disappearing under a blanket of drifting snow. The pick-up's license plates were in my hands, and the accessible VIN numbers had been carefully removed before my trip. Tomorrow morning the truck would be reported stolen

There was less nostalgia for what that snow bound truck represented.

My separated, soon-to-be ex-wife and her lover - my boss - made it clear that her divorce would quickly transfer my entire assets to her in a seamless financial transaction. Since their long-term affair had been conducted right under my nose without any suspicions on my part, assumptions that they were so much cleverer than I were doubtless well founded.

Grinning, I thought, perhaps not so seamless.

Right now, two hookers of my recent acquaintance were driving my "bimmer" to Las Vegas with all my credit cards. When they arrived, my 'ex' car was going to a chop shop, and credit cards would be sold. In about a week, my paper trail would evaporate into the Nevada underworld like a mist in the desert.

Wife Natalie, and my best friend boss Bill, were about to discover that the disappearance of a principal plays hell with the legal process. If they were just a bit unlucky, suspicions of their involvement in my vanishing might well completely ruin their party.

I replaced my helmet, muting the now-howling wind. I awkwardly climbed on the heated seat of my Arctic Cat T660 Turbo Touring LE, I was moving with difficulty, in view of the fact that two imaginative call girls (grateful for the gift of a seventy-five thousand dollar BMW) can be quite, um, strenuous in their own exceedingly pleasurable fashion.

I plugged the helmet into the Cat's communications system as I started the MP3 of the Subdudes "... need a minute/take your time/you need an hour/you can borrow
mine/'cause I've got all the time in the world."

Following the GPS across the trackless lakes in the blizzards whiteout should have been stressful; it just shows the difference when you have nothing to lose.

I was musing as my snowmobile effortlessly chewed up the miles. Nothing like twenty below to keep things running cool even while pulling a load.

Natalie had been doing an effective job keeping me broke. Her blind spot was my various collections. My gun, knife, cartridge, coin, stamp, music box, lock, and watch collections had all flown beneath her money radar, forgotten.

My guns, blades, cartridges, and locks were with me. My coins and stamps had been liquidated to friendly collectors for cash. With the exception of a few keepsakes and gifts, the music boxes and watches followed being similarly dispersed. That pile of cash financed the purchases for this expedition.

This expedition! This "hiding out," actually!

My boy hood chum, Robert, gave me the key to his secluded cabin in this trackless wilderness, saying, "Take all the time you want. You won't be disturbed."

He patted the small green oxygen bottle next to his hip as he continued softly, "I won't be here when you get back from your sabbatical."

I nodded sadly, as we once more went over the minutiae of my planned two-year stay alone in the wilderness. It was a daunting undertaking. I planned to disappear for at least two years without coming out for any reason, including need for additional supply.

The GPS announcing the lakeshore by the cabin roused me from my memories. I carefully turned the sled with its long tow into the trees, heading for my new home. I had to smile; even after my trips through here, there was little sign of disturbance. The trail behind me was already drifting full.

Now my transit was much slower, as I wound back and forth, picking my way through trees and thick brush, until finally I broke into the small clearing under the giant wolf oak tree that sheltered the stone cabin.

I stopped to marvel at this cabin - my new home. Solid and timeless, built of huge stones and massive timbers with a thick slate roof. Seeming to settle firmly into the ground, its fieldstone fireplace and multiple-flue chimney forming the north wall, while a sheltered porch faced the other three sides

On my previous trips tonight, I'd lit the fireplace and thrown open the shutters. The bright windows, and smell of chili mingled with wood smoke greeted me as I pulled up next to the entrance, removing my helmet.

Now it was more grunt work, as I stripped off my snowmobile suit and began hauling one bundle after another into the cabin. Rapidly, I finished filling the two rooms off the great room. In the kitchen, I added to the mound of provisions and supplies yet to be put away. Another untidy pile grew even larger in the great room. Without delay, the snowmobile was under a tarp next to the cabin, with the now empty freight toboggans lined up under the big oak tree.

After a last look around outside, I staggered through the door. Grabbing my canteen off a table, I collapsed on the leather couch in front of the fireplace. The smell of chili emanating from the big cast iron pot had, by now, permeated the room. I realized that I was famished.

A couple huge bowls of chili with thick slices of homemade bread, chased by one of my carefully hoarded beers, left me full and torpid on the couch. The blizzard winds, muted by the substantial walls and thick windows, were oddly comforting as I settled deep in the cushions, staring at the fire.

My eyes opened slowly. I was looking at the dying embers in the fieldstone fireplace. I started then sat back as I remembered where I was. I looked at my watch to find it well after noon. I had just had my best, most relaxing and refreshing, sleep of recent memory!

I wandered from window to window, looking out at the continuing storm. Robert had promised me a storm to cover my tracks, but this record-breaking blizzard far exceeded his most optimistic predictions. The cabin was still warm. Low-voltage fans distributed part of the fireplace's heated air under the hardwood floor.

The cabin's electrical system was supplied with juice by a small turbine spinning in the nearby swift moving creek. Photovoltaic cells were backup when the creek froze in January. Deep cycle batteries in a cabinet on the porch, fed by a trickle charger, stored power as a further insurance against interruption.

A cabinet in the mudroom, next to the kitchen area, held power tools. Ryobi eighteen-volt power packs were charging on the top shelf, while the rest of the shelves were filled with every imaginable Ryobi battery-powered tool including drills, circular and reciprocating saws.