stuff sent to the business PO box. The secretaries will take care of it there and pay the bills. I set it up so they can write checks.”
“Oh, right,” says Sarah. “Took care of your stuff. Sounds like you’ve been thinking about this for a while. Nice of you to let me in on it.”
“Give me a minute,” I tell her.
Herman introduces me to his crew and we talk about how it should go down, the number of bags to be loaded, and I make sure they have the right address for the next stop.
The two men spend the next twenty minutes connecting the sections of hose, hooking up one end to the motor in the back of the van while they haul in carpet-cleaning equipment for the other end. They turn on the motor in the back of the van, loud enough that half the neighborhood can now hear it. For the next forty minutes, one of them puts his hand over the open suction hose every so often to drown the motor down while the other one starts a routine rolling the laundry hamper back and forth. The first load contains Sarah’s two rolling luggage bags laid in the bottom of the hamper under several large white towels. On the second run I shake Harry’s hand.
“Not to worry. I’ll take care of her,” he says.
“I know you will. Let her share the driving. It’s a long trip. It’ll help keep her mind off things. What do you figure, how many days?” I ask him.
“Four, maybe five. Depends on the weather and traffic.”
“Drive carefully.”
“Will do.” Harry sits down in the hamper. They cover him with the towels and he goes for the ride. It takes both of the guys to lift the heavy hamper inside the van, out of sight. A minute or so later they come back out with the empty hamper.
I hug Sarah, hold her as tight as I can, and give her a kiss on the cheek and the forehead. “I love you. I’ll call you tonight. Keep your cell phone charged. And don’t send anything with your address on it, no e-mails, no letters, don’t tell any of your friends.”
“Got it, Dad.”
“We’ll get past this. I promise. I know it’s hard.”
“Don’t worry about me. Love you.” She is starting to tear up. “Please be careful,” she says.
“Not to worry,” I tell her. “Herman is with me, remember?”
“I know,” she says. “Still…”
“I’ll be careful.”
A few seconds later, she’s in the hamper, covered with towels and being rolled out the door.
“I’m gonna keep watch,” says Herman. “When they pull out, I’ll wait a few seconds and follow ’em to the bridge. If anybody looks like they’re tailing the van, I’ll know it.”
“Do it,” I tell him.
TWENTY-THREE
Carrying the heavy pistol strapped to the hip pouch on my side, I load Herman’s luggage and mine into the trunk of my car. It’s parked in the garage behind the house. Then I head back inside through the door to the kitchen. I go upstairs and check all the windows to make sure they’re closed and locked. Downstairs I do the same.
Herman has been gone about ten minutes. I’m beginning to wonder what’s keeping him.
The van carrying Harry and Sarah will take them only a few miles, across the Coronado Bridge to a private parking structure in San Diego used by repo agents to store recovered vehicles.
This morning before dawn a driver in a carrier tow truck hauled Harry’s car from the parking lot behind his apartment to this same repo facility. Harry’s luggage, along with the two firearms, a.45 auto and the shotgun he purchased, are in the trunk of his car.
I look at my watch. In less than an hour, if all goes well, Harry and Sarah will be on the road, headed east, across the country to my deceased wife’s sister. Sarah’s aunt Susan lives on a small farm with her husband outside Groveport, Ohio, not far from Columbus. They are retired. When I told them what was happening, they insisted that I send Sarah out of harm’s way immediately. It’s a good fit. Fred, Susan’s husband, is a retired highway patrol officer. In his spare time he breeds and raises Dobermans for guard duty, and he is armed to the teeth. He knows every law enforcement type in the county. Sending her to the farm is like boarding her at a fortress.
It was the best place I could think of. And for the moment, it’s certainly safer than my own house in Coronado. By now Liquida has marked every aspect of that like a dog peeing on a bush. I have wondered more than once whether he’s been inside casing the place when we were gone, and if so, how many times. Even with the sophisticated alarm, I don’t trust it.
Sarah was right about one thing. There is no assurance that the FBI or anyone else is breaking their hump to find Liquida. In the meantime, we know that he is stalking us. This is no longer surmise. We can’t move on with our lives unless we can put an end to it. And for the moment we have only one lead. It’s where Herman and I are headed, to meet with Joselyn Cole.
The key is the man she identified as Thorn. If Joselyn is correct, and I don’t think she is one to make mistakes, Jimmie Snyder is linked to Thorn by the photographs that Snyder’s father had. From all accounts, according to the FBI, and assuming the thumbprint on my business card means anything, Liquida killed Jimmie. Why, we don’t know. But based on the information Joselyn gave us as to Thorn’s background, it’s not a far reach to assume that Thorn and Liquida know each other, and that Jimmie’s murder may have been contracted by Thorn for a reason.
Liquida is a shadow, a wisp of smoke. But Thorn has a face, and according to Joselyn, some record of information, whether a rap sheet or an investigative file with the FBI. If so, it’s possible that our only way to Liquida is through Thorn.
A second later I hear a rap on the front door. I walk lightly down the hall until I see Herman’s large hand near the glass on the sidelight. I check to make sure he’s alone, then I open the door.
“I followed the van to the bridge.” Herman is a bit breathless as he comes in and I close the door behind him. “From what I could see, they were in the clear.”
I check my watch. “I’ll give them twenty minutes and then I’m gonna call Harry or Sarah, and make sure they got there okay. What I’m afraid of is if he knows they’re on the run he may try to make his move now.”
“I don’t think so,” says Herman. “My two guys in the van are armed and they know what they’re doing. Once he and Sarah get on the road, Harry’s got the shotgun. If you want, I can have one of my guys go with them, just for the first night or so.”
“No. I’m just worried that maybe we missed something,” I tell him.
“No. I think we got it covered,” says Herman.
“The luggage is in the car.”
“Good,” he says. “Then we better make tracks.” He starts to head down the hall.
“Did you see anybody watching the house?” I ask.
“No. And I went around the block on my way back. A few cars parked at the side of the road, but I slowed way down and didn’t see anybody inside any of ’em.”
He stops just inside the kitchen door, turns, and looks at me. “You sure you got everything you need?” he says. “’Cause once we leave we don’t want to have to come back.”
“I think so. I got the laptop for communications, cell phone, cords and wires for everything, credit cards and cash. I took nine thousand out of the bank. You think that’s enough?”
“I’m hoping we don’t have to go out of the country. Can’t take more than ten thousand if we do,” he says.
“That’s what I thought.”
“What about your passport?” he says.
“Damn it. Knew I forgot something. It’s up in the safe.”
“What about Sarah’s? Did she take it?” I’m already headed down the hall toward the stairs.
“No, it’s there too. I’m sure,” I tell him.
“Get ’ em both. That way we can send it to her if she needs it.”
I’m wondering what else I may have forgotten.
