“Naw, my old lady felt like I needed to go on some kind of diet. Some kind of low carb thing where I only eat meat, eggs, fat, more meat. No veggies. No bread. No rice. No sweets. She packed the fridge up before she went up to Portland to visit her daughter a few days ago. Lucky for you because I think she’s going through menopause.” Bob rubbed his gray beard, his concentrated gaze upon Teddy. “And God, is she a mean woman of late.”
Fitch knew that Bob presented a certain picture when first viewed, but the whole was much larger than the sum of him. He was a fair man, and treated the students in his classes very well. He helped them with their problems and made sure that students who were willing to learn were able to do just that. But he tended toward obstinacy, wasn’t a politician, and the board of regents didn’t care for his early seventies image carried out into the next millennium. So when retirement age had rolled around it suddenly became mandatory and Bob was out. Of course, he didn’t appreciate the newfound freedom, but he did purchase this out of the way café and moved up to the mountains to write a book on the properties of physics that he hadn’t had time to finish in the years before.
But Fitch really liked Bob, called F-Bob teasingly by the students, not so laughingly by the university staff, and he’d made a point to keep in touch with the older man after he’d left the university. As a matter of fact, Fitch got up to the mountains frequently to climb cliffs, sometimes passing through to do some major climbing across the craggy mountains in the high desert of central Oregon. Consequently, the pair had become good friends, the age difference mattering little, and when Fitch had his own problems with the U of Oh, he’d come to F-Bob to discuss his options. Before succumbing to the seriousness of the state of affairs Bob had laughed so hard he’d almost tinkled in his pants. But he had offered Fitch some solid advice and some commentary on regrettable incidents in his own life, some of which were far worse than what the younger man had done. So it was F-Bob that Fitch thought of when he needed a safe harbor into which to flee. And it wasn’t his own safety that he was particularly concerned with, it was Teddy’s.
F-Bob had made coffee for Teddy, adding a liberal amount of milk and sugar, as well as the secret ingredient that had made her fall asleep faster than someone suffering from narcolepsy. She had dropped off so quickly that even F-Bob was alarmed. Then, Fitch said, “She’s had a tough day.” He reached over and plucked the Glock out of her hand, holding it awkwardly by the barrel. The Glock was in one hand and the plate of eggs and meat was in the other. The younger man held the plate closer to him as if protecting it from the weapon.
The older man took it from him in a vexed motion and said, “If you hold it like that, you’re going to blow a hole in some part of you that...hey.” He looked closely at the weapon. “This isn’t exactly something you can go down to Guns R Us and hook off the shelf. Where’d she get this?”
Fitch shrugged and swallowed whole half a sausage. “I’ve been up all night,” he said. “And I’ve been thinking about some of the things she’s said. Starting from the point in time when she hijacked me, driving by the hospital. She was wearing a hospital gown and being chased by a man in a dark suit. Not to mention that she had a hell of a day on Friday, too.”
He sat down on the other end of the couch from Teddy and balanced the plate in his lap. Then much to F-Bob’s amusement he stuck a pillow under her head with his free hand, adjusting the top of her body so that she wouldn’t have a crook in her neck. When Fitch looked back at Bob he announced, “I wasn’t kidding about having a problem. As a matter of fact, I need to give you an opportunity to tell us to get the fuck out of your house. Because frankly, I think that the sitch is not just bad, but very, very bad.”
Bob reluctantly took his view away from Teddy. “That sounds heavy. Like blowing up the lab heavy. Except maybe worse.” He glanced down at the Glock. “And I think that I wouldn’t believe it except that I’m holding some kind of fully auto pistol in my hand with what looks like a professional silencer on the end. Something that is not only illegal, it’s super illegal. I got buddies who believe the end of the world is coming who can’t get their hands on stuff like this.” He leaned over the side of the recliner and dropped the gun into a wastebasket. “Good place for that. Don’t want her waking up and thinking we’re going to shoot her. Don’t want her grabbing for the gun, either.” He grimaced. “The old ball and chains would have a sure-D-fired hissy fit if we shot up the homestead.”
