by E. Joan Sims
“Not a bit,” I assured her with a hug.
I smiled as she checked on Horatio and gently tucked the blanket under his chin. She climbed the stairs slowly. By the sound of her footsteps I could tell she paused at the top to watch me for a moment. When she was sure I wasn’t going to make a run for it, she went into her bedroom and closed the door. That’s when I got up and crossed quickly to the balcony. My hand was on the knob of the door when I heard Horatio’s voice.
“Going somewhere?”
I spun around and glared angrily at our patient.
“Drat! Do you make some kind of habit out of sneaking up on people?”
Horatio gestured at his cast. “As you can see, my child, I’m hardly able to sneak up on anyone.”
“Yeah, but you were supposed to sleep through the night.”
He smiled slyly and produced a pink and blue pill from his smoking jacket pocket.
“I probably would have if I had not tucked this little gem inside my cheek instead of swallowing it as you intended, my dear.”
I sat on the coffee table in front of him.
“Not me, Horatio. The doctor intended for you to sleep well tonight. You must be in pain.”
He pulled himself up to a sitting position against the arm of the big sofa. He tried to hide it, but I saw him wince when he moved his leg.
“Not so much pain as you might expect,” he lied.
We were both getting to be too good at this prevarication thing. I decided to put an end to it.
“Okay. I’m sneaking out tonight and you know it. You can’t go with me, and you can’t stop me, so let’s not even start that pointless argument.”
He raised his elegant eyebrows and looked at me sternly. I had bordered on disrespect, but he was accepting my position.
“So,” I continued, “you might as well tell me what to do, and how to do it. Knowledge is the best protection you can offer me. You’re the clandestine spy expert. Make me a Mata Hari for the night.”
“I wish it were as simple as that, Paisley. I would gladly transform you instantly into James Bond if I could. But even that excellent gentleman, who was modeled after one of my friends by the way, might not be able to save himself from those I suspect to be our enemies.”
Horatio’s skin had taken on a greyish hue even in the ruddy light of the fire. His chin sagged and his eyelids drooped. He looked older than I had ever seen him. I felt instantly contrite.
“What in the hell am I thinking about?” I slapped myself hard on a blue denimed knee. “I should be worrying about you and your injured ankle, not planning some stupid midnight prowl. I am so sorry, Horatio. Forgive me? And don’t tell Mother,” I hastened to add. “Can I get you something? Soup maybe? There’s some left over from our supper.”
Horatio sagged back against the sofa pillow and closed his eyes for a moment.
“A large brandy,” he announced. “A large brandy and some chicken noodle soup.”
I swallowed back a sour burp. “Yuck! Are you really sure about that?”
“Absolutely! Also I require a large yellow legal pad and a sharp pencil,” he added firmly.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I busied myself in the kitchen trying to warm up Horatio’s soup without making any noise. I didn’t want Mother to come bustling downstairs to see what was going on. According to what I had told her I should have been in bed at least a half-hour ago.
When everything Horatio had requested was ready, I loaded up a tray and carried it over to the coffee table. While he was eating, I brought in three more logs and poked at the fire until it was burning merrily. I sat on the hearth and warmed my backside until my jeans felt like they were on fire, then settled in a big chair and waited for Horatio to finish.
“Ahh,” he sighed with contentment. “Chicken noodle soup from a can is still my favorite meal.” He winked broadly at me and went on to say, “While we are swearing each other to secrecy, please promise you will never tell your lovely mother that. She would be forever injured. She thinks I love her bouillabaisse more than life itself.”
“Cross my heart and hope to die,” I laughed as I made the childish sign over my sweater.
Horatio’s smile disappeared. He looked old and distressed once more.
“Please take your pill now,” I urged. “What you have to say can wait until tomorrow.”
He shook his head slowly and swallowed another mouthful of brandy.
