by David R. Dow
Nobody was on the street. By remotely activating the camera on his computer I was reasonably sure he did not have an alarm or a dog. I rang the doorbell twice. The gate to the backyard was unlocked, as I knew it would be from watching the yardman open it every Friday morning. I hoped to get lucky and find an unlocked window or door, but I didn’t. I looked around for a hidden key, also without success. I was prepared to do it the hard way, but until then, I was hoping I wouldn’t have to.
At a few minutes after eight, as he had done every Wednesday since I’d been observing him, Stream arrived. I heard the Porsche’s low rumble from two blocks away. I pressed against the garage’s outside wall. I heard the electric door rattle up and the Porsche edge slowly in. A drop of sweat stung my eye. All at once, Stream killed the ignition and opened the door, and I was standing there before he could move, pointing the .45 at the middle of his chest. He said, Take whatever you want, and I said, I plan to. I told him to exit the car and turn around, and when he did, I cuffed his hands behind him. I pushed the button to close the garage door, and at last I relaxed. I said, Shall we go inside?
I was wearing blue jeans, a black T-shirt, and running shoes, and as we entered, I pulled on a pair of latex gloves. It was not yet completely dark outside, but I turned on a light in the kitchen anyway. I patted him down and took his phone. I said, I’m surprised, I would have taken you for a concealed-weapon kind of guy. He said, I do not know if you know who I am, but you are making a big mistake. I did not reply. He said, I’m supposed to be meeting people for dinner. I said, Where are the keys to the SUV?
I spun him around by his arm so he was facing me and pressed the tip of the knife against his throat. I said, Here’s the thing: My first choice is not to kill you, but I can live with my second choice if I have to. Understand? He nodded. I said, Good. No talking and no noise. I covered his mouth with duct tape and pulled a pillowcase over his head. I said, Let’s go, and led him back to the garage. I put him and my bike in the back of the SUV and covered them with a blanket. I said, If I hear any noise or I get pulled over, I’ll shoot you in the head. I opened the passenger door to the Porsche and retrieved a bag holding three cartons of hot Chinese.
As we drove back to the private field, keeping our speed a steady two miles below the limit, dusk turned to night. At the hangar, I put a second set of cuffs around his ankles and pushed him into the rear of my plane. I lifted off the pillowcase and peeled away the duct tape. I powered off his cell phone and put it back in his car. I said, Prepare for takeoff, Your Honor. He said, So you do know who I am. I said, Same deal as before. You make a sound, I will kill you.
Shortly before one A.M. we landed. I removed the leg cuffs and said Watch your step, and the two of us descended six stories underground, with me holding Stream’s elbow in my left hand and a handgun in my right. I was wearing a headlamp. Except for the narrow beam it cast, the silo was dark as an underwater cave. I opened the padlocks and put Stream in his cell, and I locked the gate behind him.
I said, Hands, inmate.
He said, Huh?
I said, Turn around with your back against the bars.
After retrieving my handcuffs I said, Step away from the bars now and face me. I pointed my gun at his chest. I said, Take off all your clothes except your underwear and drop them over here.
I handed him a thick cotton robe. I said, Lights and TV should come on at seven. There’s a lamp on the table. See you tomorrow. Sweet dreams.
He said, What the hell is going on here?
I closed the bank vault door and climbed back upstairs. If he was making any noise, the silo’s fiberglass insulation was absorbing every sound.
* * *
• • •
By the time Judge Moss’s husband left their house for his church staff meeting Thursday morning at seven, I was parked across the street in Judge Stream’s SUV. I used Stream’s fake cell phone to send a text to Moss’s fake cell phone, saying he’d pick her up in an hour. At eight, the garage door went up.
