CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
Without any real alternative, the
Donovans had parked their van in an abandoned barn about a mile
from the diner. It looked abandoned, anyway. Sometimes it was hard
to tell in West Virginia. The vehicle barely fit and was still
visible through the gaping spaces between the wall planks, but with
luck, no one would notice. At least, not for a while.
Leaving the van behind was tough for
Jake. That vehicle—and the banged-up VW bus that preceded it—had
always been the centerpiece of their escape plan. In casting it
aside, he felt as if he were symbolically abandoning a second
lifetime of planning and preparation.
Now it was official. They were walking
the tightrope without a net.
The van was a storehouse for survival
gear—clothes, ammunition, building supplies, food, and toiletries.
Now these things were all useless to him. All but a few extra
clothes. And the money, of course. Money was always useful. While
Travis watched in wide-eyed astonishment, Jake and Carolyn
transferred the banded bills into two zippered gym bags from off
the shelves in the back.
That done, they chose a spot in the
forest and settled in for the endless wait. Knowing they’d have to
find their way out in the darkness, they decided to stay in closer
to the diner than was probably prudent, still over a half mile from
the designated pickup point. Jake had lobbied for a hiding spot
further out, fearing the cops would turn the area inside out
looking for them, but Carolyn took a different view. The way she
saw it, only a crazy person would stay in this close. Therefore,
the search would likely concentrate on the highway, some miles
distant. A little high-stakes reverse psychology. In the end, of
course, her logic prevailed.
Perched high on a hill and nestled in
among jagged granite outcroppings, Travis watched in wonder as what
seemed like hundreds of cop cars wore trenches into the highway
below. “God, look at ’em all!”
Carolyn yanked the back of his denim
jacket. “Travis, sit down!” she hissed. “They’re gonna see
you!”
Pulling himself free with a single
jerk, he scoffed, “Yeah, right. They’re gonna see me through all
these leaves.”
“It’s fall,” she countered. “The
leaves are getting thinner every minute.”
Travis laughed. “Do you really
think—”
“This isn’t a negotiation,” Jake
snapped. “Now, get down below the rocks and do what you’re
told.”
Travis paused long enough to peek one
more time, just to make the point before settling into his spot
among the rocks. “This is so boring!”
Jake chuckled. “Under the
circumstances, boring is good.” In their hurry to get away from the
van, Jake had snatched the wrong ammo bag, leaving the assembled
magazines for the Glock on the shelves and taking the empties with
him instead. Now, if only to pass the time, he busied himself with
the task of loading 9-mm hollow points into his six remaining
clips.
“Can I do one?” Travis
asked.
“Sure.” Jake felt the heat of
Carolyn’s glare without looking but paid no attention.
Thirteen-year-old boys were poorly engineered for long periods of
stillness, and if playing with bullets would divert him for a
while, where was the harm?
The clip and the box of bullets were
both heavier than Travis had expected. Watching his dad, it looked
like you just slid the rounds into place, but when that wouldn’t
work, he looked up for assistance.
“Press down,” Jake instructed. “Then
slide in.” He watched his son try it again, with little success.
“That’s the right idea,” he encouraged, “but you need to press
harder against the spring.”
Hard was right! His thumbnails turned
white from the effort, but finally, the first bullet slid home.
“Cool.”
“You know I don’t approve of this,
right?” Carolyn said.
Jake smiled uneasily. “That’s why I
didn’t ask.” He hoped to tap a vein of humor. The last thing he
needed right now was a fight with his wife.
She didn’t laugh, but she let it go.
They’d seen enough confrontation for one day. Instead, she leaned
back against her rock and stared up at the random splotches of
brilliant blue sky through the patchwork canopy of leaves. The day
was proving to be much warmer than the one before, and as the sun
rose high to evaporate last night’s rain, the humidity got trapped
under the canopy, providing a last moment of summer before winter
took over for good. If it weren’t for the occasional siren and the
incessant clicking of metal upon metal as her guys prepared for the
worst, she might have talked herself into believing things were
nearly normal; nearly peaceful. On a different day, she might even
have fallen asleep.
