information about the flight plans coming out of Center City Airport.”
“I do,” she says. “There are no such plans.”
I’m taken aback by this news, but less than fully confident that Ms. Girardi has taken the time to check through all the records. “How were you able to find this out so fast?” I ask.
“Because there is no such airport.”
“It’s not really an airport… it’s more of an airfield,” I say. “There’s just a runway, a small hangar, and one other building. I think they just use it for their personal planes… it’s not like United Airlines is flying in and out of there.”
“Every facility that’s used for takeoffs and landings, no matter how small, is required to be registered with our agency. Not to do so is a federal crime.”
“It would be really great if you didn’t investigate this particular federal crime for a while.” One thing I don’t need right now is the FAA entering the picture and tipping off the Centurions that something is going on.
“Chief Collins mentioned something about that as well. Let’s just say that a landing strip in Wisconsin is not a particularly high priority for our investigators. Especially in December.”
“When might it become a priority?” I ask.
“Without some incident requiring our attention, I would say you’re looking at July,” she says.
I look outside at the frozen tundra that is Wisconsin and the snow that is starting to fall.
“Ms. Girardi, right now there is nothing I would like better than to look at July.”
I thank her and end the call. The fact that the FAA has no record of the Center City airstrip could be crucially important. It could indicate that something illegal is happening there, and it could be the information that led to the death of Liz and Sheryl, and later Calvin and Eddie.
Or it could be of no significance whatsoever, merely a reflection of Center City’s resistance to outside authority. They never reported the airstrip’s existence and never filed flight plans, and no one has bothered them about it.
It does me no good to believe that this new information is unimportant. I have to focus on the airstrip, both because it’s a very good lead and because I have nothing else nearly as good.
My shortage of things to focus on disappears with the ringing of my telephone.
“Hello?”
The voice is young and near panic. “Mr. Carpenter, it’s Madeline. They know I talked to you. They were looking for me, but I got away.”
“Where are you now?”
“I’m at a pay phone on Route 5… a picnic area that people use in the summer. Near the Hampton Road exit.”
“I think I know where it is. Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Is there a place where you can go inside? To get shelter?” I’m thinking such a place would be good to hide in, but I don’t mention that.
“Yes. There’s a small building, they sell drinks and things in there in the summer.”
“Okay, go inside. I’m coming to get you.”
“Okay,” she says, but her voice doesn’t sound like she thinks everything’s okay at all.
“It’ll be fine, Madeline. I promise. No one will hurt you.”
“Please hurry, Mr. Carpenter.”
“I’m on my way.”
I rush out to the car. It should take me about fifteen minutes to get there, providing I actually know where the hell it is. Either way, it won’t be enough time to beat myself up over putting another teenager into jeopardy. My mind’s eye has been flashing all week to Eddie hanging from the skylight in that bathroom, and I will simply not be able to stand it if anything happens to Madeline.
I’m five minutes away before I realize I should be calling Laurie to tell her what’s happening and where I’m going. I dial her number on my cell phone, but the sergeant at the desk says that she’s out of the office.
“It’s Andy Carpenter. Please reach her and tell her that it’s urgent she call me on my cell phone.”
“She should be back in a few minutes.”
“It can’t wait that long. This is life-and-death.” It sounds like a cliche when I say it, but I really believe it’s true.
He agrees to contact her right away. I tell him where I’m going to be, and that if she can’t reach my cell for any reason, she should go there immediately. I add the strong suggestion that she bring some of her fellow officers with her.
So as not to drive by it, I slow down as I reach the area where I believe Madeline called from. I spot it and pull off the road. A sign directs me to the picnic area, though the area is frozen over with snow and ice.
Off in the distance I can see picnic tables and a few sets of swings, all of which have at least another five months’ vacation ahead of them. Just past them is a small building, with a car parked nearby. I assume and hope that it’s Madeline’s car.
I drive and park about twenty yards from the building. “Madeline?” I call out, but I get no response.
I walk toward the building, continuing to call her name and getting no response. Finally, I hear, “I’m in here.”
I don’t like the way this is setting up. She should have heard me the first few times I called, but she didn’t answer. And if I were her, I wouldn’t be calling me to come inside. I’d be coming outside, so as faster to get away to safety.
My hope is that I’m just being paranoid, but either way I have no choice. I’ve got to go inside. I walk up the three steps and see that the door is open. “Madeline, are you all right?”
“Yes.” Her reply is shaky, worrying me even more. I reach the door. Here goes…
When I get inside, I don’t see her at first, and then there she is, at the far corner of the room. My worst fears are realized because standing next to her is one of the servants of the Keeper. I’ve seen him before in the town, but he looks even larger and stronger now.
His hand rests on the back of Madeline’s neck, and she’s cowering from it. She’s trying to control her sobs and repeating over and over how sorry she is. She and me both.
“Come in, Mr. Carpenter,” says her captor. I’m already in, but there’s an open door behind me, and he obviously doesn’t want me running out through it. It’s not the worst of ideas, but even I couldn’t leave Madeline behind like that.
“Don’t hurt her,” I say. “She’s done nothing to you.” I have no expectation that anything I say will make him any more conciliatory or compassionate, and that’s not my goal. My goal is to keep him from doing anything until Laurie and her officers can get here.
“She spoke to you,” he says.
“She told me nothing. She didn’t know anything at all.”
“You believe that?” he asks.
I start to tell him that I do, and then I realize that he’s not talking to me. I half turn and see that behind me is another one just like him, only even larger. They probably represent close to five hundred pounds between them, and with a feeling of panic and dread, I realize that they are not here to warn us. They are here to kill us.
“You expected him to tell the truth?” number two asks. “You know what he is.”
I can feel number two start to walk toward me, so I turn toward him, not wanting to be attacked from behind. Suddenly, he seems to turn horizontal, almost suspended in midair, as something smashes into the side of his head. That head and his shoulders fly to the left, and his feet leave the ground to the right. When he hits the ground, standing in my line of vision is Marcus Clark.
Marcus just stands there, expressionless, as his victim lies on the ground, moaning. His eyes are trained on the other servant, who no longer looks quite so confident. His hand is still on Madeline’s neck, but it seems as if he’s doing so to get support rather than to threaten.
“I can break her neck,” he warns, and there is no doubt he is capable of just that. There is also no doubt that Marcus is undeterred by the threat as he walks slowly toward them.
I pick up motion back near the door, and I see that the guy who Marcus hit has gotten shakily to his feet. “Marcus!” I yell, and Marcus turns to see what is going on.
