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Page 15


  “Okay, but the Fish and Wildlife kid, bet he had some laundry to do.”

  “You think you can call him kid, kid?”

  Mosley just squealed around another corner. These mountain roads were great!

  “This isn’t a car chase, you know. We’re not in hot pursuit,” Cooper said. “We know right where he is.”

  Which was true, of course. They weren’t exactly chasing the subject’s VW bug. They were following its GPS coordinates. Cooper kept studying the GPS readouts, which was why he’d let Mosley drive. Still, Mosley felt he should take full advantage of the opportunity. Next time he would probably be stuck riding shotgun again.

  “Also we’re not trying to catch him,” Cooper went on. “We just want to know why he finally decided to go somewhere in his car. Who is he meeting up with? Is it another terrorist cell?”

  Mosley already knew all this too. He took another corner on two wheels. Cooper reached out and hit the gear selector. The engine roared as it downshifted. Cooper gave a tweak to the steering wheel too. Suddenly Mosley was struggling to remember his high performance driving class.

  When he finally got the Jeep Grand Cherokee back under control, he said, “What the fuck was that!”

  “You want thrills,” Cooper said. “I gave you a thrill. Now slow down.”

  Mosley slowed down.

  This meant the road was no longer especially fun to drive. It was only scenic. Their subject was going for a scenic tour of the woods north of Moscow. Soon their subject decided to go sightseeing on gravel roads too. Which were even less fun.

  “If we went just a little faster,” Mosley said, “we could skim right over these washboards.”

  “You’re still going too fast.” Cooper was frowning at his screen. “We must’ve missed a turn. Back up.”

  Mosley slammed on the brakes skidding in the gravel, punched the SUV into reverse, and started backing up. Which turned out to be almost as much fun as speeding on the pavement had been since this was a narrow twisty road flanked on both sides by trees. Plus maybe now they were in a hurry since they’d lost the scent? He tried to see how fast he could back up.

  “We missed it again,” Cooper said.

  Mosley obligingly skidded to a stop again. “There wasn’t anywhere to turn.”

  “I didn’t see one either. But we missed it. Maybe we missed it a long time ago. Maybe we’ve been running parallel to the road we should’ve been on, and our GPS didn’t pick up the difference until the two roads diverged.”

  “So.” Mosley looked out at the trees. “I get to keep backing up?”

  Cooper, in his usual buzz-kill way, insisted Mosley turn around instead. Then he made Mosley barely creep down that road so he could study every gap in the trees.

  “There. Try that,” he said.

  It wasn’t even gravel and so narrow branches scraped the sides of the Jeep. Mosley shifted into low range, then checked out the dash for more options. “What would you call this? Sand mud? Rock? Or maybe it’s kind of like snow?” This was a sweet car, but some of the stuff in the cockpit was puzzling.

  Cooper glowered at his screen. “We’re wrong again,” he said.

  They tried one turnoff after another because this kept happening. They tried what seemed like every cow path wide enough for the Grand Cherokee. Mosley got to experiment with all his choices on the classy Selec-Terrain. The SUV leaped up and down on its air suspension, which was definitely upmarket although a little weird. Often the GPS said they were getting closer to their target, but then whatever cow path they were on would veer away again.

  “Maybe the GPS is broke,” Mosley said.

  “The GPS is fine,” Cooper spit. “It knows exactly where the VW is. It just doesn’t know every fucking logging road up here. Nobody’s ever mapped all this shit.”

  Right about then that particular logging road came to an end at an open space piled with logs and debris.

  “Looks like I should turn around again,” Mosley said.

  *

  Wes had lost Annie. By the time he’d escaped the maze of shoppers who were either oblivious to a BMW dogging their left hip or deliberately conspiring with Annie to block his every move, she’d disappeared. He hadn’t been able to tell her what was going on with her uncle, but far worse, clearly she hated him now.

  She’d guessed he’d put a tracker on both her bike and her car. She must hate him for that too.

  He just wished he’d thought to put one on Michael’s VW.

