Oh.
It all came flooding back. The dank basement air, the hands on her throat, the sirens behind the car as she gripped the steering wheel, the gazebo with the peeling paint; the man on a bench in the distance, watching her as the pigeons circled in the white sky overhead. And finally this place. The Clavarak Motel, somewhere on the outskirts of Baltimore.
Gaia opened her eyes. A square of sunlight was blasting onto her bed, shining on the rough orange bedspread and the polyester sheets. Squinting, Gaia could see a heavily curtained window and through the window a cloudless blue sky.
Sitting up—noting with some satisfaction that the bruise on her back was mostly gone—Gaia looked around the hotel room.
Her clothes were strewn on the dark, worn-out carpeting where she’d dropped them. There was a water glass full of melted ice on the laminated side table next to her wristwatch, and the motel room key on its plastic paddle, and her Walther automatic.
Gaia stretched, yawning as she smoothed her hair back from her forehead. Through the white gauze curtain she could see the back of a parked white van, outlined sharply against the dazzling blue sky. A vacuum cleaner was running in a nearby room; its muffled drone resonated through the walls. That sound must have awakened her.
Straight ahead, Gaia could see her reflection in the dressing table mirror—disheveled, sleepy looking, with red marks on her face from the wrinkle of pillowcase that had pressed against her face, but basically healthy and rested. She felt rested—yesterday had been a long, long day, one of the longest she’d ever known.
Kicking back the covers, Gaia rose to her feet, picking up her watch and strapping it on. The watch read 11:06.
Gaia winced. She’d slept way later than she’d intended.
On the dressing table her laptop computer was still open and plugged in. Gaia remembered sitting right there, in the lamplit darkness, nearly twelve hours before, staring at the bright rectangle of the screen as she engaged in her text conversation with Will Taylor. And it had felt so good to be talking to him—as she leaned forward on that uncomfortable motel chair, peering at the screen, the miles between them seemed to vanish and she was back in Quantico, seeing his maddening, smirking pretty face—the face she legitimately wanted to punch so often and, so many other times, wanted to tenderly stroke with her fingertips as he dozed off with his head resting next to hers.
After showering, Gaia pulled on clean pants and a hastily folded shirt, sitting on the creaky bed to tie her shoes. ,She strapped on her shoulder holster and slipped her newly charged cell phone into her pocket.
The laptop battery was fully charged, Gaia observed as she packed her duffel bag. After her typed conversation with Will, she hadn’t been too groggy to remember to plug her machines’ chargers into the wall sockets. Thank God for small favors. With no phone and no computer, she might as well just give up. Gaia left the computer hooked up while she zipped up her duffel bag, finally opening the motel room door and letting the bright, warm day into the room.
The sun was dazzlingly bright. The air was crisp and clean, and the chrome of the cars in the motel’s parking lot sparkled in the sun. The green-and-white 7-Eleven sign glittered against the clear blue sky, looking completely different from the ghostly green glow that had haunted the windows late into the night. Gaia took a deep breath of Baltimore air, stepping out onto the cement landing, pulling her drying hair back from her face as she turned toward Marsh’s door—
—and something’s wrong.
Gaia felt it instantly. Later, trying to remember what had tipped her off, she honestly couldn’t decide what the telltale detail was. She stood just outside her room, beneath the Clavarak Motel sign, squinting in the bright sunshine and looking down the row of identical brown doors that lined the cement walkway.
Marsh’s door was wide open.
Gaia squinted critically. So what? He’s left his door open—enjoying the morning air.
But somehow that didn’t seem right. The man who was nervous in a public park because he’d seen a man looking at them from fifty yards away—Gaia had trouble picturing him relaxing in his room with the door wide open.
That sound, Gaia thought. The vacuum cleaner—
Gaia stepped over to the wall and began edging slowly toward Marsh’s door. With her right hand she unsnapped the strap on her shoulder holster. No question about it—the closer she got, the more certain she was that the vacuuming sound was coming from inside Marsh’s room.
