Linder hesitated. He had lied his way out of so many tight spots in his career that breaking cover was something he would not normally even consider until every other option was closed. But he saw no other choice. To have found Larry and Jay had been an extraordinary stroke of luck. Without their support and their special relationship with the sheriff, he would remain at high risk of having his fingerprints or DNA compared with those of Thomas Horvath. He would have to open up a bit.
“I really appreciate the chance you’ve given me,” Linder began as he racked his brain to decide how much to reveal. “Believe me, I don’t want to blow it. So, yes, I was in the camps for a while. I have Horvath’s papers because a buddy of mine found them on his frozen corpse after Horvath passed out drunk one night up in the Yukon.”
“Your sentence?”
“Economic sabotage. I worked on a mine that didn’t pan out and they blamed our entire team. When I got released, the terms of my probation required me to stay in the Yukon. But I decided I liked the climate better back in the Lower Forty-Eight.”
“But why Utah? Are you a Mormon or something?”
Linder smiled and shook his head.
“No, I’m here because a buddy told me his wife was doing time in a women’s camp nearby. Before he died, he asked me to help her if I ever made it out. So, being a superstitious kind of guy, and not having anywhere else in mind, I figured I’d come down here and see what I could do for her before making other plans.”
“Do you know the camp’s name?” Jay pressed.
“Kamas. Ever heard of it?”
Jay frowned. “Kamas is where they sent me for out-processing after Dad got the charges against me dropped. The men’s division is a strict-regime camp that does a lot of recycling and construction work, but there’s also a smaller women’s division that’s not quite as rough.”
“You say your father got your charges dropped?” Linder asked in disbelief. “How the hell did he pull that off?”
“We got lucky. For starters, Dad knows all the politicians and Party officials in North Dakota. Someone in the prosecutor’s office tipped him off that, due to a long court backlog, the DSS sent me to Alaska before my conviction was officially entered. Based on that, Dad paid somebody off to get the conviction reversed on a technicality and the sentence lifted. It was expensive, but it worked.”
“So now you’re free and clear?” Linder asked in disbelief.
“Well, not entirely,” Jay explained. “The DSS revoked my North Dakota residence permit and reissued it in Utah, so I won’t be around in North Dakota to make waves. That means the Utah Security Zone is the only place I’m officially allowed to live and work. It’s internal exile for life, but it beats Alaska. And having Dad around sure helps.”
“Same thing with me and Montana,” Linder agreed, referring to Horvath’s Montana residence permit. “But since Montana’s a restricted zone, too, my Montana ID ought to be valid in both places. Provided that Tom Horvath is not declared dead or they compare our biometrics.” He conveniently omitted mentioning the thirty-day residence limit and employment ban that the DSS man in Great Falls had cited.
“Does that mean you intend to stay a while?” Jay went on.
“So long as I have a job,” Linder affirmed. “It may take a while to find my buddy’s wife, I expect. And it’s nice to have a roof over my head while I’m looking.”
But then, as a seeming afterthought, Linder spoke again. “Just tell me one thing. You and your dad aren’t going to turn me in, are you?”
“Your secret is safe with us,” Jay assured him gravely. “We’re not bastards.”
Had anyone else given the same answer to Linder before his arrest, he would have automatically taken the exact opposite to be true. But his experience in the camps had given him quite a different view of men’s character than the one he’d had before, and he saw something in Jay that he felt he could trust. Ever since his arrival in Ross River, he had come to realize how much of his destiny lay outside his control. Faith and action were both essential to his survival, and he decided to place some of his faith in Jay and Larry Becker.
* * *
After dinner at the bungalow, Linder withdrew to his room and brought out the writing paper once again. Throughout the day until his meeting with Jay, his thoughts had repeatedly returned to his sister. He even had considered putting aside his plans to find Patricia and Caroline Kendall and traveling to Cleveland instead to help April. But he could not realistically undertake the hazards of a trip to Cleveland until he recovered his strength, saved some money, acquired better identity documents, and planned the trip with meticulous care. Until then, he had made a promise to Roger Kendall that he aimed to keep.