  Eventually, he called Hector to tell him she’d left in Michael’s car. Maybe with Hector’s help he could find her, he could get her to listen, he could fix things somehow.

  But Hector didn’t answer his phone.

  So Wes called his boss and reported the agency overlap in Annie’s house. If the FBI made the DEA back off, that would at least take the heat off Annie.

  But his boss said, “Those assholes, always throwing their weight around. Tell them to put it in writing if they want us out.”

  So he didn’t report anything more. He figured he still had his job, and he wanted to stay on the job. He wanted to be the one to find Annie.

  He just asked where Hector was.

  “Up in the woods somewhere. He’s undercover with some campers up there near the suspected location of the lab.”

  *

  Michael was home alone. Annie had sure left in a hurry. Wes had too. It had sounded like the two of them had had a lover’s quarrel. He hoped it wasn’t too serious. He didn’t think Annie should be with only him. She’d been alone too much of her life, and Wes seemed a nice young man. He hoped they worked out their differences before dinnertime because there were a lot of steaks marinating in the refrigerator, far more than he could eat.

  But the afternoon dragged on without either of them returning. Annie had taken his car—no telling why. He worried that was the reason she hadn’t yet returned. He’d told her he didn’t trust that car, but she hadn’t called to say the car had broken down.

  Eventually, he took one of the steaks out of the marinade and put it in a frying pan. Probably Annie would have cooked the steaks some better way, but as he ate it all by himself, watching out the kitchen window for her in his Volkswagen—or Wes in his BMW—or what would have been best would have been for both of them to come back happily together again—he thought he hadn’t done too bad a job on the steak.

  Then after dinner he decided to recheck the work he’d done for Hank and Smith. He hadn’t exactly asked Dr. Kortge how to handle their unusual requests, so he went about this still with some uncertainty. But they’d made it clear they would be terribly disappointed if he didn’t do these calculations, and he had studied chemistry, physics, and electronics. In fact, it felt good to do this kind of technical thinking again.

  It required concentration though. He was startled when he heard someone at the back door.

  It wasn’t Annie. Annie would have walked right in. It probably wasn’t Wes either because it sounded like two men talking to each other on the other side of the door. They didn’t knock. They were just talking quietly, maybe even trying to whisper, so at first Michael couldn’t understand their words. But when he padded into the kitchen in his slippers and put his ear to the door, he could understand most of what they said.

  “No, we don’t knock. We just bust on in.”

  “We can’t bust in the door. It’s Annie’s house.”

  “But she’s not here. We saw her leave.”

  “It’s still her house.”

  This disagreement repeated itself in a number of different ways until the first man said, “We can’t knock on the door because we need the element of surprise!”

  Michael took his ear away from the door and pulled it open. “Do you want to come in?”

  The two young men on the porch kind of jumped and then stared at him.

  “Hi, Uncle, I mean, Michael, er, Mr. Dobbins. I’m Buzzard,” the taller, husky one said, still looking kind of jumpy. “I play bass.”

 
“You’re coming with us,” said the skinnier one. He said this as if he was trying to be forceful although he was looking pretty rattled too.

  “Why am I coming with you?” Michael asked. “Do you know where Annie is? Is she hurt? Do I need to go to her?”

  The two of them looked at each other. “Sure,” said the skinny one. “We’re going to take you to Annie.”

  “Okay,” Michael said. “Just let me check on Lisa, and I’ll get my shoes.”

  Chapter 20

  Annie’s friends seemed unhappy with their TV. It was rather small and an older tube-type that sat on their water-ringed and cigarette-burned coffee table. “A boat anchor,” the one named Buzzard called it.

  But Michael had never played any video games before, so he thought the screen was fine. He was completely caught up in the aliens, zombies, and superheroes.

  “Really, it’s much better on a bigger screen,” Buzzard kept telling him.

  “Will you stop that?” said the other one who had never given Michael his name, but Buzzard had called him Fleep. Which had made that one, the one who was probably named Fleep, yell at Buzzard and say he couldn’t believe how stupid and useless Buzzard was. Which had made Michael think some more about the way friends could sometimes be difficult.

