Carolyn was street smart, so she understood she was being sold a spin job. “How ’bout I got a better idea—I say we ride motorcycles and bikes.”
Beth squeezed Carolyn so hard that Billy thought she would break. “Mommy will always love you, sweetie, you know that, right?”
“I love you too, Mommy.”
“I want you to know that even though I won’t be with you, I’ll still be with you in spirit.”
“What’s spirit?”
“You know when you feel good in your heart?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that is Mommy’s spirit telling you that I love you.”
Carolyn removed the rose necklace and hung it around Beth’s neck. “Calvin said it keeps you safe. I want you to be safe to give me warm spirits in my heart.”
Beth broke into tears. “You’re a good girl. Mommy is so proud of you.”
Carolyn smiled her big, toothless grin. “I’m a giver.”
Chuck pulled Beth away. If he didn’t, she would never have let go.
“You and Billy are going to go to Montreal. Do you know what’s in Montreal, princess? Chuck asked her.
“The steak sauce?”
He smiled for a split second at the mention of Montreal Steak Sauce, her favorite topping to any meal. “Yes, but I was thinking about you and Billy going to a Montreal Canadiens hockey game.”
“I think I should get to play hockey again,” she said.
“If you’re a good girl for Billy, then we’ll talk about it when you get home.”
She gave him a big kiss on the cheek. “I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you too, princess. So do you understand what I just told you?”
“That Billy and I are gonna eat steaks and watch hockey.”
Close enough. He set her on the ground. If they waited another minute, their cars would be melted into the ground. Breathing was near impossible and everyone was coughing.
As Billy hugged Dana goodbye, he wondered if this was what it was like when Beth’s family split up at Grand Central. It had been over twenty years without a reunion for them. He tried to push any tragic Shakespearean comparisons out of his head.
They agreed to only call on their cell phones if it was a “going over the cliff” type of emergency. Dana gave Billy an ATM card, which he stashed in the backpack that carried the survival kit Calvin had provided him.
As Beth sobbed in the front seat of the pickup, Chuck removed the car seat and brought it to the Cherokee. It was like the symbolic passing of a torch.
Chuck sang a couple lines of “Sweet Carolyn,” as he strapped her into her seat. He then shook hands with Billy. “Take care of my princess,” he said, holding a powerful grip of hands, and glaring into Billy’s eyes, seeking assurance. It was understood.
The two cars sped off in different directions, passing fire trucks that were racing toward the fire. Then a huge explosion shook the ground.
The motorcycle had exploded in the cabin.
Chapter 43
As the hazy sun rose over the Adirondacks, Billy helped Carolyn board an Amtrak train at the Glen Falls/Fort Edward Station. His eyes moved around like a mosquito that just guzzled a Starbucks double latte. He was suspicious of everyone. The conductor, the French speaking couple beside them, the lounge car attendant, even a frail elderly woman two rows ahead of them who was talking hearing-aid loud about her grandchildren in Plattsburg.
The most important item in the Calvin-provided survival kit was fake identification he prepared for Billy and Carolyn. He’d obviously been planning their escape prior to last night. Billy studied the laminated ID card like a college student cramming for a test he was wildly unprepared for. His new identity was Chad Foley, and he was traveling with his daughter, Abigail.
They were forced to leave Calvin’s gun in the Cherokee, unwilling to risk being stopped by security. After his hunting experience, Billy doubted it would do him much good, anyway. They also left behind the sling for Carolyn’s arm, which likely would’ve served as an identifying mark for those in pursuit. To accentuate the fickleness of children, after weeks of complaining about it, she actually didn’t want to leave it behind.
After escaping the cabin fire last night, Billy maneuvered around in the Cherokee like a ship with no port. The degree of difficulty increased due to a certain four-year-old in dire need of a nap. He thought they found safe-haven at a commuter parking lot near the train station, but when a suspicious car arrived and shut its lights, he was on the move again. Actually, the car wasn’t that suspicious at all. Piled up newspapers in the back signaled it was a newspaper delivery driver taking a break. But Billy’s paranoia had overtaken all his senses.
