The Last Mile

by David Baldacci

  Bogart said, “I know that, you know that, but we can’t prove it. We recovered the rounds, but we’ll never find a weapon to match them to. My guess is that Eastland, with all his work in the defense field, and all his money, hired some pro to do it. And that guy is long gone and living on some island with his earnings. And we don’t have enough probable cause to even dig into Eastland’s finances to look for a payout. Besides, that guy probably knows every accounting trick in the book. Needle in a haystack that we’re not going to find.”

  “But we did get Lisa back,” said Mars.

  “And thank God for that,” added Bogart.

  He looked at Decker, who was nodding in agreement. “And now we have to make sure everyone is held accountable.”

  “I’d love to,” said Bogart. “But how? McClellan is dead. Without him we have no evidence against Huey or Eastland.”

  “There’s really only one way,” said Decker.

  “What?” asked Bogart.

  It was Mars who answered. “Roy Mars.”

  Decker nodded. “He’s got all the evidence we need.”

  “Great, Decker, give me his address and I’ll go pick him up,” said Bogart sarcastically.

  “Maybe we need to have him come to us.”

  “How? We have no way to contact the guy anyway.”

  “Sure we do.”

  Mars looked at him. “We do?”

  “Just send a reply to the text he sent you, Melvin, when he was pretending to be me.”

  Mars pulled out his phone. “Damn, I forgot about that.”

  Bogart was staring at Decker. “Okay, but what’s the inducement?”

  “We’ve always had the bait. We’ve just never employed it properly.”

  “Oh, thank you for clearing that up,” said Bogart dryly. “But for lesser minds, could you fill us in?”

  “His wife,” said Decker.

  “What does my mom have to do with this?” asked Mars.

  In answer Decker sat down and wrote out something on a piece of paper and then passed it over to Mars. “Write that in a text to him and let’s see what happens,” he said.

  Bogart came around and read the note over Mars’s shoulder. He looked at Decker. “Do you really think this will do it?”

  “If that doesn’t I’m not sure what else will.”

  Bogart rubbed his chin nervously and then nodded at Mars. “Go ahead and do it. Like Decker said, I’m not sure what we have to lose at this point.”

  Mars carefully typed the message onto his phone and his finger wavered over the send button. He looked first at Bogart and next Decker. He said, “He really did love her. He loved her enough to kill her.”

  “And that’s what I’m counting on, Melvin. In fact, it’s all that I’m counting on.“

  Mars pressed the send button and the text flew off.

  Bogart drew a deep breath.

  “Well, let’s hope to hell that this works. Because I don’t think we have a Plan B.”

  CHAPTER

  72

  YOU’VE GOT BALLS. I’ll give you that.

  The text came in at two o’clock in the morning three days later. The ping roused Mars, who’d only been half asleep. He rose, read the text twice, and then called Decker and read it to him.

  They were now staying at a hotel in D.C. Decker was at Mars’s door in less than five minutes.

  Mars looked at the fully dressed Decker. “Didn’t you even go to sleep?”

  “I tried but I never really got there.”

  “Me either.”

  Decker looked at the text and then tapped the phone against his hand. “He’s intrigued and pissed. But I’d wager more intrigued than pissed.”

  He typed in a message and held it up for Mars to see.

  We can agree on that. So where do we go from here?

  Mars nodded and Decker hit the send key.

  They waited. And waited.

  It was five in the morning before they got a response.

  Decker said, “He doesn’t seem to sleep either.”

  The message was terse:

  You screw me on this you’re dead. And so is Decker. I’ll get back to you.

  “I like a man who speaks his mind and doesn’t dance around the issues,” said Decker.

  * * *

  The next night the “get back to you” message came:

  Tuscaloosa. Two nights from tonight. Midnight. Just you and Decker. Anybody else within five miles, I’m gone for good.

  Tacked onto this was a street address.

  Decker closed his eyes and let his mind whir to the correct spot. “That’s the location of the NAACP office that was bombed in sixty-eight.”

  “You think he’ll meet us there?”

  “I think he’s a very careful man.”

  “He said just you and me.”

  “And he clearly meant it.”

  “What about Bogart and the FBI?”

  “I’ll take Roy at his word. If they’re anywhere near, he’s gone, Melvin. And the case is over.”

  “You know, we got Oliver and McClellan. Isn’t that enough?”

  “Not for me. We’ve got a prick in Congress wielding incredible power and a billionaire who blew up a bunch of people, including kids. I’m not walking away from that.”

  “Okay. I’m not either. How do we do this?”

  “It won’t be easy getting away from Bogart, but it can be done. In fact, it has to be done.”

  “When we get down there he might just kill us. Dude is crazy, Decker. I’ve seen that. And you’ve seen that.”

  “If I had an alternative, Melvin, I’d go for it. But I don’t.”

  “Okay, again, how do we do this?”

  “We can’t fly or rent a car. That requires a credit card, and Bogart can easily check that.”

  “What then?”

  “I’ve got enough cash for a bus ride. You up for that?”

  Mars looked at him and shook his head. “Buckeye and Longhorn on the same damn bus? How screwed up is that?”

  * * *

  It took two transfers and nearly twenty-four hours to get to Tuscaloosa from Washington. They wended their way through the “toe” of Virginia, passed into Tennessee, and nicked the top of Georgia before bisecting Alabama on a diagonal, zipping through Birmingham. They were scheduled to arrive in Tuscaloosa at seven in the evening.

  They had both turned off their phones so that Bogart could not track them that way.

  They slept off and on for a good chunk of the trip, two big men in seats that were too small for them. Decker had brought a bag of food and bottles of water.

