Chapter Twenty-Three
Elena’s rental was a Smart-Car painted the same shade of iridescent green as the vests worn by highway workers. The tiny car was splashed with the bright pink logo of LightCar, an urban vehicle rental service designed to provide quick and easy access to city dwellers who need something to drive. A toy-like car in bright colors was nothing special in downtown Washington among the vegan professionals for whom LightCar was designed. But in Rappahannock County, Virginia it stood out among the pickup trucks driven by men who raised beef cattle. Someone wishing to blend in among the hills there would do well to be driving a dirty Ford F150 with a bed full of manure. An iridescent tiny car with D.C. plates was something to be noticed by even the sleepiest bench warmer outside a gas station.
Father Darius, still bearing a Washington state driver’s license identifying him as Walter Williams of Seattle, was not sleepy. He was very alert as he sat in the red MG in the parking area of a small store on Rt. 211, reading a local weekly. He scanned the stories about high school basketball, a controversy over a new football field, and announcements about who had visited whom on a recent Sunday. A gun shop’s ad caught his attention because the owner, who dominated the ad, was a bearded giant who looked like a cartoon character from a hillbilly strip. The man stood proudly in front of his shop, holding a .50 caliber sniper rifle for sale for ten-thousand dollars. Father Darius was shocked that an ordinary citizen could purchase such a weapon. Whatever happened to American values? he wondered.
He was only a mile or so from the entrance to the farm and was happy to spend the entire day, if that’s what it took, watching for her arrival, which he believed was imminent. He was not disappointed. Her arrival was announced by the bright tiny car, being slowly driven down Rt. 211 by a beautiful young woman who appeared to be very much out of her comfort zone. The little car drew the attention of other drivers who smiled and waved to her as though she were on display or in some kind of parade. Father Darius smiled and watched as she drove by, escorted by a Jeep-load of teenagers who were trying to get her to look at them so they could take a picture. Elena appeared to be ignoring them but her face revealed tension and anger.
He was about to pull onto the highway to follow the small car when he saw another vehicle trailing about a quarter-mile behind her. It was an older gray four-door sedan with plates identifying it as a rental car, probably from an airport, he thought. The driver’s face was partially hidden until it was opposite Father Darius. The driver turned to look at the MG and the two men looked at each other. Malone was shocked to see the man gazing back at him and experienced a moment of panic as he believed his plan was following apart. Father Darius only smiled and waved. The game is on, he thought.
Elena was unaware of any of this drama. She thought she was lost and drove at an even slower, tractor-like pace as she checked her phone’s GPS instructions and glanced at the written directions she had laid on the passenger seat. On the right, she saw the turnoff to the farm and pulled in under the sign and slowly drove over the creek and up the mountain, certain that a dangerous wild animal would attack the car at any moment. At last she drove into the yard of the house where Frank was waiting with his salesman’s smile.
“Why, hello there. You must be Elena! We’ve been waiting for you.” He opened his arms and gave her a welcoming hug against his heavy wool coat.
Elena was not eager to be embraced by strange men, particularly those as friendly as Frank. She half expected a roving hand to check her out but Frank was not that sort. She pulled back and stood straight and nervous. “It’s very nice to meet you. Is Dave around?”
“Let me walk you to the cabin. He’s waiting up there. We weren’t sure what time you’d get here. Do you have a bag?”
He carried her small suitcase and led the way to the cabin, chatting about the wonders of mountain life. He pointed out areas of interest down in the valley, although she had no interest in anything in the country. Dave was waiting at the cabin door, a smile on his face, leaning against the frame, hands in his pockets.
“Your gal’s here. I’ll leave you two alone. Here’s her bag.” Frank waved and walked back to his house.
Elena stood looking at Dave, taken by his smile, which she also saw as a smirk. She felt awkward there at the cabin with the trees and the mountain breezes blowing over them. “Well, aren’t you going to invite me in?”