They found refuge in an apple orchard and waited for the first train to Montreal at daybreak. Billy spent the rest of the night cradling Calvin’s gun close to his chest as if it were a newborn. But if Calvin was right, and at this point there was no evidence to refute him, those chasing them were straight out of the shadows of a spy novel. And he was sure a force that could get behind the enemy lines of Iran, wouldn’t have any difficulty penetrating an apple orchard in Glenn Falls, New York. What was he really going to do if they found them?
As they waited for morning, Billy had hoped Carolyn would nod off and get some needed shuteye. But no such luck. He tried to gauge her emotions, but she displayed an impressive poker face throughout the night. Billy was afraid to ask her for her reaction to the fire and shootout, expecting her to declare it to be “fun!” But he also knew the little girl was hooked-in emotionally to everything swirling around her. She likely saw the panic in her parents’ voices and could feel how scared they were. Just like Beth did the day she was abandoned.
When they found their seats on the train, Billy shut his eyes for the first time in two days. But as soon as his eyelids latched he was forced to re-watch the movie, Calvin Rose Burning, over and over in his head. This past month, the bar for what he found mind-blowing had risen to immeasurable heights. A girl who couldn’t feel pain was surreal. A possible covert military operation trying to abduct Carolyn was hard to get his mind to accept. But the sight of an unflinching Calvin Rose barbecuing himself was too much for him to take. Billy whipped his eyes open, hoping to wake from the nightmare. No such luck.
Carolyn continued staring ahead, stubbornly fighting off the Sandman. She was on fumes, only an internal survival mechanism keeping her awake. It looked like the life was drained from her face, her normally rosy cheeks ghostly pale. The drama and trauma of the past month had tested her mettle, especially the week she spent in the hospital. But this was the first time he’d seen the childhood innocence knocked from her.
“Are you okay?” he inquired.
“I smell icky.”
Their clothing reeked of burning fire. And Billy couldn’t dislodge the stench of Calvin’s burning flesh from his nasal cavity.
“You and me both. The good news is nobody will sit next to us and we’ll get more legroom.”
Not even a courtesy chuckle; tough crowd.
“We’ll get a change of clothes as soon as we get to Montreal,” he said in his most re-assuring voice.
“I wanna go home.”
“We will soon, but first we have to go to Montreal.”
“I need to go home and feed Puck.”
“Your mom will feed him for a couple days while we’re away.”
“I miss my mom and dad.”
“Me too.”
She began to tear up, returning her gaze to the back of the seat in front of her. “I’m having a sad day.”
Billy tried to wipe her tears, but she sharply turned her head away. He decided to let her alone with her thoughts. This was not the time to push her.
After some reflection, she hesitantly asked, “Are my mom and dad mad at me because I was nice to Calvin?”
“Of course not, they just want you to be safe. They love you very much and can’t bear to see you hurt. You know the rule: don’t talk to strangers.”
> “Is that why I can’t go to school again, because I was a bad girl and talked to strangers?”
Billy reached deep inside and pulled out his best fake smile. “Actually because you’ve been such a good girl, your mom and dad wanted me to take you to a Montreal Canadiens hockey game for a special treat!”
Carolyn flashed a look that said, I might’ve fallen for that when I was three, but I’m four now.
They again morphed into a weary quiet. The train moved from the magnificent Adirondack Mountains to the shoreline of the massive Lake Champlain, which they would ride beside for about fifty miles. They made stops at Whitehall Ft. Ticonderoga, a famous fort built in 1775 by the French to defend against the British. At each stop, Billy eyed each new passenger, looking for any clue that they might be connected to Operation Anesthesia. But unlike the French, who knew what they were up against when they built Fort Ticonderoga, Billy had no idea who his enemy was, what they looked like, or where or when they would strike. He would have given anything for a symmetrical army marching toward him in red coats.
