Chapter 64
DISCRETION was absolutely critical. Nothing could go wrong from this moment on. The serious mistakes of the past day were already being rectified. Damage control was being done.
The important "visitors" had began to arrive in the greater Denver area as inconspicuously as possible. Painstaking thought and planning had gone into every facet of their individual journeys, but especially into keeping their presence here a secret, not only from the world at large, but from their business associates, even from their families.
Each of them knew what was at stake. Each understood that this was a profound moment, and that they were privileged to be a part of it, even by their high standards of privilege. And each knew the tremendous personal risks if they were caught. There would be convincing denials, but ultimately, they would be left out to hang.
Two of the principals came as a married couple, which was the simplest, and the best possible disguise. The largest group comprised four German males who claimed to be enthusiastic freshwater fishermen bound for fly-fishing along the Continental Divide.
Two travelers came from a major corporation in Tokyo. If anybody asked, they were here to see the Colorado Shakespeare Festival. They were staying at the Boulder Victoria Historic Inn, and taking roll after roll of photos like stereotypical tourists. Another man represented one of the largest and most important corporations in France. According to his story, he was there to visit the Chautauqua Music Fest and also the Niwot Ragtime Festival. The visitors had agreed to stay in small, surrounding towns, with names like Lafayette, Nederland, Louisville, Longmont, Blackhawk.
The married couple, who were from London, camped out, "roughed it" American-style, in a tent at Rocky Mountain National Park, about fifty miles to the northwest of Boulder. An important CEO from Bernardsville, New Jersey, stayed at the splendid and quite beautiful Gold Lake Mountain Resort.
Each visitor had been assigned to a specific Colorado town. They had been requested to dress and act like vacationers; to stay in smallish lodges and inns like the Black Dog Bed & Breakfast, the Hotel Boulderado, the Briar Rose. As important as all of the visitors were in their own sphere of influence, they did exactly as they were told.
They could see the larger picture: the history of humans was about to change.
Chapter 65
THERE COULD BE NO EVIDENCE.
There could be no witnesses.
Harding Thomas led a dozen hunters walking "the grid" from Rough Rider Road out toward the Peak-to-Peak highway. They had dogs now, hounds stoked on the scent of the winged girl. The paired men and dogs were spaced ten feet apart. They marked off parallel lines as they cut back and forth through the woods. They were mostly former army officers. They chose to believe this exercise was in the spirit of national defense, and maybe even America's survival.
When they had walked the full length of the grid they stepped out of it.
Then they would mark the next section. They methodically searched grid after grid for any traces of the missing girl.
They didn't speak or joke around or even light up smokes today. The only sounds were their heavy boots trampling the underbrush, and the constant snuffling of the frantic, overtrained hounds.
On the other side of the Peak-to-Peak were the impressive foothills of the Rockies. Two choppers were presently scouting up there. They were equipped with infrared equipment that could scan wide swaths of the landscape below. It reported back on a view screen every warm-blooded creature that it passed over. Deer, moose, bears, rabbits, birds, all creatures great and small.
The girl wouldn't get away now. There was zero chance; zero possibility. She couldn't hide from the infrared for much longer. Or from the hunters, the methodical trackers, the trained dogs.
But somehow, that's exactly what she was doing so far. The girl seemed to have disappeared into thin air.
They'd been out here for several hours. The sun was going down in a hurry. It didn't matter. The intense search would continue through the night if necessary. More help had already been called in - very worried and concerned doctors and researchers from the Denver and Boulder area. Men and women who worked at the School, and could be trusted with the truth.
They already had a cover story, and it was the best kind because it happened to be true - they were searching for a young girl who was lost in the woods.
Max was now a threat to everything.
Chapter 66
I FELT as if I desperately needed to come up for air. I simply couldn't breathe. Kit had suggested that I go about my normal business for a couple of hours, take a break, and I figured that was a good idea.
Gillian and I had agreed to get together again soon, anyway. We'd made plans the night Frank Mcdonough drowned in his pool. Gillian had even made me promise to come. The circumstances of Frank's death still upset me terribly. I just couldn't imagine Frank drowning.
One of the reasons I don't go to her house more often is that it's about an hour ride. On the trip there, I started to have some really bad thoughts.
First, David had died; then it had been Frank; now, I started to worry about Gillian. There wasn't any logical reason for my fears, but I had this feeling she might be in danger.
As I drove, I had the unwelcome fantasy that I might arrive at her house and find police cars and EMS. The only saving grace was that I knew it wasn't likely. But then, neither was David's death. Or Frank's.
I put my mind in a more positive place. Mind over paranoia. Visiting With Gillian was always one of the high points in my week. After David's death, no one had been more supportive, more of a friend, not even my sister Carole. I could talk to Gillian for hours, even over the phone, but in person was always the best. Gillian had lost her husband about two years earlier. That was part of our bond - but it was so much more now.