As soon as she closed the driver’s side door, I turned into the driveway, parked behind her car, and got out with my gun. I said, If you honk the horn or make a sound, I will kill you. She said, I do not have any money. You can have my ring. I said, Get out and turn around. Once I had searched her, cuffed her wrists, and put duct tape over her mouth, I said, I’m going to leave you this way for just a second. I used the other set of handcuffs to attach her to the steering wheel of her car. I went back to the SUV and pulled it inside, parking next to her sedan. I said, It’s Leonard’s. How do you like it? Her eyes grew wide. I said, No need to worry. He’s perfectly safe. I gave her the same speech I had given Stream. I dropped a pillowcase over her head, put her in the back of the SUV, and covered her with a blanket. I said, I am going to tell you something. When I finish, I am going to ask you if you understand. If you do, lift your legs enough for me to see the blanket move. I told her we would be in the car for around thirty minutes and that if I got pulled over, I would shoot her in the head. I told her when we arrived at our destination, she was to do what I told her to without making a sound. I said, If you do exactly as I direct, I will not harm you. Do you understand everything I just said? The blanket moved. I said, All right then, and I got behind the wheel.
Traffic was heavier than I expected. As we neared Austin’s commercial airport, a highway trooper passed us going in the opposite direction. Involuntarily I glanced at the speedometer. I was well below the limit. I looked in the rearview mirror anyway. The trooper didn’t turn around.
At Stream’s airport, the electronic gate was already open when I arrived. My heart began to race. I rolled down the window and heard a buzz. Was another pilot doing pattern work? Would whoever was here wonder why I was pulling into Stream’s hangar? I sat there at the keypad, cursing myself for not having a plan b. The buzzing noise grew louder. I slowly inched forward.
Across from Stream’s hangar, a man wearing overalls and earbuds was on an air-conditioned tractor, mowing the grass. I raised my arm out the window and waved. I drove quickly into the hangar and lowered the door. I was shaking, trying to picture what the man on the tractor would have seen if he were looking.
I remembered the story Sargent had told me about the guys who tried to escape from the row, and how the one escapee had drowned. I’d said, For all he accomplished, he might as well have surrendered as soon as he cleared the fence. Sargent had said, I s’pose if you’re a utilitarian that might be so, but that ain’t the way I see it, Inocente. If they plan on killing you no matter whether you’re running toward ’em or away, I’d head away every time. Some victories cain’t be measured in conventional terms. I peeked outside, and the mower was still at work. I said to myself, What he saw was Stream’s SUV pull into Stream’s hangar. Nothing out of the ordinary. I think I should be okay.
I removed the pillowcase from Moss’s head and held the knife to her throat while I asked her if she could send an e-mail from her phone. I said, Nod once if you understand. She did, and as I held the knife at my side, she wrote a note to her secretary saying she was going to a conference. At my instruction she wrote, I apologize, it completely slipped my mind. I’ll see you Monday.
Outside, the noise from the tractor had stopped. I peered through the door, hoping he was not just taking a break. The mower was gone. I said, It’s like a hot streak at the blackjack table. Moss said nothing. I said, Okay, you’re right. There’s no such thing. It’s all the law of averages. Come on, let’s go. It’s departure time. I put her phone and her shoes into Stream’s plane, where his phone already was, and said, Up and at ’em. Moss did not move. I pointed the revolver at her face and said, That means I am ready for you to walk. I guided her by the elbow and fastened her seat belt. Moments later, we were in the air.
Later that morning we landed at the silo. I said, No talking until I say so. I escorted Judge Moss down six flights and looked through the peephole. The lig
hts and TV were on. Stream was sitting on the bottom bunk. But I was not going to take a chance. I pulled the .45 from my waist. Moss gasped. I said, Relax, Judge, I’m not quite ready to shoot anyone. I opened the locks and swung open the door. Moss said, Oh my God, Leonard, what is going on? I said, I don’t recall giving you permission to speak, but I’ll overlook it just this once.
Stream looked like he had not slept at all. He was blinking repeatedly.
I said, Shit, do you wear contact lenses? I hadn’t thought of that.
