pounding the east side of the state. We’ll be okay, though the landing might be a handful. Hey, Kearns, you do know how to land, right?”
The pilot shrugged. “I tried it on Microsoft Simulator ’98 once,” he said, smiling broadly. Ryan noticed that Kearns was one of those people incapable of keeping a straight face when telling a joke. “It didn’t work out too well.”
Reynolds, surveying something on his myriad screens, looked up and said, “Well, I hope you learn fast. We’re about ten minutes out.”
“Jesus Christ,” Ryan said, a little shocked. “We just took off.”
The pilot smiled. “Welcome to the wonderful world of corporate travel.”
The landing, as Reynolds had predicted, wasn’t fun at all, even though Ryan had tightly strapped himself into one of the soft leather seats just aft of the cockpit. He got up on shaky legs after they rolled to a stop, poking his head up front to thank his couriers. Kearns looked a little pale, but both men acknowledged his words, which were difficult to hear over the pounding rain on the fuselage.
“Did you guys hear anything about my transportation on the ground?” Ryan yelled over the roar.
Kearns said, “You’re going to Cape Elizabeth, right?”
“That’s right.”
“It’s only about twenty miles,” the pilot said. He was grinning again, and the color had returned to his face with the landing out of the way. “That isn’t much of a walk. I have an umbrella if you need it.”
Reynolds shook his head with a rueful smile and turned from his console to face Ryan. “You need to find Andreno in the security office, on the second level. He has a key for you. I guess you have the car for the weekend, but it’s due back at Langley on Monday.”
“Andreno?”
“That’s all I know.” The navigator shrugged. “How many can there be?”
Ryan realized he was right. “Yeah, it’s not that big of an airport. Or jetport. Whatever.” Reaching in to shake their hands: “Thanks, guys.”
“Not a problem. Drive safe.”
The jetway had already been extended to the outer door with a resounding metal-on-metal clank. Reynolds came back to open the door from the inside, and then Ryan was in the elevated tunnel, nodding his appreciation to the jetway operators before moving forward to the bustling terminal.
The open space was filled with stranded passengers, and Ryan reminded himself once again to thank Harper for cutting what would have been a severe headache out of his trip. Navigating his way through the occupied seats in the terminal, he quickly found the cramped office and asked for Andreno, who turned out to be the chief of airport security.
“Yeah, I got your key right here,” the heavy man said with a grunt. “Mercedes… nice.”
Accepting the key and some verbal directions, Ryan left the office and headed for the underground parking garage. The car that was waiting for him was very similar to the one in which he had ridden to Dulles. Sliding onto the cool black leather, he grinned like a little boy when he turned the key and the engine purred to life.
Soon he was leaving the parking garage, the sound of the powerful engine ripping off the concrete walls like thunder, mixing with the hollow boom of the rain outside. With the wipers going full blast, he accelerated down International Parkway, the bright lights of the Mercedes cutting a swath through the dark swirls of rain, then turned left on Johnson Avenue before reaching I-95 South a few minutes later.
As he drove, he couldn’t help but think about the upcoming argument with Katie. She would probably be furious that he was going back on his word, but he knew that he had to track down Vanderveen once and for all. It was an argument that she couldn’t win; he was going back to the Agency either way, but there were a couple of things that might make it easier for her. He had gotten her the ring, after all, and maybe he could dangle the use of his BMW in front of her to keep the argument as short as possible. He knew she loved that car almost as much as she hated her Corolla.
Ryan had been thinking about that, too. At the risk of spoiling her, he knew that she had her eyes on a new Volkswagen SUV… Shit, he couldn’t remember the name. Tureg, or Tourag, maybe… something like that. It was pretty big, though, and solidly built, which was all he cared about. Katie was not very skilled behind the wheel, and while he teased her constantly about it, he secretly agonized over her frequent trips to and from Orono. He remembered how excited she’d been after seeing the latest model in the parking lot at the grocery store…
Why not? he thought. It would be worth it just for the look on her face. Tomorrow, a Saturday, would be a good day for that. He’d slip away in the afternoon and go see the dealer in Augusta. He wondered if she would notice if he had a roll cage installed…
The random thoughts began to fade as he left the highway in favor of the narrow side roads running along the coast. Harder going here, as the towering trees carried over the road and blocked out some of the rain, but also some of the light, which wasn’t all that much to begin with. The road was covered in fallen branches, too; some were almost as big as small trees, so that he had to brake a few times and swerve sharply once, which rattled him almost as much as the bumpy landing had back in Portland.
The house came up fast on the left, the steep roof showing up now and then through the evergreens from a distance. He was pleased to see lights in the windows, which meant that Katie was there and they still had power.
Ryan was glad she was home, and it took him a few seconds to realize how relieved he actually was. She had nearly broken his heart by walking out on him at the hotel, and they hadn’t spoken in the few days since that incident. He’d had a good idea how she felt, though, and had decided that the best thing was to give her some space. Surely it would have blown over by now. All he cared about was seeing her. He had wanted to call to let her know he was on the way, but she liked surprises, and he liked surprising her. The Volkswagen would top them all, he thought with a grin. Again he was reminded of his idea for a sunset ceremony on the Mediterranean. Lots of plans…
The argument first, though. There would be no getting around that, but maybe it wouldn’t last too long. It was only fair to be up-front with her about it.
Then he found himself thinking about what his profuse and heartfelt apology would most likely result in, and decided that the argument could definitely wait for one more day.
The one disadvantage to the house on Cape Elizabeth, he thought, stepping out of the Mercedes and into the storm, was the fact that it didn’t have a garage, not to mention the fact that the distance from their improvised parking area to the front door seemed much farther on a moonless night during a torrential thunderstorm. Ryan finally made it under the awning, the raindrops beading and rolling from his thin leather jacket. Although his jeans were soaked around the ankles, his feet were still dry in his waterproof Columbia boots.
Sliding the key into the door and turning the handle, he immediately realized when he stepped inside that the house did not seem as brightly lit from the interior. In fact, apart from a dim glow at the top of the stairs, the only light he could see was coming from the kitchen directly in front of him. Then he heard her moving around, and an involuntary grin crept up on his face as he silently moved down the hall to sneak up and scare her.
Stepping through the doorway, though, he was surprised to find that she wasn’t moving anywhere. Instead, she was sitting at the dining room table and staring up at him with a terrified look on her face. Her bottom lip was trembling, and her dark blue eyes were filled with tears.
And standing directly behind her, wielding a razor-sharp knife and a terrible smile, was William Vanderveen.
He tried to tell himself that it wasn’t real.
It couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be real because it wasn’t rational; Vanderveen had the contacts to get out of the country almost immediately, but had decided instead to drive more than 450 miles, with every police officer in the country out looking for him, to come here? It just didn’t make any sense…
And he didn’t look anything like Claude Bidault. That meant it must be a dream, because there was no way that he would have had time to drive all the way from Washington to Maine and remove the heavy beard and the tint from his hair. It just wasn’t possible… was it?
He instinctively reached for his Beretta, then went cold when he realized that it was sitting on the passenger seat of the Mercedes.
All the tools in the world, but nothing at hand when he needed them most. And no one to blame but himself.