  Now Buzzard said, “Stop what?” while beating on his game controller.

  “Stop playing games with him!”

  “Stop distracting me. He’s catching on. I’m about to get killed!”

  Fleep grabbed Buzzard’s controller. The two of them struggled with it. Michael suddenly found his avatar with its hands full of weapons. He fired every single one of them. The screen exploded in beautiful ways.

  “See! I told you!” Buzzard yelled.

  He and Fleep tumbled onto the floor, still wrestling over Buzzard’s controller. Michael found his figure stood alone and triumphant on some planet or another. Which seemed very cool. But then Fleep stood up with the controller in his hand, and the screen went blank.

  “What happened?” Michael said.

  “We’re done with this shit!” Fleep tossed the controller at a large rectangular spot on the wall that was almost white, while the rest of the wall was a dingy gray.

  “Watch your language,” Buzzard said. “Show a little respect. He’s old enough to be your dad.”

  “It’s okay,” Michael said. “I mean, I have friends who swear too.” He was becoming more and more aware of the complexity of having friends.

  Buzzard went over and picked up the controller from where it had fallen after bouncing off the wall. He studied the gadget. “And you should stop throwing these things. If you broke it this time, you’re not using my car anymore.”

  “You call that puke bucket a car?” said Fleep.

  “Can you turn the game back on now?” Michael said.

  “What the hell!” shouted Fleep. “Gimme that controller!”

  “Maybe we ought to talk a little first,” Buzzard said to Michael. “Fleep’s got this idea.”

  “Yeah, I’ve got ideas! Because I can still think! Because I haven’t anesthetized my brain with stupid games!” Fleep was flinging his arms around, and his eyes were bugging out.

  “Is he going to have a seizure?” Michael asked.

  “Hey, you’re the one who bought all these games. You play them more than me,” Buzzard said.

  Fleep leaped at Michael. This Michael hadn’t expected at all. He’d thought Fleep was angry at Buzzard, not him. Fleep grabbed him by the collar and tugged at it as if he was trying to lift Michael off the couch by his shirt. This just pulled his shirt all out of whack, but now Michael wasn’t having a good time anymore.

  “I think I should go home,” he said. His chest was getting tight. He was getting that anxious feeling Dr. Kortge had told him to watch out for. “Annie isn’t here. You said she was here.”

  “You’re not going anywhere until you tell us about the gold!” shouted Fleep.

  Michael tried to calm himself the way Dr. Kortge had taught him to do, but then Buzzard was dragging Fleep away. “Do you have to be such an asshole?” he said.

  Fleep glared at Buzzard. “Watch your language. Show some respect.” He said this in a taunting singsong voice that took Michael back to grade school. Then, in a more normal voice, “I need a beer.”

  “How about you, Uncle Michael, er Mr. Michael, I mean Dobbins, Mister,” Buzzard said.

  “Just Michael is fine,” Michael said. “But I’m not supposed to drink. It doesn’t go with my meds.”

  “Bummer,” Buzzard said.

  He and Fleep went into the kitchen. Michael was able to take a deep breath and try to straighten his shirt. He could hear them opening beers in there, and talking quietly. Friends argued, friends made up. The tightness in his chest began to release.

  When Buzzard came back, he said, “Sorry about Fleep.”

  “I told you not to use my name!” Fleep yelled from the kitchen.

  Buzzard ignored this and slumped onto the couch beside Michael. “Just tell us about the gold. Then we can play another game.”

  “Gold?” said Michael. “You want me to tell you about gold?” This was a subject often discussed on his favorite blogs, so he knew quite a bit about it. “It’s been a store of value for thousands of years.”

  “Okay, we can start there,” Buzzard said. “But you need to tell us more.”

  “Well, in 1933 Franklin Delano Roosevelt made it illegal for Americans to own gold. I mean, you could still have jewelry, but you couldn’t have gold bars or gold coins.”

  “Really?” said Buzzard. “The stuff’s illegal? Hey, Fleep, did you know that?”

