Pete nodded his agreement.
“Let’s go then, Partner,” the man said.
“I assume you have proof of title with you?” Trace said. The last thing he needed was to buy a hot car.
The man patted his shirt pocket. “It’s right here, Friend, right here.” He walked around to the other side of the car and climbed into the back seat.
Trace climbed into the driver’s seat. Pete rode shotgun.
The car started right up.
Trace drove to a Wells Fargo branch on Federal Highway. It was one he and Pete had passed coming over to Jarrett. Trace pulled into the customers’ parking lot at the side of the building and climbed out of the Mercedes. Pete and the man stepped out, too. Trace stood by the driver’s door, waiting for them to join him.
“Any chance you can do something with the price?” Trace said. “It’s a lot of cash to come up with on short notice when you’re from out-of-town.”
“That’s the price. I already told you, take it or leave it.”
“Okay,” Trace said. “I’ll take it. Wait here while I go inside and get the money. In the meantime, get out your title. I’ll want to look at it when I come back.”
Pete looked at the man and then back at Trace.
“Dad, I’ll come with you?”
“Sure. Let’s go.”
They walked across the parking lot and around to the building’s front. As they approached the double doors, Trace’s throat constricted. He could see that the doors were locked, held in place by a thick chain looped through the two handles. A large printed sign notified the public that this bank branch and all others operated by Wells Fargo in Broward County were closed until further notice by order of the Broward County Department of Health. The sign also stated that all Wells Fargo ATMs (including the one here which would not dispense $5000 in any event) would remain without service or additional cash once they emptied out, until the bank was allowed to reopen.
“Damn it,” Trace said to Pete. “Let’s go back.”
He spun around to return the way they’d just come. They walked back around the building, over to the car.
“That was quick. Here’s the title,” the man said, extending his hand toward Trace.
“We have a problem,” Trace said. “The bank’s closed.”
“No,” the man said, “we don’t have no problem. You got the problem. I got the car.” He started to climb back into the driver’s seat.
“Wait a minute,” Trace said, “please,” putting his hand on the car’s open door. “Don’t be so quick. We might be able to get the cash from my mother-in-law. Hold on while I call her.”
The man stayed in the Mercedes, his right hand clutching the steering wheel. He put one foot back out onto the macadam.
“I don’t have all day,” he said. “I’m going to sell this baby to somebody real soon. If you want it to be you, get the money now and let’s do it.”
“Wait here,” Trace said, “while I make the call. I’ll be quick.”
He walked away and used his cell phone to call Isabella. He learned from her, as he’d expected, that Nanna couldn’t come up with that much cash. He then called the Wells Fargo branch office he banked at in Washington.
“Can you wire $5,000 to me today?” Trace said. “I must have it in my hands within an hour. I’m in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, but all your branches here are closed until the flu epidemic ends.”
The clerk put Trace on hold, but returned five minutes later.
“That money can be available to you within a few minutes at any one of our branches located in Palm Beach County. Would that be convenient for you, Mr. Austin?”
Trace frowned. He knew what he had to do next. “I’ll call you back in a few minutes,” he said to the Wells Fargo clerk.
Trace walked back to the man and Pete.
“My mother-in-law doesn’t have that much cash,” he said, as he approached them.
“I also called the Wells Fargo branch I use in Washington. I’ll have the money wired to me at one of their branch offices in Palm Beach County. It can be there a few minutes after I call. All we have to do is ride over to Palm Beach together to pick up the money,” Trace said, as he looked at the man.
“Not interested in a wild goose chase,” the man said. “Afraid this car’s history for you.”
“Look—” Trace said, but he never finished his sentence.
“Don’t waste my time,” the man said to Trace, cutting him off.
“It’s only an hour or so we’re talking about at the most,” Trace said. “Maybe even less. That’s all I’ll need. I’ll pay you an extra $1000 for the extra time . . . Please.”
The man shook his head.
“I’ll give you a deposit to hold meantime,” Trace said. “No strings attached. Here’s $210. Take it. It’s every cent I have on me.”
The man pulled his leg back into the car.
“And here’s my vintage fountain pen,” Trace said, holding out his cherished Parker Company MANDARIN YELLOW Duofold pen, circa 1927. It’s a collector’s item. It cost my wife $2,750 to buy it for me for our first wedding anniversary. Take it, too, as a deposit in case the money’s not there for some reason. I’ll forfeit it all.”
The man didn’t answer. Instead, he slammed the car door, and in one unbroken motion rolled up the window, punched the door lock button, and started the engine.
He floored the accelerator pedal, let it throttle back to idle, then put the car in gear and floored the pedal again. The Mercedes hesitated, seemed to shudder, briefly spun its rear wheels, and then lumbered away out of the parking lot, shrouding Trace and Pete in a blue-black cloud of diesel smoke.
They didn’t speak as they walked back to the condo.
Trace was deep in thought, planning their next move, considering the pros and cons of the plan he’d formulated earlier, but hadn’t described to anyone.
Pete kept looking at Trace from the corner of his eyes as if he wanted his father to give him answers to his unasked questions.
