John Gilstrap - At all costs

Paul was first to acknowledge the newcomer. “Yeah, Mike, what’s up?” As Jamison’s immediate supervisor, Paul always looked embarrassed in his presence.

“Forget the Toyota Celica,” Jamison announced, as though reciting information he’d practiced and memorized. “We just got a call from Phoenix P.D. Seems that two of their cops let the Donovans go a couple of hours ago, half a block from the school.”

Irene’s jaw dropped, and she closed her eyes. “Tell me you’re joking.”

Jamison shrugged. “I wish I was. The cops involved never saw Jake, and no one had bothered to fax the picture of Carolyn. Guess everybody was in a hurry.”

“Oh, God,” she moaned. “Is there anything-a single detail, somewhere-that Sherwood and his gang haven’t screwed up today?”

Paul suppressed a smile and stayed focused on Jamison’s report. “What about the Celica?” he prodded.

“Well, the folks stopped by Phoenix P.D. were in a white van,” Jamison explained. “We’ve got a plate number. North Carolina, registered in the name of Durflinger.”

“And let me guess,” Irene growled, her eyes still closed. “The Durflingers are dead, right?”

Jamison looked deflated, his thunder stolen. “How did you know?”

“Because that’s how you get a new name,” Paul said, his voice heavy with disdain. It was the oldest trick in the book.

“I don’t believe this,” Irene moaned. “Well, put it out on the Net, pronto. Every state east of the Mississippi.”

“Sherwood’s already done that,” Jamison offered.

Irene glared. “Yeah, well, Sherwood’s done a lot today. Let’s just back him up, okay?”

Jamison nodded but didn’t move.

Paul’s patience evaporated all at once. “Mike, if you’ve got more, spit it out.”

Jamison cleared his throat and took a moment to search his memory. He seemed anxious to get it all right this time. “Apparently, some guy at a bank outside of town saw the news about the Donovans on TV. He just telephoned to tell Phoenix P.D. that he saw Carolyn Donovan in the bank this morning.”

“Ah, the bank again…” Irene was growing tired of old news.

“The guy said she needed to get into a safe-deposit box,” Jamison concluded.

“And?” Jesus Christ, it was like pulling teeth getting this guy to talk!

Jamison shrugged. “And he opened it for her.”

“No shit, Mike,” Boersky snapped. “What did she get out of the box?”

Agent Jamison looked a little panicky, like he’d forgotten to do something. “I don’t know. The guy can’t say for sure. He said that she entered the little room empty-handed and came out with a paper bag full of stuff. No one saw what she put into it.”

Irene and Paul exchanged glances. “Cash?” she wondered.

Paul nodded. “That would be my guess.”

Irene dismissed Jamison by turning away from him. “You said you’ve got somebody down there already?”

“Either there or on the way.”

Irene waited until Jamison was gone before she talked about him. “He’s totally hopeless, isn’t he?”

Paul nodded and sucked on a cheek. “Yep, and he’s allowed to carry a firearm in public. Makes you wonder sometimes, doesn’t it?” He stood. “Great at gathering information, he just can’t get out of his own way. Should have been a technician instead of an agent.”

Irene’s mind had already moved on to other things. “And you, Agent Boersky,” she said, pointing. “I want you to get on the horn with the U.S. Attorney’s Office and get me a court order to get into that safe-deposit box.”

Paul looked at her like she was nuts. “Why? You think she went there to put something in?”

“Actually, no,” she said with a frown, intentionally putting him back on edge. “I think the box is empty. Now I want you to prove it for me.” She arose from her chair and headed for the door. “Besides, you look like you need something to do.”

Travis sat in a folding lawn chair between the rows of shelves in the back of the van. They drove on in silence for a long time, Travis convinced that his parents had reneged on their deal to clue him in on what was going on. As the sun dipped below the mountain ridges ahead, he marveled at the different shades of orange and red and blue streaking the sky. The ridges looked like they were on fire; bright lights against a dark background. With the darkness, though, came a whole new world of fear.

He’d never seen his folks like this, so tense. He’d probably spent a million hours over the years watching them from this angle as they drove all over the place, but tonight they looked different, and the transition scared him. His dad’s jaw was set sort of funny, and the muscles in front of his ears worked all the time. And there was the new look in his eyes-same as the one when the cop came up to the window. And his mom! Jeeze, she looked ready to explode.

These long silences were frightening, too; second only to those intense, whispered conversations they’d have between themselves, where Travis could only catch bits and pieces. If there was anything good to say, they’d have said it by now.

Finally, he couldn’t take it any longer. “Hey, Dad?” His voice sounded uneasy; like he wasn’t sure whether to ask his question.

“Yes, Travis?”

“Would you really have shot that policeman?”

“Travis, not now,” Carolyn snapped.

Jake raised his hand. “No,” he said. “I think we need to discuss this.”

“But Jake…” There was a pleading tone in Carolyn’s voice.

“Carolyn, he’s got to know. I wish he didn’t, but now he has to.”

Instantly, Travis was sorry he’d asked. Out of nowhere, he remembered a story that Jay Kowalski had told him about the day Mr. Kowalski announced to the family that he had cancer. It was a lot like this, but without the car and the guns. Jay said that his mom and dad fought for a long time about whether the kids should be told, and finally, when his father prevailed in the argument and told them everything, Jay’s life was never the same. His dad was dead within a year. Travis didn’t want his dad to die.

Jake began with a deep breath, the way he always did when he was about to Teach a Lesson. “Trav, there are things about your mom and me that you need to know…”

Newark, Arkansas. August 1983

Building 234 lay nestled between Buildings 1719 and 2680, near the center of what used to be the Ulysses S. Grant Army Ammunition Plant. At one time, the numbering system must have meant something to someone, but now the signs were just random markings on countless low-rise red brick buildings. If the exterior of Building 234 was boring, then the interior was downright ugly. The glare of the fluorescent lighting, reflected off baby-shit brown walls, cast a yellow tint, making everyone inside look chronically ill.

As usual, Jake and Carolyn were running late, although this time it truly wasn’t their fault. Not that having an excuse would buy them any sympathy. Today was opening day for the biggest job in Enviro-Kleen’s history, and everything had to go perfectly. As they dashed down the hallway toward the packed conference room, Jake tried not to think about the trouble they might be in. Worrying was Carolyn’s job, anyway.

“Hey, it’s the newlyweds!” Glenn Parker announced gleefully as the Donovans tried to sneak in. Clearly, they’d yet to get to the serious portion of the meeting. “I was just telling everyone what a superman you were last night, Jakester. Those thin walls are better than a porno flick, man.”

Carolyn blushed crimson as the room erupted in laughter and applause. Jake grinned wide and bowed. “I’ll leave the curtain open for you tonight, buddy. Pictures to go with the sound.”