Thomas Perry - The Face-Changers

She considered the possibility that these men might have something to do with law enforcement. But no, that wasn’t right either. There were certain standard signs. When people like that needed arms that couldn’t be traced, they took them from the piles of confiscated weapons that had supposedly been destroyed. They didn’t need to go to anyone like Sid Freeman. And they didn’t need any false IDs from him, either. They had access to the equipment for making real ones in false names.

As Jane drove along the dark highway, following the Mississippi toward the north, she picked out the constellation the Old People had called the Loon, and began to navigate by it. The world had changed so much since then, and none of the changes had been anything that mattered. The foot trails had been straddled by wagon ruts, then covered over with asphalt. This stretch of land had always looked like this: flat prairies covered in the summer by long grasses.

The Grandfathers had come here regularly on foot in groups of three or four warriors. Just to get as far from Nundawaonoga as she was now, they needed to pass through the countries of enemies: the Eries, the Shawnees, the Miami, Kickapoo, Potawatomi, Sauk, Fox, Mascouten, and Iowa. They had done it by moving in silence and covering their tracks carefully. They had followed a course parallel with the main trails but had stayed off them, just as she was doing now. When the Europeans came they called these little bands “skulking parties.”

What they really represented was the customary way of making war. When a Nundawaono died, the women of his clan—his mother, sisters, and aunts—would ask the men of other clans, who were their husbands, to make up for his loss. This they did by traveling to the land of an enemy people and bringing back a prisoner. It was what men did for women, what one clan did for another, what the clear-minded did for the bereaved.

If the grief of the women was inconsolable, the prisoner would be tormented to demonstrate his bravery, killed, and eaten so his power would still belong to the people. But usually, the prisoner would be adopted to take the name, home, family, and responsibilities of the lost Seneca.

When a life was lost it weakened the side of good and order and happiness by one, and robbed the people of the services of a human being. It made the side of chaos and cruelty and disorder and darkness a little stronger. Whether or not a person had ever heard of the Twin Brothers, that much was undeniable.

It seemed odd to her that tonight the only force in motion was a skulking party of one small, weak Nundawaono woman. But she had seen enough fighting to know that it had probably always seemed that bad to the ones who had to slip quietly through the forest into the country of enemies, and she had been to this part of the battleground before.

22

The electric alarm clock gave an insistent high-pitched chirping sound, and the woman rolled over to reach for it, her long black hair streaming behind her on the pillow. She turned it off and listened to the sounds of cars and trucks moving on the street below the window: New York. She squinted at the display on the clock. It was three A.M. She slipped out of bed quietly, then padded across the carpet to the bathroom, closed the door, and stepped into the shower. The warm water came out in a hundred hard jets and made her skin feel alive again. She could not possibly have had more than two hours of sleep, but she was already alert.

She emerged from the bathroom with one of the hotel’s big soft towels wrapped around her, and saw that the man was just sitting up in the bed. His voice was hoarse when he said, “It’s still dark. What time is it?”

She moved closer and smiled down at him apologetically. “It’s three-fifteen. I’m sorry, but this is part of the game, too. When you have to travel, you try to do it in the dark when nobody else is likely to see you.”

He reached out and grasped her hand, then gave a gentle tug that made her sit on the bed. She let him kiss her neck. “That’s all,” she announced, and stood up. Her eyes softened. “It was wonderful. But if you make me forget I have to get you out of here on time, then it won’t happen again. The flight to Morocco leaves at six, so you’d better get in the shower.”

He swung his legs to the floor, rubbed his eyes, then ran his hand through his hair, stood up, walked to the bathroom, and closed the door.

She waited until she heard the shower running, then opened her suitcase. She pulled out a blue skirt and jacket and put them on, then reached to the bottom of the other section and took out the clothes that she had selected for him.

As she spread them on the bed, she studied them critically. The gray suit looked surprisingly good. It had been bought at a thrift shop in Chicago. The shoes had been picked up in a big discount chain store in North Carolina, and the shirt had been left behind by another runner months ago. It was just the right sort of outfit. Tracing it would lead a person in all directions at once. She heard the shower stop, waited a minute, then went to knock on the door.

“David?”

He swung the door open, took the toothbrush out of his mouth, and said, “Change your mind?”

She rolled her eyes. “Afraid not. It’s nearly three-thirty. We have to be outside in about fifteen minutes.”

David dried himself briskly as he walked out of the bathroom. He looked at the unfamiliar clothes she had laid out for him, then picked up the suit. “Where in the world did you pick these up?” He tossed the coat back on the bed and stepped into the pants.

She put her arm around his shoulder and looked up at him with amusement. “You’ve got to go through customs. Your passport belongs to a teacher in North Carolina. You have to look like a teacher. If you dress like a successful lawyer, they’re going to take a second look.”

He looked closely at the necktie she had picked out for him. “This isn’t so bad.”

She grinned. “I must have slipped up.”

He stopped in the middle of tying it, not sure whether she was serious, so she tightened the knot herself. “You’re a teacher, not some hayseed. You can’t afford a Savile Row suit, but you can buy a nice tie to dress up the suit you can afford.”

She walked around the room wiping off surfaces with his damp towel, then went into the bathroom, wiped the handles and faucets, and dropped the towel on the floor. As she came out she studied him judiciously.

He noticed, turned around once, and looked at her inquiringly.

“You’ll do.” She glanced at her watch. “Time to go. I’ll slip out and look for our ride. You take the suitcase, go down and check out.”

His face went slack, and he didn’t move. She could see that he was embarrassed. “I …”

She snapped her fingers. “Sorry. I forgot you don’t have any money left. I’m not used to getting up this early, I guess.” She went to the window and looked down at East Forty-ninth Street. “They’re here already. Let’s go.”

She opened the door handle with a handkerchief, then closed it quietly and followed David Cunningham down the deserted hallway to the elevator. After the door had closed them in, she said, “You take the suitcase out and put it in the trunk. As soon as I’m finished at the desk I’ll join you.”

David walked purposefully across the lobby and out the front door. A blue car with two men inside pulled up at the loading zone. The big blond man in the passenger seat got out, took the suitcase out of David’s hand, and said quietly, “Get in the back seat.”

David sat in the car and the door closed. The man behind the wheel was the smaller, curly-haired one he had met months ago, just after his troubles had started. The man turned his body in the seat to smile at David. “You’re in the home stretch now. How does it feel?”