Big deal, Gaia thought. He’s getting breakfast, and the maid service is cleaning the room.
But they cleaned your room when you checked out, didn’t they? Not during the day. Somehow Gaia couldn’t picture an establishment like the Clavarak Motel providing such a service unless they absolutely had to.
Moving closer to the door, sidling along the whitewashed brick motel wall, Gaia suddenly noticed the white van again. It was parked nose out in front of her own motel room; she had seen it through the window when she’d first awakened.
Now, as she moved along the wall, she could see the driver’s side door mirror. As she watched, there was a flicker of movement from the driver’s seat. She caught a glimpse of a man’s chin and lips and a white shirt collar.
Someone’s in the van. In the driver’s seat, waiting.
Why?
Moving as quietly as she could, Gaia edged along the wall another few feet until she was just at the edge of Marsh’s room’s window. Leaning carefully over, hunching down, she peered through the corner of the glass.
She tensed, ready to pull back as fast as was necessary. She had to cup her hand around her eye to see. The curtains were drawn, but there was a small opening she could see through if she got her face at just the right angle. And she was in full view of the van’s rearview mirror if the driver happened to look back here.
The room was cleaned out. The bed was stripped down to its bare mattress.
A woman in a blue-green uniform was pushing a vacuum cleaner back and forth on the same spot without looking.
A man in a black suit was standing next to the cleaning woman, talking to her. He wore mirrored sunglasses and was tall enough that he had to look almost straight down at the frightened-looking woman, who was listening as the man spoke to her at length. She kept vacuuming absently while listening to him. Gaia could see that her eyes were wide with fear.
As Gaia watched, the cleaning woman suddenly flicked her eyes toward the window.
Damn! Did she see me?
As fast as she could, Gaia whipped backward away from the window, flattening herself against the wall. Lucky for that vacuum, she thought. It probably meant they couldn’t hear me—
Gaia backpedaled along the wall, her shoes squeaking on the cement as she got herself out of sight of the van’s rearview mirrors. Then she stopped and allowed herself sixty seconds to think.
Men in black—FBI—were asking questions.
And Marsh was gone.
He’s been taken out, Gaia realized slowly. This is a gray op.
And Gaia knew what that meant.
Next on the list: Gaia Moore.
Fifteen seconds later Gaia was back inside her own motel room, reaching to slap the laptop closed with one hand while she grabbed her shoulder bag with the other.
In twenty seconds that woman’s going to tell them about the blond girl in the next room—and then the game’s over.
Gaia figured she had maybe a minute and a half to get away.
Immediately she pulled the laptop’s plug from the wall socket, banging her head on the desk edge because she was moving so fast, and took a final look around the room.
The box of cartridges—Marsh’s parting gift—was on the bedside table. She didn’t dare risk the time it would take to cross the room and get them.
The bathroom door was open; its light was still on. Gaia could see that the mirror was still fogged with steam from her shower. Her toothbrush, comb, and other toiletries were laid out along the edge of the sink, ready to be packed.
Too bad. Kiss them goodbye—stop thinking and move now.
As fast as she could do it without making any noise, Gaia ducked back outside into the bright sun. If anyone were to look this way—if the driver of the van leaned to the left and glanced in his mirror or if the tall man with the sunglasses chose that moment to stride out of Marsh’s room—it was all over. She was standing in direct sunlight in front of a white wall. They couldn’t possibly miss her.
The Altima was parked at the far end of the Clavarak Motel’s small asphalt lot, in the other direction from Marsh’s room. It was fifteen paces to the driver’s door.
She got moving. Halfway across the lot Gaia fished out the car keys—and dropped them. They clattered to the hot asphalt, loudly rolling forward and nearly tumbling under the car. When she bent to retrieve them, the laptop nearly slipped from beneath her arm and smashed on the ground. Gaia barely caught it, pulling a muscle in her shoulder, and then grabbed the keys, ramming them into the Altima’s front door.
The sun was hot. Climbing into the car, Gaia had already started to perspire. She threw her shoulder bag and the laptop onto the passenger seat, pulling the door closed gently, so it wouldn’t slam.