By the time I got to her house in the hills, I was more hyper and anxious than I thought I'd be. One tricky thing: Kit had sworn me to secrecy about the girl. Although I felt he was right to keep Max a secret for now, it was going to be a challenge to see Gillian, and not talk, not tell her about the extraordinary girl. Not telling almost seemed like lying.
Actually, I wanted to see if I could get some information from her.
Gillian is "good people," very down-to-earth, but she has a medical degree from UCLA and a Phd. in biology from Stanford. She's an encyclopedia, not just on science topics, but also economics, astronomy, the Denver Nuggets, Colorado Rockies, you name it, Gillian knows it.
She's also a terrific mom, and that's probably what I like best about her.
I could see her now. She was safe and sound. I could also see her little boy, Michael, splashing in the pool as I climbed out of my car. I felt better already.
Breathe. In with the good, out with the bad, I told myself, but it was easier said than done, "Did you bring a bathing suit?" Gillian asked. She was wearing a blue and-black-striped Speedo, and she was in terrific shape for fifty-one. She runs five miles a day, and has for the past thirty years. When she was in her forties, she ran in the New York City Marathon.
"As a matter of fact, I did bring a suit," I said, and stripped off my blouse and shorts to prove it. I had on a red-and-white-striped one-piece that I liked well enough.
Gillian whistled and clapped her hands. She's a terrific cheerleader.
"Look at you! Frannie, you look great."
I rolled my head around loosely on my shoulders, and did my best Jimmy Stewart - heck, Wgurn, bigosh. "Been hiking and stuff, ya know.
Busy at the critter hospital. Guess I lost a few pounds somewhere."
B'golly.
"Listen to you. Something else is different," Gillian said and laughed.
She has a big, toothy smile that I find quite wonderful. "Did you color your hair, Dr. O'Neill? If you did it looks great. There's definitely something going on."
There certainly is, Gil. I'm just sorry I can't tell you what it is.
A blond boy of four emerged from the pool, looking all slick
and silly.
He ran to his mom, interrupting our talk, but doing it so innocently it was charming and sweet. Michael was only two when his father had died of a coronary in his office at Boulder Community. He was growing up beautifully, anyway.
"What, Doodlebug?" she said. "Say hello to Aunt Frannie."
"Hi, Aunt Frannie!" Michael beamed. I bent down and he kissed me.
He is a beautiful little doodlebug.
"I'm playing seal," Michael announced. "My seal name is Black Nose.
This," he said, pointing to an inflatable raft, "is Iceland. Cool, huh?"
"Iceland is very cool," I said and grinned.
We watched as Michael dived from the low board and slipped perfectly into the water without a splash. "He's so cute," I told her.
Gillian looked at me again. She stared into my eyes and something clicked. I could see her mind working. "You're in love," she said, accusingly. "Yes you are. I'm sure of it."
"Nope. No way. Get out of here," I said and made a face.
"You are too. Now you tell me this instan - what, Michael? Okay, I'll time you. Don't you go anywhere," she said to me. "I'm on to your game."
Gillian marched to the deep end of the pool. She really was in excellent shape. She held a watch out in front of her. "On your mark, get set, go for it."
Black Nose the Seal did another dive. He swam nearly half the length of the pool underwater, right under Iceland. He finally surfaced.
I was feeling a little giddy. God, did I have news. I wanted to shout out to my friend - Want to hear about another great kid? An amazing little girl! I'll tell you about a girl who's sweet andfunny - and who can skim the treetops without breathing hard.
"So, Frannie, tell all. You'd better tell me what's going on with you," Gillian said, as she returned to the deck chair beside me. ""Cause I'm going to find out. You know I will. Talk to me. Confess."
"Well," I said, "in that case, I'll spare myself I might be a little in love."
I told her all about Kit, at least what I could tell. I left out the part about our finding Max, of course. And I also didn't mention that he was with the FBI.
Chapter 67
KIT WAS WORRIED, even more uptight than he'd been, but he was definitely feeling sick to his stomach.
He had what he jokingly called "FBI stomach," a recognizable queasiness, a tenderness and weakness that belied the hardness of his gut. He'd been hanging out with little Max all day, playing it as cool as he possibly could. He had hoped she'd drop some information about where she had come from. She hadn't so far.
He had checked in with Peter Stricker's office and they hadn't come up with a whole hell of a lot about Dr. Frank Mcdonough - other than that he had once worked with James Kim in California, which Kit knew already. Actually, he had called in just about every favor he could in Washington and Quantico, but nothing he found out was too helpful.
This wasn't good. He was in an extremely tough place now. He ought to tell Stricker about Max, but something inside told him not to do it yet.
Call it his sixth sense. Call it certifiable insanity. Or a death wish for his career.
