David Baldacci - The Last Mile

“He said just you and me.”

“And he clearly meant it.”

“What about Bogart and the FBI?”

“I’ll take Roy at his word. If they’re anywhere near, he’s gone, Melvin. And the case is over.”

“You know, we got Oliver and McClellan. Isn’t that enough?”

“Not for me. We’ve got a prick in Congress wielding incredible power and a billionaire who blew up a bunch of people, including kids. I’m not walking away from that.”

“Okay. I’m not either. How do we do this?”

“It won’t be easy getting away from Bogart, but it can be done. In fact, it has to be done.”

“When we get down there he might just kill us. Dude is crazy, Decker. I’ve seen that. And you’ve seen that.”

“If I had an alternative, Melvin, I’d go for it. But I don’t.”

“Okay, again, how do we do this?”

“We can’t fly or rent a car. That requires a credit card, and Bogart can easily check that.”

“What then?”

“I’ve got enough cash for a bus ride. You up for that?”

Mars looked at him and shook his head. “Buckeye and Longhorn on the same damn bus? How screwed up is that?”

It took two transfers and nearly twenty-four hours to get to Tuscaloosa from Washington. They wended their way through the “toe” of Virginia, passed into Tennessee, and nicked the top of Georgia before bisecting Alabama on a diagonal, zipping through Birmingham. They were scheduled to arrive in Tuscaloosa at seven in the evening.

They had both turned off their phones so that Bogart could not track them that way.

They slept off and on for a good chunk of the trip, two big men in seats that were too small for them. Decker had brought a bag of food and bottles of water.

They talked, watched the scenery pass, and then talked some more. The buses were pretty full, so they were forced to converse in low voices.

When they finally alighted from their third bus onto the streets of Tuscaloosa, both men stretched out their limbs to the maximum length.

“Reminds me of some trips we took playing football,” said Decker.

Mars looked at him funny. “Big-time program like OSU, you guys didn’t fly?”

“No, we did. I was talking about high school.”

“Yeah, right. Hey, try playing in Texas. We’d drive this far to a game and still be in the frickin’ state.”

Both of them looked around and then Decker checked his watch. “We got time to kill. How about we find a place to crash and then get some dinner?”

“Sounds good to me. I’m sick of granola bars and trail mix. I want a steak and some potatoes.”

“Blame Jamison. She’s trying to make a stick out of me.”

They found a hotel a few blocks away that took cash, dropped their bags, and went in search of a restaurant.

They found one five minutes later, grabbed a table, and ordered.

Mars gazed out the window. “You ever come down here to play ’Bama?”

“Once. We got our butts kicked.”

“We lost to them here, but beat them at home.”

The men grew silent.

“You ever miss it?” asked Mars.

“What, football?”

“What do you think?”

“I was not in your league, Melvin.”

“Hey, man, don’t say that. You made it to the NFL. Better than me.”

“Don’t go there. We’re talking really extenuating circumstances. And I only lasted one play.”

Their food came, but before they dug in Mars said, “What was it like?”

Decker was unfolding his napkin. “What was what like?”

“Walking on that field? Seeing, what, eighty thousand people in the stands? Playing with the best in the world?”

Decker noted the serious look on Mars’s face and quickly understood how important this was to the man.

“It was pretty incredible, Melvin. When I ran through that tunnel and my cleats hit the turf my heart was pumping so fast I thought I might stroke before we even kicked off. I’ve never felt that kind of rush before or since. It was like they were all cheering for me, even though I knew they weren’t. It... it was one of the best damn moments of my life.”

Mars grinned, tucked in his napkin, and picked up his knife and fork. “Yeah, I get that, man, I really do.” He added wistfully, “Must’ve really been something.”

“You know you would have been one of the best of all time.”

Mars shook his head. “You can’t know that. I was a tailback, man, one injury away from it all being over. And there are lots of examples of dudes like me coming out after wrecking college ball and then you find out you can’t run against the big boys in the NFL. Or you blow out your knee and that split-second difference, that missing burst of speed causes you to lose that little edge on deciding what hole to hit, what cut to make. Then you’re gone, man, done, bring on the next piece of meat.”

“My money would have been on you being more like Barry Sanders or Emmitt Smith over a one-and-done.”

Mars chuckled. “Thanks, Decker, I appreciate the confidence.”

“I’m not blowing smoke. I played in the pros. We didn’t have one running back on our team that could carry your jockstrap.”

Mars stopped cutting up his steak. He was about to say something snarky back until he saw the serious look on Decker’s features.

The men’s gazes latched onto each other.

Mars said, “Thanks, that does... mean a lot to me.”

They ate the rest of their meal in silence.

When they were done Decker ordered them two beers. They clinked glasses.

Decker sipped his beer and then set the glass down. He felt nervous and fidgety, his fingers tapping on the tabletop. He wanted to say something, but the words were not forming clearly in his head.

Mars noted his discomfort and said, “Hey, man, you okay?”

Decker took a calming breath, and when he saw Mars’s concerned expression the right words finally came. He said, “Whatever goes down tonight, I want you to know that it’s been a real privilege getting to know you, Melvin.”

Mars seemed to understand how difficult this had been for Decker to get out. He said, grinning, “Hell, I’m just glad you turned on the radio when you did.”

They drank their beers and Mars said, “How do you see it going down?”

“Roy is going to show up because we played by his rules and it’s just us. But don’t think this is all going to be linear and by the book. He’s going to throw us some curveballs, it’s just how the guy’s wired.”

“What sort of curveballs?”

“Hell if I know. I played football, not baseball.”

They walked to the address Roy had given them, arriving there a minute before midnight. The streets were empty, the night chilly but the sky clear. Decker had had Mars turn his phone back on in anticipation of receiving Roy’s next communication.

Decker looked behind him. “That’s nice.”

“What?” said Mars, looking too.

“Where the NAACP office was they built a public library. You know people who read are a lot more tolerant and open-minded than those who don’t.”

“Great, so let’s get everybody in the world a library card.”

They waited for about five minutes before Mars’s phone buzzed. It was another text from Roy:

Walk directly west for a half mile. There’ll be a black Ford parked at the curb. Keys under the front seat. Directions on passenger seat. I’ve got eyes on you right now. Anyone follows, goodbye.

“And now it begins,” said Decker ominously.

“You got your gun?”

Decker nodded. “I just hope I don’t have to use it, because that’ll mean someone’s shooting at us.”

They trudged for half a mile due west and arrived at the black Ford parked at the curb. They climbed in. Decker snagged the keys while Mars checked out the directions.