“’Fraid not, my dear. I’ve been fretting since we had to go to that damn fool medicine man. I registered under an assumed name here at the hotel to preserve our privacy. I even paid cash in advance so there would be no reason to use a check or credit cards that could be traced. But the doctor’s office was a different matter. Before I could warn her, your sweet, naïve mother unwittingly gave the nurse my real name and address. It will be a simple matter now to trace my whereabouts. And it won’t take a genius to put two and two together and figure out you all are with me as well.”
I stared at him in amazement. “You make it sound like we’re up against the KGB or something!”
“This is not just an old man’s paranoia speaking, Paisley. Have you ever heard of the Underground Special Forces?”
“Good grief, no!” I laughed. “It sounds like something out of a comic book.”
“Well, it’s definitely not. And you can be assured there’s nothing comical about it. Several years ago the Pentagon discovered a covert paramilitary operation in North Carolina. This clandestine group existed for the express purpose of training civilian personnel to take over control of the federal government.”
“The United States government? Come on! You’re pulling my leg.”
He smiled grimly. “I wish I were. But unfortunately I’m telling you the absolute truth. Several officers and scores of enlisted men were involved. The purpose of the exercise was to prepare men who could then fan out into the hinterlands and train others like themselves. When the time was right, these various individual paramilitary units would be in position to seize control of the local, state, then federal government in their area.”
“And what time was that? When would it be right, I mean?”
“Who knows? I’ve read a great deal of hate literature from these rascals, but they never really say anything concrete. They talk in vitriolic circles about ‘white supremacy’ and hatred of other races. Some are violently opposed to immigration, and even to women having voting rights. Most have a great deal in common with fascist movements, past and present. They use arguments about fearing gun control to gain members and intimidation and veiled threats to keep them. I have to tell you frankly, my child, I am really very afraid of men like these. They are fanatics who believe in their God-given right to protect themselves from the rest of us with every means at their command. Their credo is: Take no prisoners and show no mercy. I believe you have stumbled upon another cell of such a group.”
I felt my upper lip quiver just a bit as I asked hopefully, “Aren’t you exaggerating just a smidgen?”
“Not a bit of it, my dear. Not a bit of it,” he responded with grim force.
An unnatural coldness settled at the base of my spine. I shivered and got up to warm myself in front of the fire again. The light of the flames threw shadows on the wall. At home in the library, the shadows always seemed friendly and comforting. Here they appeared menacing and strangely sinister.
After pondering for a moment, I asked a question that had been in the back of my mind for weeks. It had hovered as a nameless foreboding, but now I knew what to call it and what to ask.
“Do you think Bert Atkins and Andy Joiner are mixed up in this covert operation somehow?”
Horatio looked at me sadly and shook his head. I could tell he hated to give me an answer.
“Let’s pray they are not,” he answered reluctantly.
I decided not to let him off the hook.
“But you think there’s a pretty good chance they are, just as I do. Isn’t that so?” I insisted.
“It would appear that way, my child,” he finally agreed. “I know you have some feelings for Atkins. I’m sorry if they have been misplaced. You, of all people, deserve the attentions of a fine man.”
“Ha! A fine man,” I snorted. “Like there is such a thing! Anymore, I mean,” I hastened to add.
“Never mind, my dear. I realize I’m a dinosaur. Young people nowadays have very little in the way of honor and heroism in their makeup. I think they believe it’s something you only see in the cinema, and therefore you need not be a hero yourself. Too bad,” he mused. “I loved Tom Mix, but I knew I had to stand tall in my own life.”
I fixed us a fresh pot of coffee while Horatio busied himself with his yellow legal pad. By now, my frugal supper was a dim memory, so I heaped a plate with cookies and added that to the coffee tray.
Horatio studied me carefully while I poured our coffee and added cream and sugar. Finally, I became uncomfortable enough under his scrutiny to ask why.
“What’s the matter? Do I have crumbs on my face? I only sneaked one cookie in the kitchen.”
“No, dear, nothing like that. I was simply wondering how tough you are.”