  “No, it isn’t anymore,” Michael assured him. “In 1974 Nixon made it legal again.”

  “That’s weird. I thought Nixon was an asshole. Sorry about the language, but you said you didn’t mind. I guess I can’t help it. The way I talk is fucked.”

  “It’s okay, Buzzard,” Michael said. “I don’t like Nixon either. He started the War on Drugs and the Environmental Protection Agency, and he defaulted on all the money America owed to other countries. The debts weren’t all his fault, of course. I mean, he didn’t start the Viet Nam War, or the War on Poverty, and it wasn’t his fault we were importing more than we were exporting. We still do that. But he decided to quit paying our international debts with gold.”

  “Wow! This is interesting,” Buzzard said.

  “Then, I guess since you couldn’t go down to the bank and exchange your dollar bills for gold anymore. But, of course, you hadn’t been able to do that since the thirties in this country. Anyway, Nixon must’ve decided it was okay for us to have some of it if we wanted, coins and bars and such.”

  Getting to share his knowledge on this very interesting topic was making Michael feel better, and Buzzard was nodding attentively. But Fleep had started banging around in the kitchen and yelling more obscenities. Now Fleep stomped back into the living room and leaned into Michael’s face. “Where’s your gold. That’s the question. We don’t give a shit about the gold that may or may not be in Fort Knox.”

  Michael’s chest began to tighten again.

  “I told you I’d handle this,” Buzzard said.

  “But you’re not! You’re talking about history! Ask him about now!” At least Fleep had pulled back from Michael’s face, but he was jumping around and looking scary again.

  “Okay,” Buzzard said. “Michael, you better tell us about your gold.”

  “My gold?” Michael said.

  “Your gold! Your gold!” Fleep shouted, waving his arms and still jumping around.

  “I wish I had some gold,” Michael said. “The price is kind of down now, but I expect it to go up again, and it’s been a terrific investment over the last fifteen years.”

  “I know that!” Fleep was now kind of spinning as well as jumping. “He’s lying!”

  “He’s crazy, remember?” Buzzard said. “But you’re looking kind of crazy too.”

  “He’s crazy li
ke a fox!”

  Fleep came spinning toward Michael. Michael pulled his arms around himself and braced himself for another attack.

  But then Buzzard stood up in front of him, blocking Fleep. “You said you wouldn’t hurt him.”

  “So what do you suggest? You want to listen to more of the history of fiat currency? How do we get his gold?”

  If Michael closed his eyes, he could almost see Lisa curled on his bed. He could almost feel the comfort of her warm fur. He kept his eyes shut and tried to hold that feeling.

  “Okay, here’s what we do,” Buzzard said. “We send Annie a ransom note.”

  “What good is a ransom note if you won’t hurt him?” said Fleep.

  “We won’t have to hurt him because Annie won’t let anybody hurt him. And she’ll know where the gold is. She probably takes care of it for him anyway. She uses some of it to keep the band on the road, so she must be selling a little now and then.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Fleep said in a much more reasonable tone. “We tell her to take the gold somewhere, and after we’ve picked it up, we give her back her crazy uncle.”

  When Michael felt Buzzard settle onto the couch beside him again, he dared to open his eyes and found Fleep now standing quietly. Fleep was frowning but looking much less scary than before. Maybe the frown only meant he was thinking hard.

  “We write a note,” said Fleep. “Then you stick it in Annie’s door.”

  “Nope,” said Buzzard. “You stick it in Annie’s door. I don’t think Michael wants to be left here alone with you. And me and him, we got games to play on this tiny outdated TV.”

  Chapter 21

  Annie drove home slowly but still watching for cars that followed for more than a mile or two. She didn’t see anything suspicious, and visiting Russ and Char had eased her fears about them and the lab at least. They were done with the batch they’d been brewing, so they’d promised to clean up their equipment and hide it, bury it, do something with it to make their place search proof. They’d assured her they wouldn’t carry on any more of their “experiments” until she gave them the all clear, and if that never happened, now they sounded at least halfway willing to retire.