Frank felt her shudder. It was cold again, not as cold as in the depths of last winter, but well below freezing. The creek rang with the tinkling bell-like sound it took on when all its eddies were frozen over. Caroline’s body was quivering under his hands, shivering with cold, or tension, or both. He held her, tried to calm her with his hands. But he too was shivering.
Downstream on the path he saw a brief movement. Black into black. Involuntarily he pulled her to him and around to the other side of the oak next to them.
“What?”
“Look,” he said very quietly, “are you sure you aren’t still chipped somehow?”
“I don’t think so, why?”
“Because I think there’s someone watching us.”
“Oh my God.”
“Don’t try to look. Here, I’ve got the scanner you gave me.” He thought it over, images of one scenario then another. “Would he have other people helping him?”
“Not for this,” she said. “I don’t think so anyway. Not unless he figured out that I copied the vote program.”
“Shit. Let’s check you right here, okay?”
“Sure.”
He pulled the wand from his pocket, so much like an airport security device. Bar codes in the body. He ran it over her. When he had it against the top of her back it beeped.
“Shit,” she said under her breath. She whipped off her jacket, laid it on the ground, ran the wand over it. It beeped again. “God damn it.”
“At least it isn’t in your skin.”
“Yeah well.”
“You checked before you left your place?”
“Yes I did, and there wasn’t anything. I wonder if there’s something about me leaving the house. A tick, they call these. Set to jump when motion sensors go off. Something stuck to the doorframe or someplace. God damn him.”
Frank was trying to see over her shoulder, down the path where he had seen movement. Nothing. Feeling grim, he pulled out his FOG phone and called up Zeno’s.
It rang twice. “How does this thing work? Hey, Joe’s Bar and Grill! Who the fuck are you?”
“Zeno it’s Frank.”
“Who?”
“Frank. Professor Nosebleed.”
“Oh hey, Nosey! What’s happening man? Did you spot the jaguar?”
It sounded like he’d downed a couple of beers. “Worse than that,” Frank said, thinking hard. “Look Zeno, I’ve got a problem and I’m wondering if you could give me a hand.”
“What you got in mind?”
“The thing is, it might be kind of dangerous. I don’t want to get you into it without telling you that.”
“What kind of danger?”
“I’ve got a jacket here that people are using to tail me with. People I really need to get away from. What I want to do is have them follow the jacket away from me, while I clear out of here.”
“Where are ya?”
“I’m in the park. Are you at your usual spot?”
“Where else.”
“What I was hoping is that I could run by you guys, like I’m playing frisbee golf, and hand off the jacket to you and keep on running. Then if one of you would hustle the jacket out to Connecticut, and leave it in the laundromat next to Delhi Dhaba, I could turn the tables on these people, pick them up when they follow the jacket, and then tail them back to where they came from.”
“Shit, Noseman, it sounds like you must be some kind of a spook after all! So you been out here hiding among us, is that it?”
“Sort of, sure.”
“Harrrrrr. I knew it musta been something.”
“So are you up for it? While you’ve got the jacket you’ll have to move fast, but I don’t think they’ll do anything to you, especially out on Connecticut. It’s more a surveillance kind of thing.”
“Ah fuck that.” Zeno brayed his harsh bray. “It won’t be no worse than the cops. Parole officers stick that shit right into your skin.”
“Yeah that’s right. Okay, well thanks then. We’ll come through in about ten minutes.”
“We? Who’s this we?”
“Another spook. You know how it is.”
“A lady spook? You got a lady in distress there maybe?”
Sometimes it was alarming how quick Zeno guessed things. “Are the rest of the bros there with you?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Maybe they can add to the confusion. When we pass through and hand off the jacket, have them—”
“We’ll beat the shit out of them!”
“No no no.” Frank felt a chill. “They could be armed. You don’t want to fuck with that. Maybe just go off in two or three groups. Give you some cover, create some confusion.”
“Yeah sure. We’ll deal with it.”
