“That bad, huh?”
“Yes, sir. I would like to sign some sort of lease, but I’d rather not leave a paper trail. If I live through this, you’ll get it back. If not, I’m sure my parents will reimburse you out of the money I inherited from my great-aunt, unless it has mysteriously disappeared, which is what happened to my girlfriend’s bank account.”
“So you want to just get in and drive away without me telling anyone that I’ve seen you or that I no longer have an RV in my garage?” Harvey asked.
“Yes, sir. Not even my parents, should you happen to run into them. I know they’re worried about me, but their phone lines are tapped and their house is being watched. I don’t dare call them or go over there, and I really need for you not to mention to them or anyone else that I’ve been here.”
“I’ll make you a deal, son,” Harvey said. “You tell me about your troubles, and I’ll let you take the RV.”
Joe shook his head. “I can’t let you get involved. You can always say that I stole the RV, but if these people thought that you knew what was going on…” He paused, apparently not wanting or unable to put into words the seriousness of the risk.
“Joe, there was a time in my life when I carried around a little pill to put under my tongue if my cover was blown. Now the love of my life is dead. I don’t have any children. I’m bored as hell. And I just might be able to help you. It might be the last opportunity I have to be significantly useful to another human being, so I’ll get you a beer and I want you to start talking.”
Joe closed his eyes and slumped against the back of the sofa. Marvin actually roused himself enough to scoot closer and push his head under Joe’s hand. Absently Joe began stroking him. Harvey could well imagine what was going on in the boy’s head. Here he was in the presence of someone who would be a knowledgeable listener and just might have some insights as to how he might extract himself from the situation in which he found himself. But anyone who helped him might also face the same danger that he faced.
Finally Joe’s eyes opened. “I didn’t come here to get you involved.”
“I know you didn’t, son. You need my RV so you can better manage being on the run. But it would be absolute torture for you to leave this retired old spy sitting here in his easy chair not knowing what the hell you’re running from.”
Joe actually grinned.
Harvey grinned back. “Before we get to the serious stuff, though, let’s have a bite of lunch.” He installed Joe on the kitchen stool and put a bowl of chips and a can of beer in front of him. He actually felt happy or something closely akin to it as he bustled about the kitchen making tuna-salad sandwiches and iced tea. While he worked, Harvey asked Joe about law school and his travels abroad.
Harvey was touched when Joe turned the conversation to Betty, saying how all the kids at Memorial High School knew they could go to her with their problems whether they were enrolled in one of her math classes or not. He found himself telling Joe about Betty’s final illness and how valiant she was and how much he missed her. “Don’t get me wrong,” Harvey said. “Betty and I had our disagreements and pouts like anyone else, but all in all it was twenty damned good years.”
After they’d eaten, Harvey took Joe out to the garage and showed him the RV, which had traveled more than 200,000 miles over its two decades and was on its second motor but had been diligently maintained and ran like a top. The vehicle was almost too large for the garage but was considerably smaller than Joe had remembered. But with a double bed, minuscule bathroom, kitchen facilities, and small table, it was all they needed. Harvey explained how to fill the water tank, dump the holding tank, and turn on the pilot light for the hot-water tank. The vehicle was fully equipped with dishes, towels, and bedding.
Then they settled down in the back room. Joe did most of the talking, of course, but Harvey listened with great care and asked questions when appropriate. The look on Joe’s face when he spoke of Jamie Long brought the ache of missing to Harvey’s heart. When he learned of Jamie’s involvement with the Hartmann family, his heart sank.
At the end of Joe’s tale, Harvey went to the kitchen to fix a pot of coffee. Over coffee he told Joe what little he knew about the Hartmanns. From time to time, during his decades-long career as a profiler observing and drawing conclusions about the inner workings of the minds of world leaders, he had come across the Hartmann name. He knew that Buck Hartmann had had no qualms about doing business with tyrants, and that those same tyrants had looked forward to the day when Buck’s son, Jason, would be president of the United States. But Jason had died, and old Buck had groomed his grandson to take over the family’s business interests but not to enter the political arena. Gus Hartmann was too short for that. And probably too smart.
“Probably Gus wants an heir as much as his sister does,” Harvey speculated. “He needs someone to take over the family business, and she probably wants a child who can carry on the family ministry. Your Jamie has gotten herself into one hell of a mess, that’s for sure. And now you’re right in there with her, Joe.”
Joe looked exhausted, and Harvey wanted to mull things over before he said any more, so he suggested they call it a night and showed Joe to the guest room. “I’ll get up early and take the RV in for servicing,” Harvey said. “When I get back we’ll continue our discussion.”
Harvey was already organizing his thoughts for tomorrow’s session. And spent several hours at the computer before finally going to bed. He was quite certain that Joe was never going to get to Gus Hartmann. But Amanda Hartmann was a very public person.
He wasn’t even sleepy when he finally went to bed. He felt more alert and vital than he had in years.
Chapter Thirty-six
FOR HOURS, JAMIE lay on the sand, hidden by the sea grass, barely moving, moisture seeping into her clothing, relieved that in spite of his strange surroundings Billy had fallen asleep. When he seemed to be waking, she patted him and whispered to him in her soothing go-back-to-sleep voice.
She wondered about the men who were searching for her. And wondered just who they thought they were looking for. Some Mata Hari who was spying for enemies of the state with a baby on her hip? Unlike the men in Oklahoma City, who were surely hired killers, she realized that these men were simply doing what their superiors had told them to do, and their superiors apparently answered to Gus Hartmann or someone who answered to Gus Hartmann. Probably when these men went home to their families at night, they were just normal guys. But right now they were her enemies, and if they did their job well, her life was probably over. Not that these men would kill her. They would turn her over to others, but eventually death would be her fate. She would never see her son grow to manhood. He would grow up thinking that Amanda Hartmann was his mother and would be taught that he was God’s chosen and didn’t have to play by the same rules as everyone else.
From time to time, she heard people talking, and then she heard a vehicle and parted the grass long enough to see a van drive up to the cabin. The next time she looked two men had dumped her trash on the ground and were meticulously going through it, even opening up Billy’s soiled diapers and peering inside.
She tried to plan. She didn’t dare leave her hiding place until darkness fell. But then what?
If only there were some way to contact Joe and tell him what had happened. Some way to warn him not to come back here. And together they could decide where she should go, what she should do. The man Joe planned to see in Houston was named Morgan. Mr. Morgan. She didn’t know his first name. All she knew about him was that he had an RV and his wife had been Joe’s math teacher in high school. There would be long columns of Morgans in the Houston telephone directory. Here she had been hoping that Joe would return this evening. Now she prayed that he was not on his way back and that it would be days before he returned and these men would be long gone.