“Come on, now,” I smiled as I tried to lighten the conversation. “You’re beginning to scare me again. Anyway, just how tough do I have to be? All I plan to do is hike cross country a few miles and do a little peeking on a farm house until Mr. Camp decides to come outside and let me see what he looks like. If Andy or Bert is there, then so be it. Nobody will ever spot me, and if they do, so what? They’ll hardly try to run me over with a tank! Don’t worry.”
“I have to worry. That’s how I’ve stayed alive so long. And now I have to keep you and your Mother alive as well. Damn this cast! If only I could go with you as I planned. There are so many things I haven’t told you that you need to know. These men are…”
“Really, really scary, I know.”
“No, you don’t, Paisley. You really haven’t the faintest notion.”
“Maybe it’s better that I don’t.”
“You said it yourself,” he counseled. “Knowledge is your best weapon. Listen to me for awhile, and let me arm you as best as I can.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
In my uneasy sleep, I dreamed of flapping wings and pounding hoofs. I was left with the vague memory that I had spent the night riding with Alfred Noyes’ highwayman when I awoke before dawn, my cotton gown wet with perspiration. Stumbling into the bathroom, I stood under the reviving spray of a hot shower until I felt the water wash away the half-remembered dread.
I dressed carefully in layers like Horatio had advised. Under my jeans I wore a pair of ankle-length silk long johns which I tucked into two pairs of socks, one thin and one thick and wooly. I slipped on two turtleneck shirts; again, the first was a silk undershirt and the second a cotton shirt I wore under a heavy woolen cable-knit sweater. I felt myself beginning to perspire again as I tied on my hiking boots. I opened the door to the balcony just a tad and felt instant relief from a rush of cold early morning air. A thin, waterproof anorak with lots of pockets and a hood completed my outfit.
I buckled on the fanny pack I had filled the night before under Horatio’s direction, then pulled on my gloves and a stocking cap. On impulse, I grabbed my sunglasses and tucked a tube of lip balm and a packet of Kleenex into one of my pockets. I was as ready as I would ever be.
Before I closed the door, I stepped out on the balcony and surveyed the winter landscape below. The surface of the lake was black and shiny. The waves moved slowly and heavily towards the narrow shore like liquid mercury. The sun rose over the hills on the eastern horizon, but dark clouds soon obscured its pale winter light.
It’s definitely a dark and stormy morning, I thought morosely, and briefly considered backing out. My previous air of bravado had disappeared sometime between last night and that very moment. Horatio would forgive me, I was sure about that. And Mother was still oblivious of my intentions. I could shuck off all my outdoor paraphernalia and tuck myself back in my warm cozy bed, and no one would ever say a thing.
As I closed the balcony door, Aggie looked at me contemptuously through bushy eyebrows, then snuggled back in the comfort of my pillow. That settled it.
“Okay, you selfish little bitch,” I told her. “You win. I’ll go save the world. You stay here and keep your hairy little butt warm and dry.”
Horatio had fallen asleep shortly after he helped me plan my trek. He was still snoring peacefully as I tiptoed awkwardly past him in my heavy-soled hiking boots. Mother’s bedroom door was closed, and I had already bade farewell to the dog. I opened the front door and left without any more fanfare.
At first the frigid morning air was invigorating, but as I trudged along the road I felt it burn my throat and lungs just as Horatio warned me it would. I pulled my scarf over my mouth and let the wool warm the air as I breathed in and out. It made a big difference. I hoped the rest of his advice would come in just as handy.
The dark skies overhead made it seem like twilight instead of shortly after dawn. Even so, I was glad Horatio had convinced me to wait until daylight. It was a bit warmer and definitely less scary.
I had about eight miles to walk in this nasty weather. I wasn’t an Olympic athlete, but I was in fair shape. My boots were old and comfortable, and I had on just the right clothing for these conditions. If all things remained the same and I had no mishaps, I would arrive at my destination well before noon.