“Okay, thanks. See you soon. We’ll come in from the creek side and just pass right on through.”
Frank pushed the end button. He looked at the chip wand. “Could this wand be chipped itself?”
“I don’t know. I guess so.”
“We’ll leave it here. You said in the elevator you were training for a triathlon, right?”
“Yes?”
“Is your husband a runner?”
“What? No.”
“Okay.” He took her by the arm and led her off the path, up into the trees. “Let’s run. We’ll go past my park friends and give them your jacket, then take off on the ridge trail north. He won’t be able to keep up with us, and after a while he won’t know where you are.”
“Okay.”
Off they ran, Caroline fast on Frank’s heels. He ran up Ross to site 22, then turned up the trail that ran to the Nature Center, hurrying the pace so that they would gain some time. Behind him he heard the faint crackle of the pursuit.
They crossed the frisbee golf course, and then Frank really pushed it. At a certain point her husband wouldn’t be able to keep up. Once you were winded the will counted for nothing, you had to slow down. As animals he and Caroline were stronger, and out here they were animals. Down the narrow fairway of hole five, leading her between the trees to the left so they wouldn’t be seen. Running almost as hard as he could in the dark, Caroline right behind.
Then he was in site 21 and the bros were all standing around, wide-eyed and agog at the sight of them. Even in the midst of his adrenaline rush Frank saw that he would never hear the end of this.
He gestured to Caroline, helped her out of her jacket.
“Hi guys.” He met Zeno’s eye. Now more than ever Zeno looked impressive, like Lee Marvin in his moment of truth.
“Thanks,” Frank said, tossing the jacket at him in their usual aggro style.
“Where do you want me to go again?”
“Delhi Dhaba. Drop the jacket in the laundromat next door and get the fuck out of there.”
“Sure thing.”
“The rest of you wait a second and then wander off. Stick together though.”
“Yeah man.”
“We’ll beat the fuck out of him.”
“Just keep moving. Thanks boys.”
And with that Frank took Caroline by the hand and they were off again into the dark.
Running down the hole seven fairway he pulled off his down jacket, then passed it back to her. “Here, put this on.”
“No I’m okay.”
“No you’re not, you were shivering already.”
“What about you?”
“We run the course out here in T-shirts all the time. I’m used to it. Besides you’ve got to keep on going after this, right? Whereas I can go home.”
“Are you sure this isn’t chipped too?”
“Yes. I’ve owned it for twenty years, and no one else has been anywhere near it.”
“Okay, thanks.”
She pulled it on as they jogged, and then they started running at full speed again.
“You okay?” Frank said over his shoulder.
“Yeah fine. You?”
“I’m good,” Frank said. And he was; his spirits were rising as he got on th
e ridge path and led her north on it. Frozen mud underfoot, frigid air rushing past him; there was no way anyone without chips to aid them could track them for long when they were moving like this.
He passed hole eight and turned up cross trail 7, and soon they were out onto Brandywine, and rising to Connecticut.
Just short of the avenue, where there was still some darkness to huddle in, he stopped her, held her. As they hugged he felt for the Acheulian hand axe, there in his jacket pocket against her side.
“What is that?” she asked.
“My lucky charm.”
“Pretty heavy for a lucky charm.”
“Yeah, it’s a rock. I like rocks.”
They stood there, arms around each other, poorly lit by a distant streetlight. Her face twisted with distress; why couldn’t it be simple? her look seemed to say. Why couldn’t they just be here?
But it wasn’t simple.
“The Van Ness Metro is just down there,” Frank said, pointing south on Connecticut.
“Thanks.”
“And where will you go?”
“I’ve got a place set up.” Then: “Listen, I heard what you said to those guys, but don’t you stick around and mess with him,” she said, waving to the east. “He’s dangerous. He really is. And we don’t want him to know you had anything to do with this.”
“I know,” Frank said. They hugged again. Briefly they kissed. He liked the feel of her in his jacket.
