When Mitch was done, the guard pulled his arms back to run the plastic around his hands again.
The guard was young, a kid really. He’d already revealed a soft side by taking Mitch to the bathroom. Mitch appealed to it again. “I busted my ribs a couple of days ago. Mind putting them in the front?”
The guard laughed; young or not, the kid was no pushover. “As a matter of fact, I do mind.” He continued rebinding Mitch’s hands just the way they’d been. And to prove he was in charge, he gave the cuffs an extra tug, wrenching Mitch’s wrists. Then he pushed Mitch out the bathroom door and returned him to the central room.
Back in the chair, Mitch’s leg still twitched up and down. He had to get out of there, but his best chance had already proved no chance at all.
A radio crackled. “We found the girl. Bringing her down to security.”
Mitch stilled. The girl. His girl? His mind raced to the rhythm of his fast-beating heart. He’d have to get them out of here before Dutch showed up. Now he was glad he hadn’t made his move yet. Now Julia would come to him. He could see her, talk to her. They could run then. Together. He pictured their escape, Jules laughing, the wind of freedom washing over their faces.
But when a security guard came in, he carried a towheaded child much younger than Julia. And she had a mother who rushed in to claim her.
The air inside Mitch’s lungs whooshed out like he’d been punched. He watched the reunion as though it weren’t real. How could it be? That was supposed to be him and Julia.
The guard transferred the child to the mother. Her smile made Mitch want to snatch it right off her face. He wanted that smile, those arms around his neck. He wanted to steal that relief and fly away with it.
The office broke into applause.
“You got lost,” the kid said, and the room erupted in laughter.
No one was watching Mitch. They were all fixed on the mother and child who were blocking him from sight.
He bent down, slunk off his chair. Crept to his left.
A second later he was out the door.
37
The escape lasted maybe ten seconds. Long enough for half a hallway’s head start.
Behind him, Mitch heard shouting.
“Hey! Stop him!”
A couple of people stared as he tore by, but they were too surprised to do anything. A corner up ahead.
He turned. Flew down the red corridor.
His hands behind his back made running awkward. Couple that with his less-than-perfect ankle, and he made a jerky, stumbling path down the hallway. Any moment they’d catch him.
He had to get his hands free.
A utility cart sat against the wall. A fast scan—was there a knife or a pair of scissors in it?
No such luck.
He peeked over his shoulder. The cop and a couple of other security men turned the corner. Rushed down the hallway toward him.
He raced off. Zigzagged around people.
Another corner. He took it.
Dove behind a float labeled WISHES COME TRUE.
He stifled his breathing, which was loud enough for the whole planet to hear. God, his chest hurt.
Flashes of color that were the security men raced by. Mitch closed his eyes. Counted to ten. Crossed his fingers.
He peeked out.
The corridor was clear.
He doubled back at a fast walk and passed a restroom. On impulse he dove inside. Maybe a maintenance man had left something—anything—he could use to cut off his cuffs.
Lucky, lucky, it was empty. Desperate, he banged open stall doors. Peered into every corner. Nothing.
On his way out, he noticed the hand dryer, the same kind he’d used earlier. On impulse, he backed up to it. Stuck his hands beneath it. Like before, the thing heated up instantly, blowing hot air with force enough to take off his skin.
But it wasn’t just his skin that heated up; the plastic cuffs did, too. While they did, he stretched them, pulling hard against the outside of his wrists. All the while, he watched the door. How long would this take? Would he be caught before he finished?
The heat was singeing his skin, but finally the plastic gave, widened just enough, and he slipped his right hand out of its loop.
Quickly, he worked the left and got it off, too.
Then he was out the door and back in the hallway.
Where were the cops? He had no idea.
He went left, away from the security office, then turned down a random corridor and ended up at a dead end. He retraced his steps, but before he could get out, he heard shouting and the noise of the chase.
A rapid pivot. Dead end. The other way? Cops. He was trapped.
Two doors down, a man exited a room. Mitch dove inside before the door could close.
Julia and Sara Jean sat in the red hallway behind one of those yellow car things. As long as no one took it for a drive, they were out of sight. At least for a while.
“What are we going to do?” Sara Jean asked.
“I don’t know.”
“We need to get back to the park.”
“Duh.” She knew she was being a total crabhead, but she couldn’t help it. She did not want to get caught.
“Hey, this is your plan,” Sara Jean said.
“How was I supposed to know you’re only allowed down here if you’re sixteen? What’s so great about sixteen anyway?”
“It’s older than thirteen.”
They’d already been caught once, which is how they found out about the sixteen rule. And why they were hiding.
“We’re going to have to run,” Julia said morosely.
“I don’t like running.”
“Would you rather go back to security?”
“I’d rather go back outside like we planned.”
Julia was beginning to regret including Sara Jean. She paraphrased Dutch. “Whining is so unattractive in a woman.”
“I’m not whining.”
“Whatever.” Julia crawled to the edge of the cart and stole a look outside. A bunch of men were running down the hall. Quickly she ducked back, her heart hammering. Were they looking for her and Sara Jean?
