short.” He showed Harris his credentials and drew the ranger aside, speaking in a low voice. Manners, one of Aspen’s most notorious gossips, appeared to ignore them but his curious ears were keened to the conversation.
“I’m looking for a man named Trexler, John Trexler? You know him?”
“Why, hell, everybody knows Johnny. He works ski patrol for Highlands Resort. Is there a problem?”
“Just need to talk to him,” Keegan said. “I hate to impose on you, but the sheriff’s out of town and I thought maybe you could help us out.”
“Sure enough. Let’s get trottin’, though, this weather’s not gonna get any better. How the hell did you get in here anyway?”
“A great pilot and the luck of the Irish,” Keegan said with a smile as they went out into the storm.
Jesse Manners could hardly wait until Harris was on his way before he grabbed for the phone.
In his cabin, John Trexler was mentally tossing a coin. He had planned to drive the fifty miles into Leadville for the weekend but with the storm coming in he was having second thoughts. The phone rang. It was Jesse Manners at the airport.
“Hey, Johnny, you been holding out on everybody?” Manners asked.
“What do you mean?”
“About the White House?”
“What White House?”
“What the hell’re you talking about, Jesse?”
“An army plane just put on one hell of an air show out here. Came in right under the storm. Two guys from the White House. They’re comin’ out to talk to you. What’s going’ on, old buddy?”
“They’re from the White House?” Trexler repeated.
“That’s what they said. White House Security.”
“It’s a secret, kid,” he said calmly. “Tell you about it later. And listen, Jesse, keep it under your hat for now, okay? It’s a surprise.”
“Sure, Johnny.”
Trexler cradled the phone and stood motionless in the room, his mind bombarded by questions. What in hell would two men from White House Security want with him? What the hell
Was there a breach in security?
The question was moot anyway. He could not take a chance, he had to run for it. He needed time and a lot of luck for what was ahead. He had to create another illusion.
He had his knapsack ready. After the incident in Drew City, Trexler was always ready to make an immediate escape. He went into the bedroom and lowered a ladder leading to a storage space in the ceiling of the cabin. He went up with a flashlight, unlocked a footlocker stored there and took out a rucksack. He had everything he needed in it: identification, cash, his long knife, a .45 Colt automatic and clothes. He tied the SS dagger to his right calf and strapped on a money belt containing his cash.
As he outfitted himself, he was working out a plan, one of several options he had formulated through the years. He went back down and threw enough clothes in his suitcase to appear as though he would be away for a couple of days.
He returned to the living room and called the ski patrol office at the lodge. Wes Childress, the patrol captain, answered.
“Wes, it’s Johnny,” he said, sounding as casual as possible. “I’m heading out for Leadville. Just thought I’d check out. I should be back Monday if the roads are clear.”
“You’re not going to make it, kiddo,” Childress answered. “This blizzard’s on us already.”
“If I hurry I can run down Route 82 and beat it to the main highway. Is Soapie still planning to make the run to Copperhead Ridge?”
“Yeah, I just talked to him.”
“Does he need help?”
“Nah, you know Old Soap. He’s used to this shit.”
“Okay. See you Monday.”
“You’re nuts, pal. Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
Trexler looked at his watch. He had thirty minutes at best. He left the cabin, locked it, threw his suitcase in the trunk of his car and drove down the two-hundred-yard driveway to the mountain road leading back into town. But he didn’t turn toward town, he headed up the mountain toward Soapie’s cabin.