“You know,” Travis said, directing his
words to his father, “you never answered my question.”
Jake looked up. “Oh yeah? What
question is that?”
“Whether you would have shot those
cops. You know, back there at the school?” The boy kept his
concentration focused on his hands as he spoke, studiously avoiding
eye contact.
Jake tried to stay unfazed by the
question. “What do you think?”
A casual shoulder twitch doubled for a
shrug. “I dunno. I guess so.”
Jake stopped what he was doing and
placed his halfloaded clip on a rock, sensing that this went beyond
a simple hypothetical. More and more, it seemed, as Travis closed
in on adolescence, conversations were becoming
complicated.
“There’s only one reason to kill,”
Jake explained, peeling the words off carefully, as a gambler might
deal a high-stakes hand. “And that’s to protect your
family.”
Travis considered the answer, then
went back to work on the clip, still making no effort at eye
contact. “Even if it’s a cop? And he’s just doing his
job?”
Jake looked over to Carolyn, who
suddenly lost interest in playing possum. He softened his tone.
“Where are you going with this, Trav?”
When Travis finally looked up, the
innocence in his eyes had disappeared, bitterness residing in the
spot once occupied by trust. “I’m just trying to figure it all
out,” he said. “I mean, all these guns and these bullets and stuff.
You bring them everywhere, and you threaten everybody. I’m just
wondering who you’re going to kill.”
If words were swords, Jake would have
been in a million pieces. He didn’t know what to say.
“That’s not fair—” Carolyn
tried.
Travis cut her off. “Why not? Am I
supposed to think these guns are just for show?”
“Travis, please,” she begged, rising
up to her knees.
Jake waved her off. “No, let him
talk.”
“Yeah, let me talk,” Travis mocked.
“Let me ask my stupid-kid questions, right?”
It was Jake’s turn. “Look, Trav, I
tried to explain—”
“Why you lied,” he blurted. “I don’t
think we ever got to the killing part.”
“We’re not going to shoot anyone,”
Carolyn said.
Travis dodged her grasp and stood,
oblivious to his exposure above the rocks. “That’s not what
he just said!” He gave his
father a withering look. “He said he was gonna kill to protect his
family. Well, that’s just great! And then they’ll kill you! And
I’ll be . . .” His voice caught in his throat. “They’ll just . .
.”
Travis’s eyes grew red as he
contemplated a prospect he didn’t dare to give a name. He searched
for more words, but they just weren’t there.
Carolyn stood unmoving, fearing the
rejection she’d feel if she reached out to him. “Oh, honey, I’m so
sorry.”
Travis turned his back on her to stare
down at the road some more.
Jake watched it all, without a word,
respecting the boy’s right to be angry. As husband and father, he
wanted to go to them both, to somehow soothe their pain, but he
sensed the uselessness of it. Pain was likely to become a big part
of their lives, and to get through it, each would have to find
their own way to cope. This wasn’t a time for emotions. Maybe
later, but not now. This was a time for rational thinking; for
action. It was about survival now, not about feelings. Carolyn knew
this as well as he, but she refused to stay strong.
This all had to happen one day, and
here it was. This particular brand of resentment was all new to
Travis, though. He was only just now tapping into its deeper
levels, and as he did, he said hurtful, hateful things. But it
would pass, Jake was sure. And if it didn’t, so be it. May his son
live long enough to resent him for a hundred years. Fact was, even
a century of hate from his son couldn’t begin to match the hatred
Jake felt for himself.
As his vision blurred to a mass of
autumn colors, Jake turned his attention back to the business at
hand and began to slide bullet after bullet into his last spare
magazine.
By six o’clock, the sun was gone, and
a chill returned to the air, driving the Donovans once again into
their jackets. The dampness which had felt so soothing in the
warmth now brought shivers and misery. Carolyn had thought to stuff
a goody bag with crackers and cans of tuna fish before they ditched
the van, but forgot to grab a can opener. Thank God for Swiss Army
knives.