Whatever the name, it was an emotional component that the Bureau wasn't as high on as he was. He understood that a lot of people wouldn't have agreed with his thinking, but they hadn't observed how the Bureau had treated this case. They hadn't been there. They hadn't seen the disparaging look on Peter Stricker's face, or the cynicism in his voice.
After Frannie returned from her friend Gillian's house they ate another pasta dinner with Max. Frannie definitely seemed more relaxed. They took a moonlit walk in the woods-later that night. Max knew the names for most of the trees they passed, the flowers, shrubs. She seemed to like to talk once she got started.
"Impressive," Frannie told her. "You know more about these woods than I do."
"I read a lot," Max said and shrugged. "And I retain information."
"Did you go to classes at your school?" Kit asked as they circled back toward the cabin. The moon was a large white plate looming over the dark treetops.
"What do you think?" Max answered with a question, then she scooted on ahead of them - walking, not flying.
"I've got an idea," Kit offered when they got close to the cabin. "Let's all go for a car ride, see the sights a little. What do you say, Max?"
"I love that idea!" Max said and seemed terrifically excited. Her green eyes beamed. She jumped into the air - and stayed up. "I've never been in a car before! Never in my whole life!"
Chapter 68
THE JEEP held the three of us in front. Since it was already past midnight, Kit figured we would be safe enough. On the way out of Bear Bluff there wasn't another car on the road. So far, so good. Max was positively radiant as she peered out through the windows.
A little more than an hour later, we entered the city of Denver, which at that time of night was pretty much shut down. I knew the glittering skyline very well. The Daniels and Fisher Tower, modeled after the Venetian campanile, pierced the darkened sky. So did the state capitol, a Federal Revival-style building with a gold-leafed dome. The beautiful Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception was framed up ahead. And clearly visible, even at night, was the looming and magnificent Front Range of the Rockies.
I think Kit was trying to get on Max's good side, and maybe it was working out. We were taking a small risk coming here late at night, knew, but not too much of one.
I watched Max out of the corner of my eye. She kept shaking her head in utter amazement and awe. "Look at the buildings, the lights, the everything. I never knew there were so many tall buildings in the whole wide world."
Kit and I pointed out the Mcnichols Sports Arena, Larimer Square, Mile High Stadium. Max made Kit stop the Jeep so she could look at a red-brick school building covered with expressive, very colorful murals.
A school. A nice, peaceful one.
She'd never been in a city,- but she knew a lot about them. She'd learned about them reading books at her school. She was having the adventure of a lifetime. She was taking in a lot of new information, and retaining it.
I pointed out a unique building nicknamed "the Cash Register," a big silvery rectangle with a rounded top. Suddenly, Max clapped her hands over her ears. Her hearing was acute. The noise was certainly a lot louder than the Jeep's engine. It was coming over our heads, but it was already moving away.
"It's a helicopter," Kit said in a soft, calming voice. "It's nothing to be afraid of, Max. See the large letters painted on the sides?"
Max nodded. "9 News - KUSA," she read.
"KUSA is a TV station here in town. There are a couple of people in the helicopter sending television pictures back to the station. They're good guys. They bring the rest of us news about the world, about the Denver area, anyway. Probably there was an accident tonight. Something happened for them to be out this late."
"The helicopter looks like a big, really weird bird," Max said. "No wonder the good guys want to fly in it. I would. I'd like to race it, too.
Hey, good guys - want to race? You'd lose!"
Kit finally pulled the Jeep over to the curb so that Max could get a better look as the helicopter banked west and spun away from us. He seemed to like showing her things. I wondered if he was remembering better times with his own children. There was a gentleness, a softness in his eyes, that was touching to see.
"Sometimes they're called 'whirlybirds."' he said.
"Whirlybirds," Max repeated. "I knew that from the School. My teacher's name was Mrs. Beattie. I loved her. I think they put her to sleep," she whispered sadly.
Without asking, she threw open the front door.
"Max," I shouted. "Max! Max!"
Too late, though. She had wriggled free. She ran a few yards down a dark city sidewalk, then took off. I could hear her wings flapping. Kit and I jumped out of the Jeep and watched her ascend higher and higher. I was afraid for a lot of reasons. Denver can have pretty wicked winds, even in the summer. Plus, somebody might see her.
"Max!" I called out again. Damn, damn, damn. She was already too far away.
Kit cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted with me. She must have heard us; her hearing was acute. She acted like she didn't hear a thing.
We watched her fly almost straight up the side of a tall, sleek, thirtyor forty-story building. It was pretty amazing, I must admit. I wondered if she could see her own reflection in the dark glass, and what it felt like to fly around up there.
The news helicopter was out of view by the time Max began to circle the skyscraper. She was peering into offices. She soared toward another office building whose windows were lit to spell out the words "GO ROCKIES!"
She could probably see the entire city of Denver laid out beneath her.
James Patterson - When the Wind Blows Page 16