by Jayne, Chris
A steady stream of traffic had started moving up the shoulder. There was a turnaround in the median up ahead - from the top of a small rise, Lori had been able to see it. Lori’s burner phone didn’t have a signal here, but from the road atlas, it looked like the closest town going back the other direction was a burg named Buffalo. She’d noticed it coming through because two interstates actually met there, I90 from the east and I25, the road they were on, from the south. Ironically, if they had taken the most direct route from Florida, the route she’d decided not to take that very first night, this was where the two routes would have joined.
Lori sat, staring at the atlas, as if she looked long enough it would change what was happening. A man from the car directly in front of her walked back. “Mind if I have a look?” He shook his cell phone as if that would fix it. “No signal. I don’t even have a map in the car. Looks like we’re getting way too dependent on these things.”
She handed him the atlas just as another car rolled by on the shoulder. “I’m not sure exactly where we are, but we’re somewhere between Buffalo and Sheridan.” Lori tried to remember how long it had been since they went through Buffalo. Fifteen minutes?
“Yeah,” he agreed, “I think we’re still about 20 miles from Sheridan.” He stuck out his hand. “Sam Boski, by the way,” he offered.
Completely without thinking, she returned the gesture. “Lori -” then stopped short with a strangled gacking sound. What was she thinking of? She was a fugitive! She couldn’t be telling people her name.
He slanted her a curious look. Obviously, he’d noticed her abrupt stop, but only said “Nice to meet you, Lori.”
Another car rolled by, tires crunching on the gravel shoulder. Desperate to deflect his attention from her, she leaned over and touched the map. “Where do you think they’re going? If I’m reading this right, maybe ten miles back there’s an exit that puts you on this highway, and that goes north, meets up again with the interstate in Sheridan.” Lori looked at the long line of cars stretching behind them.
Sam studied the map. “That looks right.” He lifted his head and, as Lori had done moments earlier, studied the line of cars. “What a shit-show,” he opined. “I think I’m going to bail on this.” He handed the atlas back to Lori. “Where you headed?” Sam asked.
Lori’s stomach clutched with terror. Had she said too much? Did he recognize her from television? Her eyes glanced back down at the atlas page. The first town she saw was Bozeman, and she blurted the first thing that came to mind. “Bozeman. We’re going to Bozeman. My, um, my grandmother died.” To her own ears, her speech sounded frantic and desperate.
“Well, I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am.” He paused. “You going to go for it? That’s got to be another 300 miles.”
Why was he asking her plans? He’d recognized her. She was sure of it. “Yeah.” She started walking away, and called back over her shoulder. “Kinda have to. Funeral’s tomorrow.”
Lori tried hard to never use bad language around the children. But inside, she dropped the F-bomb more often than she liked, and right now, as she clutched the steering wheel in a grip that was just one notch short of insane, she was doing it right now. For fuck’s sake. That was the only phrase that came to her mind. For fuck’s sake.
After her encounter with Sam Boski, which had left her shaken, she’d gotten the kids, Simone and the dog back in the car, and joined the line of traffic pulling slowly up the shoulder to where people were turning around in the median. Ten minutes after hitting the southbound side of the interstate, they were at the exit to Wyoming Highway 87, which would take them north, right into Sheridan, back onto the interstate, then on into Montana.
But maybe not, because now there was still another setback. As soon as she exited, she saw it: 87 North was also closed, blocked with orange cones. Most people were just going back south, but a few, like Lori pulled over. A Wyoming state trooper was standing by the cones. The last thing Lori wanted to do was talk to a police officer but she didn’t see that she had a choice. She’d managed to avoid any and all contact with law enforcement for the last five days, but her phone still didn’t have a signal. She needed to know why the road was closed, and if she couldn’t drive north on 87, she had no clue what to do or where to go.
Fortunately, she was able to fall in behind someone else who was also looking for an explanation. “What’s going on, officer?” the older man asked.
“Sorry folks,” the young man said in a weary voice, obviously tired of giving an explanation for what probably was the hundredth time. Lori sidled a bit closer to the man, hoping it would look as if they were together. “Bad wreck going northbound. Fatality, and they need to bring in the chopper for an injury. Head on, both sides of the road are closed. You folks trying to get up to Montana?”
“Yup,” the man answered. Lori said nothing.
“Well, if you’re trying to get into Montana, you need to go back one more exit, and take Pine Creek Road east to 14. That’ll take you into Sheridan. From there you can pick up the interstate again.”
The man who had asked the question turned to Lori as they walked back to their cars, muttering. “Wouldn’t you know it? Crazy assholes, probably so pissed at the delay out on 90 that they go barreling up 87 at 100 miles an hour.”
“Yeah,” Lori walked away. “Wouldn’t you know it?” she said to him, but inside she repeated her frustration again.
For fuck’s sake. Now what?
Chapter 34
Louise
Sunday
7:00 PM Mountain Time
Hobson, Montana
* * *
“Mommy,” Tony called out. “She won’t stop.”