The train rattled by Lake Placid. He tried to cheer up Carolyn by telling her a great fairy tale about the 1980 US Olympic hockey team that won the gold medal in Lake Placid.
He paced the story like a novel, causing Carolyn to briefly perk up. The story had memorable characters such as the unrelenting Coach Brooks and the never-say-die captain named Eruzione, along with great plot twists like the miracle tie against Sweden. The story built to the climactic battle between the underdog US kids and the Soviet machine, the greatest hockey team in the world.
The ending was perfect. The US beat the Soviets, as the announcer uttered the now-famous line, “Do you believe in miracles?!”
“So the US team was the fireflies and So-vee-its were the dragons?” Carolyn asked, hanging on every detail.
She was right. All great battles throughout time come down to fireflies and dragons. And sometimes, like in Lake Placid, miracles do happen and the fireflies prevail. The question was, would they find a miracle in Montreal before the dragon found them?
“My daddy says you should never count out the underdog,” Carolyn added. Billy hoped he was right.
The hockey story must have siphoned Carolyn’s remaining fuel, because she drifted into a deep sleep, whistling a light snore.
Billy wondered about her dreams. She didn’t appear restless or tortured, but he knew if what she witnessed was allowed to fester inside her impressionable mind, it could leave some ugly scars where they hurt the most—on the inside—the place where she felt pain. So when she awoke following a bumpy stop at Rouses Point, he addressed the issue.
“Do you want to talk about what happened last night?”
“No.”
“You don’t have to. But I know I was scared, and when I’m scared it makes me feel better to talk about it. So do you mind listening to me?”
“My mom and dad were scared too.”
He knew it. “They were just worried about you. Sometimes grownups act weird when they care about someone.”
“Kind of like how you and Aunt Dana act weird around each other?”
He chuckled. “I think we’re just weird.”
“How come my mom didn’t want me to play with Calvin?”
“I think she thought he was a dragon.”
Carolyn looked befuddled. “How could someone mix up a dragon and a firefly? That’s silly!”
“Sometimes grownups lose the good vision they had when they were kids. They think they see stuff, but kids feel it. Feeling is always more accurate than vision.”
“I’m sure glad I’m not a grownup!”
“Me too.”
She giggled with innocence. “You are a grown-up, silly.”
“Sometimes I forget,” he said with a smile, before turning serious again. “Do you want to talk about what happened to Calvin?”
“Whataya mean?”
“When he was on fire.”
“He’s a firefly—he’s sposed to be on fire. He was just playing.”
“Fireflies are angels, right?”
“Of course, silly.”
“He was definitely a firefly then.”
Carolyn took a theatrical whiff of air. “I smell like a fireplace.”
“I told you—we’ll get new clothes when we get to Montreal.”
“Will they be warm and fluffy, like when my mom does the laundry?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Are we almost there?”
“About ten minutes.”
“What are we gonna do in Montreal?”
He opened the Fodor’s travel guide he bought in the Glen Falls station and pointed out the mall where they would purchase the clothes.
“We are also going to visit Calvin’s brother, Bronson.”
“Can he come to the hockey game with us?”
“We’ll see.”
She smiled. When her dad said, “we’ll see,” it meant “yes, Carolyn.” Her energy level picked up. “That would be fun!”
Chapter 44
After being awoken by the news of the Lake George debacle, Dr. Naqui couldn’t get back to sleep. He needed to think, and his office was always the place he found solace to do so. So he arrived at his Manhattan office at five a.m. on Wednesday morning.
The simple recruitment of a young child had turned into a newsworthy forest fire. The parents reported the child as missing, and while nobody would say it, the public expectation was that the little girl had died in the fire.
He walked into his dark office and turned on the lights. He then immediately hopped backward, startled by the figure sitting in the chair behind his desk.
