Spencerville

by Nelson DeMille

  She said, You know . . . if my daughter is half as happy there as I was with you, she'll have good memories to last her for the rest of her life.

  I'm sure she'll be happy, if she's like you.

  I hope so . . . this country has changed so much . . . I can't tell if it's better or worse than when we were kids.

  I can't either, but to tell you the truth, I don't care anymore. I'm ready to live a private life, and I hope the world leaves us alone.

  You must have seen too many bad things in the world, Keith.

  I have. And to be honest, I've contributed my share to the world's problems.

  Have you?

  Maybe not on purpose.

  Tell me a good deed that you've done on purpose.

  Oh, I don't know offhand . . . I've seen good deeds . . . it's not a bad world, Annie, and I don't mean to suggest it is. For all the bad things I've seen, I've also seen the most extraordinary acts of courage, kindness, honesty, and love. He added, And miracles—like finding you again.

  Thank you. It's been a long time since I've heard words like that. She glanced at him and said, Keith, I know your life wasn't all glamour and excitement, and that there must be some scars, some heartbreak, some disappointments, and some things you'd like to forget, or maybe need to talk about. Tell me as much or as little as you want to. I'll listen.

  Thanks. Same here.

  A big, overhead green and white sign came into view: Toledo Airport—This Exit.

  Annie said, We're close.

  Yes. They just needed one or two more miracles.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Keith drove into the small airport, which lay southwest of Toledo. He hadn't seen any aircraft coming in or taking off as he approached, but this didn't overly concern him because it wasn't a busy airport, and he seemed to recall there were only six gates.

  They pulled up to the terminal entrance, which was both arrivals and departures.

  There were no skycaps around, and in fact Keith saw no other cars, no taxis, no people. He said to Annie, Wait here a minute.

  He went inside the small, modern terminal and saw it was nearly empty and all the concessions were closed except the coffee shop. This didn't look promising.

  He found the departure monitor. Seven airlines serviced the airport, mostly commuter links, according to the monitor. He kept staring at the departure schedule, refusing to accept the information that the last flight, an American Eagle to Dayton, had left over an hour ago. Damn it.

  He went to the nearest ticket counter, which was USAir. A solitary woman stood at one of the stations doing paperwork, and he asked her, Do you have any flights leaving for anywhere?

  No, sir.

  He looked at the other six airline counters, all of which were deserted. He asked the woman, Are there any flights leaving here tonight?

  She looked at him quizzically and replied, No, sir. Where did you want to go?

  He didn't want her next phone call to be to the security police, so he said, I thought there was a late flight to Washington.

  No, sir. The last flights out of Toledo are usually about seven forty-five. Can I book you to Washington in the morning?

  Maybe. He thought a moment. Are the rental car companies open?

  No, sir. The last arriving flight landed forty-five minutes ago.

  He was stuck with the Blazer, and he wasn't going to get too far with it.

  She said, I have a seven-fifteen A.M. to National Airport. Arrives at eight fifty-five. Seats available. Can I book that for you?

  Keith knew better than to leave a paper trail, and, in any case, by morning they'd have Annie Baxter's photo, if not his, in the hands of every ticket agent.

  Sir?

  No, thanks. Is there an air charter service here?

  Yes, sir. Over there. They're closed, but they have a phone.

  Thanks. He went to the charter service counter, picked up their telephone, and dialed the indicated number. It rang, and a recording told him to leave his name, number, and his message. He hung up, remarking to himself that getting out of Saigon with communist tanks approaching the American embassy had been easier than getting out of Toledo on a Sunday night.

  He went to a pay phone and called the Ingrams. Terry answered, and Keith said in his most upbeat voice, Hi, Terry.

  Keith! Where are you? Is everything—?

  Everything's fine. We're about to fly out. Annie is at the gate, and I just wanted to say thanks again and good-bye.

  Oh, that's so sweet of you. I'm so happy we could help, and—

  Hold on . . . okay, they're announcing our flight. I just want to say a quick good-bye to Larry.

  Sure. He's right here.

  Larry came on the line, and Keith said, Larry, without worrying your wife, can you tell me if you've heard anything?

  I did. Hold on.

  Keith heard him say something to Terry, then Larry came back on and said, Okay, I can talk. I heard about ten minutes ago—they broadcast an all-points bulletin, and I got a call to see if I wanted to go out on patrol tonight.

  All right . . . what and who are they looking for?

  Green Chevy Blazer, this year's model, your plates. They're looking for Annie Baxter and Keith Landry.

  Keith nodded to himself. Obviously, they'd found her car in his barn. He asked, Anything about possible locations?

  Well, the usual—car rental places, airports within a two-hundred-fifty-mile radius of Spencerville to be increased each half hour, bus terminals, train stations, all roads and highways—like that.

  Why are they looking for us?

  Kidnapping. Major-league. Seems they found her car in your barn.

  Would you advise me to go to the police and explain?

  Nope. Don't do that. They'd hold you until he arrives and tells his side. He's a cop, they're cops.

