J. Jance - Trial By Fire

“I don’t work for you, Agent Robson. I have it on pretty good authority that Sheriff Maxwell is about to terminate my consulting agreement, too, so it turns out I don’t have to take orders from him or from you. You might mention to Agent Donnelley that Sister Anselm has an exceptionally good working relationship with the bishop at the Catholic diocese here in Phoenix. If he wants to risk her life by not having access to my information…”

“Where the hell do you get off-” he began.

“That’s the whole point,” she said. “I’m not getting off. If my computer is going on that helicopter, so am I.”

“It could be dangerous.”

“So is crossing a street.”

Shaking his head, Robson touched the button on his Bluetooth. “Call Agent Donnelley,” he said.

Ali stood with her arms crossed and stared at him until he finally connected.

“Yeah,” he said. “I talked to her. She’s adamant that she’s going along… No, she won’t listen to reason… Yes. Okay. I’ll tell her.”

Just then Jake Whitman, the hospital administrator, came striding off the elevator. He nodded curtly in Ali’s direction. “I’m looking for an Agent Robson.”

“That would be me.”

“I’m the hospital administrator. It’s most unusual to have anything other than a medevac helicopter on our helipad. You need to get it out of there immediately. Come on,” he added, rattling a set of keys. “I’ll take you.”

He started away from them, then stopped when he realized neither Agent Robson nor Ali was following. “Well,” he said impatiently. “Are you two coming or not?”

As Ali stuck her computer in her briefcase, the wig, with a mind of its own, managed to tumble out on the floor.

Robson bent to pick it up. Before giving it back to her, he looked at the wig and then at Ali. “That’s who you are,” he said. “That’s why you look familiar.”

“Yes,” she agreed. Then, closing her briefcase and picking up her purse, she turned to Whitman. “We’re coming,” she told the hospital administrator. She knew full well that Robson wouldn’t go to the mat with her about any of this in front of Whitman. Cool macho dudes like Robson didn’t like being seen arguing with women in public.

Whitman set a brisk pace as they followed him back into the elevator. Access to the twelfth floor required use of a key. The doors opened on a corridor with a smoothly polished floor.

“This way,” he said.

The hallway ended in a pair of double doors. When Whitman pushed open one of the doors, Ali’s ears were assailed by the roar of a helicopter’s engines. Her hair blew up and out in the buffeting gale from the rotating blades.

Without pausing for permission, Ali walked past Whitman and climbed into the helicopter.

“Who the hell are you?” the pilot demanded. “I was told to pick up Agent Robson.”

“It turns out we’ve got a freeloader,” Robson said, climbing in behind her. “Fasten your damned belt,” he ordered her, “and keep your mouth shut. Open your computer, show me what you’ve got, and then stay out of my way.”

You really are an overbearing jerk, Ali thought as the helicopter rose off the roof. She had worked with enough of those in her time, so she had some idea how to deal with him. Without being told and without asking permission, she clapped a set of earphones on her head, earphones with an attached microphone.

“Where to?” the pilot asked.

“I was told to head out to a road called the Beeline Highway. Northbound on that.”

Nodding, the pilot put the helicopter into the air. Once they gained altitude, they set off across the city, traveling on a diagonal, pounding past Camelback Mountain, heading northeast, covering the traffic-congested roadways with surprising speed. The sun was sinking in the west. The shadow cast by the helicopter was long and skinny.

Ali waited for a few moments, taking in the sights before she spoke. “I suppose I could keep quiet, unless you’d like to know the make and color of the vehicle we’re looking for.”

Robson crossed his arms and glared at her. “Tell me,” he said.

“A red Honda crossover,” she replied. “At least that’s the vehicle Sister Anselm was seen getting into outside her hotel. They might have switched into another vehicle by now and stuffed her into a trunk.”

“That would be my guess.” Robson’s agreement surprised her.

“As hot as it is,” Ali began. “How long can someone survive in an overheated car trunk?”

“Exactly,” Robson said. “If we don’t get to her soon, she’ll be dead no matter what.”

From the grim set of his mouth as he said it, Ali knew the man was totally focused on what was going on with Sister Anselm and whether it would be possible to save her.

A jerk, yes, Ali thought as she opened her computer, but a jerk who’s determined to do his job.

Ali was relieved to see that her AirCard still worked even though they were airborne. Once she accessed it, Sister Anselm’s map immediately appeared on the screen. There was also a new e-mail waiting in Ali’s in-box-another message from Sister Anselm, one that was more recent than the one Ali had seen back at the hospital.

When Ali opened that one she immediately noticed that the speedometer on the screen now read fifty miles per hour. “They’re slowing down,” she said.

“How do you know they’re slowing down?” Robson asked, leaning over to peer at the screen.

“Previously their average speed was sixty-three miles per hour. Now they’re down to fifty.”

“Maybe they’re looking for a place to turn off,” Robson said. “What’s out there?”

“Not much,” Ali returned. “A couple of Forest Service roads. That’s about it.”

“Can I see that thing?” the pilot asked.

Bypassing Agent Robson’s outstretched hand, Ali handed her open computer directly to the pilot. For a minute or so, he punched commands into the keyboard. Then, satisfied with that, he punched another series of numbers into his onboard computer.

“I put in this set of coordinates,” he said, handing the computer back to Ali. “That’ll give us somewhere to start. If you get another one, let me know.”

Nodding, Ali kept quiet while the pilot relayed the information from his computer to people on the ground. That was what they needed, she realized. People on the ground and people in the air.

“How long to get there?” Robson asked.

“Forty-five total,” he said. “ETA is twenty minutes from now.”

“You can’t do it any faster than that?”

“If you want to disregard the laws of physics, that’s up to you,” the pilot told Robson, “but you and I will get along a hell of a lot better if you get used to the idea that it’s going to take as long as it takes.”

My sentiments exactly, Ali thought.

She was coming back. She had thought it was over, but evidently it wasn’t, not quite. She was still here. Sort of. And Hal was here, too, standing next to her bed.

She needed to tell him what she remembered. If only she could speak. If only she could get rid of this damned machine that blocked her throat. Then she’d be able to tell him. Hal would know what to do. He always knew what to do.

“Win and Serenity are still outside,” he said. “I can let them back in if you’d like them here. If you want to see them. I think they’d like to see you.”

No, she thought. I saw the look of shock on Win’s face when he saw what I look like now. And I heard Serenity. They may think they want to see me, but they don’t. I don’t want them to remember me this way. I want them to remember me the way I used to be. The way I was, not the way I am now.