Police activity up and down the road
had died to practically nothing over the past five hours, luring
everyone into a sense of security which Jake warned repeatedly was
only an illusion. Each time conversation became animated, or the
volume rose, he shushed them. Nothing serious was discussed during
those hours, beyond catching Travis up on the real details of his
heritage. It was as if they’d declared a silent truce, in which the
only rule of engagement was not to engage the present or the
future. That left them with only the past—well-worn, benign stories
of Travis’s childhood.
Come nine o’clock, it was time to move
out, each of them carrying a bag of something. Travis offered to
carry the cash but was relegated instead to hefting the extra food
and clothes.
“Mom’s in charge of the money, just
like always,” Travis observed, earning himself a playful shot to
the head.
Darkness proved a formidable adversary
as they picked their way cautiously toward the road, down the side
of the hill. Loose rocks and coiled vines made footing treacherous,
reaching out in the dark to force a fall. Excepting some dusty
backsides, they all made it down without incident.
One of the challenges Jake had feared
most was crossing the highway in the open to get to the far side,
where the terrain was considerably flatter. A trio of people
traveling by foot in the dark was bound to raise suspicion. As it
turned out, the road was clear, and they crossed easily, dashing to
the cover of the tree line on the other side. From there, they once
again battled with darkness to walk the remaining three-quarters of
a mile to the end of their journey.
By eleven-thirty, they were in
position, more or less directly across the street from the pickup
point. They huddled fifteen or twenty feet inside the tree line,
invisible in the mottled moon shadows, and watched as the
occasional car passed in front of the sheer rock face that defined
the opposite shoulder of the road. Now, if they could just get warm
. . .
After a day of being patient, the last
half hour felt longer than the previous half day. No one spoke now,
each choosing instead to listen to the stillness of the
night—trying in vain to hear the hum of an approaching engine
through the vibrating chorus of night creatures. As a single
raccoon foraged for his dinner in a nearby drainage ditch, no one
moved. A screech owl pierced the night with its haunting imitation
of a crying child.
“Jesus Christ,” Jake hissed, checking
his watch. The luminescent green hands and numbers seemed
exceptionally bright. “Where is this guy? He’s late.”
Carolyn gave him a disapproving glare.
“What time is it?”
“Eleven fifty-seven.”
“Then he’s not late,” Travis
whispered, stealing his mother’s thunder. “He said midnight sharp.
It’s not midnight yet.”
“Close enough,” Jake
grumped.
“Relax, Jake,” Carolyn said, a
surprisingly calm tone masking her racing heart and fragile nerves.
“Harry won’t let us down.”
Three minutes later, straight-up at
midnight, a late-model white Cadillac pulled to a stop across the
street, about a hundred yards short of them. “That’s it!” Jake
whispered. “Let’s go.” He tried to step forward, but Carolyn and
Travis pulled him back by his jacket.
“Not yet,” Travis scolded. “He hasn’t
lit his cigarette. Uncle Harry said to wait for the
cigarette.”
Jake pulled his jacket out of their
hands. “Oh, for crying out loud. It’s him! How many white cars do
you think are scheduled to show up at this spot precisely at
midnight? Jesus!”
“But Harry’s instructions were exact!”
Carolyn protested. “He said to wait until . . .”
Jake was done listening. He was tired,
and he was wet. For the last thirty-six hours, he’d done nothing
but follow Carolyn’s orders. Do this. Do that. Stop here. Don’t
stop here. He was sick of it! Soon, he’d have Mr. Congeniality,
Harry Sinclair, to deal with, too.
He hefted the two money bags and
started for the car.
Fighting the urge to duck and dash
around shadows, he opted to stroll out of the woods as normally as
possible for the benefit of anyone who might be watching. Halfway
there, he turned and beckoned for his family to join him, amazed at
how thoroughly the shadows obliterated their images. He motioned,
yet they didn’t move.
