Captain Landon checked his monitor. He pushed a button and spoke into a mouthpiece clamped to his head.
Kendrick wheeled himself back, spun his chair, and positioned it near a recliner. He reached out and got hold of a wooden cane. He rocked his body out of the chair, leaning heavily on the cane. Aiming for the room's exit, he took two halting steps. His third was more sure.
'Sir?' the captain called behind him.
Kendrick didn't look back or stop his gait; he was shuffling but moving along at a good clip.
'The cell phone has stopped moving. Our team will intercept it in twenty minutes.'
Kendrick waved his free hand. 'Ah! She got rid of it. We can only hope she calls.'
Seventy seconds later, he made it to the door and stepped through.
'Do you trust him?' Stephen asked. He was still steering the van through the streets of Atlanta. Being a moving target gave them a small measure of comfort.
'Not as far as I can throw this van,' Allen said.
'I don't know,' Julia said.
'Look,' Allen snapped, 'he wants the evidence kept secret and claims Vero was bringing it to him. That means he's involved.'
'He's offering to help,' Stephen reminded him.
'What else would he say? 'I want to kill you for the evidence and because you know too much. Let's meet'?'
'He may be our best chance of getting out of this mess intact.'
Stephen wasn't completely convinced of his own words, Julia could tell, but he wanted to examine all the possibilities.
'Our best chance of getting killed, more likely,' Allen said. 'For all we know, Kendrick Reynolds is behind this whole thing. It makes sense: He's got the money and the power to do everything we've witnessed. Finding us. Sending cops to kill us—Julia, you said it had the government's fingerprints all over it; this guy's as
She let Allen's voice fade into the throaty drone of the engine. Deep in concentration, she stared out at the city, at its eclectic people and architecture, at its silent clash of old and new, beautiful and ugly. She was vaguely aware of sunlight slicing through the van at a different angle each time Stephen rounded a corner; of the rising temperature, turning the air muggy and soporific; of an increasing sense of being nothing more than a bit player in a tragedy already written and rolling along toward an unknown climax. All of it could have too easily congealed into an atmosphere of hopelessness.
For that reason, Julia accepted this new wrinkle, this stranger bearing gifts or traps, as a challenge. If Kendrick Reynolds turned out to be what he claimed, a friend, then she'd lose nothing by waiting a little longer, learning a little more. If he was another face of the monster that pursued them, she was hell-bent on knowing that before their next encounter. His offer of assistance could be an oasis or a mirage. She wasn't going to stop looking for water until she knew for sure.
At last she said, 'He may be able to help us, but he wants us to help him too. He's asked us to turn over the data from the memory chip. He's in a much better position to know what any of it means. Maybe sharing it with him will give him the ammunition to fight our foes for us. Then again, what if his seeing the evidence means he no longer needs us or wants to help us? We'll have lost a bargaining chip. I think we need to know more before we make that decision.'
'So, what?' Stephen asked. 'Investigate more?'
'That's my two cents,' she said. She picked up another cell phone and began readying it for use.
Allen tapped the top end of a pack of Camels against the dash. He glanced back at her. 'Now what?'
She powered up the laptop. 'Atropos is still looking for us. The airport records show his plane is still in Chattanooga, right?' He nodded. 'Then let's go to Chattanooga.'
sixty-two
Silently, Allen slipped out the door between two hang
ars and began making his way toward the tarmac. Thick shadows had already filled the man-made canyon he traversed, but the orange glow of dusk still blazed at its far end like fading embers. The fingers of his left hand skipped lightly along the corrugated metal side of the hangar he had exited; his left arm cradled a package hidden beneath his beige Windbreaker.
He crossed the narrow alley and stopped with his back pressed against the other building, two feet from the corner. He scratched savagely at his beard, flipped his salt-and-pepper ponytail off his shoulder. Three quick breaths, then he edged to the corner and peered around.
Beyond the hangars stretched three rows of parked airplanes. Most were compact, two- and four-man rides, tied down to keep them from flipping in a stiff wind. Here and there private jets gleamed above their propellered brethren. And past them all, well away from the rest, sat the one he had come for—a white Cessna Citation CJ2, tail number N476B.
He was about to swing out into the open when he glanced in the other direction—toward the majority of buildings, the terminal, and the control tower—and saw a white pickup truck speeding along the taxiway toward him, amber strobes flashing atop its cab. He stepped back into the shadows.
Trouble was, it was their only idea that didn't involve putting their tails between their legs and scampering away like scared dogs. He scratched at the fake beard again; the spirit gum Julia had used to affix it was drying, and it itched.
He poked his head around the corner again and caught the truck hooking a U-turn in front of the parked planes. Within seconds it swept past him again, heading toward the terminal and busier parts of the airfield.
It had been Julia's excitement that had hooked him. As little as he thought of her plan, he wanted to disappoint her even less. She was just so . . . darn cute. He smiled wryly. How many times had his libido led him blissfully over the cliff of bad ideas? Too many to count. And now this doozy.
In his mind's eye, he saw Julia's smile—faltering when she caught his looks of concern—as she laid it all out, grabbing things from her gym bag to show them, drawing invisible diagrams in the air with her finger.
'If I'm reading the guys who're after us right, they're
control freaks,' she had explained as the van moved toward their first destination, S & L Law Enforcement Provisions, Inc. 'Allen, they knew everything about you before Vero's body had even cooled. Your address, Stephen's. They found out who transported Goody from the bar to the hospital, who assisted you in the ER—and had them killed.'
For a moment, her lips had pressed together bitterly. Not in anger, Allen thought. Not entirely. He suspected a heavy dose of sorrow motivated the gesture. She didn't even know the EMTs or the nurses, but their senseless deaths grieved her.
'The point is,' she continued, 'I don't think they'll be able to stand a new, unknown player in the game.'
'Player? What new player?'
She cocked her head innocently. 'You.'
'Me?'
'You're taller than the average male Caucasian, but not remarkably so. If we disguise your features enough, they'll think you're someone who knows them, but they won't know you.'
'And how will they learn about this 'new player'?' he asked, condescending.
'He's going to try to break into their jet.'
'Atropos's jet?'
She nodded.
Allen crossed his legs, then his arms. 'Why break in?'
'Two objectives. If no one's there, see if there's anything that'll identify who hired him.'
'What do you mean,
