Nelson DeMille - Spencerville

"Right."

The two Spencerville police cars headed east on the airport highway.

Cliff Baxter picked up his mobile phone and called headquarters. Officer Schenley was acting desk sergeant, and Baxter said to him, "Hear anything?"

"No, sir. I would've called..."

"Yeah. You would've called. I'm making a goddamned communications check."

"Yes, sir."

"And like I told you, if anybody calls from the state police, or anyplace, you don't mention where I am."

"Yes, sir."

"Just call me, and I'll get back to them. Don't bullshit with them."

"Yes, sir."

"Stay awake." He hung up and said to Blake, "Hey, pull into that Sheraton."

Blake pulled into the Sheraton parking lot and commented, "We're not getting a sounding here, Chief."

"Shit, I don't trust this thing. I trust my eyes and my ears. Pull up to the lobby and let me off, then cruise the lot."

"Yes, sir."

Baxter got out and went into the lobby. He approached the desk clerk, an attractive young woman, and said, "How're you tonight, darlin'?"

She smiled. "Pretty good. Yourself?"

"Could be better. Lookin' for a bad guy, ran off with a woman. You know about that?"

"Sure do. Seen it on TV."

"That's good. I hope you seen it come across your fax, too."

"I did." She rummaged around and found a piece of paper behind the counter. "Got the descriptions here, names, make and model of the car..."

"And you ain't seen them."

"No, I told the state trooper that about an hour ago. I'll keep an eye out."

"You do that, sweetheart."

She looked at his uniform and asked, "Spencerville? Isn't that?.."

"Sure is. That's where the kidnapping took place. Hey, if you ever get down there, you look me up."

"You're... you're the Chief Baxter whose wife..."

"That's right."

"Hey, I'm real sorry. I hope she's all right — I know she's going to be okay..."

"She'll be fine as soon as I find her. She'll be real fine. See ya."

Baxter went outside and met the cars. He got in, and Blake said, "Negative here."

"Negative there. Let's roll."

They continued on down the highway, passing several motels. Blake asked, "Want me to stop?"

"No, we're gonna cruise right into Toledo and see if that damned noisemaker goes off. If it don't, we'll double back and start checking motels. Jesus Christ, I never seen so many motels."

"You think they're here?"

"Don't know. But if I was him, and I just missed a flight, I might hole up in the area, especially if I was listenin' to the radio and found out there was a bulletin out on me. And if he don't know that, then he'll find out when he gets pulled over. He ain't gettin' too far either way."

"Right." Blake thought a moment, then said, "I don't understand how he thought he could get on a plane with her, without somebody noticing that she was being held against her will."

"Why don't you just fucking drive?"

"Yes, sir."

"He had a gun on her. That's how. And probably got her drugged up."

"Yeah, that's it."

That wasn't it, and just about every cop in the state knew that by now, Baxter thought. The truth was, he didn't see a real good future for himself or his career after this. But for the time being, he had the power, he had the law on his side, and he had the balls to do what he had to do as a man. By morning, it would start to come apart, so he had to find them before then. And because he was finished as a cop, he could do whatever he wanted to do to them when he found them.

They continued on another few miles and saw the high-rise buildings of downtown Toledo in the distance.

The receiver on the dashboard beeped, a faint sound, followed by silence.

Blake and Baxter glanced at each other but said nothing. False readings, especially in built-up areas, were common. A minute later, the receiver beeped again, then again, then got louder and more continuous, until the beeps ran into one another and made a continuous electronic squeal. "Pull over."

Blake pulled onto the shoulder, and the police car behind them did the same.

Blake and Baxter sat listening to the electronic noise. Baxter looked around outside, then said, "Go ahead. Slow, on the shoulder."

Blake drove slowly on the inside shoulder. The intervals between the beeps decreased, then the sound itself grew fainter.

Baxter said, "Make a U-turn and go back."

"Right."

They swung onto the highway, then turned at a break in the median. The beeping got louder and steadier.

Baxter looked up ahead and saw it. "Well, I'll be... hey, Blake, where do you hide a needle?"

"In a haystack."

"No, in a box of needles. Pull in there."

It took them a few minutes to locate the dark green Blazer, and even then they couldn't be sure it was the right one because it had no license plates. Baxter reached under the right rear fender and pulled off the magnetic transmitter. He looked at the rectangular device, about the size of a pack of cigarettes with a short antenna projecting from it, and smiled. "Well, well, well..."He shut it off, and the beeping from the car's receiver stopped. "How about that?"

Blake was beaming, and Krug and Ward stood looking at their chief with admiration. Everyone would have been a lot happier, of course, if the Blazer had been found at a motel, a rooming house, or a restaurant. Obviously, Keith Landry and Annie Baxter were not at the Chevy dealership. Blake was the first one to point this out and asked his chief, "Where do you think they went?"

Baxter looked around, up and down the highway, and said, "Not far."

Blake pointed out, "They could have stolen a car here, Chief."

"They could have... but they took the plates off this one. Now, why'd they do that if they was in another car hightailing it to Cleveland or someplace? No... I think they're close by, walking distance, and they didn't want this car connected to them." He looked at his three men. "Anybody got any other ideas?"

Krug said, "They could've gotten a taxi or bus from here, Chief. Could be in Toledo."

Baxter nodded. "Could be." He looked around again at the immediate area. "Taxi or bus. Could be. But I don't think so. I think they got a motel, one of them fuck places, dumped their shit, then went out to dump the car. The guy got lucky and smart when he saw this Chevy place. Yeah. They're a little walk from here. Maybe campin' out, but most likely a fuck place, or a roomin' house, where they don't need to use a credit card. Yeah. Okay, Krug, you and Ward take this side of the highway and start checkin' the motels back toward the airport. Blake and I'll start back near the airport and do the eastbound side of the highway. If you get anything, you call me and nobody else. Use the mobile phone. Let's roll."

Blake and Baxter began at the airport, drove past the Sheraton, and approached a Holiday Inn. Baxter said, "Keep goin'. We're only gonna stop at the small ram-it-inns."

"Right."

They continued on.

Baxter thought about things. Keith Landry was an asshole, but a lot smarter asshole than Baxter had figured. But maybe not smart enough. Baxter realized that he'd been out of touch with real police work for too long, but after almost three decades on the force, he'd learned a lot, remembered some, and recognized, grudgingly, that he was dealing with a pro. He wondered what Landry had done for the government and decided that it had nothing to do with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. But what Landry hadn't reckoned with was Chief Baxter's innate predatory instincts. What Baxter lacked in formal training, he made up for in intuition. Out in the woods of Michigan, Cliff Baxter was the best hunter of any of his friends. He had a sixth sense for locating an animal, for smelling its blood and reading its mind, for guessing if it was going to break and run, go to ground, turn and fight, or simply stand frozen, waiting for its fate. Humans, he'd decided, were not much different.