Just Run

by Culver, Chris

  Renee put her hand on Trent’s arm and squeezed gently. She smiled.

  “If you’re worried, give me the room key.”

  “I’m not leaving you here,” he said. “That’s out of the question.”

  She sighed, almost sounding exasperated.

  “I’ve got an idea. Just give me the key. It’ll be fine,” she said. She looked at their Pontiac. “I’ll be done by the time you park the car.”

  He held up his hand with the key, but didn’t hand it to her yet.

  “What are you going to do?” he asked.

  Renee rolled her eyes.

  “You’ve been asking me to trust you for two days. Give me the same courtesy. Trust me. I’ve got a good idea.”

  He hesitated, but eventually he gave her the key. She squeezed his arm gently again.

  “Thank you.”

  Without giving him any idea of what she was doing, she turned and walked toward the swimming pool.

  Sunday, September 15. 6:35 p.m

  Somerset, PA.

  Renee had seen two different groups in the pool area as they walked into the hotel’s office; hopefully they were still there. She walked around the building and opened the brass gate that surrounded the pool. A man and his little girl were swimming in the shallow end, while a group of four college–age kids sat near the deeper end, drinking cheap beer and laughing. They’d probably be the most willing.

  She walked over, clenching her jaw and doing her best to look annoyed, a feat that was made easier by the fact that she was annoyed. She couldn’t believe that Trent wanted to leave because some kid had checked her out. He was being paranoid.

  When she got near enough to the group, they stopped talking and focused on her. One of the boys, a blond kid with curly hair, reached to a cooler and pulled out a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon. It was cheap beer even among fraternity parties. He held it out to her.

  “Hey, I’m Adam,” he said. “You want to party?”

  The other guy in the group snickered, while one of the girls punched Adam in the shoulder. Renee smiled and looked over her shoulder at Trent. He put his hands in front of him and mouthed “what are you doing?” She thought about giving him the finger, but that would have been over the top. Instead, she turned to face the group of kids again and rolled her eyes, sighing.

  “No thanks on the beer, but I wondered if you guys could do me a favor,” she said. “The hotel is booked, and my boyfriend is being pissy about our room. We have a suite, but it faces the east, and he’s afraid of being woken up by sunlight. Would you guys like to switch?”

  “Boyfriends or rooms?” asked one of the girls, looking at Trent with a smile on her face. She waved. For his part, Trent waved back. She caught Renee’s gaze. “Your boyfriend is kind of hot.”

  “I guess he has his moments,” she said, looking over her shoulder again before turning back to face the group. “Listen, I’d hate to inconvenience you. It’s not a big deal if you can’t. I just thought you might be interested since it’s a suite and there are four of you.”

  “And she snores,” said Adam, winking at the girl who thought Trent was attractive. She gave Adam the finger. Renee thought she was beginning to like that bunch.

  It took them a few minutes to work out details, but the kids agreed to the swap. Trent may have wanted to run, but they both needed a break. They were in the middle of nowhere, there were no police officers in sight, and no one had recognized them. It was a risk, but it was a calculated one. Everything would be fine.

  She walked back to Trent twirling their room key.

  “We’re going to swap rooms with those kids,” she said. Trent looked like he was going to say something, but Renee put her hand flat on his chest, stopping him. “Just hear me out, okay? If the police find out we’re here, they’ll check at the front desk to find out what room we’re in. You said so yourself a couple of days ago. As long as those kids are in that suite, we’ll be fine. We’ll have time to escape while the police sort things out. It’s a good plan.”

  Trent rubbed sleep out of his eyes.

  “It’s a good idea, but it’s not a good plan,” he said. “You’re assuming the police will knock on the door, but there’s no guarantee that they’ll do that. If they know we’re here, they may just wait for us in the parking lot. They may arrest us as we get something to eat. They may even ignore us completely and nail us on the way to the interstate. There are too many variables. We can’t stay.”

