Fanta orange, then walked quickly back to the Mercury.
Khalil got inside, started the engine, and made a U-turn back onto the small road that led to the Interstate.
Within fifteen minutes, he was back on 1-95, going south. He accelerated to 75 miles an hour, keeping up with the light traffic around him. He ate the peanuts and drank the Fanta. Within an hour, he saw a large sign that said
WELCOME TO FLORIDA -THE SUNSHINE STATE.
He kept on 1-95, and near Jacksonville, the traffic got heavier. He exited at the sign for Jacksonville International Airport and followed the signs toward the airport. He looked at his Satellite Navigator and assured himself he was on the correct route.
He glanced at his dashboard clock. It was nearly 10:00 P.M.
He allowed himself a minute to reflect on the incident at the gasoline station in the village called Cox. The man was a policeman, but he worked at the gasoline station. This could have meant that he was an undercover policeman. But Khalil seemed to recall something he'd been told or had read about American policemen in small towns-some of them were volunteers and were called deputies. Yes, it was coming back to him now. These men liked to carry guns, and they worked for no pay, and were more inquisitive than even the regular police. In fact, that man was too inquisitive, and his life had been hanging by a thread as he pumped the gasoline and asked too many questions. What had stretched the thread was the gun on his belt. What had broken the thread was the last question about the Holiday Inn. Whether the man had reached for the gun or not, he had already asked one question too many, and Asad Khalil had run out of correct answers.
CHAPTER 34
We weren't going to make the 9:00 P.M. US Airways shuttle, so we went to Delta and caught their nine-thirty shuttle to La Guardia.
The plane was half full if you're an optimist, or half empty if you own Delta stock. Kate and I took seats in the rear.
The 727 took off, and I occupied myself with a view of Washington. I could see the Washington Monument all lit up, the Capitol, the White House, the Lincoln and Jefferson memorials and all that. I couldn't see the J. Edgar Hoover Building, but the place was still in my head, and I said, 'This takes some getting used to.'
'You mean the FBI has to get used to you?'
I chuckled.
The stewardess, aka the flight attendant, came by. She knew from the manifest that we were Federal agents, so she didn't offer us cocktails, but asked if we'd like a soft drink.
Kate said, 'Bottled water, please.'
'And for you, sir?'
'Double Scotch. Can't fly on one wing.'
'I'm sorry, Mr. Corey, I'm not allowed to serve armed personnel.'
This was the moment I'd been waiting for all day, and I said, 'I'm not armed. Check the manifest, or you can search me in the lav.'
She didn't seem inclined to accompany me to the lav, but she did check the manifest, and said, 'Oh… I see…'
'I'd rather drink than carry a gun.'
She smiled and put two little bottles of Scotch on my tray with a plastic cup of ice. 'On the house.'
'On the plane.'
'Whatever.'
After she moved off, I offered Kate a Scotch.
She replied, 'I can't.'
'Oh, don't be such a goody-two-shoes. Have a drink.'
'Do not try to corrupt me, Mr. Corey.'
'I hate to be corrupt alone. I'll hold your gun.', 'Cut it out.' She drank her water.
I poured both Scotches over the ice and sipped. I smacked my lips. 'Ahhh. Really good.'
'Fuck off.'
My goodness.
We sat in silence awhile, then she said to me, 'Did you get things squared with your friend on Long Island?'
This was a loaded question, and I considered my reply. John Corey is loyal to friends and lovers, but the essence of loyalty is reciprocity. And Beth Penrose, for all her interest in yours truly, hadn't shown a great deal of loyalty. I think what she wanted from me was what the ladies call commitment, and then she'd be loyal. But men want loyalty first, then they might consider commitment. These were opposing concepts and not likely to be resolved unless one or the other party had a sex change operation. In any case, I wondered why Kate had asked the question. Actually, I didn't wonder at all. I finally replied, 'I left a message on her answering machine.'
'Is she the understanding type?'
'No, but she's a cop, and this stuff she understands.'
'Good. It might be a while before you have any free time.'
'I'll send her an e-mail to that effect.'
'You know, when the ATTF worked the TWA explosion, they worked around the clock, seven days a week.'
'And that wasn't even a terrorist attack,' I pointed out.
She didn't reply. No one in the know replied to questions about TWA, and there were still unanswered questions. At least with this case, we knew who, what, where, when, and how. We weren't sure of why, or what next, but we'd know before too long.
Kate asked me, 'What happened with your marriage?'
I spotted a trend in these questions, but if you think being a detective makes a guy wise to the ways of women, think again. I did, however, suspect a motive in Ms. Mayfield's questions that went beyond idle curiosity. I replied, 'She was a lawyer.'
She didn't speak for a few seconds, then said, 'And that's why it didn't work out?'
'Yes.'
'Didn't you know she was a lawyer before you married her?'
'I thought I could get her to reform.'
Kate laughed.
It was my turn, and I asked her, 'Have you ever been married?'
'No.'
'Why not?'
'That's a personal question.'
I thought we were doing personal questions. Actually, we were when I was on the receiving end. I refused to play this game and found a Delta magazine in the seat pocket.
She said, 'I've moved around a lot.'
I studied the Delta world routes map. Maybe I should go to Rome when this was all over. See the Pope. Delta didn't go to Libya, I saw. I thought about those guys on the air raid in 1986 who flew those little jet fighters from somewhere in England, around France and Spain, over the Mediterranean, and on to Libya. Wow. That was some flight, according to my map. And no one was serving Scotch. How did they take a leak?
'Did you hear me?'
'Sorry, no.'
'I said, do you have children?'
'Children? Oh, no. The marriage was never consummated. She didn't believe in post-marital sex.'
'Really? Well, for someone your age, that shouldn't have been a hardship.'
