Nelson DeMille - Spencerville

"He is. We took care of his wife, you take care of the authorization. I'll try to get back tomorrow night. Enjoy your party or dinner or whatever. Thanks, bye..."

"Wait. Listen, can't you just call her and tell her you'll be flying out of D.C. tomorrow?"

"No. I have a morning rendezvous."

"Tell her to fly here in the morning."

"We're eloping together."

"You're being difficult, Keith."

"I'm being difficult? You shanghaied me to Washington. You knew about the hurricane."

"No, I didn't. Well, it was supposed to blow out to sea. Look, why can't she just fly..."

"Charlie, you met her husband. This is a bad guy. She'd like me to be there when she breaks loose. Also, I've got things I have to get from my house. Okay?"

"Okay. No use arguing with a man who's following his dick. You going to make it?"

Keith looked at the dashboard clock. It was twelve-ten A.M. He said, "Close."

"Good luck, buddy. Tell Stewart I owe him one. Call tomorrow."

"Will do." He hung up and told Stewart, "Mr. Adair owes you a big favor."

"He owes me lots of them."

"Me, too."

They drove another half hour and picked up I-81 north. Keith said, "Pay attention to the route. You're coming back alone."

"Yes, sir."

Keith settled back in his seat. "So, what did you think of the Orioles this year?"

"Not much. The only way they'll get to the Series is if they buy tickets."

"You follow college football?"

"Sure."

"The Buckeyes look great again."

"They sure do."

They drove and talked sports. The rain tapered off as they moved away from the hurricane activity, and Stewart agreed to do ten miles an hour over the limit after they crossed into Maryland.

At Hagerstown, Keith told him to pick up I-70 westbound. It was a good road, almost devoid of traffic at that hour, but it wound through the Appalachian Mountains, and Stewart, who had been an aggressive urban driver, became very timid.

Keith asked him to pull over at a rest stop, where Stewart made a quick trip to the John and returned to find Keith behind the wheel. "Sir, you're not authorized to drive this car."

"Except in an emergency, which is you nodding off behind the wheel. Lie down in the back, Stewart, and get some rest, or I'll leave you here."

"Yes, sir." Stewart got into the rear and lay down on the wide seat.

Keith continued on. Within fifteen minutes, he heard snores coming from the rear. He played the radio at a low volume and listened to country music from a Wheeling, West Virginia, station. There was a funny song about a divorced guy who sang, "She got the gold mine, I got the shaft," that Keith found a welcome break from all the heartache-and-misery songs.

South of Pittsburgh, on I-70, Keith stopped for fuel. It was four-twenty A.M., and Columbus was about five more hours, he knew, then another two hours on secondary and country roads to Spencerville and about an hour to Chatham. He wasn't going to make his ten A.M. appointment in Chatham County, or the two-fifteen flight out of Toledo. But he should be close enough to go ahead with the plan in some modified form.

At seven A.M., still a few hours out of Columbus, Keith tried to dial Chatham County information to get Terry's number, but he had no luck getting the car phone to connect. He pulled over at a rest stop and went to a pay phone. Stewart woke up, got out, and stretched.

Keith got the area code operator and asked for the number of Terry or Lawrence Ingram in Chatham County. A recording gave him the number, and he used his credit card to make the call.

A female voice answered, "Hello?"

"Terry?"

"Yes?"

"This is Keith Landry."

"Oh, my God! Oh..."

"Is everything all right there?"

"Yes. Where are you? Are you coming? What time is it?"

"Terry, listen to me. I'm on the road, east of Columbus. I'm going to be late. I won't be there until... sometime early afternoon. Okay? I have to go to my place first. You got all that?"

"Yes... Annie will be here at ten. What should I tell her?"

Keith took a deep breath. Clearly, not everyone in the Prentis family was sharp. "Tell her what I just said."

"Oh. Okay. Keith, I'm so excited for both of you. You don't know how unhappy she's been. This is wonderful, like a dream, I can't believe this is happening."

Keith let her go on for a while, then interrupted. "Terry, do not call her. Listen, I think her phone may be tapped. Your call may wind up at police headquarters. Understand?"

"Yes... but she'll be coming here at ten..."

"Fine. Tell her in person. Have lunch. I'll be there as soon as I can. We'll catch a later flight. Okay?"

"Yes, I'll tell her. What time?.."

"About one. I won't call again. Just tell her to wait."

"I can't wait to see you again."

"Me, too. Thanks, Terry. Thanks for being the middleman all these years. Just this one last time. Okay?"

"Where are you now?"

"Near Columbus, Ohio. I'm driving in from Washington. There was bad weather, and I couldn't get a flight back. When Annie gets there, tell her I'm on the way and I apologize. Also, tell her not to call my house. My phone may also be tapped."

"Your phone?"

"Yes, my phone. By her husband."

"He's a bastard. I hate him."

"Right." Keith went through it one more time, then said, "See you later." He hung up and got back in the car. He said to Stewart, who was now sitting in the front passenger seat, "You want to call home? I'll give you my credit card."

"No, thanks. I'll call from Ohio."

"We're in Ohio."

"Oh... I'll call later. It's too early."

Keith started the car and got on the road, taking the circular highway north around Columbus, then headed north and west on Route 23.

It was a sunny day, cool, with scattered white clouds. There was some early Saturday traffic, mostly campers and recreational vehicles, heading up to the lakes, probably, or to Michigan.

Stewart seemed fascinated with the countryside. "It's all farms. What's that stuff? Corn?"

"Yes, corn."

"Who eats all that corn? I eat corn maybe once a month. You eat a lot of corn out here?"

Rather than explain about field corn and sweet corn, cattle feed and people food, Keith said, "We eat corn three times a day."

Stewart was wide awake now and enjoying the scenery. He pointed out barns, cattle, and pigs to Keith.

They made good time, but not great time, and it was almost eleven A.M. when they crossed into Spencer County.

Keith slowed down and took it easy the last fifteen miles. He saw no county or municipal police on the roads, and they wouldn't recognize this car anyway, but he didn't want a problem this close to the end.

Keith pulled up to his driveway and took a few pieces of mail out of his box, nipping through it as he pulled up to the house. It was mostly junk mail, but there was also a summons for him to appear in Spencerville traffic court for a variety of parking violations that he didn't recall getting tickets for. Petty harassment, but he realized he could be pulled over by the police anytime if he didn't answer the summons by the appearance date, which was Monday. He'd be long gone by then.

Stewart asked, "You live here?"

"I do." Keith stopped near the front porch and got out. Stewart got out, too, and was busy looking around, so Keith got his bag from the trunk and said, "Come on in and wash up."

They entered the house through the front door, and Keith led Stewart up the stairs. "Bathroom's there. Meet you downstairs. Help yourself to anything in the refrigerator."

Keith went into his room and threw his garment bag on the bed, then took the packed suitcase out of the wardrobe cabinet. His overnight bag was always packed with toiletries and underwear, a habit from two decades of unplanned travel. His briefcase was already packed with his important papers, and he slipped his passport in his suit jacket pocket.