As they entered the condominium grounds, Trace put his arm around Pete’s shoulders. “This isn’t the end,” he said. “Not by a long shot. I still have the plan I mentioned before. It’s time we all talk about it.”
CHAPTER 27
Fort Lauderdale
March 14
Trace described the recent events to Isabella and Nanna, covering the time from when he and Pete arrived at Jarrett to the moment the stranger abandoned them in the parking lot. When he finished, he stood, walked across the room, and turned back to face his family.
“I know what I have to do,” he said. “I have the plan I mentioned before. Let’s talk about it.”
Everyone stared at him and waited. After a few seconds, Pete said, “So, what’s your plan?”
“I’m falling back on my SEALs’ training,” Trace said, “on the Rule of Three.”
Pete, Bella and Nanna looked at one another and shrugged. They turned back to face Trace in one unified motion.
“What’s that mean, Trace?” Isabella said.
“It means that the worst possible decision you can make in a dangerous situation is to make no decision at all. Given that, I’ve had to come up with something plausible for us to try. That’s where the SEALs’ Rule of Three comes in.”
“Okay, but what’s the Rule?” Isabella said.
“The Rule of Three is a decision-making process that requires us to come up with three possible courses of action — just three, no more.
“Did you?” Pete said.
Trace nodded. “I did. Then, applying the rule, I looked at the pros and cons of each of the three, weighed the risks attendant each, and estimated the likelihood that I could achieve each.”
“And?” Pete said.
“And then, without debating or re-thinking each of the three possibilities, I chose the one I thought was least risky and most likely to succeed. That one has become my plan. I closed the book on the other two unless the first one fails.” He paused
and nodded once. “That’s the SEALs’ Rule of Three.”
“That’s what you did as a SEAL?” Pete asked.
“Yes. That’s what we were taught to do. So, here’s my plan based on the Rule of Three.
“The only way I can see us getting away from here is for me to first go out of Fort Lauderdale alone. I’ll walk as far as I have to go until I reach some town where I can rent or buy a vehicle to drive. Then I’ll come back with it and get you.”
“But how far will you go?” Isabella said. “For how long?”
“I don’t know. Hopefully not far, but I don’t know.” He paused, then added, “It doesn’t matter, though. I can walk it no matter how far I have to go.”
As I walk, Trace thought, I’ll remind myself what’s at stake for Bella, Pete and Nanna if I don’t succeed, if I don’t complete my walk and come back with a vehicle. That will be a sufficient trigger to cause me to complete this mission.
Nanna spoke up for the first time since Trace and Pete returned.
“Do it, Trace. If anybody can pull it off, you can. I have faith in you.”
Trace walked over to Nanna, leaned down, and kissed her cheek. “Thanks, Nanna.”
Once they’d made their decision to follow Trace’s plan, Trace, Bella, Pete and Nanna relaxed with one another, feeling at last that they had regained some small measure of control over their lives. At Nanna’s suggestion, Trace agreed to wait until morning to begin his walk north. This, she suggested, would enable him to get a good night’s sleep and take advantage of the full day’s sunlight to walk in.
Trace and Isabella spent the next two hours planning Trace’s walk away from Fort Lauderdale.
Isabella filled Pete’s backpack for Trace to take with him. She included a home First Aid kit, an old compass that had belonged to her deceased father, and some extra clothing. She also made sandwiches for him to pack in the morning.
Trace called Washington and arranged with his Wells Fargo branch to make $10,000 available to him from the restricted withdrawal money market fund he and Isabella maintained.
“I’ll withdraw this money from Wells Fargo’s office in Palm Beach when I get there,” he told Isabella.
“What if you wind up someplace else?” she said.
“Good point. I’ll call the bank back. I’ll need some way for the Palm Beach branch to transfer my funds to wherever I end up.”
He took his cell phone and made the revised arrangements with the bank in Washington.
To celebrate his plan, and to send Trace off with a good home cooked meal, Nanna and Isabella prepared Linguine Alfredo for lunch, Trace’s favorite pasta dish.
After lunch ended, Trace said to Pete, “Want to go over near the beach with me, walk around for a while, spend some time together?”
“Sounds good, Dad. Let’s do it.” Pete excused himself and said he’d be right back, ready to go in a few minutes.
After Pete left the kitchen, Trace turned to Isabella. “Would you and Nanna like to join us?”
Isabella shook her head. “Go have a good time before you leave,” she said. “I’ll keep Nanna company here.”
As Trace was turning to leave with Pete, Isabella said, “Trace, I almost forgot. The president’s going to speak tonight on TV about the flu epidemic. We should watch him.”
CHAPTER 28
Fort Lauderdale
March 14
When Trace and Pete left the condo and walked over to Ocean Boulevard — the street running for several miles parallel to the beach — they talked about Trace’s plan to walk away from Fort Lauderdale and find a car or other vehicle. Pete wanted to go with him, but Trace said no, he needed Pete to stay behind to provide moral support for Isabella and Nanna. Pete reluctantly agreed and dropped the subject.
