Stuart Woods - Heat

“Right, any map of the area will show you where we are. We’re not far from the University of Maryland.”

“If I get lost I’ll call you.”

“See you Thursday morning,” Withers said.

Jesse stayed late at the office, working at the computer. He wrote a document of some twenty pages, then printed out half a dozen copies. He put each copy into a Federal Express envelope, made some phone calls to information in New York, Washington, Los Angeles, Atlanta, Miami and Seattle, then filled out the FedEx forms and inserted one into the plastic holder of each envelope. He put them into his briefcase, locked up the office and went home.

At dawn the next morning they were driving toward Spokane.

“We can talk,” Jesse said. “I’ve been over this truck with a fine-toothed comb and it’s not bugged.”

“Why am I driving you to the airport?” Jenny asked.

“If anybody asks, your car doesn’t have four-wheel drive, and you wanted the pickup to use if it snows. It’s supposed to snow.”

“Okay, I understand. What are all these envelopes on the front seat between us?”

“They’re Federal Express packages. I’m going to call you when I get to my hotel, and again before I leave the hotel the next morning. I’ll just ask how you’re doing and if you and Carey are okay; innocuous stuff like that. Don’t talk about anything important. After that, if I fail to call you every twelve hours, or if I say the words, ‘I love you very dearly,’ on the phone, I want you to go straight to the Federal Express substation in town and hand them these packages. They’re already addressed and the cost will be billed to Wood Products’ account.”

“Why do you want me to do this?”

Jesse told her, at length, what he was planning.

She didn’t say anything for a long time, then she sighed. “Are you sure there’s no other way to do it?”

“I can’t think of another one.”

“All right, that’s good enough for me. I’ll get Carey ready. This is what I’ll tell her.” She spelled out a story.

“I like that; it should do the job.”

“When will we leave St. Clair?”

“As soon as I possibly can after I get back. A lot depends on what happens while I’m gone.”

“What if this doesn’t work? What if it all goes wrong and you can’t come back?”

“If that happens, if you don’t hear from me during any twelve-hour period, I want you to drive the truck into your garage, and crawl underneath it. There’s a safe welded to the chassis; it’ll be covered with mud and ice, so you’ll have to clean it off before you can open it.” He told her the combination and asked her to repeat it to him. “Good, now don’t forget it; repeat it to yourself a lot.

“Inside the safe are several things: there are passports for you and Carey; there is a little over fifty thousand dollars in cash; and there is a pistol. I want you to take Carey, and, in the dead of night, take some clothes, get into the truck and drive to Seattle. Find a downtown parking garage and leave the truck there, then find a travel agent. There are nonstop flights from Seattle to Tokyo; make two reservations and pay for them in cash. Then go to a bank; buy ten thousand dollars in traveler’s checks, keep a couple of thousand in cash, then buy a cashier’s check with the remainder of the money. Go to the airport, get on the plane and fly to Tokyo. When you arrive there, don’t leave the airport; buy two tickets on the next flight to Hong Kong, then make room reservations at the Peninsular Hotel for seven nights. When you get to Hong Kong, check in, get some sleep and do some sightseeing. If I am still free, I’ll meet you in Hong Kong within the week or I’ll call you with other instructions. If you haven’t heard from me in a week, fly to Sydney, Australia, and check into the Harbour Hotel.

“An old friend of mine tends bar in the hotel; his name is Arthur Simpson, but everybody calls him Bluey. Call or see him once a week; I’ll be in touch with him. If he tells you I’m in prison, then it’s time to forget about me, because I’ll be there a long time. Bluey will help you get work papers and find a job and a place to live. Start a new life.”

“Without you?”

“If I’m free, I’ll be with you eventually; if I’m not, I won’t be, and either way, Bluey will hear about it. Your passports are real, so you don’t have to worry about that; you can renew them at the embassy when they expire. After a year or two, it should be safe to come back to this country, if that’s what you want. I’d feel better if you stayed in Australia.”

“What’s the gun in the safe for?”

“That’s to use on anybody who tries to keep you from leaving St. Clair. If Pat Casey or any of his people follows you and tries to take you back, shoot him where he stands. I take it you know how to fire a pistol?”

“Everybody in St. Clair knows how; we learned as children.”

“If you can get out of town, even if you have to kill somebody doing it, I don’t think they’ll send out a police alert for you; you have too much of a story to tell, and if you are arrested, don’t hesitate to tell it. The money will buy you a lawyer, and you won’t be convicted for shooting somebody who tried to make a prisoner of you. And remember, throw the gun into the nearest trash can before you go into the airport.”

Jesse pulled up at the airport curbside check-in. He switched off the engine and turned to her. “Jenny, you’re a strong person; I know you can do this, all of it.”

“I can if you want me to,” she said.

“It’s the best I can do for you.” He took her in his arms and held her for a moment, telling her that he loved her, then he got out of the truck. “I hope I’ll be back,” he said, then he turned and walked into the terminal.

Jesse arrived at Washington National at seven in the evening. In the gift shop he bought a book of large-scale maps of Washington and its suburbs, then rented a car and drove into the city. He checked into the Watergate Hotel, then phoned Jenny.

“Hi, I made it safely.”

“Glad to hear it; everything all right?”

“Everything’s fine; my appointment’s at ten in the morning. If we finish by noon or so, I can make a three o’clock airplane home. I’ll call you and let you know what plane I’m on.”

“I’ll meet you in Spokane.”

“Did it snow?”

“Yes, and it’s still snowing; we’ve had eight or nine inches, and they say we’ll have a foot.”

“I’m glad you kept the pickup, then. Well, I’d better get a bite to eat and some sleep; I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“I love you.”

“You, too; say goodnight to Carey for me.”

He hung up, then ordered dinner from room service. While he waited for it to arrive, he picked up a Washington phone directory, but could not find what he wanted. He had more luck with the information operator.

He studied his maps for a few minutes, then went downstairs and asked for his car. He forced himself to drive slowly, normally, not to get excited. He drove into northwest Washington and found Argyle Terrace, driving slowly until he spotted the house number. He drove to the end of the block, turned around, drove back down the street and parked a couple of houses away. His view was good. He could see the whole front of the house and one side, and it appeared that the kitchen was on the back corner. The lights were on there, and he could see a woman moving about, probably cleaning up after dinner.

When he had seen enough, he drove back to the Watergate and tried to watch a movie on television, but he couldn’t concentrate. He switched it off and lay in the bed, planning the next day to the nth degree, rehearsing his actions. It was past two when he finally fell asleep.