Dahlman was agitated. “But we have a ticket.”
“It says we came in the lot five minutes ago.”
He was even more frustrated. “Why are we doing any of this?”
She looked around her impatiently, but no sign of headlights could be seen. “We can’t drive the rented one any farther because the kid at the gas station saw it. If we leave it in this lot, the Youngstown office where we got it reports it missing. If we return it to their rental agency here, nobody reports anything.”
Dahlman got into the car and did as he was told. When Jane had gotten them both out of the long-term parking lot, returned the rental car to the agency lot, and dropped the key in the lockbox, she climbed into the stolen Chevrolet with Dahlman and drove back onto the highway.
“How long can we go before the owner of this car reports it missing?” asked Dahlman.
“Maybe a day, maybe a month,” said Jane. “It doesn’t matter.”
“You mean we’re not going to keep it even a day?”
“No,” said Jane. “It’s time to get some help.”
13
Jane guided the car up the quiet street above the little lake and stopped. The moment that the breeze through the open windows died, she could feel the weight of the humidity settle on her and make her arms heavy. She turned around to face Dahlman on the back seat. “Time to get up.” She leaned closer to the steering column, pulled the two wires apart, and the engine was silent.
Dahlman slowly unbent himself, sat up, and looked around him. “Where are we?”
“Minneapolis. You slept most of the day. The sun will be down in a few minutes. How do you feel?”
“I’m a little stiff, but I don’t feel as though the wound is inflamed, and that could be a wonderful sign.”
He had not used a word like “wonderful” before, thought Jane. Maybe all it meant was that he really was getting better, but maybe it meant that last night’s discussion about justice had made him decide to stop telling her the truth. “We’ve got to go for a walk now.”
Dahlman ran his hands through his hair, made an attempt to straighten his clothes, then got out of the car. Jane locked the doors, then set off along the crest of the grassy slope above the lake. There were mallards bobbing on the darkening water, then lifting their heads to the sky to clap their bills in a shivering, jittery little movement to sift bits of food.
A car glided past on the road around the lake, and Dahlman moved a little lower down the slope, but Jane didn’t join him. She stopped walking. “Don’t hide yourself,” said Jane. “The way is along the ridge.”
“But it’s the same direction.”
“No. Come back up.” She waited while he joined her. “I’ll explain this as well as I can. There’s a house a little higher up the hill at the end of the lake. There’s a man in that house I want to see. In order to get into that house, you have to go a certain way. It shows another man that we’re okay. This one is a very unpredictable, suspicious man—the sort of person who hits back first—and he’s studying us through a spotting scope.”
“A spotting scope?”
“You’ll probably see it. It’s a sixty-power telescope on a tripod at an upper window. In the day it is, anyway. When the sun goes down, they switch to a nightscope with infrared to pick up your body heat. You have to walk along the crest so they have time to get a good look at who you are and what you’re carrying, and who else is nearby who might be following you.”
“What happens if you’re the wrong person?”
Jane shrugged. “It depends. If you’re just enjoying the scenery, nothing. When I was here before they always had cars waiting with the keys in them, and beside the spotting scope there was another tripod with a Heckler & Koch G7 rifle on it. They have lots of options.”
“Exactly who is this man we’re going to see?”
“Just a man who knows how to get things accomplished.”
“What’s his name?”
“I don’t know, exactly. It doesn’t matter.”
Dahlman let his frustration show. “That’s not a possible statement of fact. You can’t not know exactly. Either you know or you don’t. You can’t know a name approximately.”
Jane frowned, and there was an edge in her voice. “I need to say a few things, so listen carefully. As long as I could, I’ve kept you in the part of the world that you’re familiar with. People aren’t entirely rational in that world, but they behave as though they were, and they make sure that their actions have to do with attaining reasonable goals—that is, things that they’re allowed to want. Their way of getting them is by a logical series of causes and effects: you work, you get paid. You’re patient, you get rewarded. You’re pleasant, people like you. I kept you in that world for several reasons. You’re a success in that world, so you know how it works and can move around in it without raising eyebrows. Something as simple as speaking grammatical English and holding a fork correctly makes you almost invisible. You also feel comfortable there, and that makes you look innocent. But the main reason I kept you in that world is that it’s safer.”
“Safer than what?” Dahlman’s voice was skeptical.
“Safer than where we’re going now.”
“And where is that? What do you mean by other parts of the world? Are we leaving the country?”
Jane looked at him, and there was a touch of regret in her eyes. “I’m trying to prepare you for a shock. I hope it’s not a big one, but it might be. The people we’re going to see are not like you, not like Carey. I’d like to say they’re not like me, either, but this isn’t the first time I’ve been here.” As soon as Jane said it she realized she had identified the hurt that had been constricting her chest. She was back in this life. It was as though she had happily fallen asleep in the old house beside Carey, and awakened with a start along this path by the lake. The place where she walked now wasn’t a point in space; it was a point in time, in the past. Falling back into this place was not like being abducted. It was like being unmasked.
“You mean they’re not honest.”
“Categories like honest and dishonest don’t apply to them any more than they do to your cat. These people have certain principles and habits and inclinations, but you don’t have time to learn them all. Be alert. Be observant, and listen to every word that’s said in your presence, but believe nothing unless I say it. Don’t ask questions or express an opinion. You’re a passenger.”
Dahlman gave a little chuckle. “You’re treating me as though I were a child. Speak when spoken to, and don’t be afraid.”
“Oh, no,” said Jane. “That isn’t what I meant at all. Be afraid. Just don’t show it.”
Dahlman walked along in silence for a time, then said, “Is that why you won’t tell me his name? Are you afraid to?”
“No. One of the things he sells is forged identification. It’s the reason I know him. But he’s like a tattoo artist.”
“A tattoo artist?”
“Every tattoo artist gets tired of waiting for the right customer to come in the door and ask for the right picture, so they all end up working on themselves. Some of the old pros are covered, from their toes to their collarbones. The man we’re going to see doesn’t concede that he should be permanently limited to one name, and he doesn’t have to be, so he isn’t. He uses an identity until he’s tired of it, and then picks a new one. I know what he was calling himself last time. He was Paul Carbin. But it’s been three or four years. He’s probably been several people since then.”
“Why did you bring me here?”
Jane walked a few more paces. “Until now, the police have probably been operating on the theory that you were still in Buffalo, or near it. The night we left, I had enough of everything on hand—money, forged IDs, clothes —to keep us out of trouble for a while if we got out and kept going. We were spotted last night at a gas station on an interstate in the Midwest, and that means we change our strategy. We’ve got to dig in somewhere, get an identity that’s tailor-made for you, and then prepare to wait.”
