by L.T. Ryan
* * *
“Where have you been?” I said to Bear when he opened the door and stepped back into the room.
“Relax,” he said. “Just checking things out.”
“How is it?”
“Seems calm,” he said. “But the cops are everywhere, up and down the street, Jack. We should think about getting out of here.”
I went to the door. “I’m calling Abbot.”
The wind had picked up since I ran back to the motel. The tall grasses behind the motel rustled in the breeze, filling the air with a hissing sound. I followed the wall to a corner and peeked around. Empty. Moved into the corridor between the buildings so I could get a look at the parking lot, which was empty as well. I pulled out my cell phone and found Abbot’s number. He answered midway through the third ring.
“Hello?” Abbot said. His raspy voice indicated I’d woken him.
“It’s Jack,” I said. “I’m sorry to wake you. We’re in trouble.”
“Where are you?”
“We’re—” I debated whether or not I should tell him. I didn’t. “Don’t worry about that,” I said. “We’ve got to move. But I need to run something by you first.”
He grunted into the phone. “Where are my damn glasses,” he said under his breath. “Jack, you remember the lake house?”
“Outside Wilson?”
“Yeah.”
“I think I can find it.”
Wilson, NC wasn’t too far from where we were, just a short drive down I-95, not even thirty miles away.
“That’s where I’m at now. Come out here. I’ve got something else for you.”
“OK,” I said. “We’ll be there within an hour.”
Abbot said goodbye and hung up.
I stuffed the phone back into my pocket. I stopped outside the motel room and leaned against the vinyl siding between the door and window. I thought about Jessie and what she might be thinking. Having her around felt like home, and I felt like myself again. The Jack Noble I was before I left for the Marines, before I agreed to become part of this damn joint program with the CIA, before I became a killer.
The wind whipped the clouds across the sky and revealed a blue canopy with pinholes of starlight illuminating through the fabric of the universe. I grew tired of the cold and entered the room.
“Well?” Bear asked.
“He’s close by,” I said. “We can go. It’s a safe place.”
Bear nodded and Jessie stood next to the door, her hand on the knob.
We piled into the Tahoe. I started the ignition and drove along the narrow road that ran the length of the motel in between the building and the empty field. I rounded the corner and drove across the main parking lot. Pulled out onto the road and headed toward I-95.
“You think it’s safe to get on the interstate?” Bear asked.
I shrugged. It might not be, but that was the quickest way that I knew to get where we needed to go. “We’ll be all right.”
A row of blue lights came streaming toward us in the opposite lane. I turned my attention to the rear-view mirror after they passed by.
“Think they’re going to the motel?” Bear asked.
“Yeah,” I said.
“How?”
“No clue.”
My phone rang and I pulled it out of my pocket and glanced at the display.
“General Keller.”
I started to answer, but stopped and looked at Bear. Keller would have to wait.
“The phone.”
We said it at the same time.
“For Christ’s sake,” I said.
I stopped the car, stepped out and threw the phone as far as I could. It landed on the other side of the overpass with a thud, skidding along the asphalt and coming to rest out of sight.