The thought of going back to Dutch made her dizzy. And she didn’t know where Mitch was. Not that she cared. He’d stolen her. Lied to her. Worst of all, he’d left her. Even if she could find him, she wasn’t sure she wanted to.
“What’s going on?” Sara Jean said.
“Shhh.”
Sara Jean crawled up to Julia. “What’s happening?” she whispered.
“Some men. Running.”
“Running where?”
“I don’t know!” Julia peeked out again. The men were gone. The hallway was empty. “Come on.”
Slowly they stood up. Looked right and then left. Julia grabbed Sara Jean’s hand, and they scooted off and around the corner.
They ran smack into a woman with a name tag. From where Julia stood, all she could see was the gold rectangle, winking in and out in the light.
“What are you two doing here?” she asked.
Julia said the first thing that popped into her head. “Oh, my dad works here.” She squeezed Sara Jean’s hand for support.
“He does,” Sara Jean added, which somehow made them seem less truthful rather than more.
“We were just going to the cafeteria,” Julia added in a rush.
“It’s the other way,” the woman said. She looked at them suspiciously. “Are you sure your dad works here? What’s his name?”
“Uh…,” Sara Jean said, but the last half of the word ended in a squeal as Julia yanked her away at a run.
“What are you doing?” Sara Jean stumbled, then righted herself and bobbed along.
“What does it look like?” Julia said.
“Come back here!” The woman started after them, but she was wearing heels.
They rounded another corner and slowed to catch their breath. Closed doors stretched up and down this hall. “What do you think’s here?” Julia tried a couple o
f doorknobs.
“I don’t know, but hurry! She’s coming!”
Julia looked up. The woman was turning the corner. Julia sped up, zipping from door to door.
They were all locked.
Mitch tumbled into the room, closed the door behind him, and leaned his forehead against it, eyes closed.
It hurt to breathe.
He stood absolutely still, rigid, every cell tuned to the noise outside the door.
Silence. Pure, blessed silence.
No one challenged him from outside, and no one challenged him from within, either.
Relieved, he exhaled a slow, careful breath. Turned to see what he’d gotten himself into. And came face-to-face with…
Goofy.
And Donald. And a couple of the seven dwarfs.
Or at least their decapitated heads.
He gaped, the sight not registering. Then he realized what he was seeing and where he was.
A costume room.
The heads were stacked in front of him, each character’s name labeled on a shelf. The bodies hung from special hooks on either side of the room. Again, each character had his or her labeled area. It was all very neat and efficient.
He started breathing again. Laughed. God almighty, he was due for a break. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
How much time did he have before someone came in? He skimmed quickly over the selection. The only one that looked like it would work with his height was the Goofy outfit. Hurrying, he took one down from the wall and pulled up the pants. He was reaching for the head when a noise interrupted him.
He froze.
Someone was at the door.
His gaze snapped to the knob. It turned one way, then the other.
He held his breath.
His eyes burned from staring at the silver handle.
But no other sound came.
No one burst in.
Even so, he tucked Goofy’s head under his arm and waited. A minute. Two minutes. How long did he have? Was anyone out there?
Julia and Sara Jean backed down the hallway. The woman with the name tag headed toward them. Somehow she’d found a helper. Now there were two of them.
Julia’s stomach was tight. She wanted to burst into tears. The adults advanced steadily.
“What are we going to do?” Sara Jean squeaked.
“I don’t know.” Julia was frantic. She looked right and left. No exits. And she’d taken a turn down a dead end, so there was no way out there, either.
They backed up until they hit the wall.
Inside Julia’s head, No, no no! wailed over and over.
The two women cornered them. Just as they lunged to grab them, Julia shouted, “Run!” and ducked under the reaching arms.
But it was too late for Sara Jean. The second woman got hold of her before she could bolt.
Julia was just as unlucky. Heels or no heels, the first woman managed to grab hold of Julia’s shirt. “No, you don’t,” she said, pulling Julia to a stop.
With a firm grip, they marched the girls back down the hallway and around the corner just as Goofy opened the door and stepped out of the costume room.
38
Roger Carrick got to the Disney World security office, trying to contain his excitement. He’d come to Florida on a hunch and had only been there a few hours when the call came.
He flashed his credentials at the man behind the intake desk. His badge said his name was Walsh. “You have Mitchell Hanover here? I got a call from a deputy”—he checked the piece of paper he’d written the name down on—“Dwayne Sever.”
Walsh shifted. Looked beyond Roger to another man who was standing at the door. Both men looked decidedly unhappy.
“What happened?” Roger asked instantly. “Where is he? Where is Mitchell Hanover?”
“Gone,” Walsh said. “Ran.”
Roger glared at the man. “How the hell could you let him escape? Didn’t you restrain him?” The man opened his mouth, but Roger cut him off. “Never mind. How long ago? What was he wearing? Write this down.” He gave them his cell number. “He turns up, you call me immediately. You hear? Immediately! Better yet—do you have a radio, a walkie-talkie? How do you communicate?”
Walsh gave him a walkie-talkie and told him the channels to follow.
“What direction did he take?” Roger asked.
The man at the door pointed it out. “Got a whole squad looking for him,” he said. “He’ll turn up.”