For the present, the challenge he faced was how to communicate with April. He did not dare mail her a letter directly, as her mail, phone, and other means of contact would almost certainly be monitored, even more so since his escape. And even if he did find a way to reach her without the DSS’s knowledge, he could not be certain of her continued loyalty. In the wake of his conviction for crimes against the state, she would likely have lost her Unionist Party membership, her teaching job and most other government benefits. Even if the DSS investigation failed to turn up any offense of her own, once the investigators began questioning those who knew her, even April’s closest friends would likely abandon her and her isolation would be complete.
April was still his sister, and Linder had faith that she would forgive him someday. But, for all he knew, she might despise him now. So, when he finally settled on a means to contact her at relatively low risk to her or himself, he set pen to paper once again and drafted a letter to a Cleveland cousin who had been one of April’s closest childhood friends.
“Dear Ruth,” the message began. “I hope my letter finds you in good health. Though my return address may be unfamiliar, I think you will guess who wrote this. My purpose in sending it is to learn how April is doing and to let her know that I am alive and well. Do not respond to this address, as I selected it at random and will pick another when I write to you again. Instead, post a broadly worded message from ‘Cousin Margaretta’ in Cleveland via the National Refugee Locator Bulletin. Refer to April as “Cousin Eliza.” I will respond to you with another letter. With warmest regards.”
* * *
During his lunch break on the following day, Linder went to the business office at Becker Laboratories and asked Larry Becker’s receptionist-assistant whether the boss might be free to see him for a few minutes at the end of the day. She checked his schedule and confirmed that Larry was free any time after four. Linder thanked her and returned to work.
Shortly after five, Linder watched the receptionist leave for the day and approached the owner’s office.
“Hi, Larry,” Linder began. “May I have a moment of your time?”
“Sure, Tom, have a seat,” Larry offered after signing a stack of invoices. “Jose tells me you’re a fast learner and you’re doing a fine job for him and Jay over in packaging. Glad to hear it. So what’s on your mind?”
“Did Jay happen mention to you the conversation he and I had yesterday?” Linder asked in a low voice.
“You mean the one about his time in Alaska?” Larry replied with a knowing look.
“That would be the one. I wanted to apologize to you for putting you and your company at risk for hiring a former camp inmate.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Larry assured. “The truth is, I’m no friend of the President-for-Life. And I can’t be too picky in who I hire or we wouldn’t be able to keep this place running. My philosophy is, I don’t need to know who you are or what you did to piss off the regime so long as you don’t make trouble under my roof. I’ll take care of the rest. But you and I aren’t ever going to have that kind of trouble, are we?”
“Not if I can help it, sir,” Linder answered.
“Fine then. It’s settled. Do you have anything else on your mind?”
“Actually, there is one more thing,” Linder ven
tured. “I’d like to ask a favor. I’d like you to mail something for me. It’s a letter to my sister. And I’d ask you to post it in North Dakota, if that’s possible. It can’t be postmarked anywhere near here, if you know what I mean.”
Entrusting this task to Larry Becker carried risks, of course, not only to himself but also to his sister. But Larry and Jay had the power to turn him in at any time, and if they did, the letter would make little difference. On the contrary, the primary risk of posting the letter was to Larry and it would put his good will to the test.
“I understand,” Larry answered thoughtfully as he leaned back in his swivel chair. “The goons have her under close watch, do they?”
“I expect so,” Linder replied. “Right now I don’t even know where she is. The letter will be addressed to a cousin of ours, and my goal is to find out how my sister is doing and how best to reach her. The cousin is completely trustworthy. And I promise I won’t contact my sister any more directly till I’ve left Utah, so nobody here in Coalville will land in hot water if I’m caught.”
