Nelson DeMille - Spencerville

They drove another half hour without much said that didn't pertain to the subject of land navigation and police.

Keith regarded the map and saw that most of the bridges across the Maumee River were located in the bigger towns on the river, and he didn't want to go through a town. He spotted a bridge near a tiny village called The Bend and asked Billy about it.

Billy replied, "Yeah, bridge is still there. Got some sort of weight limit, but if I gun it, we'll be across before it falls."

Keith wasn't sure about Billy's understanding of applied physics, but it was worth a look at the bridge.

They approached the small trestle bridge, and before Keith could see a weight limit sign or evaluate the structure, Billy was racing across the narrow span, and within ten seconds they'd crossed the Maumee. Keith said, "I think that bridge was closed to motor vehicle traffic."

"Yeah? Looked okay."

Keith shrugged.

They drove through The Bend, which took slightly less time than the river crossing and picked up U.S. Route 127 at a village called Sherwood. Keith noted it was two P.M., and it was about thirty-five miles to the Michigan state line, then another two hundred fifty miles or more to Grey Lake.

Route 127 went through Bryan, Ohio, but they skirted around the small city and returned to the highway some miles north of the town. That was the last major town in Ohio, and, in fact, after Lansing in southern Michigan, there were no major towns along Route 127 all the way up to the tip of the peninsula. Twenty minutes later, a sign welcomed them to Michigan, "The Land of Lakes." Keith was only interested in one of them.

There were no great differences in terrain or topography between northern Ohio and southern Michigan, Keith noted, but there were those subtle differences in signage, blacktop, and land surveys which, if you hadn't seen the Michigan sign, you might not notice. More important, Keith thought, whatever residual interest the state of Ohio had in him most probably didn't extend beyond that sign. This border crossing wasn't the heart-stopping equivalent of the old East to West border crossings in Europe, but he did feel a sense of relief, and he relaxed a bit.

They drove on for another half hour, and the terrain started to change from flat farmland to rolling green hills and small valleys. There were large stands of trees now, mostly oak, hickory, beech, and maple, and the autumn colors were further along than in Ohio. Keith hadn't been in Michigan since he and Annie used to drive up to see the Ohio State-Michigan game in Ann Arbor, or to see Bowling Green play Eastern Michigan in Ypsilanti. Those had been magic weekends, he recalled, a break not only from classes but from the war and the turmoil on the campus, a time-warp weekend without dissent or demonstrations, as if everyone agreed to dress, act, and look normal for a traditional Saturday afternoon football game.

He let his mind drift into thoughts about Annie, then realized this wasn't good or productive. The objective was Grey Lake, the mission was to settle the score with Cliff Baxter, not just for himself, but for Annie as well, and thinking about her meant he wasn't concentrating on the problem.

Billy asked, "Where in northern Michigan we goin', exactly?"

"Don't know exactly."

"Then how we gonna get there?"

"We'll manage. Hey, remember that old Army expression? I don't know where we are..."

"Yeah." Billy smiled and recited, "I don't know where we are, or what we're doin', but we're makin' really good time." He laughed.

Keith thought that seemed to satisfy Billy, but a few minutes later, Billy asked, "Is Baxter alone?"

Keith thought a moment, then replied, "I don't think he has any other men with him."

Billy mulled this over a minute, then asked, "Where is Mrs. Baxter?"

"Why do you ask that?"

"Well... I mean, I heard about the kidnappin' on the radio." Billy glanced at Keith and added, "The radio said you kidnapped her."

"What do you think?"

"Well, it's plain as day that you two ran off together. The whole town knows that."

Keith didn't reply.

Billy went on, "What I can't figure out is what happened next."

"What do you think happened?"

"Well... I guess he caught up with you. That explains them cuts and bruises on your face. But that don't explain why one of you ain't dead."

Keith replied, "We tried."

Billy laughed and said, "I bet you did. This is like round two, I guess."

"Two, maybe three, four, or five. But who's counting?"

"And I guess this is the last round."

"I'm sure it is."

"You gonna kill him?"

Keith thought a moment, then replied, "I'd rather not."

"Why not?"

"That's too good for him."

Billy nodded and didn't reply.

Keith said, "If I take you all the way, you're going to follow my orders. Right?"

Billy nodded.

"Can't hear you, soldier."

"Yes, sir."

They drove in silence awhile, then Billy said, "She's with him, ain't she?"

"She is."

"Right. So we got to take him without hurting her."

"That's right."

"That ain't gonna be easy."

"No, it's not."

"Three dogs?"

"I think."

"What kinda stuff is he packin'?"

"You name it, he's probably got it. He's a hunter and a cop."

"Yeah, he is." Billy asked, "He got any night-vision stuff?"

"Probably. Compliments of the Spencerville P.D."

"Okay... and I guess he's holed up in a cabin or somethin', someplace where he knows the lay of the land."

"That's right." Keith glanced at Marlon. In medical terms, a doctor would say Billy Marlon's brain had suffered prolonged alcohol insult, and in human terms, anyone who knew him would say his spirit had suffered too many of life's insults. Yet Keith had no doubt whatsoever that Billy Marlon had reached deep down inside himself today, and this was going to be his finest and most lucid hour. Keith said, "Tell me about Beth."

"I can't."

"Sure you can."

Billy sat quietly for a few minutes, then pulled out his wallet and fished out a grubby photo. He handed it to Keith.

Keith looked at it. The color photograph showed a head-and-shoulders shot of a woman in her mid-thirties, short blond hair, quite pretty in fact, with big eyes and a big smile. Keith was sort of surprised at how good-looking she was and not at all surprised that she should have come to the attention of Chief Baxter. There was certainly a normal ratio of pretty women in Spencer County, as Keith had observed, but he understood why this one had become Baxter's victim, and the reason was sitting in the seat beside him. Civilization and civility aside, a weak man with an exceptionally endowed wife was bound to lose her — perhaps on a temporary basis — to someone like Cliff Baxter. Keith handed the photograph back to Billy and said, "She's very beautiful."

"Yeah."

"How long has it been?"

"Two years."

"She remarry?"

"Don't think so. She's still in the Columbus phone book as Beth Marlon."

"Maybe you'll go look her up after this."

"Yeah, maybe."

After a few minutes, Billy seemed in better spirits and said, "Hey, time for a war story."

Keith thought not and asked, "You know this road?"

"Yeah, I take this up now and then. Good huntin' up in Hartwick Pines State Park. You ever been up there?"

"No, never been this far north. You remember a gas station around here?"

"Let's see..."He looked out the window. "Yeah, another mile or so. Hey, how far up we goin'?"

"Near the tip of the peninsula. Another two hours, I guess." Keith added, "You don't have to come all the way. I can drop you at a motel and come back for you."

"Yeah? And what if you don't come back?"

"I'll be back."

Billy suddenly grinned. "You got your shit together, man. Hey, tell you what — we get this fucker, we gut him, and drive into Spencerville with him tied onto the roof like a deer. Whataya say?"