  But if she signs a statement saying—

  I spoke to Baxter. He says he's got his kids on the way in from college. I don't know if that's true, but if it is, and if they all wind up at some station house with you two, it could get real messy and emotional. If you can get away, do it.

  Keith considered this. Annie would never go with Baxter—but why put her or her children through that? He had other, cleaner options. Or he thought he did. He said to Larry, Okay. Thanks again.

  You okay?

  Yeah. We're about to fly out.

  Do that. Good luck.

  Keith hung up. Ten minutes ago. That gave him about no minutes to get out of the airport.

  He walked quickly through the empty terminal, wondering if he shouldn't have tried for Dayton or Columbus airports. But if he had, he'd still be on the road, and even if he'd gotten to one of those airports, they'd be looking for him and Annie by the time they arrived. In fact, they'd be looking for them here within minutes.

  So there was no use second-guessing decisions; you made them based on what you knew and what your experience and intuition told you. Plan A hadn't quite worked; Plan B was simple. Hide.

  He went outside and saw an airport security man standing at the curb near the Blazer. The man looked at him and walked over. This your car?

  Yes.

  The lady says you're flying to New York. I don't think so.

  Keith saw Annie get out of the Blazer and walk toward them. Keith said to the security man, I guess not.

  Nope. I told her the last flight left over an hour ago.

  Right. I just found out.

  Annie stood beside Keith and said to him, This gentleman says we missed the last flight.

  Yes. Let's go home. He took her arm and walked her back to the Blazer.

  The security man followed and pointed to the license plate. I see you got this car in Toledo.

  Keith glanced at the plate, whose frame had the name of the dealer advertised on it. That's right.

  Lady says you drove in from Chatham County.

  Right. I bought the car in Toledo. He opened the passenger-side door, and Annie got inside.

 
Keith noticed the two-way radio on the man's belt and didn't want to be around when it broadcast an all-points bulletin. He went around to the driver's side and opened his door.

  The security man followed and said, You should have called for reservations before you made that drive.

  Keith had faced too many of those kinds of questions around the world, and he knew the mentality of the people that asked them. He had no idea what Annie had already told the guy, except that they wanted to go to New York and were from Chatham County. Meanwhile, Keith had already inquired about a flight to Washington.

  Keith glanced at Annie, and in his best midwestern accent, he said, I told you we should have called up ahead for reservations.

  She nodded in understanding and leaned toward the open window, addressing the security man. Like I said, it was a spur-of-the-moment thing to go to New York. Like you see people do in the movies. She added, We never flew before.

  The security man advised them, You can get a motel and stay over. There's a USAir flight to New York in the morning.

  Keith replied, The hell with it. We're going home. He opened the door, got in the Blazer, and drove off. He watched the security man still standing at the curb. Keith said, He was a little too nosy.

  You've lived in Washington too long. He was trying to be helpful. He was very concerned when I spoke to him.

  I guess. Either way, the man would remember them and the car.

  Annie asked, What are we going to do now?

  Get a motel.

  Can't we just drive to New York?

  I don't think so. He glanced at her and said, I spoke to Larry. There's an all-points bulletin out on us and this car.

  She didn't say anything.

  Keith left the airport and turned east on the airport highway road, toward Toledo.

  She said, Could we rent a car?

  I thought we could before I heard about the all-points. We have to be careful where we go and what we do.

  She nodded.

  There was an Airport Sheraton up ahead, and Keith pulled up and parked out of sight of the lobby. Wait here.

  She tried to smile and said, Just like old times.

  Sort of. He went into the lobby. Near the front desk, sitting on a shelf, he found the 800-number reservation telephone. He picked it up, got the reservation operator, and made a late-arrival reservation for the Sheraton at Cleveland Airport and confirmed it with his American Express card. He then went to a pay phone and called the 800 number for USAir. He reserved two seats on the eight-fifteen morning flight from Cleveland to New York and gave his card number. He wasn't used to escape-and-evasion in his own country, but he was reasonably sure his toll-free calls couldn't be traced back to the Toledo area. And even if they were, the police would be looking for him on the interstate to Cleveland, or more likely waiting for him at the Airport Sheraton in Cleveland. Red herrings were so stupidly simple they sometimes worked, and only two things were necessary for success—a police force efficient enough to pick up on the reservations, but gullible enough to think it was real. As for the latter, he assumed the police thought they were looking for John A. Citizen, not someone who'd once done this for a living.

  He left the lobby, went to the Blazer, took his briefcase out of the rear, and got back behind the wheel. Could you hold this?

  She took the briefcase, and Keith pulled out of the motel parking lot, continuing east on the highway.

  Annie asked, Aren't we staying there?

  No. He explained what he'd done.

  She looked at him and asked, This was your vocation or avocation?

  Vocation. He added, And I thought it had no application to civilian life. Goes to show you.

  He continued east, along the highway toward Toledo, whose downtown skyscrapers he could now see. Traffic was heavier here, and the commercial strip was more built-up.