“Here,” she said, “you should take your jacket back. I’m going to get in the Metro, and then I’ll be into my little underground railroad setup, and I won’t need it. I’ll be fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” He took the jacket from her, put it on, put the hand axe back in its pocket. “Where will you go?”
“I’ll contact you as soon as I can,” she said. “We’ll set up a system.”
“But—”
“I’ll let you know! Just let me go—I have to go!”
“Okay!” Frank said, frustrated.
Then she was off. Watching her turn the corner and disappear he felt a sudden stab of fear. God damn this guy, he thought.
He walked north to Delhi Dhaba and passed it, glanced into the laundromat next door. It was almost empty, only a couple of young women folding clothes together at the tables, no doubt UDC undergrads. Caroline’s black ski jacket was already there, hanging from the open door of a dryer. No sight of Zeno or any of the rest of the bros. Frank walked down to the corner and stood at the bus stop, then sat on the bench in its little shelter, consciously working to slow his breathing and pulse.
Ten minutes passed. Then three men in black leather jackets approached the laundromat, hands in their pockets. One, a tall, heavyset blond man, appeared to be checking a very heavy watch. He looked at the other men, gestured inside the laundromat. One turned and settled at the door, looking up and down Connecticut. The others went in. Frank sat there looking across the street away from them. The man guarding the door registered him along with the three others waiting at the bus stop, then he turned his attention to the various people walking up and down the sidewalks.
The two men reappeared in the doorway, the blond man holding Caroline’s jacket. That was him, then. Frank’s teeth clenched. The three men conferred. They all surveyed the street, and the blond man appeared to check his watch again. He looked up, toward Frank; said something to the others. They began to walk down the sidewalk toward him.
Shocked at this turn of events, Frank got up and hustled around the corner of Davenport. As soon as the buildings at the corner blocked their view of him he bolted, running hard east toward the park. Looking back once, he saw that they were there on Davenport, also running; chasing him down. The blond man ran with his right hand in his jacket pocket.
Frank turned on Linnaean, running harder. East again on Brandywine, a real burst of speed, unsustainable, but he wanted to get into the trees again as soon as he could. As he pounded along, gasping, he thought about the man spotting him by way of his wrist device, and decided that his down jacket must be compromised now too. Caroline had worn it, she had been chipped with a tick, these ticks were probably not used alone but in little swarms; she could have had some in her hair, who knew, but if one or more had fallen or migrated from say her hair onto his jacket, he would be chipped himself. That had to be it.
Or maybe he had just been chipped all along.
He flew down the slope to site 21, found it empty, the neglected fire still flickering. Off with his jacket, off with his shirt. The frigid air hit him and he growled. He took the hand axe out of the jacket and put it into his pants pocket.
He ran up into the mass of trees west of the site, stopped and rubbed his hands over his neck, gently and then roughly; felt nothing. He ran his hands through his hair again, leaning forward and down, pulling at his locks and shaking his head like a wet dog. Tearing at his scalp. Best he could do. Now he had to move again, just in case; he circled around the site and ducked behind one of the big flood windrows, crouched and got a view of the picnic table, between two branches.
He heard them before he saw them, all three men crashing down Ross into the site. They stopped when they saw his jacket and shirt, turned quickly and looked around them, surveying their surroundings like a team that had done it before. Frank felt the tousled hair rise on the back of his neck. His teeth were clenched.
The blond man’s hair caught a gleam of firelight. He picked up the jacket, hefted it. Then the shirt. Now came the test. Was there still a tick on Frank? The three men turned in circles, looking outward, and as they did the blond man checked his wrist. Frank stayed frozen in place, waiting for a sign. The blond man’s chest rose and fell, rose and fell. He was winded. Frank tried to imagine his thoughts, then fell squeamishly away. He didn’t want to know what went on in a mind like that. Plots, counterplots, chipping people—spying on his own wife—out here in Rock Creek Park in the middle of the night, chasing people down. It was an ugly thing to contemplate.