“I don’t know what’s going on, Bob,” said Fitch. “I was going home from working at Jack Macintosh’s law office, you remember Dad’s lawyer bud? Detoured past the hospital. She ran out with her forehead bleeding like a stuck pig. She was terrified. I mean, she was frightened to death. I almost ran her down with the hulk. Another few inches and she would have been roadkill. Then she commandeers me and the Jeep, and gets me to the house. Not long after that, there’s the same goon who chased her out of the hospital aiming a gun at my head.” He tapped the middle of his forehead with a sausage. “With some laser lit thingamabob. I mean, Bob, this guy, could have drunk boiling coffee and pissed ice cubes. Man, he looked at me, had me under a bead, and he smiled. I would have peed in my pants, if I had remembered. And the hottie here. Her name’s Teddy, she’s saying she can’t tell me anything because it would mean they’d kill me, too. Says that a bunch, too. Which is a little late for that, seeing as that guy had me pinned in the middle of my head. And something about scarlet tangers. Scarlet tanningers. Scarlet somethings or other. Well, she shot him. The dude. She shot him like five, six times with that gun.” He pointed at the wastebasket. “Regretted having to do it, too. But she did it. It came down to that guy, who clearly meant to kill me deader than dogshit or me. And she picked me.”
Bob ruminated over the information. “Teddy,” he mused. “You mean, a scarlet tanager, don’t you?” but it really wasn’t a question. Then he knew exactly what it was that had been eluding him. He relaxed and went on mildly, “I cannot get this image out of my mind. You’re too young to have even been alive, but there was this group in the seventies. Bad-asses. They called themselves the Symbionese Liberation Army, more commonly the SLA. They kidnapped this heiress. Demanded a ransom from her rich daddy. I mean, a ransom, but not the kind where they got paid individually, but food handed out to the poor and suffering. Oh, the daddy complied, millions of dollars’ worth of food distributed to people, many of whom really didn’t need it, even caused riots in groups of people trying to get some. But this group of bad guys was worse than that. They kept the little lady, and in all likelihood spent an inordinate amount of time brainwashing her. Stuck her in a closet, didn’t let her sleep, tortured her, molested her, told her the FBI would kill her along with the rest of them, that her father refused to pay any ransom, and finally she must have cracked. Made audiotapes telling the world she was part of the SLA. Helped in a bank robbery. Got it all on surveillance tapes.”
“You mean Patricia Hearst,” said Fitch.
F-Bob nodded, his eyes went back to Teddy. “Sure. After the bank robbery she virtually disappeared for over a year. A year and a half. And it was bizarre. The speculation about where she was. What was she doing? She was in Mexico. She was in Canada. She was in Viet Nam. She was robbing banks in Columbia. She had joined some movement in Africa. Man, it was the thing. Where’s Patty Hearst? Cult-heroine. Nobody knew how she’d suffered. Not then. The news reported that she was nothing more than the opportunistic daughter of a billionaire. She’d seen an opportunity and let herself be manipulated into a situation. That’s the way the law put it to the media, and the media reported that, full-tilt.”
Fitch looked at Teddy. “Clinton pardoned Hearst. Just like that. Some of the truth came out. But Carter commuted her sentence, too, didn’t he?” He put the plate down. He had suddenly discovered he wasn’t as hungry as he’d thought. The first plateful had been enough and the subject was making him uncomfortable. “What’s your point, Prof? She isn’t Patty Hearst.”
“No, bu
t I think she’s the next best thing,” F-Bob answered solemnly. “Maybe you should tell me what the hell happened to you lately. This time in detail.”
•
Three-quarters of a mile north of the Lee residence Gower stood in front of Taylor and Jane Halford’s home. Once the sun had begun to climb into the lightening sky, one of the sheriff’s deputies had noticed that the dunes behind the Halford’s fence line were torn up. Someone had used a four-wheel drive vehicle to travel parallel to the fence and eventually come to a spot where they’d been able to circumvent the fence, and move onto the highway. The deputy was aware that the Halfords were seasonal residents and were living in Bend at the time. The deputy was also a part-time employee of the security company that oversaw both the Halford and Lee properties. The deputy reported the finding to Sheriff Hereward J. Bird, who dutifully but sarcastically mentioned it to the cold-eyed FBI agent who was haunting their office like Jack the Ripper stalking Whitechapel in the nineteenth century.
