Nelson DeMille - Spencerville

"Thanks." Keith offered him a twenty-dollar bill, which he wouldn't take. Keith went back to his beer. In most parts of the world, greenbacks could buy you the prime minister and his car. In America, money still talked, but not as loudly. Most people actually did their jobs without being bribed or bought and sometimes wouldn't even take a tip. Still, there had to be an inventive and enterprising solution to the problem of getting from point A to point B.

He thought awhile. There were many ways to get out of a city, as Keith had learned over the years. But when the airport was closed because of weather, artillery fire, or rebels on the tarmac, it put a strain on ground and sea transportation.

He considered calling Terry and explaining the situation, but that would be premature and an admission of defeat — or worse, a failure of the imagination. "Think." He thought. "Got it."

He left the bar and went to the public telephones. There were lines there, too, and he waited.

At ten-thirty, he got to a phone and called Charlie Adair's home number but got the answering machine. He said, "Charlie, I'm stranded at the airport. There's a hurricane outside, in case you haven't noticed. Send a car to take me back to the hotel. Page me here. I'm at Dulles, not National."

Keith read a newspaper in the waiting area so he could hear his name paged. He knew that Adair would get the message, because in that business you checked your answering machine by remote from wherever you were at least once an hour. The free world depended on it. Or once did.

At ten fifty-five, the public address system informed Mr. Landry to pick up a courtesy telephone. He'd already located the closest one and picked it up. A man's voice said, "Mr. Landry, this is Stewart, your driver from this morning. I got a call from Mr. Adair to..."

"Where are you now?"

"I'm here, at Dulles. I can meet you right outside of the USAir departures area."

"Five minutes." Keith walked quickly to the USAir departures doors. He saw Stewart, a gray-haired man in his fifties, standing beside the Lincoln and went over to him. Stewart put Keith's bag in the trunk, and Keith got in the front seat. Stewart asked, "Wouldn't you be more comfortable in the back, sir?"

"No."

Stewart got in, and they pulled away from the curb and down the ramp.

Keith said, "Thanks."

"My job, sir."

"Are you married, Stewart?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is your wife an understanding woman?"

He laughed. "No, sir." The driver proceeded slowly through the driving rain and followed the airport exit signs.

Keith asked, "What are your instructions?"

"To take you to the Four Seasons, sir. They're holding a room for you. Everything's filled up because of this weather, but Mr. Adair got you a room."

"He's a great guy."

"Mr. Adair sent me out to National as soon as he heard it was closed down, and I paged you there."

"I appreciate that."

"Then I got a call at home, and Mr. Adair said you'd gone to Dulles, so I came here."

"Modern communications are a miracle. Everyone's in touch."

"Yes, sir. I have a beeper, a car phone, and a radio."

"Did Mr. Adair say where he was calling from?"

"No, sir. But I have to call his answering machine and tell him I found you."

"I can do that." Keith picked up the cellular phone, punched in Adair's number, and said into the answering machine, "I'm in the car, Charlie. Thanks. I'll try to be there tomorrow night, but I'll go back to Ohio first. Call me on this phone." He gave him the number and said, "Talk to you later." He hung up and asked Stewart, "You ever been to Ohio?"

"No, sir."

"The Buckeye State."

"Yes, sir." Stewart glanced at him but said nothing.

They approached the entrance to the Dulles access road, and Keith said, "Take 28 north. We have to make a stop before we go back to D.C."

"Yes, sir." Stewart got onto Route 28.

Keith looked at the dashboard clock. It was a quarter past eleven P.M. He looked out the windshield. "Nasty weather."

"Yes, sir."

"I guess we knew this hurricane was on the way."

"That's what they've been saying all week. This morning they said it would touch Virginia Beach, then hit the Eastern Shore, and we'd get gale-force winds and rain by tonight. They were right."

"They certainly were. Hey, when you get to Route 7, go west."

"Okay." A few miles later, Stewart asked, "How far west are we going, Mr. Landry?"

"Oh, about... let's see — about five hundred miles."

"Sir?"

"Stewart, you're finally going to have the opportunity to see the great state of Ohio."

"I don't understand."

"It's real simple. I have to be in Ohio. No aircraft are flying out of Washington. We are driving to Ohio."

Stewart glanced at Keith, then at his radio and telephone, then said, "Mr. Adair didn't... he said to..."

"Mr. Adair is not on top of the situation, but he will be when I can speak to him."

Stewart stayed silent. In his many years as a government driver, Keith knew, Stewart had learned to do what he was told, regardless of how inconvenient or bizarre it may have seemed to him. Still, Keith thought he should say a few words to the man. Keith said, "You can call your wife and explain."

"Yes, sir. Maybe I should speak to Mr. Adair first. I don't know if I'm authorized..."

"Stewart, I just had a chat this morning with the secretary of defense and the president of the United States. Would you like me to call either of them now and get authorization?"

"No, sir."

"I'll speak to Mr. Adair in due time. You pay attention to the road. I'll dial your wife. What's the number?"

Stewart gave him the number, and Keith dialed. It took him several tries to get through because of the weather, but finally a female voice came on the line, and Keith said, "Hello, Mrs...."

Keith looked at Stewart, who said, "Arkell."

"Mrs. Arkell, this is General Landry of the National Security Council, and I'm afraid I've imposed on your husband to work a little overtime tonight... Yes, ma'am. Let me put him on." Keith handed the phone to Stewart, who took it without enthusiasm.

Stewart listened for a full minute, then got a few words in. "No, I don't know how late..."

Keith said, "Figure this time tomorrow night, to be safe."

"Yes, dear, I..."

Keith watched the rain out of the side window.

Stewart said to his wife, "I'll call you later," and hung up, grumbling something.

Keith said, "Everything okay?"

"Yes, sir."

"Here's Route 7. We take this to I-81, northbound."

"Yes, sir."

"Take it slow. We'll try to make up the time later, when we get out of this weather."

"Yes, sir. I can't go over the speed limit. That's the rules."

"Good rules. Long day?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'll drive later."

"It's not allowed, General."

"Colonel. Sometimes I say general. For the ladies."

Stewart smiled for the first time.

As they traveled slowly west on Route 7, the phone rang, and Keith took it. "Hello, Charlie."

"You're still in the car?"

"No, I'm running alongside."

"Stewart found you okay?"

"Yes, I'm in the car now. That's where you called me."

"You should have been in the Four Seasons by now. Where are you?"

"Still in the car."

"Where in the fucking car?"

"Route 7."

"Why? What's wrong with the Dulles road?"

"Nothing, as far as I know."

There was a silence, and Keith could hear music and talking in the background. Charlie asked, "Where are you headed, Keith?"

"You know where I'm headed."

"Jesus Christ, man, you can't hijack a government car and driver..."

"Why not? I've hijacked other governments' cars and drivers. Why not my own?"

Charlie took a deep breath and asked, "Is Stewart with you?"