“Come on!” he whisper-shouted. “Let’s
get this over with!” He waved at them one more time and they
finally emerged from their camouflage, looking anxiously over both
shoulders as they scurried to join him.
“Relax, Carolyn. You look like you
just robbed a bank.”
“I feel like I just robbed a bank.” She sounded
close to tears. “I don’t like this. Harry said . . .”
Carolyn fell silent, and they stopped
dead in their tracks as the Cadillac pulled smoothly away from the
narrow shoulder.
“What the hell is he doing?” Jake
gasped. He fought the urge to call after him.
Then they saw it. First, as a wash of
headlights, then as a blue and white Ford with a light bar. West
Virginia State Police.
“Oh, shit!” Jake hissed. “It’s a
setup.”
“No!” Carolyn insisted. “Not from
Harry.”
“What are we gonna do?” Travis
whined.
They were completely out in the open,
too far from the tree line to make it back without being seen.
Whatever they were going to do, they had to get it done in the next
five seconds, or this would all be over. “The ditch!” Jake
declared, pointing.
Moving as one, they dashed the three
steps to the drainage ditch that ran parallel to the road, and dove
in, sliding face-first in the gooey runoff and road
trash.
Jake thought his chest might explode
as he lay there, his eyes closed tight against the fear, listening
as the cruiser drove past. If the cop spotted them, they were done.
Even his gun was useless. He couldn’t get to it in time for it to
do any good.
No one moved, even after the sound of
the engine disappeared. A good minute passed before Travis broke
the silence. “Is he gone?”
Jake sneaked his head above the ditch
and slipped his hand to the grip of his pistol. Nothing but empty
road, twisting out of sight in both directions. “Clear,” he
announced at a whisper. “Back to the trees!”
Jake grabbed Carolyn’s hand, and she
grabbed Travis’s as they scurried back to the shadows and collapsed
into the bushes.
“Oh, my God,” Carolyn breathed. “I
told you to wait!” She hit
Jake in the chest, hard enough to hurt.
He said nothing. When you’re right, you’re
right.
“Do you think he saw us?” Travis
whined.
“No,” Carolyn said
unequivocally.
Jake wasn’t so sure. “I don’t know.
Even if he saw us, he might not have stopped. We’re armed and
dangerous, remember?”
No one was sure what to do next. Their
ride was gone, the police were cruising the area, and they were
stuck in the middle of nowhere at midnight, without transportation.
Five minutes passed.
“Do you think he’s coming back?” Jake
asked.
“Who, the cop or our
ride?”
Jake shrugged. “Pick
one.”
Again, Travis answered for his mom.
“I’m guessing: ride, yes; cop, not for a while.”
Jake rumpled his hair, drawing an
annoyed look. “I like the way you think.” Two more minutes passed.
Then three. Then five. “This isn’t good,” Jake
whispered.
When Carolyn and Travis both missed
their cue to argue, Jake’s spirits slipped even further. Suddenly,
capture seemed imminent. And what exactly would capture mean?
Certain jail time, he figured, for decades, at least, if not
life—or maybe even death. For the first time in years, Jake’s mind
recalled a tour he’d taken of a police station back when he was a
Cub Scout—maybe ten years old. The best part of the tour had been
the weapons locker, with all the rifles, pistols, and shotguns
lined up like soldiers at attention; but the tour also included a
peek at the detention cells, with their peeling paint and their
metal beds and their toilets without any privacy. Even after all
these years, Jake could clearly remember the tour guide reciting
the dimensions of those steel-and-concrete boxes: six-by-eight. He
didn’t even know what the numbers meant back then, but he knew that
it meant small. And he hated small.
You could
suffocate in a cage that small.
In fact, of the entire Cub Scout den,
he alone refused to cross the threshold to “try the cell on for
size,” as the cop had said. He knew how much other kids liked to
fool around, and he remembered feeling terrified that one of them
might think it would be funny to close the door on him. Even if
they’d been able to find a key, there’d have been those
minutes—however few—when he would have been locked alone in a tiny
room, with everyone watching him and laughing at him as he sobbed
and begged for them to let him out.