As they approached Ocean Boulevard and the beach, Trace put his arm around Pete’s shoulder. The smell of salt air awakened in Trace some long buried, but very pleasant memories of growing up at the seashore in southern New Jersey.
Trace and Pete fell into a game of tag that started when Pete unexpectedly slapped Trace’s shoulder, shouted, “You’re it,” then ran up the street.
Trace instinctively responded to the challenge and ran hard after Pete, chasing him along the sidewalk. Trace sprinted up behind him, flicked the back of his hand against Pete’s shoulder, and said, “Got you.”
Trace spun away, leaned forward and started to run. Then, abruptly, he braked himself and straightened up. He docked his open palm over his eyes, shading them from the sun’s glare as he watched a military-style HUMVEE, followed by a flatbed truck, approach from two blocks away.
Pete, running fast, barely avoided crashing into Trace’s back. He twisted his body and managed to slip by, lightly bumping Trace’s shoulder with his own shoulder before again dashing away.
“You’re it, Dad. I shoulder-tagged you.”
Then, suddenly aware that his father’s attention was elsewhere, Pete stopped running, and turned back to face Trace.
“Why aren’t you coming after me?”
Trace ignored Pete’s question and continued to look up the street.
Pete turned and followed Trace’s gaze with his own eyes.
“What’s that?”
Trace turned his head and looked at Pete. “Come here, Son. Right now.”
Trace grabbed Pete’s wrist and pulled him into the shadows of a storefront entrance. He towed Pete toward the back, out of sight of anyone on the street, deep into the dark.
“Dad, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?”
“Quiet. I don’t want them to know we’re here.”
“But—”
“I said, be quiet. Please, Pete.”
As they watched, the HUMVEE lumbered to a stop almost directly across the street from them. Soldiers jumped from the back of the combat-ready vehicle and deployed along the fuzzy line that separated the sidewalk from the beach sand.
Behind the soldiers, a few feet away on the sidewalk, workmen poured from the back of the flatbed truck and began erecting a seven-foot-high chain-link fence topped with concertina razor wire.
“Dad, what’s going on?” Pete stood in the dark entryway behind Trace, and peeked out from around him.
Trace turned and looked at Pete, said, “Hold on a second,” and then looked back across the street.
Without taking his eyes from the soldiers and workmen, Trace reached out and put his arm around Pete’s shoulder. He gently pulled him in close.
Trace and Pete remained at the back of the storefront entryway for more than forty minutes, until Trace was satisfied they wouldn’t be seen by the soldiers or workmen who had moved south along the beach as the fence went up.
Trace stepped over to the edge of the entryway and leaned out to look. The soldiers and workmen were now tiny, dark stick figures. The street was deserted, with no pedestrians in sight. Trace turned back to Pete.
“We can come out now,” he said. “They’re gone. They can’t see us anymore.”
Trace walked out of the shadows onto the sidewalk. He squinted — briefly blinded by the bright, late afternoon sunlight reflecting off the white pavement — and shaded his eyes with his palm until his vision adjusted.
He looked up the street one way, and then down the other. He and Pete seemed to be alone.
Trace turned and looked back into the entryway. He could just about see Pete who was sheltering deep in the shadows, staring out at him like an animal in a cave.
“It’s okay, Pete. We’re alone now. It’s all right to come out.”
Pete cautiously emerged from the dark, moving toward the sunlight, but not yet stepping into it. He leaned out over the sidewalk and looked up and down the street. Then he stepped out. He riveted his eyes on Trace’s eyes, and moved over to him. He stood very close to his father.
After a few minutes, Trace said, “Let’s head home, Son. We’ll watch the president’s TV address with Nanna and mom. Maybe we’ll learn something useful.”
CHAPTER 29<
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Camp David, Maryland
March 14
The president settled into the chair behind his vacation home desk. He ran his hand along the left side of his head, smoothing his well-coiffed hair. He loosened his tie ever so slightly.
Behind him, hanging on the wall, loomed the Great Seal of the United States.
He sat facing the TV cameras, waiting for the producer to signal him to begin.
All the major network television, radio, cable, and online news organizations had crews present. The White House Office of Communications had notified them that the president’s address this evening would be a major statement. The networks responded predictably, shipping their crews and equipment pools to the small community of Thurmont, Maryland, deep in the Catochin Mountains near Camp David, where the president was in retreat preparing his address to the nation.
“Please standby, Mr. President.”
“Ready, Sir. On “1”. Counting down now...5, 4, 3, 2, 1—”
The producer pointed her finger at the announcer who said in his velvety baritone voice, “Ladies and gentlemen, the president of the United States.”
“My fellow Americans, I come before you tonight both as your president and as the commander-in-chief of the Armed Forces of the United States.
“It is my sad duty to inform you that approximately three weeks ago foreign terrorists attacked our country at Fort Lauderdale, Florida, using a deadly biological weapon against innocent men, women and children.
“Your government is taking all steps necessary and appropriate to apprehend the terrorist offenders who perpetrated this craven crime. Acting on my orders, the FBI and CIA are vigorously pursuing all leads to identify the terrorists and to learn their country or countries of origin.”
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