“North Dakota,” Larry mused before looking away thoughtfully. “I don’t go back to Bismarck very often any more, to tell you the truth. Since my wife died and Jay’s residence permit was transferred here, there didn’t seem much point to it. My business holdings there are all passive minority interests now.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your wife,” Linder interrupted, but Larry Becker went on as if he hadn’t heard.
“At home they all treat us like strangers now. Ever since Jay was arrested, they dance around us on tiptoes so as not to say anything that might get themselves in trouble. Even when no snitches are within earshot, it seems like one wrong word is all it takes to set the other person on edge and push a relationship into decline. I just don’t like going back there any more. Here in the Zone, everything is right out front for everyone to see: martial law, checkpoints, troops, labor camps. The trip wires are laid out in plain sight and everybody knows enough to step clear of them.”
“I see,” Linder acknowledged. “But are you planning any other trips soon? Might you be able to mail it from somewhere else?”
“I’m flying to Pittsburgh Tuesday afternoon. If I mail it from there, would that work for you?”
“Perfect,” Linder replied with a broad smile. “I’ll bring the letter to you first thing Monday.”
* * *
Linder spent most of the weekend in bed, dropping in and out of a shallow sleep, and rising long enough only to walk into town for meals. As Mrs. Unger had traveled to Salt Lake City to visit a daughter over the weekend, she left him a key so he could come and go as he pleased.
Linder ate distractedly, but with a voracious appetite, never leaving a speck of food uneaten. After dinner at the sandwich shop, he sat at the writing table in his room, brought out a yellow pad and began writing cryptic notes of names, dates, and places, as well as recurring thoughts and phrases that swam around in his head, with the hope of organizing them into a coherent plan for the future.
When he finally abandoned the effort soon after midnight, he slept hard, with dreams almost as disturbing as those that had plagued him before his arrest. The new dreams, however, picked up where his life in captivity had left off, and he found himself sawing timber in the snow under mercury vapor floodlights, crawling through dark mineshafts, fleeing from armed guards and their snarling wolf-dogs, crossing snow-covered peaks and ridges, dodging drone aircraft, and falling through river ice.
All weekend it was the same, with the repressed memories and feelings from his sojourn in the north displacing all ordered thought. On Monday, he barely remembered to drop off April’s letter at Larry Becker’s office, sealed in a double envelope bearing instructions to open the outer envelope and mail the inner one without looking at the address. The rest of the day went by like a blur and Linder felt as if he had dropped headlong into a bottomless pit of depression that thwarted all attempts to escape.
Throughout the week, the iron self-discipline that Linder had developed in the camps and during his escape substituted for conscious thought, and allowed Linder to perform his routine duties on the packaging line without incident. He walked about as if in a daze and reverted to old habits, like eating only half his lunch and stashing the rest in a pocket to eat later in the day. Now, whenever the nightmares returned, Linder fought back by switching on the bedside lamp and jotting notes about each dream on a pad. By week’s end, nearly the entire pad was filled.
The names that came up most often in his nightly notes were of people who had been significant to him before his arrest: his father and sister, Philip Eaton, Roger Kendall, Patricia Kendall, Bob Bednarski and Neil Denniston. The places mentioned were also ones he had known before his arrest: Cleveland, Washington, London, and Beirut, plus one other: Kamas, Utah.
With Larry Becker gone the entire week and Jay struggling to pick up the slack at work during his absence, Linder felt alone and adrift. Other than the Beckers and the foreman Jose, he spoke to few others during the course of an average day. Mrs. Unger, apparently recognizing his desire to be alone with his thoughts, served his meals and cleaned his room each day with minimal intrusion. Linder’s trance-like mental state broke on the tenth day when he awoke at dawn, anxious and weak, but with a purpose clearer than any he could remember.
S18
Be kind to all, for everyone you meet is fighting a great battle. Philo of Alexandria
LATE MAY, COALVILLE, UTAH SECURITY ZONE
On the following Monday, Larry Becker returned from Pittsburgh and Linder went to his office to welcome him back.