  Renee crossed her arms.

  “What do you want to do, then?”

  He sighed and threw up his hands.

  “I don’t know, okay?” he said. “I don’t have a better plan, but we need to keep moving.”

  Renee stared at him for a moment, her lips pursed as she ground her teeth.

  “How likely do you think it is that some high–school dropout in the middle of nowhere recognized us?” asked Renee. She closed her eyes, feeling the annoyance build in her throat. “And besides, where would this kid have even found out about us? As far as I know, CNN doesn’t pick up local murders.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he saw us on the Internet. Maybe he’s a law enforcement buff.”

  “And maybe the flying spaghetti monster will come and get us in the night. Lots of things are possible,” said Renee. “Until we know for sure that we’ve been spotted, I’m staying here. My clothes are dirty, I haven’t showered in days, and I’m tired. You can stay with me, or you can go. I really don’t care at this point. As close as we are to Washington, I’m sure I can get a ride.”

  Trent looked around the parking lot before turning back to her.

  “I still think it’s an unnecessary risk,” he said.

  “It’s a risk, but it’s not unnecessary. We both need a break,” she said. She looked over Trent’s shoulder at the college kids. They had been gathering their towels and cooler while the two of them fought. She focused her gaze back on Trent and forced her voice to soften. “They’re going to get their stuff, and then we’ll just swap keys. It’s going to be fine.”

  Trent scanned the area surrounding the hotel. Neither of them spoke.

  “How big are you?” he asked a few minutes later, breaking the silence.

  Renee started to stammer an answer but stopped, confused, as her brain tried to process the abrupt change of conversation.

  “Excuse me?” she asked.

  “We need new clothes. I thought I could pick some up while you get settled here.”

  “Or you could just wait and I’ll go with you,” she said. “I like you and all, but you’re not exactly the first person I’d ask for fashion advice.”

  “That works, too,” he said.

  It took the college kids about five minutes to move their stuff over and swap keys. Once they had their rooms settled, she and Trent drove into town. They had the better part of a thousand bucks burning a hole in their pockets, but the only clothing store they could find was Goodwill. Trent bought a gray jacket, some jeans and a light–blue Oxford shirt, while she purchased a pair of jeans, a sweater and a hat large enough that it could have been an umbrella. She thought it looked cute.

  After that, they went by a grocery store and bought new toiletries as well as sandwiches at the deli. The hotel parking lot was quiet when they got back. The moon was rising quickly, and the wind carried the soft, subtle smell of damp earth from nearby woods. It reminded Renee of a camping trip she and her father had taken when she was a kid. He had called it a vacation, although she was reasonably sure they were hiding out from a loan shark to whom her father owed money. It had been pleasant enough, though. She lifted their bags from the backseat of the car.

  “I see the Rodeway Inn agrees with you,” said Trent. Renee hadn’t realized she’d been smiling. She nodded and turned her gaze to the evening sky.

  “It’s almost over,” she said, breathing deeply. “Hopefully, at least.”

  “I hope so, too,” said Trent. “I’m going to go to
bed. I’ve had a long day.”

  “Me, too,” she said, turning to follow him. They still hadn’t been inside their room yet, but the asphalt and sidewalks outside were lined with cracks. The facade did not bode well for the interior.

  Trent fished out a key from his pocket and unlocked a door facing the parking lot. A blast of cool, chlorine–smelling air hit Renee in the face. The kids she had traded rooms with must have aired out their swimming suits before departing for the suite.

  Still, it could have been worse. Both beds were made, and the bathroom looked clean. Given their situation, she couldn’t have asked for more. Trent took the first shower, while she ate a sandwich. As soon as he came out, they swapped places. She didn’t have much to wear to bed, but it didn’t matter. She could have slept on a park bench wearing aluminum–foil underwear for all she cared. It was just after seven–thirty when her head hit the pillow, the earliest she had gone to bed in years. It was glorious.

