Call Sign: Blackjack

Sample Chapter

Chapter 1
River Lessons

Flathead Valley, Montana — Spring 1953

The river made more noise than the truck did.

Jake Caffey still leaned halfway out the passenger window anyway, one arm hanging over the door as cold mountain air whipped across his face. The old Ford pickup bounced along the logging road, tires chewing through mud and loose gravel. Pine trees crowded both sides of the road in dark green walls, and up on the ridges patches of late snow still caught the morning light.

Far below them, the Flathead River hammered through the John Stevens Canyon, a notorious stretch of the Flathead’s middle fork, running from Bear Creek down to West Glacier.

Jake pointed down toward it. “Would you look at that!”

Sam Hunter glanced up from the tackle box sitting across his knees. “It’s running high.”

Jake laughed. “Running high? That thing looks angry.”

“Probably is.”

Sam said it without much interest, calm as always.

Jake looked over at him for a second.

They were nearly the same age, but Sam carried himself differently. Quieter. Less restless. Jake always felt like he had to move or talk or touch something. Sam could sit for ten minutes without saying a word, just watching the world like he was trying to figure it out.

Jake’s uncle Carl once said that Sam listened to things most people ignored.

Jake had never really understood what that meant.

"Sam’s father. Jake’s uncle, a Bitterroot Salish man who carried himself with the quiet, unquestioned authority of the old lodge leaders. He knew the country along the Middle Fork better than the park rangers did—reading the bend of the huckleberry brush, tracing the elk paths through the thick cedar flats, and knowing exactly which mountain passes his grandfathers had used to cross the Great Divide."

The truck rounded another bend, and the river opened wider below them. Spring runoff had swollen it far beyond its normal banks. Whitewater crashed against black rocks and deadfall. Entire trees rolled through the current, branches snapping against the surface.

Jake felt his stomach tighten with excitement.

Now that looked like a river.

Up front, Carl Hunter drove with one hand resting on the wheel and the other hanging out the window. His canvas jacket had gone pale from years in the sun, and streaks of gray showed through his dark hair. Since leaving the cabin before daylight, he’d barely spoken.

That wasn’t unusual.

Carl never wasted words.

The truck slowed near a dirt turnout overlooking the water.

“Out,” Carl said.

Jake hopped from the cab before the pickup fully stopped.

Cold air hit him hard. The river smell came with it—wet dirt, pine sap, snowmelt, something raw and clean underneath everything else. Down below, water thundered through the canyon.

Sam climbed out more carefully, carrying the fishing rods.

Carl stood near the bluff’s edge, staring downriver.

Not sightseeing.

Studying.

Jake had seen that look before. Carl got the same expression watching storm clouds build over the mountains or studying tracks in fresh snow.

“What?” Jake asked.

Carl pointed downstream.

“There.”

Jake followed his hand.

An aluminum fishing boat sat hidden among the trees near the riverbank.

Jake blinked once, then grinned.

Sam looked immediately at his father. “You said we weren’t taking the boat out until summer.”

Carl kept his eyes on the river. “I said you weren’t.”

Jake’s grin widened.

Sam turned toward him. “No.”

“Oh, come on.”

“No chance.”

“We’ll be fine.”

“In August, maybe.”

Jake ignored him and looked back at Carl. “We’ve taken it out before.”

“In calm water,” Sam muttered.

Carl finally faced them.

“The river changes every season,” he said. “Spring’s different.”

Jake nodded quickly, trying to look more confident than he felt.

Carl watched him a moment too long.

“You know what current seams are?”

Jake opened his mouth, then stopped.

Sam answered first. “Fast water meeting slower water.”

Carl nodded once. “Eddies?”

“Water curling behind rocks or bends.”

Carl shifted his attention to Jake.

Jake shrugged. “Places fish like to hide?”

For just a second, Carl almost smiled.

“Sometimes.”

Jake relaxed a little.

That was practically approval.

Carl looked back toward the river.

“You stay near shore,” he said. “Don’t cross the main channel. If the current grabs you, point the bow downstream and ride with it. Don’t fight it.”

“Yes sir,” Sam answered immediately.

Jake nodded a second later. “Got it.”

Carl studied both boys, measuring something.

Then he tossed Sam the truck keys.

“If the river takes the boat,” he said, “you swim for shore. You hear me? Don’t fight current. Current always wins.”

Jake traded a quick glance with Sam.

They were actually doing this.

Carl went back to unloading gear from the truck like the conversation had already ended.

Jake frowned. “You’re not coming?”

“No.”

That surprised him.

Sam noticed too. “You’re sending us alone?”

Carl jerked his chin toward the river.

“Best teacher down there.”

Jake felt excitement twist together with something sharper now. Not fear exactly. Close enough to taste, though.

Ten minutes later they shoved the aluminum boat into the water.

The river grabbed it immediately.

Jake laughed out loud.

Sam didn’t.

“Easy,” Sam warned as he climbed into the stern. “Keep your weight centered.”

Jake dropped onto the bench seat and grabbed the outboard starter cord.

The engine coughed.

Then coughed again.

On the third pull, it roared to life, echoing through the canyon.

Jake shoved the throttle forward harder than necessary.

The boat lunged downstream.

Spray burst around them.

“This is incredible!” Jake yelled.

Sam grabbed the rail. “Jake, slow down!”

Jake only laughed.

The river widened ahead, bright under the morning sun. Wind tore through his hair while the hull skipped across the current.

For a few seconds he felt untouchable.

Then Sam said his name.

Not loudly.

But something in his voice changed everything.

“Jake.”

Ahead, the river narrowed sharply between two rock walls. Fast water boiled through the gap, smashing against half-submerged logs.

Jake’s grin disappeared.

“That wasn’t there before.”

“It was,” Sam said. “Just not like this.”

The boat jerked sideways.

Current caught the hull hard.

Jake fought the tiller.

Nothing happened.

“Bow downstream!” Sam shouted.

Jake yanked the motor.

Too far.

The prop lifted clear of the water. The engine screamed uselessly for half a second—then died.

The sudden silence felt wrong.

The boat spun broadside.

Fear hit Jake cold and immediate.

“Jake!”

The hull slammed into submerged timber with a crack that rattled through his teeth.

The world turned upside down.

Freezing water swallowed him.

The shock emptied his mind completely. Current rolled him over and over through darkness and noise. His shoulder smashed against rock hard enough to send pain flashing down his arm.

Then air.

Jake burst to the surface coughing.

The river was carrying him downstream fast.

He twisted wildly. “Sam!”

Upstream, maybe thirty yards away, Sam clung to the overturned boat.

Then the current ripped him free.

Jake watched him disappear beneath whitewater.

Come back up.

Disappear again.

Too fast.

Jake’s boots scraped gravel near shore.

Safety.

He could make it.

Then he saw Sam go under one more time—

and not resurface.

Jake froze.

In his head, he heard Carl’s voice again:

Current always wins.

Jake turned anyway.

And dove back into the river.