Now what?
Gaia glanced backward. From here, she could see the van’s occupant perfectly—he was a sharp silhouette in sunglasses, leaning his wrists casually on the steering wheel, just thirty feet away. If he turned his head, he would see her.
I can’t start the engine, she thought helplessly. He’ll hear it and he’ll look over at me.
Just then Gaia heard a door slamming. The other agent had come out of Marsh’s room—Gaia could see his feet moving beneath the van. The walking agent shouted something.
The agent in the van heard him—he twisted to his left, leaning out the window to better hear what his partner was saying.
Now or never, she thought furiously. Hit it.
Gaia turned the ignition, making sure not to flood the engine as the car started, bonging gently while the dashboard indicators flashed on. The wheels squeaked on the pavement as Gaia lurched the car forward toward the apron that led to the road. Behind her the van’s driver was climbing down from the side door while his partner advanced on the room Gaia had just vacated.
Lucky, Gaia told herself tersely as she pulled forward toward the intersection and watched the hanging traffic light bob in place against the brilliant blue sky and turn a beautiful shade of emerald green. Lucky, lucky, lucky … As she hit the gas, gathering speed, she just barely caught a glimpse in the rearview mirror of the tall agent drawing his gun and entering Gaia’s hotel room.
Lucky I woke up when I did, Gaia realized. Lucky the light changed.
That was a whole day’s worth of luck—and her morning was only beginning.
permanent disappearance
A FAKE SMILE
At noon Gaia pulled the windshield’s shades down, squinting in the blinding glare from the interstate highway. Squinting was her only option: her sunglasses were in her toiletries bag, back at the Clavarak Motel, fifty miles behind her.
Or they’re in an evidence bag, she reminded herself, looking for a faster-moving lane. You know exactly what they’re doing to that room.
Gaia did indeed. That white van was probably full of equipment. They could be using a spectroscope to examine the bed linens, looking for hidden strands of hair or cotton thread, turning the room upside down to learn every conceivable scrap of information about its inhabitant. They probably had contacted the phone company and the power utility (for the voltage readings on the room’s electrical outlets) and had figured out that she’d used a computer to go online. Now the FBI could be converging on her communication with Will from two directions and were twice as likely to figure out the clever use they’d made of a singles chat room.
The countryside around the highway was wide and flat, with industrial parks and farmland and strings of exits for various towns passing by as she drove. Gaia was moving fast, pacing the light traffic, but she wasn’t really sure where she was going—her only objective had been to get as far away from the Clavarak Motel as she could.
But now, staring at the converging lines of the highway and the flawless blue dome of sky above, Gaia began to seriously wonder what her next move was. The vast American landscape around her only emphasized the truth: when you were looking for one single person, it was an awfully big world.
Gaia glanced downward at the laptop resting on the passenger seat.
Will I need to get back in contact with Will as soon as I can.
Gaia started scanning the roadside turnoffs. If she could find a place to connect to the Internet—anyplace at all—then maybe she could contact him again. She could leave a message for him in “Hacker City” and hope he picked it up fast.
Because we’re expendable, she thought grimly. She still could barely accept it. We’ve been in contact with Catherine, who’s in contact with Socorro—so we’re both gray ops waiting to happen.
Now that she was paying attention to the road signs, Gaia realized she was headed north on Interstate 95. She had left Baltimore far behind—she was headed parallel to Chesapeake Bay, approaching the Mason-Dixon line. Soon, if she kept going, she would reach the Susquehanna River as it ran inland toward Harrisburg, far beyond. The land was less flat now as she moved inland; there were rolling hills and protruding rock faces in the countryside she passed.
REST STOP AHEAD 1 MI, a reflectorized blue road sign announced—FOOD FUEL. There were signs for the different businesses available there: Mobil Gas and Hardee’s and Super-whiz, whatever that was, and below that Starbucks.
Aha.