He said, No.
There were two unopened MREs on the floor in the cells.
I said, Looks like the timers are working.
Stream looked up to the ceiling but did not reply.
I said, I am going to ask you some questions I know the answers to. If you lie, I will shoot you in the knee, capiche?
He nodded.
I said, What day of the week do you practice touch-and-go landings?
He said, Saturday.
I said, Every week?
He said, No. Mostly every other week.
I said, When you fly cross-country do you file a flight plan?
He said, Not usually.
I said, Do you contact ATC for flight following?
He paused. He said, Sometimes.
I said, What about weather updates from flight services?
He said, Yeah, most of the time.
I said, You pass, Your Honor. Now turn around and give your colleague some privacy.
I put Moss in her cell and took her clothes. I gave her a robe like Stream’s. I said to them both, I’ve got to run, so I’ll give you the long explanation later. For now, I’ll just cover the essentials. I pointed at the shower curtains on either side of the set of bars separating their cells. I said, Either of you can close the curtain for privacy. The toilets are the kind you find in an outhouse. They won’t flush. I pointed first at the ceiling then at the portable showers. I said, Three meals will drop each day, along with a liter of water. When I’m around, I’ll bring hot food every now and then. Those plastic bags hanging from the bars should fill with water one hour from now and every forty-eight hours after that. I have the nozzles set on medium. That will give you a six-minute stream. If you lower the pressure, you can make it last longer. You’ll find soap, shampoo, toothpaste, and a toothbrush in those desk drawers. That’s it for now. See you tomorrow. I looked around to make sure I had locked their cells and not forgotten anything, and I started to leave.
Stream said, Do you plan to tell us what is going on here?
Moss said, My husband has probably already called the police.
I said, I doubt that very much, and I gently closed the door.
* * *
• • •
By the time I landed again at Stream’s airport, it was getting dark. I used Moss’s phone to send her husband a text. It read, I cannot remember whether I told you I have to be at a conference today and tomorrow. I will be back Saturday. I placed Stream’s phone and wallet inside the flight bag, and Moss’s purse next to her luggage. From the back of my plane I removed the parachute. I checked the fuel levels in Stream’s plane one more time, then I said, Here we go, Tieresse, and I took off to the west.
I leveled off below three thousand feet and flew in a circle for three hours, burning fuel, then I climbed to forty-five hundred feet, flew west for ten miles, made a U-turn as I climbed to fifty-five hundred feet, and set the autopilot for a direct flight to Key West. I radioed flight service, identified myself with Stream’s plane’s N-number, and asked for a weather report over the western Gulf. It was clear below twelve thousand feet, with unlimited visibility and winds from the east. I thanked the controller and wished her a good night. I moved the baggage to the passenger seat and opened the suitcase and duffel. I put the clothes Stream and Moss had been wearing earlier that day on top. I double-checked my parachute, and when the GPS showed I was almost directly over Stream’s airport, I opened the pilot’s side door and jumped.
In seconds I was plummeting to earth. I was counting out loud but couldn’t hear myself over the sound of the rushing wind, or possibly my pulse pounding in my ear. When I got to fifteen I pulled the cord, estimating my altitude at thirty-five hundred feet. I couldn’t see anything on the ground except for highway traffic lights to the north. It was quiet and moonless. There was no breeze, and as I slowly drifted down, my fear of landing on the highway dissolved. In the distance I could see city lights in Austin and San Antonio, and I thought to myself, This is beautiful. Then I thought, If I die, Stream and Moss are going to be in prison for the rest of their lives.
I landed in a pasture, less than two miles from the field where I’d taken off. Cows were lowing but no people were around. I quickly refolded the parachute, loaded a map on my phone, and took less than half an hour to jog back to my plane. I touched down in Kansas as the sun was rising in an infinite and cloudless sky. No one was waiting for me. Everything looked exactly the same as it had two days ago. For the first time since the night before, I felt myself relax.