But it never happened that way. He’d
said, “No thank you,” to the police officer, and the police officer
had respected his wishes. Still, the fear he’d experienced back
then felt very, very real, even today, nearly thirty years
later.
Neither surrender nor capture was a
viable option.
“How long do you think we should
wait?” Travis asked.
“Till next Thursday, if we have to,”
Jake said.
The Cadillac returned. “There he is,”
Carolyn said excitedly.
The mammoth white car returned to its
spot in the road and parked. “This time we stay put until he gives
the signal,” Travis ordered. God, he was getting
bossy.
Nothing happened for thirty seconds,
and then the interior light came on. Right away, Jake recognized
the driver as good old Thorne—the man without a sense of humor.
Even after fourteen years, he hadn’t changed a bit.
While the Donovans watched, the
broad-shouldered man pulled himself out of the driver’s seat and
closed the door behind him. There was movement, but they couldn’t
tell in the dark what he was doing until a lighter flared in front
of his leathery face.
“Now?” Jake prompted.
“C’mon.”
They approached the car slowly but not
stealthily, walking like regular people down a regular road in the
middle of a regular night. “Remember,” Travis whispered. “Don’t
startle him.”
Jake smiled. “God, Trav, if he can’t
see us by now, I don’t want to be riding with him in a
car.”
“Just remember, is all.”
“I’ll try.”
No one said anything until they’d
approached within five feet of the driver, who, on closer
inspection, had only one eyebrow, which stretched from ear to ear.
He made no moves as they approached, but there was something about
the way he smoked the cigarette that didn’t look right. Then Jake
realized that the guy was keeping his hands free.
How
reassuring. And the hands wore gloves.
“Hello, Thorne,” Carolyn said softly.
“Nice to see you again.” She gave him a perfunctory hug, and the
tightly coiled man returned it, sort of.
Thorne did his best to squeeze out a
smile. “Mr. Sinclair says hello. Your friend Nick will be able to
join you tomorrow.”
“That’s great!” Carolyn exclaimed. “What about Uncle
Harry? Will I see him, too?”
Jake checked his watch nervously.
“Shouldn’t we get going?”
Thorne ignored him. “No, Mr. Sinclair
can’t make it. The FBI’s been watching him pretty closely since you
guys popped up again.” He seemed a little startled at the sight of
Travis, who in turn did his best to keep his father between himself
and the cold brown eyes. “What’s this?” Thorne asked.
“It’s a boy,” Jake answered, his voice
weighted with sarcasm.
Thorne’s mouth smiled, but his eyes
did not. His eyes never smiled, in fact. “I’d forgotten what a
funny man you are, Jack.”
“It’s Jake,” Travis corrected
defensively.
Thorne regarded them both as if they
were table scraps. “We’ve gotta get going,” he said. He opened the
back door and revealed a mess of luggage and newspapers strewn all
over the seat and floor. “This spot’s for you, kid,” Thorne
instructed. “Climb under all that stuff and cover yourself up
good.” He pushed a button on his key chain, and the trunk popped
open. “You and your husband have to ride back here for a while,
Sunshine,” he explained. “They got roadblocks every place looking
for you two. Can’t stop us without probable cause, and with you
back here, they got probable nothin’.”
Jake pulled up short. “I’m not getting
in the trunk,” he said.
“Oh, yeah?” Thorne challenged, clearly
amused. “Why not?”
“I’m claustrophobic.”
The big man rolled his eyes. “Get over
it, then. ’Cause that’s how I’m driving you. It’s that or walk. You
choose.”
Jake watched as Travis burrowed under
the trash in the backseat, and Thorne helped Carolyn into the
trunk. At least it was a big one.
Shit.
In the end, Jake took a deep breath,
swung his feet over the edge, and lay down.