  Sunday, September 15. 8:03 p.m

  I–76 East.

  Anatoly’s eyes flew open when he heard the cell phone ring. He didn’t know what time it was, but the sun had set, and the interstate traffic was diminishing for the night. He sat up and stretched. They were headed back to their hotel rooms in Hagerstown, Maryland after spending a fruitless hour–long search in Pittsburgh. Detective Schaefer had been long since gone by the time they arrived, and no one had even seen Dr. Carter. It almost made Anatoly sick to his stomach.

  He yawned, forcing the world to come back into focus before glancing to his left as the phone rang a second time. Victor took a hand off the wheel and fished his phone out of an interior pocket on his jacket.

  “Stiles,” he said. He listened for a few minutes and then put his hand over the microphone before turning to Anatoly. “We’ve got them. They were seen by a reserve police officer working at a hotel in Twycross, Maryland. The US Marshals Service is setting up a team to extract them tonight.”

  Anatoly cocked his head.

  “What’s a reserve police officer?”

  “Just a volunteer police officer,” said Victor, closing his eyes and shaking his head as if he were concentrating hard. “Lots of small towns use them so they don’t have to pay a full–time officer.”

  “What about Schaefer’s file?”

  Victor shot his eyes back to Anatoly and nodded. He took his finger off the microphone.

  “Did the Pennsylvania State police ever find Detective Schaefer’s personnel file?”

  He nodded a few times, his face darkening the longer he listened. Anatoly couldn’t tell what was being said, but Victor asked for clarification at least twice before hanging up. By the time the FBI agent put the phone in his pocket, his eyebrows were bunched together and there was a deep frown on his lips. He shot his eyes from Anatoly to the road and back.

  “Schaefer doesn’t exist.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Anatoly.

  Victor shook his head, shrugging.

  “Three records clerks tried to find his file but couldn’t,” he said. “They searched computers and physical file cabinets; they even searched for warrants he might have applied for. Nobody’s heard of this guy, though. He doesn’t exist.”

  Anatoly leaned back, taking it in.

  “So he’s not a cop?”

  “No, he really is a detective in Ohio,” said Victor. “But he was never a cop in Pennsylvania, no matter what his Ohio jacket says. I don’t understand this.”

  Anatoly crossed his arms and nodded.

  “Whoever he is, we have to get rid of him. You’ll go in with the Marshals’ team and kill them both. We don’t have room for mistakes anymore.”

  Victor shook his head.

  “I’m an FBI agent,” he said. “If I go in shooting, I’ll be arrested. We’re not talking about some professor in an empty building. There will be dozens of people with me.”

  “Things happen in the dark,” said Anatoly. “Tell them you thought you saw a gun. They’ll believe you.”

  Victor shook his head.

  “Dr. Byram was one thing,” he said. “That was an accident. I’m not going to do something that I know will get me arrested.”

  Anatoly shook his head. He didn’t have time for self–indulgent hesitation. The longer it took them to put Dr. Carter in the ground, the greater the chance that Gregori would grow tired of waiting and kill Annya or Katja. He couldn’t let his family be hurt for his failings. It wasn’t right. Before Victor could say anything else, Anatoly pulled out his firearm and shoved it against the FBI agent’s temple.

  “What the hell are you doing?” asked Victor, his voice high and frightened.

  “Does this hurt?”

  “Of course it hurts,” he said, his head cocked to the side by the force of Anatoly’s gun. “What do you think?”

  “This is what your wife will feel before I pull the trigger,” said Anatoly. “If you screw up again, two people I care about a great deal will die. Either you end this chase tonight, or your family will bear the consequences as much as mine. Are we clear?”

  “Crystal.”

  Monday, September 16. 2:04 a.m

  Twycross, MD.