With telephone permission given to search the premises by the Halfords over in central Oregon, a team of officers moved into the coastal property and found it empty. Mr. Halford mentioned that he left a vehicle in the garage because the Fed had asked, and they had found that car, a 1999 Ford Explorer XLT, missing. But if a sharp-eyed deputy hadn’t noticed the tracks ripping up sand and brush along the corridor of the gates and huge fence, then they might not have realized that the pair had gotten another car.
Gower studied the empty garage as if it would give him the answers he needed. The sheriff’s deputies had finished their search of the house and could find that no one had gotten in. Somehow the two, barely more than children, had broken into the garage only, and stolen the one thing they needed desperately. A vehicle. And despite roadblocks on the major throughways, they’d eluded police capture. They’d even eluded being sighted by law enforcement. Consequently, twelve hours later they could be anywhere.
He couldn’t help the small smile that slipped across his features. A chilly smile that held no humor provided no amusement for himself. I should have known she is more than a simple child. She’s grown in three years. She’s adapted. She’s used her intellect and focused it toward trying to survive. Doing exactly what she needs to do in order to accomplish those means. Learning what she has to learn. Reaching a boat or ship wasn’t feasible, so she used what she could. Gower almost shook his head. He should have realized that it would not be so easy to catch this target. However, an individual on the run was an easier target. Because they were frightened, they inevitably made mistakes. He didn’t doubt she would make mistakes as well. But they would be less obvious mistakes.
The airports at major fields were covered within five hundred miles. The bag belonging to Theodora Andrea Howe had been retrieved from Sailor Jack’s whale watching business and showed that she had fled without a lump sum of currency hidden in a jacket lining. There was a Be-On-the-LookOut issued for Teddy Howe AKA Teddy Smith, Fitch Lee, and the harvest-gold, 1999 Ford Explorer XLT, with vanity plates, Hally-Two, on it. Examination of Fitch Lee’s room at the Lee home indicated that the boy was extraordinarily interested in outdoor athletic activities. He climbed rocks. He skied. He windsurfed and surfed. And one of his hobbies was participating in four-wheel drive clubs, which specialized in intensive trails, which necessitated some of the extra gear installed on the old Jeep parked outside. It had a winch, front and back locking differentials, and special hubs. The original straight-six engine had been replaced with a V-8. And it was clear that Fitch had done some of the work himself. If not all of it.
One of the deputies, the one who had accompanied Redmond to the Lee home, said that Fitch was also a boy who got into trouble. Jacy said that there had been a chemical mishap at the university where the young man was attending, and implied that Fitch had been wholly responsible for the destruction of university property, that he had barely evaded serious jail time.
Sheriff Bird walked up behind the agent and sniffed loudly, interrupting Gower’s train of thought. He didn’t turn to look at the older man but merely waited. Bird said, “Well, my boys have done everything you wanted. There’s a BOLO out on that gal, the Lee boy, and the Halfords’ Explorer. There’s an alert on the kid’s credit cards, as well as the Halfords’. Hally couldn’t remember if he’d left some credit cards inside the Ford or not. I suspect he did not. But he did say it was a four-wheel drive model, although he ain’t never used that part of it. It’s just for when the roads are slick or there’s a little snow or ice about. The airports are covered. But I don’t get why you ain’t interested in the media. A little media could go a long way in pointing the way to this little pair of criminal lovebirds.”
“No media,” said Gower without emotion. “They tend to get in the way.”
“The Oregon Journal is pretty pissed off about their reporter fella. The Hudson vic whose neck was broken. At least that’s what the doc down at the hospital said. His neck was snapped. At the third vertebrae down. Says he’s like a chicken with its neck wrung.” Bird paused and Gower didn’t see that his pug-like face was considering the special agent with a rapt expression on his face, as if he were staring at something viscerally dangerous. “And him twenty feet away from the nearest set of stairs.”