Louise threw down the dishcloth that she was using to wipe down the counters in the small kitchen and marched into the home’s small living room, though at seven months of pregnancy, her march was more of a waddle. “What is going on, Tony?” she asked wearily. The stress was starting to get Louise down. Lori and her children should be here any time now. At every small sound, she’d look out the window, expecting to see lights on the driveway, but so far nothing. Bickering children was the last thing she needed.
“Hannah’s not leaving us alone.” He thrust his jaw out and indicated his three-year-old sister. “She keeps stealing the train.”
The arrival of Tony and Hannah’s toys from Bowenville had been a godsend in many ways. Seeing things they hadn’t seen in months occupied the children for quite some time. On the other hand, it had led to endless conflicts. Sandy’s two older girls, at ages nine and eleven, did not really want to play with the two little boys and three-year-old Hannah, and spent most of their time shut in the room they were using, reading books and watching videos on their tablet. This left the two six-year-old boys and three-year-old Hannah as a “unit,” and it often did not go well.
“She doesn’t have to leave you alone,” Louise said firmly. “You have to play with her. Nicely.”
“But Mom, she keeps just taking the trains.” One toy that Tony had missed a great deal was his wooden train set, and Tony and Frankie had built a complex train track that took up most of the small living room.
Louise knelt awkwardly down and took her daughter by the arms. “Give the train back, Hannah. You have to play nicely with them.”
“They’re boys,” Hannah said with all the defiance a three-year-old could muster.
Louise sighed, silently thanking Beth and Marie Kaplan for this bit of attitude. She couldn’t imagine where else her three-year-old daughter would have picked something like that up. Louise shook her head glad that this was almost over. She was very happy she’d been able to help her friend Sandy out, but even Louise had her limits.
For one night, there’d be thirteen people in this house. Deacon had run into Lewiston today and picked up one more queen-sized air mattress. He intended to give up Tony’s room to Lori and her children, and he was going to sleep on the sofa for one night.
Then, tomorrow, Monday morning, Louise inten
ded to ask Sandy if she’d be willing to spend one night in a hotel in Billings while waiting for her Tuesday flight. Fortunately, Sandy was actually selling the car she had in Billings. That was why she had decided not to drive to Illinois. The arrangements to sell the car had already been made, and the buyer was going to drive Sandy and her children to the airport, so at least Louise and Roger were off the hook for that.
If Sandy was nervous about using her credit cards while still in Montana, Deacon was going to offer to put Sandy’s room on his card. Louise could not see any reason why Sandy would turn this offer down. It was better for the family anyway; that way they wouldn’t have to get up while it was still dark on Tuesday morning and drive to Billings for their flight.
Only one more night of this, Louise told herself, and then she remembered the reality. She’d lose Sandy’s three children and replace them with Lori’s two. Well, at least they’d have a nanny. That cynical thought was the first remotely amusing one she’d had in hours.
But whatever brief humor Louise felt was quickly replaced by worry. Where the hell was Lori? Louise was on the verge of not being able to take any more.
“Mom,” Tony howled. “You’re not listening. She is taking all the trains.”
“I really don’t care, Tony. Play something else. And if I hear one more word about this, you can go find your father out in the barn. You know what happens in the barn.”
Louise turned and walked back to the kitchen, only barely managing to fight back tears.
“What happens in the barn?” Frankie Kaplan asked.
“Nothing,” Tony Hale responded. He kicked out angrily, glowering at his three-year-old sister, his foot catching the small occasional table on which the hardline phone sat. The phone crashed off, landing on the carpeted floor behind the furniture.
Tony grabbed the TV remote. Forget the trains; Hannah had ruined it. He didn’t like his sister, and now his mother was having another baby. He sure hoped this baby was going to be a boy because if it was another sister, he was going to run away.
Defiantly he looked at the TV remote. He knew they were not supposed to be watching anything, but he was going to risk it. He hit play and a disk his mother had put in earlier spun to life. Star Wars. One of his favorites.
He turned the volume up.
Over the noise of storm troopers shooting and blasters firing, the sound of the “off the hook” warning from the phone’s handset, face down in the rug and up against the wall, was merely another background noise.
Chapter 35
Lori
Sunday
9:00 PM Mountain Time
Sheridan, Wyoming
* * *
Lori slammed the pay phone’s received back into the cradle again. Busy. For the third time. What was going on? What else would go wrong today?
After driving down a country road in a line of cars that seemed to go on for miles, all of which had come off the interstate, they had finally reached Sheridan, Wyoming at nearly 8:00 PM, and Lori was done. She had thought of the cynical saying: Stick a fork in me. She now knew what people meant.
They’d taken a brief bathroom stop at a rest area just outside Sheridan and while the kids were using the restroom, Lori did research. She was almost sorry she had, because the map function on the burner phone had given her dreadful news. From Sheridan, Wyoming to Hobson, Montana was another 250 miles. No matter how many times she looked at it, the number didn’t change.
