' Milo?'
He put on his shirt. 'Look, I can't explain everything. Not now. There's no time. If I had time, I'd explain everything. Absolutely everything.' He moved to the closet, ripped open the door, and took out his suitcase. Squatting beside it, he turned to her. 'You're right. I'm too secretive. I'm sorry. I really am. But right now, I have to leave.'
She got out of bed, also naked. 'I'm coming.'
'No.'
Milo seldom spoke with such force. It was enough to push her back into bed, pulling up a sheet to cover herself.
He came to the edge of the bed. 'Please. You have to stay here. In a little while, people will come looking for me. You answer their questions completely. Don't hold anything back. They'll know.'
'Know what}' said Tina. 'What have you done?'
Again, he went blank. Then a vague smile appeared. 'Truth is, I haven't done anything-nothing really wrong, at least. But listen to me. Are you listening? I want you to go to Austin. Stay with your parents a few days. A week, even.'
'Why?'
'You'll want to rest up. That's it. Okay?' Stunned, she nodded.
'Good.' He went back to the suitcase, removed a small, pressedflat knapsack, and filled it with little items he packed every time they went on a trip. To this, he added his iPod, then a wire clothes hanger from the closet. She wondered why. The packing took only a minute and a half, then he zipped up the knapsack, took his phone, slipped into his sneakers, and sat beside her on the bed. When he raised his hand, she flinched involuntarily. The dismay in his eyes made her feel terrible.
'Come here,' she said and kissed him on the mouth. He whispered into her ear: 'I don't want to do this. But it's necessary.'
'I'm completely confused.”
“I know.'
'You're going to do what you used to do?' she whispered. 'I think it's the only thing I can do.'
He kissed her again, went to the door, then looked back. 'Give Stef my love. Tell her it's business.' He grunted. 'She's used to it.' Then he was gone.
She didn't know how long it took, though it couldn't have been more than seven or eight minutes, her staring at the empty bedroom doorway, numbed by everything she didn't understand. She heard noises outside-faint footfalls on the unnaturally green Disney grass-then silence. She slipped into her robe. Then the sharp sound of a fist on the front door. She ran to get it before Stephanie woke. A woman stared back at her-sort of, because one eye seemed focused elsewhere-and held out an unfolded ID. 'Where is he?' the woman asked.
With remarkable fortitude, Tina grabbed the corner of the woman's ID so she could read department of homeland security and the name SIMMONS, JANET beside her photograph. She started to say something about how they better have some kind of a warrant, but it was too late. Janet Simmons and a large man who'd shown no papers at all were already in the apartment, opening doors.
That's when she heard Stephanie, sounding stone-cold awake: 'Cut it out! I'm trying to sleep!'
25
He kissed his wife again, went to the door, then turned back. She looked tiny in that big Disney bed. 'Give Stef my love. Tell her it's business.' He realized how often he said this kind of thing. 'She's used to it.'
He galloped down the outdoor stairs, heading for the parking lot. Through the cricket songs he heard them in the cool night air-two engines, approaching.
He hit the ground leaning low and padded over tended grass toward the parked cars. Headlights splayed across the resort. It was after ten by now, the vacationers either at nearby family-friendly clubs or dozing off the fatigue of standing in hot lines all day. Nothing would wake them up.
Squeezing between a Subaru from Texas and a Florida Mazda, he heard the cars park, doors flung open, and voices. A woman's voice, familiar. He looked through the driver's side window of the Subaru and watched them cross the grass. Special Agent Janet Simmons, in one of her blue Homeland Security suits, took the lead, followed by three men clutching Homeland-issue SIG Sauers. Simmons mounted the steps, George Orbach right behind her, while the other two men remained on the ground, spreading out to check escape paths.
Riverrun, past Eve.
And Adam's. Go, Milo.
Now? But I'm with-
Simmons is coming to get you. She's nearly there. Go.
Milo looked up the height of the resort and spotted his bedroom terrace, where Tina had left the light on. As he watched, he took out his cell phone, popped out the battery, and removed the SIM card, then pocketed everything, thinking through his next steps.
The window to the right of their terrace brightened. That was the living room. Simmons had decided to knock first, which he appreciated. On the grass before him, one of the agents stepped back to get a better look at the terrace, to be sure no one was climbing out. Through the window, Milo saw silhouettes-Tina, Janet Simmons, and George Orbach. He waited, listening for any sign that his daughter had woken. All he caught was crickets, and the indistinct murmur of adult voices. Then the silhouettes moved through the apartment.
Still crouching, he padded farther away, weaving through cars until he had reached the edge of the lot. He unzipped his knapsack and unraveled the wire hanger as the figures on the grass moved, finally convinced he wasn't up in the apartment. With the hanger straightened, he formed a small hook at the end, then searched for an older-model car. It was difficult-this was the midrange resort, full of middle-class families who changed their cars every four years-but he finally spotted the one eyesore: a rusted late-eighties Toyota Tercel. He began to wedge the hanger down between the window and the door.
Fifteen minutes later, he was heading southwest on 1-4. If Janet Simmons was on the ball, she'd send men to nearby Orlando International to search for him, so he would instead leave from Tampa. He still didn't know where he was going, but he needed to get out of Florida. This state would not give him answers.
He pulled to the side of the road by a closed barbecue restaurant and put the phone together again. SIM card, battery, then he pressed the power button. It gave him a Nokia welcome, then started to ring-private number. He knew who that was. Milo pressed the hangup button; then, before Simmons could dial again, he typed 411. He asked an operator for the American Airlines desk at Orlando International. As she connected him, his phone beeped, signifying another incoming call. He ignored it, then asked the woman at the airport for their next flight to Dallas. 'That leaves at 6:00 a.m., sir.'
'I'd like to reserve a seat.'
'Do you have a credit card?'
He tugged out his wallet. 'The name is Milo Weaver, and I'll be putting this on my MasterCard.'
Five minutes later, he'd settled the reservation, and Simmons had tried three more times to get in touch. He disassembled the phone again and continued southwest, away from Orlando.
Outside Polk City, he found a mall with a few cars in the lot. It took two minutes for him to break into an annoying-looking Ford Tempo, then another two minutes to use a shirt from his knapsack to wipe down the Tercel.
He stopped again after Lakeland, took three hundred dollars from an ATM using the Dolan card, then used that money to fill up the tank at an all-night station. In the convenience mart, he bought cigarettes, a padded envelope, a book of stamps, a spiral notebook, and a black marker. Back in the car, he scribbled in the notebook:
Miguel & Hanna-Please Burn this Note
and Hold these for T & S in Safe Place
Very Important
No One Should Know