“By the way, I mailed your letter,” Becker assured him with an indulgent smile. “Don’t worry, I slipped it right out of the manila envelope into the mail slot. Your secret is secure.”
Linder thanked him quickly and left as soon as Larry’s secretary entered the room.
Later that week, instead of taking the jitney bus back to Coalville, Linder made a detour to the Park City Public Library. After signing in and showing his library card and residence permit at the entrance, he approached the front desk and asked the librarian where he might find the most recent issue of the National Refugee Locator Bulletin.
The librarian consulted a dog-eared periodicals list.
“I see that we no longer receive hard copies of that publication,” the woman responded crisply. “The National Refugee Service stopped printing the bulletin recently and is publishing everything on their electronic message board instead. You can access the board on the library’s computer monitors. Do you know how to log in?”
“I think so,” Linder answered, trying not to show his irritation at losing the anonymity of reading a printed document. He sat down at the last monitor in the row, logged in, and found the message board without difficulty, scrolling down to the Ohio listings. Midway through he found the message he was searching for:
“Cousin Eliza is home after an extended stay in rehab and is enjoying a speedy recovery. She is back at work on light duty and is eager for news from her dear siblings. Please write to Cousin Margaretta in Cleveland or respond via this message board.”
Linder shook with excitement, but as he parsed each word, a wave of sadness swept over him because “rehabilitation” had become a common euphemism for investigative custody. And “speedy recovery” implied that April’s health might have suffered under interrogation. Similarly, “light duty” probably meant that April had been demoted from her job as a public school teacher and reported instead to a “rubber room” where teachers on disciplinary leave spent idle days while drawing reduced wages.
Though Linder longed to help his sister, he was at a loss how to go about it. To deliver any meaningful sort of help without endangering them both would require time, money, and planning. Meanwhile, his work in Utah had barely begun.
That evening, he conversed with Mrs. Unger over dinner as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Odd as it seemed, after temporarily setting aside concerns for his
sister, he felt more at ease than he had for some time. Whatever he might face in the days ahead, it could not be worse than what he had endured over the past year.
* * *
How often beneath a calm surface, turbulent waters churn. Though Linder had slept soundly all week, that night his dreams dragged him through one distressful scene after another from the final days of his escape. He watched in slow motion as the farmer’s bullet knocked Will Browning off his feet, then felt the searing pain in the injured man’s calf and tasted the fear and fatigue of their flight in the rain-soaked darkness. Later, Linder sensed Browning’s faintness from loss of blood, the alternating heat and chills of fever during the night, and the rancher’s regrets as his life slipped away by degrees. Linder felt as if he was both observer and participant of a 3-D movie shot with a fisheye lens, viewing all perspectives at once, complete with the full range of emotions that beset Will Browning during his final hours. Yet, at the final moment, was that a smile on Browning’s lips?
Next, in the blink of an eye, Linder found himself walking along the railroad bridge with Mark Rhee when the approaching locomotive came into view. He heard the train’s deafening roar and felt the bridge shake with a deepening sense of dread. The moment the train passed and Rhee rose to his feet, Linder suddenly watched him fumble with his backpack, then slip and reach out to break his fall. But just as he went over the side, the panic in Rhee’s eyes was replaced by an expression of ineffable joy and wonder.
Linder awoke before Rhee’s head hit the ice. He threw off his blanket and sat upright, peering at the dull light coming through the lace-curtained windows. What did it mean? This dream was so different from the others. These dead men did not reproach him and demanded nothing from him. Instead, they offered him a glimpse into their thoughts at the moment of death, and shared with him a peace that he would never have expected after having seen so many men die in anguish.
* * *
The rest of the week passed uneventfully. Linder switched off his conscious brain while on the packaging line and performed his duties on automatic pilot. Meanwhile, his subconscious mind was working overtime.
Exile Hunter Page 38