  The sound was so loud it vibrated the walls. Renee shot up from bed, her heart pounding against her breastbone so hard she could feel it. Trent was already off his bed and sprinting toward the dresser. Before she could even comprehend what was going on, he had unzipped the duffel bag he had received from his friends in Pittsburgh and pulled out his gun.

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  Three more, and they were closer this time. Whoever was pounding on the doors was moving from room to room quickly. Renee threw off the covers. She was wearing the jeans and undershirt she had purchased at the thrift store earlier that evening. They felt strange and stiff on her, but she hardly noticed.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “We’re getting out of here,” said Trent, slipping the weapon into the waistband of his pants. He pulled his shirt over top before grabbing the jacket he had just purchased. “Get your stuff. We’ve got to move.”

  Her hands and legs trembled as she jumped off the bed and grabbed her clothes.

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  It sounded like it was next door that time. The world seemed to move in slow motion as adrenaline coursed through her body. They didn’t have much in the room, but Renee made sure to grab everything, including their old clothes. She jumbled them into a ball and held them while Trent slung the duffel bag over his shoulder and crept toward the door.

  “It’s the police,” he said, cracking open the door. A shape ran past them. “They’re clearing the hotel.”

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  It was the room on the other side of them this time. Trent pulled the door open wider. Renee could hear shouts and bangs in the distance. He looked over his shoulder.

  “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  She nodded and followed as Trent hurried outside. Renee’s breath caught in her throat as soon as her feet touched the pavement outside their room. The scene looked like something from a bad zombie movie. There were people everywhere, many of whom had automatic weapons slung over their shoulders, and almost all of whom wore black tactical outfits with U.S Marshalls written across the back in bright yellow. She thought she could even hear the rhythmic thump of a helicopter’s blades somewhere distant. It was closing on their position fast.

  A little girl in a nightgown ran past them. Renee looked around quickly. A group of hotel patrons in various stages of dress stood outside the office in which they had checked in. One of the men waved them over frantically.

  “We’ve got to get to the car,” said Trent, leaning in close to her. She nodded, following behind him and wishing she had thought to put on her shoes before leaving the room. The sidewalk in front of the hotel was largely free of debris, but her heel found gravel at least twice as she ran, sending sharp pain up and down her legs. The scene became
more orderly as officers converged on a room about two hundred feet away. It was the suite she and Trent had rented.

  Renee’s stomach fluttered as she ran.

  Thwump.

  The sound was almost like gunfire, but deeper. It seemed to resonate through the hotel, and hit Renee like a giant slap. Her ears rang.

  Thwump.

  The same sound and another slap to the chest.

  Renee stopped moving, as did most of the guests near the lobby. She trembled and barely felt it when Trent put his arm around her shoulder. She turned into him.

  “Flashbangs,” he said. “Swat teams use them before entering somewhere dangerous. Come on.”

  Despite the danger, Renee’s legs refused to move on their own, so Trent practically carried her to the car. The thwap, thwap of helicopter blades grew closer, and a spotlight shone down on the officers at the other end of the hotel. She was shivering so badly by the time she made it to her seat that she felt like she had hypothermia.

  “Move, move, move!”

  The scream sounded far away, but it wasn’t. Renee turned in time to see men streaming through the suite’s now open door. To those kids inside, it was probably a nightmare. Renee breathed deeply, trying to get her shaking under control.

  That’s when she heard it.

  The sound was like a car backfiring. Before she knew what was happening, Trent had pulled her down over the storage compartment that separated the front seats and covered her with his torso like a Secret Service agent.

  “Shit, shit, shit.”

  It was the only thing she could think to say. She shook hard against him, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. She heard another bang followed by more panicked shouts.

  “Get your door,” said Trent, shuffling off her and focusing on the car’s ignition. He touched wires together, and the Pontiac’s engine roared to life. She hadn’t moved. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t think. Trent shook her shoulder hard, startling her. She looked up, finally comprehending what was happening. She reached out and started to pull her door shut, catching sight of someone near their car as she did.