up Jacob's story and laid it out for the FBI man. 'It was snowing,' I said. 'Hard, like today, so we weren't really sure, but it sounded like an engine coughing on and off. We pulled over to the edge of the road to listen, but we didn't hear anything more -- no crash, no engine, nothing.'
Neither Carl nor Agent Baxter spoke.
'It was probably just a snowmobile,' I said.
Agent Baxter had a little black book open in his lap. He was taking notes. 'Do you remember the date?' he asked.
'We saw the sheriff on New Year's Eve. It happened a few days before that.'
'You said it was near where I saw you?' Carl asked. 'Out by Anders Park?'
'That's right.'
'Which side were you driving on?'
'The south side. Near the center.'
'By the Pederson place?'
I nodded, my heartbeat rising, forcing its way up into my temples.
'Would you be willing to take us out there?' Agent Baxter asked.
I gave him a confused look. 'To the nature preserve?'
'We'd have to go in the morning,' Carl said. 'After the storm passes.'
My overcoat was dripping melted snow onto the floor. I started to take it off but stopped myself when I saw how my hands trembled once they were free from my lap.
'What's going on?' I asked.
There was a short silence while the two lawmen seemed to debate who should speak, and what exactly ought to be revealed. Finally Agent Baxter, with just the slightest, the most subtle of movements, gave Carl a little shrug.
'The FBI's looking for a plane,' Carl said.
'This is all confidential, of course,' the agent said.
'I'm sure Hank understands that.'
The FBI man sat back in his chair, crossing his legs. His shoes were shiny and black, their leather spattered with little water spots from walking through the snow. He gave me a long, penetrating look.
'Last July,' he said, 'an armored car was robbed as it was leaving the Chicago Federal Reserve Bank. From the start we suspected that it was an inside job, but nothing came of it until this past December, when the car's driver was arrested for raping an old girlfriend. After his lawyer told him that he might get twenty-five years, he jumped on the phone to us, saying he wanted to turn state's evidence.'
'He handed over his friends,' I said.
'That's right. He was mad anyway because they took off after the heist without giving him his share, so he fingered them, and we got his charges reduced to a misdemeanor.'
'And you caught the robbers?'
'We traced them to Detroit, their hometown, and set up a surveillance team outside their apartment.'
'A surveillance team? Why didn't you just arrest them?'
'We wanted to make sure we got the money, too. There was no evidence to indicate that they'd even tapped into it yet. They both had jobs and were living together in a rathole apartment down by the stadium, so we assumed the money was hidden somewhere, that they were waiting to make sure no one was looking for them. Unfortunately, our surveillance was sloppy, and the suspects bolted. We caught one of them the next day trying to cross into Canada, but the other one disappeared. We'd almost given up on him when an informant called my partner and told him that the suspect was about to take off in a small plane from an airfield outside of Detroit. We rushed over there and arrived just in time to see the plane lift off from the ground.'
'You couldn't follow it?' I asked.
'There was no reason to.'
'They knew where he was going,' Carl said. He seemed very pleased by this idea. He sat back in his chair and grinned at the FBI man. Agent Baxter ignored him.
'My partner's informant gave us the suspect's destination. It was another small airfield, this one just north of Cincinnati.' The agent paused, staring at me, his face collapsing into a frown. 'Unfortunately, the plane never arrived.'
'Maybe he went somewhere else.'
'It's possible, but doubtful. For various reasons, we consider our informant's word to be virtually incontestable.'
'They think he crashed on the way,' Carl said. 'They're covering his route, going over it town by town.'
'Was the money on the plane?' I asked.
'We assume so,' the agent said.
'How much?'
Agent Baxter glanced toward Carl. Then he looked at me.
'Several million dollars.'
I let out a low whistle and raised my eyebrows, feigning disbelief.
'We wanted to head out around nine tomorrow morning,' Carl said, 'after the weather clears. Can you make it then?'
'I didn't see a plane go down, Carl. I just heard an engine.'
They stared at me, waiting.
'I mean, I really don't think we'd find anything out there.'
'We realize it's a long shot, Mr. Mitchell,' Agent Baxter said. 'But we've reached the point in our investigation where all we have are long shots.'
'It's just that I can't show you anything. I didn't even get out of the car. You could simply drive along Anders Park Road and see everything I did.'
'We'd still appreciate it if you came. You'd be surprised at what you might remember once you got there.'
'Is nine o'clock bad for you?' Carl asked. 'We can make it earlier if you want.'
I felt my head shake, as if of its own volition.
Carl grinned at me. 'I'll treat you to a cup of coffee when we get back.'
As I got up to leave, Agent Baxter said, 'I don't think I can put too much emphasis on the confidentiality of all this, Mr. Mitchell. The whole thing's something of an embarrassment to the Bureau. We'd be very disappointed if the press were to get ahold of it somehow.'
Carl interrupted before I could respond. 'Press, hell,' he said. 'There's four million dollars sitting in those woods. Word gets out, and we'll have a goddamn treasure hunt on our hands.'
He laughed and threw me a parting Lou-like wink. Agent Baxter smiled icily.
SARAH already had dinner prepared when I got home.
'A robbery?' she said, when I told her what had happened. She shook her head. 'No way.'
I was sitting across from her at the kitchen table, watching her serve herself a leg of barbecued chicken. I already had one on my plate. 'What do you mean, no way?'
'It doesn't make sense, Hank. The kidnapping made sense.'
'This isn't a guess, Sarah. It's not a theory. I talked to a man from the FBI, and he told me where it's from.'
She frowned down at her plate, pushing at her rice with her fork, mixing it into her peas. The baby was on the floor beside us, lying in her Portacrib. She looked like she always did lately, like she was about to cry.
'He's searching for a plane full of money,' I said. 'You can't tell me there's more than one of those around here.'
'It's hundred-dollar bills, Hank. If it were an armored car, there'd be other denominations. There'd be fifties and twenties and tens.'
'You aren't listening. I just told you, I talked to him myself.'
'It's old money. If it were coming out of a Federal Reserve bank, it'd be new. They burn old bills there and