Frank felt the frozen air as if he were clothed in an invisible shirt made of his own heat. Outside that it was obviously cold, but inside his shell he seemed okay, at least for now. When he moved he pushed through the shell, out into the chill.
Up on Ross came the sound of people walking, then Zeno’s nicotine voice. Frank shifted down, pulled his phone from his pocket and punched the “repeat call” function.
“Hey Blood, wassup?”
“Zeno they’re back at your picnic table,” Frank whispered. “They’ve got guns.”
“Oh ho.”
“Don’t go down there.”
“Don’t you worry. Do you need help?”
“No.”
“We’ll deploy anyway. Ha—too bad you can’t call the jaguar out on these guys, eh?”
“Yeah,” Frank said, and thought to add that he was going to be the jaguar tonight; but Zeno wasn’t listening. Frank could hear over the phone that he was telling the bros the situation. In the open air their noise had abruptly died away.
Then: “Hey fuck that!” Andy exclaimed, carrying both over the phone and through the air.
On the phone Frank heard Zeno say, “Fucking a, Blood, here comes the cavalry—”
Then the forest filled with howls, the crash of people through the forest—and from down near the creek, BANG BANG BANG!
The men at the picnic tables had dropped out of sight. But their conference was brief; after about five seconds they burst to their feet and ran away, south on Ross. Shrieks and howls in the darkness behind them.
Frank took off after them. High howling marked where the bros were in their pursuit on Ross, and thunks and crashes made it clear rocks were being thrown.
Frank darted from tree to windrow to tree, keeping above and abreast of the running men. When they came down the slope to Glover, two of them turned left, while the blond man turned right. Frank followed him, worrying briefly that the two others would come back and jump on th
e tail of any pursuit. Hopefully Zeno and the bros had already laid off. Nothing to be done about that now. He needed to concentrate on following the blond man.
Stalking prey at night, in the forest. How big the world got when you could taste blood. The frigid air cut through the radiance of his body heat, it drove into him, but it was only part of the chase, part of what made him utterly on point. All the hours he had spent out here filled him now, he knew where he was and what he needed to do. It all came down to pursuit.
The trees lining Glover were thick, the ground covered with branches, leaves, patches of new snow. He had trailed feral animals along here before. A human would be both more aware and more oblivious. The blond man was striding rapidly up the road, stopping from time to time to look back. He appeared to be holding a pistol in his right hand. Frank froze when he looked around, then darted from tree to tree, moving only when the man’s back was to him. Stay parallel to him but always behind his peripheral vision; be ready to freeze, stop when his head turned; it was like a game, feet lightly thrusting forward, feeling their way to silent landings, over and over, on and on, freezing to check the quarry from behind a trunk, one eye out, as in all the hide-and-seek games any child has ever played, but now performed with total concentration. On the hunt, yes, huge areas opening inside him—he could see in the dark, he could gazelle through the forest over downed branches without a sound, freeze faster than a head could whip around, all with a fierce cold focus. When the man whipped his head around Frank found himself as still as a statue before the blond head had moved even an inch, before Frank himself knew it had moved; and he could barely see it in the dark, just a gleam reflecting distant streetlights through the trees.
At Grant Road the man turned west. He walked out on the street, to Davenport and west toward Connecticut. Now they were under streetlights again, and very few people were out at this hour—none visible at this moment. Frank had to drop back, move across people’s front lawns. The man continued to whip his head around to look back from time to time. Frank lagged as far as he could while still keeping him in sight, but still, if he could see the man, the man could see him. His van was one block over, on Brandywine; he could drop down to it on 30th, unlock by remote as he approached, snatch out a sweater and windbreaker, put them on as he walked, then continue out to Connecticut and hope to relocate the man on his way to the Metro station. He was out of sight for the moment, so Frank crossed the street and took off in a dash, tearing around the corner and ripping open his van door, getting the clothes on as he took off again west on Brandywine.
Fifty Degrees Below Page 47