Roger wasn’t as confident. This was the second time Hanover had escaped just as Roger was about to snatch him. Mitch had managed to stay underground for a decade. He was good at disappearing into the crowd.
And in the bowels of Disney World was quite a crowd to vanish into. Roger dashed down the hallway and rapidly saw that finding Mitch was not going to be easy. There were countless people combing the corridors—many in costumes that included wigs and hats and full head coverings—and numerous places to hide.
“Walsh,” he barked into the walkie-talkie, “I’m outside the cafeteria. Bring me a master key to the rooms and offices.”
While he waited, Roger realized one thing in his favor: most of the costumed actors were in dishabille. Those with heads—like the donkey from Pinocchio and the mice from Cinderella—carried them under their arms like dozens of Ichabod Cranes. It was certainly true of the cafeteria. Anyone in a full costume had their heads off—it was the only way they could eat.
Suddenly, the search got easier. He scanned the busy hallways for one thing—anyone in full regalia.
Walsh came jogging down the hall and handed him the master key. “Should open everything. Let me know if you have trouble.”
Roger took off, this time going slow, careful to examine all the characters coming his way.
Suddenly the radio crackled. “He’s in Fantasyland,” someone said.
“No, I just saw him near the Haunted Mansion,” someone else said.
“Shit!” came a third voice. “Get your fingers out of your ass.”
Roger ignored the chatter and focused on his own hunt. Ahead of him, a tall, costumed figure came into the main corridor from a side hall and began walking away. From the back, all Roger could see was the big, floppy ears and the long, costumed head. But he was the only fully costumed character Roger had seen so far.
He picked up speed. Assessed the figure’s height and weight. Even under all that extra stuff, it was possible. Very possible.
He crept up. Now he was within arm’s length.
He pushed his suit coat back so he could get to his weapon.
He gritted his teeth, braced himself, and reached out.
Mitch turned down a hallway and merged with the crowd. He’d been up and down these corridors already, but maybe he’d missed something. He was prepared to search them a hundred times if he had to.
Suddenly, a hand reached out and grabbed him.
Roger spun the character around.
“FBI. Don’t move!” He whipped out his weapon. The figure froze. Held up his hands. Around them, people slowed, stopped.
“What’s going on?” Roger heard someone whisper, but he concentrated on the person in front of him, not the small crowd that was forming.
“Take off the head,” he said. “Slowly!”
He wasn’t immune to the ridiculousness of the picture he made. Holding his weapon on one of Walt Disney’s beloved characters.
The dog lifted the costume upward. It was bigger than Roger had expected and took longer than he liked. Was that Mitch inside there, stalling?
“Keep it coming, Hanover,” Roger said grimly. “Nice and steady.”
Finally, the human head appeared.
“I’m Goofy,” the actor said, “not Hanover.” The crowd giggled, and Roger scowled.
Mitch froze.
“Hey, where have you been?” A man wearing a headset turned him around. “Goofy Two is ready to come out and you’re supposed to go in. They’re already prepping for the parade.”
Mitch
nodded his big Goofy head and signaled a salute. Luckily the questioner pushed him forward, so Mitch had a general idea what direction to take. Of course, he had no intention of getting involved with a parade, but the staging area was central and he couldn’t avoid it. And when he tried to shy away, another handler with a headset tugged him back.
“Come on, we’re starting.”
Without meaning to, he found himself marching out with the rest of the cast. He sweated and waved those pudgy white hands with their swollen fingers. On the sidelines, kids screamed and pointed excitedly while their parents held up videocams to capture the parade. In other circumstances, Mitch might have enjoyed the color and commotion, but at the moment he was more aware of being exposed and in the open. If he ran, he’d have to do it in front of the whole world.
Just then he spotted security with their walkie-talkies. They dotted the mob of onlookers, keeping a constant lookout. If he did anything out of the ordinary, they’d notice.
The parade music was loud and tinny and seemed as encroaching as the ticking of a bomb. As he was forced forward, his legs moved without him being conscious of it. His attention was fixed on a way out. He scoured his surroundings. Left. Right. Ahead.
Endless minutes plodded by. Then the parade curved to the left, and he saw it. A gap in the crowd. A building to hide behind.
He edged closer and closer, still waving. At the last moment, he darted through the opening and ducked behind a wall.
His hands shook as he ripped off the costume.
Mitch had to walk out of the park, no easy task on a bum ankle even if it was taped, but he didn’t trust the monorail or the tram. Plainclothes security with walkie-talkies was everywhere.
By the time he got to the hotel, he felt as though he’d covered all twenty-five thousand acres. Already exhausted, he was dismayed to discover security at every entrance. As always, he had no cell phone, so he couldn’t call Neesy to come get him.
Stuck, he limped into a thick stand of trees and found a place on the ground where he couldn’t be seen from the road. As the sun went down, it grew cool, but he was so tired he fell asleep despite the chill.
He didn’t know what woke him—a car horn, a bird cry. Suddenly he was awake and wary. The sky was dark, and the little forest he’d chosen even blocked out the moonlight. But the pitch suited him. No dogs, no men with flashlights. And after a few hours’ rest, even his ankle seemed better.
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