At first I watched my surroundings with interest. I could see the tracks of rabbit and deer and other small animals in the mud on the side of the dirt road. Each time I heard a noise in the woods I watched expectantly for an animal to break out of the dry brush and run across in front of me as the buck had on my first trip to Bert’s cabin. But after an hour of walking with nothing happening, I grew tired of the same dead, leafless winter scenery and plodded on in bored apathy.
The road ended quite suddenly. I stopped short just before I tumbled over a row of small boulders placed to warn motorists. I sat down on one of the larger rocks and opened my fanny pack. From now on I was going to have to depend on Horatio’s instructions. I dug around inside and found the compass he had given me. Once I located the direction I needed to take, I rewarded myself with a mouthful of trail mix and a swig of water from my canteen.
When I served time as Cassie’s Girl Scout troop leader I had often joked about being totally at sea in the woods. Of course, in San Romero, the woods had been a tropical rain forest and very different from the ones in the scout manual. Somehow I had managed to teach the little girls how to build a fire and avoid all manner of creatures that would like to have made a meal of them. They all earned their outdoor skills badge, and I was lucky enough to hang on to all my fingers and toes. I only set fire to the jungle once, and none of us ever had to be rescued by the National Guard.
Nevertheless, I had never felt quite at ease with the raw elements of nature. I hated being too cold or too hot. I intensely disliked peeing in the bushes, and I missed taking a warm sudsy bath before bed. Meals cooked over a fire never tasted quite done to me, and sleeping bags seemed too prone to harbor creepy crawlers. In short, I would rather have stayed at home.
Mother was probably waking up right about now. Horatio would have to do some fast talking to keep her from sending the forest rangers out looking for me. We had discussed that possibility last night and Horatio assured me that he would be able to keep her from worrying herself to distraction. I still had my doubts, but that hadn’t kept me from leaving.
The path through the woods, which had looked so sterile and bleak when I was walking along the open road unhampered by thorns and briars, was much harder going than I imagined. The ground was uneven, and I kept tripping over hillocks of dried leaves and twigs. Even though most of the trees were bare, they were so close together I could not see very far ahead of me. The tall pines reached above the others and their branches closed off the sky. What little sunshine there was didn’t ha
ve much of a chance of reaching the forest floor. I mentally added an extra hour or two to my estimated time of arrival and promised myself a meal at noon, which was now two hours away.
The compass was my guide. I constantly referred to its white face with the little dancing arrow. Occasionally, I would have to veer to the right or left of my course when I came upon a fallen tree or a gully too deep to cross, but my silent little companion always brought me back to the proper direction.
The woods were strangely quiet. It had been a long time since I had heard the sound of a bird or the scamper of little varmint feet through the dry leaves. Of course, it was the dead of winter and most little creatures were hibernating. I pictured them as I imagined them when I wrote my children’s books—baby squirrels and chipmunks all nestled comfortably in tiny beds made of twigs with blankets woven from the silk of spider webs. It was nonsense and I knew it, but I preferred it that way.
Walking had become automatic, and I didn’t realize how tired I was until I failed to lift my foot high enough and tumbled over a fallen tree. I fell into a soft pile of leaves so I wasn’t hurt, but I lay there for a moment to catch my breath. The thought occurred to me that it would be so easy to stay there in my own little nest and sleep, if not for the winter, at least for an hour or two. I closed my eyes and imagined how it would be to sleep in the woods like a little animal, all curled up in the leaves snug and cozy. That’s when I heard the voices of the approaching men.
My heart slammed against my ribs. I was terrified. I told myself I really had no reason to be frightened. I could get up, sit on the log, wait for their arrival, and have a chat. Why was I hiding, and why was I so afraid? I didn’t take time to ask myself any more questions. The log I had fallen over was rotten and partially hollow. I pulled up as close as I could to its length and dug down into the leaves to toss them over my exposed legs and shoulders.
My anorak was a dusty beige. I pulled the hood up over my bright green knit cap and auburn hair. The only thing I could do after that was hold my breath and pray. I did both as I heard their voices grow louder.