Gaia had spent more time in Starbucks than she wanted to think about. In particular, her precollege memories of the Astor Place Starbucks would probably stay with her the rest of her life—the green decor, the rich smell of grinding espresso beans, the hiss of the steamer, and the constant babble of the FOHs from the Village School. Not to mention all the other New Yorkers, young and old, alone or in groups, with newspapers and iPods and knitting needles and paperbacks, part of the tapestry of New York life. Just the green logo gave Gaia a pang of New York homesickness. Who would have ever thought she’d be yearning for those times again? Even running from her demented uncle was less twisted and confusing than running from the FBI.
In less than a minute Gaia was in the exit off-ramp, behind a station wagon whose backseat was filled with four young kids, all grinning and waving at her. For some reason, she felt strongly compelled to force a fake smile for these children she didn’t even know—as if her true feelings were some kind of contagious disease they might catch. But she could only muster a stiff line of clenched teeth, which only seemed to scare them away. They stopped waving and turned quickly from her.
Now Gaia was driving onto a gigantic parking lot filled with parked cars. The brilliant afternoon sunlight was shining off dozens of chrome bumpers, rooftop luggage racks, and radio antennas. A wide green lawn behind the lot was dotted with picnic tables, where families were eating lunch, playing Frisbee, and walking their dogs while small groups of children ran aimlessly around. Even from here, on the approach lane, Gaia could hear their peals of laughter.
Ahead of her was the rest stop’s main building—an enormous round concrete structure the size of a supermarket, with gigantic metal signs advertising the businesses inside. The revolving Mobil sign was turning gently in the sun atop a hundred-foot steel pillar in the distance, near the gas pumps—Gaia glanced quickly down at her fuel indicator and realized she was all right for a while longer.
She stopped her car for a moment, staring at the gas pumps, where a white van was getting refueled. Is that—
No. The printing on the van said something about Pinkett Plumbing.
So what? Gaia told herself. The bureau loves to disguise their vehicles. You’re never going to see them coming if you pay attention to labels.
Gaia forced herself to stop thinking that way. If she didn’t, she’
d start seeing the FBI around every corner.
Paranoia is healthy, Gaia told herself. But this didn’t feel like paranoia at all. She couldn’t get the haunting question out of her mind: What had they done to Marsh? Could they really just erase him like that? Did he have some perfectly average suburban family out there somewhere who would have to live with his “permanent disappearance” for the rest of their lives? Just as Catherine’s father was being forced to do right now? Just as Gaia had basically been forced to do with her own father for five years? She couldn’t dwell on it. She knew if she allowed herself to dwell on those thoughts, she’d begin to slow down, and the last thing she could do right now was slow down. Not while Catherine was still out there somewhere—which Gaia once again convinced herself she was.
The main thing now was to find a parking spot close to the building, which, of course, every arriving car was trying to do. She was in luck—a young, happy-looking couple in sunglasses, holding matching ice cream cones, grinned as they got into a Nissan sports car right in front of the main revolving doors, and Gaia managed to zoom forward and pull into their oil-stained parking spot right ahead of a sour-looking man in a green Jetta, who honked angrily at her while shouting something that was inaudible through two sheets of safety glass. Gaia was tempted to flash her badge just to shut the man up, but she knew that really wasn’t a good idea.
Let’s not do anything to draw attention, she told herself, standing in the warm breeze beside her car, pulling on her jacket as quickly as she could to cover the gun. Let’s just get in and get out without anyone even noticing I was here.
NO SUCH THING AS PRIVACY
The inside of the building was cold and loud—the tile floor seemed to echo every footstep and baby’s scream. After the events of the past day it was strange to be in a crowd, surrounded by a hundred or so random people moving around with their food and maps and purses and sunglasses. Gaia had her laptop tucked under her arm, and her badge and gun were quickly accessible, but she knew they were invisible to the untrained eye. Her watch told her it was getting on one in the afternoon, which made her inadvertently quicken her pace, striding forward along the brown tile floor and craning her neck, looking for the Starbucks sign.
Agent Out Page 10