  He considered switching license plates. That meant finding a car that he thought would be parked all night and/or whose owner wouldn't notice that his plates had been switched and report it. Meanwhile, they could drive all night with the switched plates and be in Washington before dawn. But you never knew if the plates had been reported stolen. Also, even if the plates weren't reported stolen, the police were looking for a green Blazer, and if they saw one and the license plate on the Blazer didn't match the all-points bulletin, they'd still run the license number through the computer to see if it matched up. Basically, switching plates was a sucker's bet.

  She asked him, What are you thinking about?

  Options. Run or hide?

  Why don't we just go to a police station and explain?

  That is not an option.

  Why not?

  He told her why not and asked, Are you up for that domestic scene?

  She thought a moment and replied, If it was just him, I could handle it. If my children were with him . . . I don't know . . .

  Why don't we just lay low overnight and think about it in the morning? These all-points bulletins tend to get a little stale after a while, and maybe by morning, the state police will have had a few conversations with the Spencerville police chief and maybe with the security guy at the airport. They may very well conclude that Mr. Baxter is not telling it like it is.

  She nodded. Maybe . . .

  And to tell you the truth, it's not a good idea to be in the hands of the police at this hour of the night without a judge or lawyer available.

  She tried to laugh and said, You think like a criminal.

  I was a criminal in many countries, never my own. But the rules are the same. He added, I think time is on our side if we lay low. But I won't do anything you're not comfortable with.

  I haven't heard those words in a while. She thought a moment, then said, Maybe we should stop for the night . . . and in the morning, even if I have to see him and to explain to the police, I'd rather do it then.

  With luck, you won't have to see him tomorrow or ever again.

  Good.

  All right, so now we're looking for a hot-sheet motel. Know any?

  She smiled. I know six or seven.

  One will do. Open my briefcase. He gave her the combination.

  She opened it, and he said, This is going to make you laugh. There's a false bottom. He explained how to open it and said, I need the eyeglasses and the small brown envelope.

  She retrieved both items without a word.

  He took the glasses and put them on, then said, Open the envelope. No laughing.

  She opened the envelope and took out a mustache the color of Keith's light brown hair. He said, Peel off the cellophane and stick it on me.

  She did what he said, and he checked himself in the rearview mirror. What do you think?

  I'm speechless.

  That's a treat. Keep looking for a motel. He took a comb out of his windbreaker and restyled his hair.

  She said, How about that place? Up ahead on the right.

  Keith saw the small motel sign, a portable lighted signboard, actually, that said West-way Motel—$29 with an arrow that pointed to the right. He recalled that the airport highway had once been a meandering two-lane road, but had been widened and straightened many years ago, leaving some of the old motels hundreds of yards away from the side of the new road. Keith turned onto a narrow lane that took him to the parking court of the motel. He stopped out of view of the lobby. Okay. This is like old times. Two minutes.

  You used to have the key in forty-five seconds.

  He smiled and got out of the Blazer, noticed a Ford Escort in the parking lot, and went inside the small lobby.

  The desk clerk, a young man, looked up from a television behind the counter.

  Keith adopted a manner of sexual urgency and said, Need a room.

  The clerk put a registration form on the desk.

  Keith said, How much for a few hours?

  Same.

  Hey, I just bought her a Sizzler steak, buddy. Can you do better?

  How long you staying?

  Maybe midnight.
You get off at midnight? You can check.

  Yeah, I'm off at midnight, but I'm not rushing you.

  Tell you what—I might be longer. I'll give you twenty-five for all night.

  Okay.

  Keith filled out the registration form with some creativity, listing a Ford Escort as his car. He'd discovered that the clerk, who could possibly identify him despite the disguise, would be gone at midnight. So far, so good. He gave the young man twenty-five dollars in cash, took the key to room 7, and left.

  He got into the Blazer and pulled up to a parking spot several places away from room 7. There weren't too many cars there on a Sunday night, and none of them could be seen from the highway. But he had no intention of leaving the Blazer there anyway.

  They took the luggage, and Keith also took all his personal possessions out of the car, including his audiotapes, the registration, and other odds and ends.

  Keith opened the door to the room, and they carried everything inside. Annie turned on a lamp and said, It's lovely.

  Actually, it was very shoddy. Keith found the telephone book under the nightstand and flipped through the yellow pages.

  What are you looking for?

  I need . . . here it is. He closed the book and said, I'll be back in about fifteen or twenty minutes.

  Where are you going?

  To get the car out of here.

  She put her hand on his arm. I'll go with you. If they come, I don't want to be here without you.

  All right.

  They went outside and got into the Blazer. Keith drove up the lane and stopped at the lighted signboard near the highway. He got out and pulled the light plug out of the electrical outlet, leaving the signboard in darkness, then got back in the Blazer and said, Enough customers for one night.

  Annie glanced at him but said nothing.

  Keith pulled back onto the highway and made a right, toward Toledo. He said, We're going to have to walk back.

  Okay.

  A police cruiser came toward them from the opposite direction and passed them. Keith looked in his sideview mirror, but the cruiser kept going. He said to her, There's a Chevrolet dealership on this road, according to the phone book. Odd number, so it'll be on the left-hand side.