He stood aside and watched her walk through the door. She stopped midway through the kitchen area and looked around. It was quite nice, she thought, better than his apartment. It had been professionally decorated in a sweet, country way and it reminded her of every bed and breakfast she had ever stayed in, with the same homey, high end look they all conveyed. The kitchen area was small but useful. The bed was king-sized and coordinated. The pictures on the walls were tasteful, if you liked that sort of thing. All in all, it was not Dave. It was designed to appeal to the female half of a professional couple spending a weekend in the country. “Nice,” she said, taking off her coat.
Frank sat at his desk and adjusted his headset. He could clearly hear the small talk that they made and it was evident that Elena had not been told about the danger she was in. He sat back and closed his eyes, settling in for a long period of eavesdropping. As he listened, it occurred to him that wiretaps are pretty boring, typically. Most people talk about very ordinary things such as the weather, their clothes, how they feel, what they believe the other person has done wrong, and whether they’re hungry.
Dave and Elena went through this dance as they became re-acquainted with each other in this new setting. The issues of their relationship flew like little butterflies around the room as they assessed one another.
“So, how are you holding up?” she asked, looking lovelier than he remembered.
“I’m doing well,” he said, writing her a note that read “This place is bugged.” He held a finger to his mouth in a gesture to warn her not to respond to the note. “It’s a little boring. Not much to do except breathe the mountain air.”
“Can we go for a walk?” Her eyes were wide with fright.
“Good idea. Get your coat. There’s a nice view at the top.”
Frank could hear them walking toward the door, the door open and close, then only room noise. He closed his eyes and imagined them walking up the road to the top, chatting like lovers do. Only he knew that this would be no lovers’ chat and that Dave would be telling Elena things that she would rather not know.
The air was cold and the breeze on top of the mountain cut into them as they walked up the rugged old road that would take them to the top. Dave was wearing waterproof shoes that kept his feet warm and dry but Elena was shod in stylish heels that she wore to call attention to her legs. Her feet hurt as she walked over the rocks and branches that marked the road. At first they walked in silence, each lost in thoughts about the other. He was weighing what and how much to tell her and he worried that even a small amount of information would send her back to Washington and even more danger. She was her own person and she had a right to know everything, he decided.
“We’re bait, you and me,” he said, telling her everything he knew about the priest killer and possible police links. He spoke without interruption and she listened without comment. He was surprised that there was no hysteria, no accusation, no drama.
They stood in a clearing at the top of the mountain, a ling of cold rain bearing down on them, looking at each other. “Are we going to die?” she asked, giving him a plain stare.
“We seem to be surrounded by people who are well armed,” he said. “We’re not alone.” He hoped his comment would have a light tone and therefore appear to be evidence that he was not concerned about their safety, but he could see from her expression that his attempt at humor was not going anywhere. It occurred to him that she was not calm at all. He remembered that her first reaction to something that would send her into hysteria was usually calmness, followed by a meltdown. She was in the calm phase, processing the new information that would bring
her to the realization that her murder was a possibility, something with which she had never dealt. He put his arm around her. Her body was stiff and unwelcoming. “We’re going to be okay.”
She pulled back and stared at him as tears rolled down her cheeks. “How could you do this?” Her face was twisted in anger and pain. “Why didn’t you tell me to run?”
“This is the safest place. There are people here who will protect us. They know how to handle something like this.”
“Who would that be? Frank? He’s an old man. I don’t see anyone else up here. Where’s your friend Captain O’Neil and his cops? Where’s the army?” She was shouting and waving her arms. “You asked me to come to see you because you were lonely for me, remember? Or was that just a lie to get me down here so some crazy man could kill me?” She had balled her hands into fists and she pounded on his chest. He grabbed her arms and held them down. She struggled and then gave up, allowing herself to collapse against him. “I hate you, you know that.” He nodded and held her.
The late-day light was thin and gray when they walked back to the cabin. They were huddled together like refugees; he with his arm around her, she with her face against his jacket, walking in lockstep with their feet making crunching noises on the rough road. Frank had been watching for them and was within moments of going up to find them when he heard them coming down. He saw that they were upset and suspected that Elena was close to a breakdown. He had talked to Malone and O’Neil and hoped their plan would end this mess.
Butterfly Knife Page 23