“Hello, doc, I figured you Johnny Jihad types always show up early for work.”
Naqui’s fists clenched as he peered at Franklin Stipe’s cocky grin. Stipe looked more Madison Avenue than military in a dark, double-breasted pinstriped suit. But his skin was shedding like a reptile.
“Did you come to gloat over your seamless performance last night?” Naqui asked.
Stipe either ignored, or didn’t comprehend the sarcasm. “I’m on my way to New Canaan this morning to conduct a little business at the Whitcomb residence, so I figured I’d stop by on my way and get me a cocktail. I had a tough night.”
“I think you are confusing terms. You had an incompetent night last night, just like you did in Iran. Isn’t there some baseball metaphor about three strikes?”
Naqui used a remote to turn on the flat-screen that hung like a painting on the wall. He flipped channels until he came to something called Good Morning New York, although for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what was so good about it. They were showing video—again—of the raging forest fire, along with a recent school photo of the “missing” Carolyn Whitcomb, sporting a toothless grin.
Naqui clapped sarcastically. “Bravo, Mr. Stipe, bravo. You are finally receiving the headlines you’ve sought.”
The news changed to a preview of today’s first day of the Senate hearings on the Iran hostages, headed by Senator Oliver LaRoche. Today’s star witness would be Kerry Rutherford, the U.S. Director of National Intelligence. The news just kept getting better and better.
“I hope that son of a bitch doesn’t sell us out. He wants out, you know,” Stipe tried to shift focus to Rutherford.
“He would never do that.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because unlike yourself, he is a great patriot. And he knows Operation Anesthesia has done God’s work in keeping this country safe. Anesthesia is like his child. And he will protect it like his child. Now tell me exactly what happened last night.”
“Can’t we do this inquisition after I get the shot?” He pointed to the syringe he had already set up on the edge of the desk, locked and loaded.
Naqui took the syringe into his hands. “No—we’ll do it now.”
Stipe pulled a gun. “Either I get that shot or you get this shot right between your eyes. Your call, doc.”
>
Naqui held the glass syringe loosely in his hand, so the pain remover would crash to the ground if a bullet struck him.
“Go ahead, Stipe, lose-lose propositions have become your M.O. Just remember, three strikes and you’ll be out.”
Stipe lowered the gun. Naqui knew he so badly needed the pain medication that he couldn’t think of anything else. “They were tipped off,” Stipe began what Naqui knew would be a laundry list of lies and excuses.
“Who would tip off this unsuspecting family? And even if they were, how come you still couldn’t take them down? You are a trained soldier.”
“I believe they are working with Calvin Rose.”
Naqui’s throat tightened. “Calvin Rose?”
Still seated in Naqui’s high-backed, leather chair, Stipe tossed some photos on the desk, which Naqui picked up in his manicured hands.
“The photos are from Monday, shot from a security camera at a Bank of America in New Canaan. We believe the man on the motorcycle is Calvin Rose, and the girl is Carolyn Whitcomb.”
Naqui’s fists clenched as he studied the photos. “Go on.”
“Calvin Rose also meets the description of the man wanted in a breaking-and-entering at the Whitcomb’s home this past Sunday. But I was able to snag these before the authorities arrived last night.” He tossed a zip-lock bag onto Naqui’s desk. It was full of human teeth and bone fragments. “They want us to think they are the remains of Carolyn Whitcomb or her friend Billy Harper. But my instincts tell me they belong to Calvin Rose, which means he will no longer be a problem.”
Operation Anesthesia possessed the only dental records on Calvin Rose, so they could easily match them, if it was him. He didn’t exist to the outside world.
Naqui walked to his window and looked out at the scurrying ants participating in the maddening morning rush. Many of them would discuss the testimony of today’s Iran hearing over dinner or drinks. Little did they know what really happened. Naqui was in the dark himself. “I need to know what the hell happened in Iran. And I need the truth this time.”
Painless Page 18