FOLLOW THE LEADER - Chapter 79

 Chapter 79

The entrance to Glen Canyon Park was so brightly lit you could see it from the sky. Surrounded by darkness, it would appear to be just another playing field or a well-lit industrial park as your plane approached SFO.

The park was essentially a rectangle built around a canyon running south to north. The ball park and out buildings sat at the lighted end. I slipped into the park and hurried for the shadows behind the biggest building. To my right was a steep rocky ridge that ran the length of the park. There are several trails along the ridge that hikers used to go in and out of the park. Anyone who used one of these tonight would be a perfect target for a sniper.

On the other higher side of the park a row of carefully spaced tall eucalyptus trees sat south to north. You could look up and peer past their trunks and see houses and parked cars. All very civilized.

Until you ventured into the dense jungle inside the heart of Glen CanyonPark. Exactly where I was headed.  I stayed on the wide trail at first. I had tied a bandana over the face of my big flashlight. 

Soon I saw a muddle of footprints in the dirt. No way of telling which set was most recent.

Then the trail narrowed. Bushes and scrub trees impinged on it from both sides. It was nearly impossible to spot anything or anyone in the cloak of darkness.

Up ahead I saw a clearing. A small raised walkway stretched across it. The redwood walkway led you out of and back into darkness. I kept low as I crossed it.

No gunfire.

On the other side there was a fork in the trail. Turn right and you continued along a well-trodden narrow trail. Go left and the path trailed off in fifty feet or so. Then it disappeared completely. I would be groping along, brushing limbs and leaves away from my face.

However, if I bushwhacked in a northwest direction, there was a reward. Two abutting slabs of rock poked up from the jungle. There were two caves, one of which had plenty of standing room. I had always thought that the park rangers ran the official trails well past the caves on purpose. Animals of all sorts lived there. And graffiti artists might not know of it.

There was one problem, however, and it was a big one: It was impossible to reach the caves without making noises: I would be breaking twigs, pulling back small limbs that would snap back and slap me in the face. Add to that rustling leaves and the sound of me stumbling over rocks or roots.

The key was to move slowly, foot by foot.

An owl hooted, startling me.

A bunch of tiny birds burst out of a bush just ahead me.

The birds are on to me, I thought.  I figured that if Powers was indeed inside the cave he would know that the birds were a warning signal.

I decided to stay stock still on my hands and knees. Let him think that the intruder had fled the scene or taken another route.

After a long pause, I inched my way along, trying to move noiselessly, like a deer or a cat or perhaps an Indian brave in moccasins. And failing.

I was at it for what felt like fifteen minutes. Finally I saw glimpses of gray ahead, nearly hidden by the fog.

Give it another five minutes, I told myself. Just a little more crouching and crawling and I would be able to see the caves clearly.

Up to this point I had no illusions about jumping Jason Powers. He had a gun or perhaps two. I had only my fists and feet and a baton, which was supposedly illegal under my probation. 

This is surveillance! Your job is to see what you can see and come back alive.