Part 10 (1/2)

She dialed Peebles Air and Land Transportation. ”I need to rent a car,” she told the man who answered.

”You like a lot of horsepower?” he asked, then began to describe a Ford V-8 Mustang he had on the lot.

”Here's my credit card number,” she interrupted. ”E-mail me the paperwork.”

”I get it. Sure.” In a small airport that served those who for a variety of reasons wanted to avoid the big airports around Was.h.i.+ngton, he probably had heard stranger requests.

Giving him her information, she put on her coat. As she slung the strap of her bag over her shoulder, the doc.u.ments arrived on her cell phone. She signed and sent them back.

Then she phoned him again. ”Leave the car by the gate with the motor running. I'll be able to see it from here. I'm on my way.” With one hand she rotated the wheel on the cabin door.

”Hey, no can do. Can't leave the car running. I'll wait there with the key.” He hung up before she could argue.

She shoved the door's lever and stepped out into the frosty night. Pulling her coat tightly around her, she hurried down the staircase.

”Eva!” The voice was a bellow behind her.

She looked back.

Jack, the pilot, was sprinting toward her. ”Dammit, Eva, you don't know what you're getting into! Come back!”

She ran toward the waiting Mustang. A young man stood next to the driver's door, holding up keys in his gloved hand and smiling.

Before he could say anything, she s.n.a.t.c.hed the keys. ”Thanks!” She swung open the door, jumped inside, and ignited the engine. Throwing the car into gear, she pressed the gas feed and took off, tires spitting snow.

Checking her rearview mirror, she saw the kid standing confused, alternately watching her and Jack. Jack was gripping the fence with a gloved hand, his face red, breathing great white clouds. He was talking urgently into his cell phone. No doubt reporting her to the Farm. To h.e.l.l with him. She was going to find Tucker.

Eva sped the powerful Mustang across Montgomery County's frozen countryside. She was tense, wondering what she was going to find at Martin Chapman's place. Traffic was light. The moon shone brightly, turning the rural highway bone gray in the night. Listening to her GPS's instructions, she watched the road.

When her cell phone rang, she picked it up and saw the caller ID was useless-”Private Number.”

She considered then finally answered. ”Yes?”

The voice on the other end of the line announced in warm tones: ”Eva, this is Jack, your friendly pilot. Don't hang up.”

She stiffened. ”I'm not going back to the plane.” She jammed the cell's red OFF b.u.t.ton.

She drove past stands of snowy woods interspersed with houses, lights on, people gathered around dinner tables, sitting in front of televisions. ”Private Number” called again. She did not answer. As she pressed the sports car onward, time seemed to stretch into eternity. When the GPS finally announced she had reached her destination, she slowed. The sign over the entrance confirmed it was Chapman's place. The drive was wide, rising to a towering manse fronted by Greek-style columns.

As she continued past she glimpsed a closed-circuit camera in a tree on the far side of a high security wall, then another camera. They were aimed at the wall but could also show the road. She made no more changes in her speed-she wanted to do nothing to attract attention. As she watched for sentries, she drove around the corner. She had to decide what to do. She shot a sharp glance at her cell phone. Then she snapped it up and dialed her voice mail.

There was a message from the pilot, Jack. ”Dammit, Eva, call me!” He left his number.

She punched it into her phone's keypad.

Jack answered instantly. ”Come to your senses, Eva. Get your b.u.t.t back here.”

Glaring at the two-lane road ahead, she announced, ”This isn't a movie, is it, Jack. It's a real d.a.m.n operation. Why have I been cut out of it?”

There was a surprised moment. Then: ”You're not equipped. A lot's riding on it. It's as simple as that.”

”Bulls.h.i.+t.” She waited silently for him to say more.

Finally she heard him sigh. ”G.o.ddammit, Eva, where in h.e.l.l are you?”

”I'm driving along the west side of Chapman's place. I see a service entrance ahead.”

”Okay. So now you have a choice. Turn back, or if you insist on continuing, you've got to promise to do exactly what you're told. Follow orders.”

”I'm not turning back.”

”Say it.”

Gritting her teeth, she echoed, ”I'll do exactly what Frank or Tucker tells me.”

”And don't forget it. Drive a mile past Chapman's service entrance then return and park the Mustang across from it. I'll tell Frank to watch for your car, but I haven't heard from him in a while, so I don't know whether he's even alive. I've given you your orders. Don't screw up and get someone killed.” He ended the call.

Driving with one hand, she gripped her cell in the other until it hurt. Was she really that bull-headed? She peered out at a great sea of moon-glistening white-the snowy plain across from Chapman's property. It made her think of cross-country skiing and snowmen, of childhood. But her childhood had been shaped by a drunken father and a distraught mother. She had been the one who had held all of them together. She had learned a lot of lessons then.

Shaking her head, she checked her odometer then did a U-turn. Cruising back, she parked across from Chapman's service entrance. As she killed the car's engine, she studied the imposing gate. Was there movement on the other side? She waited another minute. Then she saw a side gate next to the kiosk had at some point been opened. It was ajar.

She slung on her shoulder bag, put her cell on MUTE, and opened the car door. The only sound was the hum of cars on the distant road. Heart pounding, she jogged across the street and slid through the gate's narrow opening. And hesitated. Scanning, she noted the driveway up to the compound, the spruce trees on the left that spread high into the horizon, the buildings on the crest.

She glanced back at the open gate, decided not to close it, and walked tentatively forward.

And froze. Dressed in a white jumpsuit padded against the cold, a white ski mask covering his face, a man suddenly appeared from around the kiosk. He was armed with an M4, and from the expert way in which he held it, he knew exactly what to do with it.

27.

Montgomery County, Maryland Sprawled on the front seat of his pickup truck, the doors locked, the heater warming him, Judd Ryder had been sleeping when the unmistakable chop of helicopter blades awoke him. Sitting up, he yawned and shook his head. He had no idea whether he had succ.u.mbed to jet lag or just general exhaustion, but whichever it was, he was weary. What a day. He had been on the run since at least eight o'clock this morning.

Forearms on thighs, he watched through the winds.h.i.+eld as the helicopter landed a hundred feet in front of him on the road. Once a runway, the road and tarmac around it were maintained by the state for parking large machinery like dump trucks. Tucker jumped out, ducked, and hustled through the cold, his long overcoat flapping and big feet slapping the asphalt. The spymaster was a welcome sight.

Tucker climbed into the pa.s.senger seat and slammed the door. ”Good to see you, Judd.”

”Any news about Eva?” Ryder did a one-eighty with the pickup and headed off.

”I got a call from the Farm. They're convinced it was Eva who phoned in, and maybe they're right. They checked with Eva's parents and found out there wasn't any family emergency. They called her brother and sister, too. Ditto. As you know, there are serious rules about recruits lying and leaving training without permission. The murder board voted.”

”She's out?”

”Yes, and we still don't know where she is.”

Ryder grimaced. ”d.a.m.n!”

”I know. I feel the same way. At least I can tell you the tag number for the van Eichel was driving belongs to a Toyota SUV.”