  They talked, watched the scenery pass, and then talked some more. The buses were pretty full, so they were forced to converse in low voices.

  When they finally alighted from their third bus onto the streets of Tuscaloosa, both men stretched out their limbs to the maximum length.

  “Reminds me of some trips we took playing football,” said Decker.

  Mars looked at him funny. “Big-time program like OSU, you guys didn’t fly?”

  “No, we did. I was talking about high school.”

  “Yeah, right. Hey, try playing in Texas. We’d drive this far to a game and still be in the frickin’ state.”

  Both of them looked around and then Decker checked his watch. “We got time to kill. How about we find a place to crash and then get some dinner?”

  “Sounds good to me. I’m sick of granola bars and trail mix. I want a steak and some potatoes.”

  “Blame Jamison. She’s trying to make a stick out of me.”

  They found a hotel a few blocks away that took cash, dropped their bags, and went in search of a restaurant.

  They found one five minutes later, grabbed a table, and ordered.

  Mars gazed out the window. “You ever come down here to play ’Bama?”

  “Once. We got our butts kicked.”

  “We lost to them here, but beat them at home.”

  The men grew silent.

 
; “You ever miss it?” asked Mars.

  “What, football?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I was not in your league, Melvin.”

  “Hey, man, don’t say that. You made it to the NFL. Better than me.”

  “Don’t go there. We’re talking really extenuating circumstances. And I only lasted one play.”

  Their food came, but before they dug in Mars said, “What was it like?”

  Decker was unfolding his napkin. “What was what like?”

  “Walking on that field? Seeing, what, eighty thousand people in the stands? Playing with the best in the world?”

  Decker noted the serious look on Mars’s face and quickly understood how important this was to the man.

  “It was pretty incredible, Melvin. When I ran through that tunnel and my cleats hit the turf my heart was pumping so fast I thought I might stroke before we even kicked off. I’ve never felt that kind of rush before or since. It was like they were all cheering for me, even though I knew they weren’t. It…it was one of the best damn moments of my life.”

  Mars grinned, tucked in his napkin, and picked up his knife and fork. “Yeah, I get that, man, I really do.” He added wistfully, “Must’ve really been something.”

  “You know you would have been one of the best of all time.”

  Mars shook his head. “You can’t know that. I was a tailback, man, one injury away from it all being over. And there are lots of examples of dudes like me coming out after wrecking college ball and then you find out you can’t run against the big boys in the NFL. Or you blow out your knee and that split-second difference, that missing burst of speed causes you to lose that little edge on deciding what hole to hit, what cut to make. Then you’re gone, man, done, bring on the next piece of meat.”

  “My money would have been on you being more like Barry Sanders or Emmitt Smith over a one-and-done.”

  Mars chuckled. “Thanks, Decker, I appreciate the confidence.”

  “I’m not blowing smoke. I played in the pros. We didn’t have one running back on our team that could carry your jockstrap.”

  Mars stopped cutting up his steak. He was about to say something snarky back until he saw the serious look on Decker’s features.

  The men’s gazes latched onto each other.

  Mars said, “Thanks, that does…mean a lot to me.”

  They ate the rest of their meal in silence.

  When they were done Decker ordered them two beers. They clinked glasses.

  Decker sipped his beer and then set the glass down. He felt nervous and fidgety, his fingers tapping on the tabletop. He wanted to say something, but the words were not forming clearly in his head.

  Mars noted his discomfort and said, “Hey, man, you okay?”

  Decker took a calming breath, and when he saw Mars’s concerned expression the right words finally came. He said, “Whatever goes down tonight, I want you to know that it’s been a real privilege getting to know you, Melvin.”

  Mars seemed to understand how difficult this had been for Decker to get out. He said, grinning, “Hell, I’m just glad you turned on the radio when you did.”

  They drank their beers and Mars said, “How do you see it going down?”

  “Roy is going to show up because we played by his rules and it’s just us. But don’t think this is all going to be linear and by the book. He’s going to throw us some curveballs, it’s just how the guy’s wired.”

  “What sort of curveballs?”

  “Hell if I know. I played football, not baseball.”

  CHAPTER

  73

  THEY WALKED TO the address Roy had given them, arriving there a minute before midnight. The streets were empty, the night chilly but the sky clear. Decker had had Mars turn his phone back on in anticipation of receiving Roy’s next communication.

  Decker looked behind him. “That’s nice.”

  “What?” said Mars, looking too.

  “Where the NAACP office was they built a public library. You know people who read are a lot more tolerant and open-minded than those who don’t.”

  “Great, so let’s get everybody in the world a library card.”

  They waited for about five minutes before Mars’s phone buzzed. It was another text from Roy:

  Walk directly west for a half mile. There’ll be a black Ford parked at the curb. Keys under the front seat. Directions on passenger seat. I’ve got eyes on you right now. Anyone follows, goodbye.

  “And now it begins,” said Decker ominously.

  “You got your gun?”

  Decker nodded. “I just hope I don’t have to use it, because that’ll mean someone’s shooting at us.”

  They trudged for half a mile due west and arrived at the black Ford parked at the curb. They climbed in. Decker snagged the keys while Mars checked out the directions.

  “We drive west on this road and then we’re eventually going to get on Route 82 and take it west. Then there’re directions from there.”

  They drove for a while, got on and then off Route 82.

  “Looks like we’re heading into the boonies,” said Decker.

  “We’re already in the boonies, Decker,” retorted Mars. “Look around, there’s nothing.” He started to look nervous. “You think he’s going to ambush us? Kill us?”

  “If he wanted to do that he’s had ample opportunity, Melvin.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

  “Well, I might not be. Like you said, the dude’s a psycho.”

  “Thanks for the good thoughts.”