At almost the exact same time I was parking my plane in its hangar, Stream’s was making its final descent into the ocean. According to a report by the Austin affiliate of NPR, a four-seat single-engine plane owned by Judge Leonard Stream, believed to be carrying him and one other passenger, crashed into the Gulf of Mexico three hundred miles from shore. Stream was thought to be en route from Texas to Florida, where he had a speaking engagement scheduled for the following day. The FAA reported there had been no distress signal or radio calls. According to an oceanographer at Texas A&M, the sea was deep in the area where the plane was believed to have gone down, but the water was warm, and if the passengers were alive on impact, they could survive for days. A coast guard official said a rescue mission was under way, and the NTSB announced it would begin an investigation once the wreckage was located. I clicked off the radio, took a long hot shower, and quickly shaved. Then I went to bed.
PART 4
* * *
• • •
Two brilliant yellow mourning warblers perched outside my window and woke me with their singing at eight. I brewed an Americano and carried it out onto the porch. Fifty meters away and six stories down, Stream and Moss were wondering where they were and why. It was time to tell them.
I left the trapdoor open and walked downstairs. Through the peephole I could see the lights and TV had come on. I opened the vault and said, Good morning, inmates.
Stream had dark circles beneath his eyes. Moss’s eyes were red, and her cheeks were stained with tear lines from eyes to chin. I turned on the timer and flipped a switch, and its red digits began to count down to zero.
I said, We haven’t met before, but I would like to introduce myself. You might recognize the name.
I told them who I was. Neither visibly reacted.
I said, A couple of years ago I came within minutes of being executed because you two jurists thought some arcane procedural rule mattered more than the fact that I did not kill my wife.
Still no reaction.
I said, Between the time I spent at county jail and the time I spent on death row, I was behind bars for more than six and a half years. To be precise, thanks to you, I was locked up for six years, eight months, and eleven days. That adds up to 2,444 days, you can check my math if you want, or 58,656 hours. That’s how long you will be here.
I pointed to the digital clock.
I said, Oops, my mistake. I guess you’ll be here a few hours longer, because I am just now starting the countdown. I hadn’t thought about that. Sorry. I’ll figure out later on how to make those few hours up to you. We have plenty of time.
Stream said, Yes. I do recognize your name. A jury convicted you based on the evidence before it, not Judge Moss and me.
I said, I’ll let you explain the significance of that fact to me on some future occasion. Right no
w, I just want to introduce you to your accommodations before I head out for a while. Except for a few survivalists who fear Armageddon is at hand, I think you are the only two individuals in the entire US of A lucky enough to be living in a missile silo. I hope you appreciate the details. I did the work myself.
Moss said, Out for how long?
I told them I lived aboveground, just a few dozen yards away. I explained how the lights and the TV in their new home would operate. I used a remote control to demonstrate what I had briefly gone over last night: how MREs would drop down to them through a chute and how a reservoir in their cells would fill with water each day. I pointed to the tables where I had placed paper and pens and a stack of paperbacks. I gave them a short version of how the HVAC and waste systems worked and my own version of the warden’s welcome. I said, If you behave yourselves, we’ll get along just fine.
Both judges stared at me. Stream looked angry, Moss looked scared.
I said, Based on my observations, neither of you takes prescription medications, but if I am mistaken, let me know what you need and I will try to get it for you. Any questions?
Neither spoke. I asked them which news station they preferred, and when there was no answer, I put the TV on CNN.
I pointed at Stream and said, I’ll call you John, and then turned to Moss and said, And you will be Jane. On the row the COs called us by our last names, or they tried, but I’ll be honest: Your names stick in my throat. John and Jane feel better to me, and as you will learn, it is very much in your interest for me to feel my best.
Moss said, How do we get in touch with you if we need to reach you?
When I did not reply, Stream said, You will never get away with this.