What Bird didn’t add was that while some of his men were questioning witnesses at the hospital one of them firmly put the blonde-haired agent, the tall one with the stunning good-looks going downstairs in a hurry, well ahead of Nemo Hudson. Another one of the reporters who had been waiting around had backed that report up. So if Nemo Hudson had his neck broken, then Gower had been down in the basement area first. And that meant that the Fed was lying, or that the Fed saw exactly what happened, or that the Fed had broken the reporter’s neck himself.
After all, Fitch Lee was a good kid. A little misguided, but basically good. Bird knew that Fitch donated some of his time to a few of the charities in the town, mostly in the form of computer work, formatting and fixing software for organizations that had little extra money to pay for such amenities.
And as for the girl, all the people she worked with had a good word for her as well. Bird damned well couldn’t see that little girl snapping a grown man’s neck. But this man in front of him. Tall, strong, muscular, with big hands. Trained by the government to do all kinds of nasty things. Bird could visualize that. Yessireebob. I surely can. Oh, man, what a fucking headache this is going to give me.
“Your men,” said Gower. “Did they find the missing brass cartridges?”
Bird stared at Gower. “No,” he said, after a moment. “The dipshits couldn’t find their dicks with a magnifying glass.”
Gower continued to look at the Halford’s home. He already knew that they never would find the brass from his Glock. He’d already disposed of it.
•
Fitch spent an hour thinking about it and when F-Bob went out to take care of the Ford, he got on the phone and called his father, who had been waiting impatiently for this call.
Chapter Fifteen
August 16th
A section from Routen’s Birds of North America, edited by Houston Routen, Cacky Press, 1992, pg. 92: The Scarlet Tanager, in Latin Piranga olivacea, and in Spanish the Tangara escarlata, has the very interesting culinary habit of eating as many as 2,000 gypsy moths in as little as an hour. The bird is viewed optimally early in the mornings when insects, its primary food, are most active, and the avian is forced down from the treetops. It also is an inadvertent defender of the oak tree, shielding the trees against the insects that would destroy the tree, a hearty bird that ruthlessly protects its own...
Bishop hung up the phone with a surge of alarm alerting every inch of his system. He studied the phone in front of him as if it could give him the answers he desired and he made the first of several choices that he thought might come back to haunt him. His son had told him where he was, who he was with, and why he had done what he had done. But Bishop knew his son was being naive, to say the least.
> He picked up the phone again and dialed the direct line to the FBI’s Director, Stephen Urban. He abruptly hung up the phone. First, he would make arrangements to go to Oregon himself. This he would do, and while he was there, he would contact the proper authorities. Therefore, he could probably ensure Fitch’s safety and well-being. He waited for the dial tone once more and contacted his adjutant, and ordered that man to make the necessary arrangements. When Bishop reached Oregon in a matter of hours, perhaps no later than three or four PM, then he would give Director Urban a call about where Fitch was, and his son would have to forget this farcical load of nonsense that some cute little chippie had fed him, which had been, no doubt, encouraged by that former hippie professor of his.
This situation could be handled.
•
The first time Teddy could remember waking up in a hospital room, she had opened her eyes and found that the world had changed in ways which were not readily apparent. Nurses gathered hesitantly at the end of her bed and whispered among themselves, a group of people with absorbed expressions as they muttered. She had been too groggy from being in a coma for six weeks to understand why their faces reflected an innate concern, a certain anticipation that denoted what she eventually perceived as mild horror combined with curious dismay.
A feeding tube had been inserted into her stomach, another tube down her throat, and her muscles had felt as though she had a thousand pounds attached to each. Her legs had casts on them, and there was some kind of brace on one arm that bound her to the bed. Struggling to understand why they didn’t talk to her, her fingers had twitched with impatient longing for them to come to her and tell her what she needed to know, because her mouth felt as though there was a pound of cotton stuffed inside of it. But instead they had looked at her as if she were a monster.
Flight of the Scarlet Tanager Page 17