This entire day had been a disaster. Starting with the slow service at IHOP at 7:00 this morning, to the double highway wrecks which had cost them hours, Lori did the math as she was arriving in Sheridan. It had taken them nearly twelve hours to go 400 miles. Considering that she was in a state where much of the interstate was posted as having an 80 mile per hour limit, and all day cars had blown by her going even faster, that was insane.
Still, the calculations didn’t lie. There was no way she could possibly get to Louise’s before midnight, and that was if they just hit a drive-through for dinner. She’d been up since 6:00.
Stick a fork in her.
Seeing no other choice, she decided on one final night in a hotel, and against her better judgment, she picked a nicer one again, so the kids could swim. Grace finally felt well enough to do so, and she’d talked about nothing for half the day except how unfair it was that Brandon had gotten to swim six times - six times! - In Oklahoma, and she had gotten to swim zero. Zero!
These were children who grew up in Florida and considered a day at some of the most beautiful beaches in the United States a chore, but a hotel pool? Nirvana. Lori didn’t even have the energy to argue.
Across the street from the hotel was a truck stop which blessedly had pay phones, a commodity which was getting harder and harder to find. Walking there with Sasha, she intended to make one final call to Louise and explain the situation. According to Lori’s best calculations, they should be to Louise and Roger’s by 2:00 PM at the latest tomorrow.
Then, the final straw in a long day: this busy signal. Lori shook her head cynically. A hardline phone was bad enough, but didn’t they have call waiting? She was actually going somewhere where cell phones didn’t work. Lovely.
Lori stood outside the convenience store portion of the truck stop and waited a few minutes to call again. With nothing else to look at, she glanced inside, and then was sorry she had. Yup, the national tabloid she’d seen in Oklahoma was still the current issue, it was still prominently displayed by the cashier and her face was still on the cover. Lovely.
Lori tried again, ten minutes later, with the same result, and after ten more minutes and the third try, she gave up. The last thing in the world she wanted was for Louise to worry, but she didn’t see what her options were. She couldn’t stand here with a dog any longer. Sasha was very distinctive, and she’d already gotten a few concerned glances from folks that had gone into the store and noticed she was still waiting alone by the phones when they emerged. Eventually, someone would ask her if she needed help.
She also realized something else. As they had gotten further and further west and north, Florida license plates were few and far between. In fact, earlier, while they were waiting out on the interstate, two separate people who’d gotten out of their cars to make chit-chat had commented on her out-of-state plates. Thankfully, her car was over at the hotel, but she was insane to be out in public with her picture in every convenience store. Every time someone saw her, she was taking the risk that they would see her and then the car.
What to do? She hated to worry Louise, who would definitely be expecting them. But other than getting back in the car and driving another 300 miles, she didn’t see any choice. Tugging on Sasha’s leash, she headed back to the hotel.
Chapter 36
Angela
Sunday
11:00 PM Eastern Time
Miami, Florida
* * *
Angela walked into the private hangar and looked at the Gulf Stream 40 in front of her. On a few occasions, courtesy of the FBI, she’d traveled on a private charter, but she’d never been on small private jet like this one. The jet’s staircase was down, but there did not appear to be anyone around. Angela wondered if the pilot (or would there be two?) was already aboard. In spite of everything that was going on, she found herself just a bit excited about the prospect of riding on such a…
“Ajola.” Behind her Raoul Saldata called. Astonished that he was using the Albanian variant of her name, she turned.
Out of nowhere, Saldata’s massive fist crashed into Angela’s cheek, hard enough that she, unprepared for the blow, fell to the asphalt tarmac. The handle of her roll-aboard slipped out of her hand and clattered away.
Her head ringing, gasping with pain, her instincts took over. She was a trained FBI agent, proficient in hand-to-hand combat, but against two men, one of whom was armed and standing more than ten feet away, she didn’t stand a chance. Then, Garth walked over and put his foot on Angela’s wrist, pinning it to the ground. Instantly
she knew why he had done so: he was pinning her right hand, the hand with which she’d reach for her purse to pull her gun. They were trying to make sure that, in the first few desperate seconds, she didn’t make a fatal mistake.
Her objective brain took over. She’d have a bruise from the blow to her cheek but so far, she had no permanent injuries. If they broke her wrist, her options would be seriously impaired. If they were going to kill her, they could have done it at the house, with no one around. The fact that she was here meant they really did intend to take her to Montana, they wanted to take her to Montana.
She thought of the old saying, “Live to fight another day.”
Angela stayed on the ground.
Saldata kicked her purse away from her body and Garth picked it up and dumped the contents. With the toe of his shoe, Saldata sorted through the items that clattered out. The cheap burner cell phone that she had purchased at the drug store the previous night skittered across the asphalt. Without a word, Garth walked over to it and, under his heavy boot, ground it to a pile of plastic and wire.
“Get up,” Saldata snapped. Garth moved his foot, and simultaneously drew his handgun pointing it at Angela’s head.
This is an airport, Angela thought irrationally. Where is everyone? But her query went unanswered, and, at 11:00 PM, the private hanger loomed around them, shadowed and silent.