“What’ll you have, darling?”
“I’m sorry. Nothing just yet. I’m…I’m waiting for a friend.”
He appraised her.
“I wouldn’t leave someone like you waiting very long,” he said, then returned to his position near the TV.
Jet caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror that lurked behind an army of half-empty liquor bottles that were seemingly lined up for inspection. She wiped a smudge of dirt from her cheek. All things considered, she didn’t look bad for a woman who’d been kidnapped and imprisoned, had neutralized three armed guards and run at least a good three miles.
She sensed the presence of a body sidling up to her before she turned to face the man. Decent enough looking, with a day’s growth of stubble and a profile starting to go to fat, but with twinkling blue eyes that hinted at some joke known only to him.
“Hello there.”
Jet ignored him for a few measured seconds, then smiled. “Hello yourself.”
“What are you drinking?”
“Nothing right now. I’m waiting for someone. We’re supposed to meet, but I got here late, and he’s not…I’m waiting for someone,” she repeated.
“Barkeep! A drink on me!” he yelled to the desultory bartender, who reluctantly tore his eyes from the screen and glared over at them. “What can I get you?”
“That’s very sweet, but it’s not necessary…”
“Of course it is. So what’s it going to be?”
She hesitated. “A light beer?”
“A light and another Seven and Seven,” he called out, and then returned his attention to her face. “What’s your name?”
“Alison.”
“Alison,” he pronounced the name slowly, rolling it in his mouth like a fine wine. “Alison. That’s a beautiful name. For a beautiful woman — fortunately for me, alone in my favorite bar on the outskirts of nowhere.”
“Maybe not for long. Remember, I’m waiting…”
“Then it sounds like I don’t have much time.”
She smiled again, wanting to encourage him. “Better work fast.”
“He only brings drinks at one speed.”
“Not really a race car, is he?”
“More dependable transportation.”
“Like a bus.”
“Or a tractor.”
They both laughed easily as the bartender approached with their order.
“What’s your name?”
“Jim. Jim Bassenger.”
She held out her hand, and he took it in his, giving it a shake. She noted that he had large hands, the nails relatively clean; he wasn’t a laborer.
“So, Alison, who’s waiting for luck to walk through the door, and what brings you to this part of Virginia?”
Virginia? She racked her brain for her mental atlas. Virginia was somewhere on the east coast. She had last been in Nebraska. A long way away. Then she remembered. Langley, the CIA headquarters, was in Virginia. Of course, they would have transported her there. Where else?
“I’m headed to New York. I have some friends who invited me to come stay for a few weeks, to see if I like it.” She shrugged and took a sip of her beer. “You know. Have a little adventure in my life in the big city.”
“New York, huh? That’s full of adventure, all right, but it’s dangerous as hell, too. And really expensive.”
“I’ve heard. But sometimes a girl’s got to take a chance, right?” she said and then glanced at her watch.
“Who are you waiting for? Boyfriend? Date?”
“No. One of my friend’s buddies who lives somewhere around here. She said to look him up…”
“Well, if he’s not going to show, looks like I’m buying,” Jim announced.
She threw him a long, appraising glance then smiled and held her beer up in toast.
“To unexpected new friends,” she said.
“I’ll drink to that.”
Fifteen minutes later, they emerged from the bar arm in arm, and he led her to his black Dodge crew cab truck. Jim was divorced, thirty-seven, an electrician working on commercial buildings, and had a small house only four miles away. He invited her to come over to watch a movie or something, which she correctly interpreted as meaning drink too much and have sex with him, and after she finished her beer and he had knocked back two more of his favorites, they arrived at an unspoken agreement.
The big engine started with a roar, and he gunned it as they pulled onto the road, leaving a spray of gravel behind it as he let the wild horses run free. She looked out through the side window and smiled again — this was a perfect cover. A couple, in a local truck, smelling of alcohol, on their way home…she reached next to him on the seat and picked up an orange baseball cap with CAT stenciled on the front and pulled it on, reaching up to study her reflection in the rearview mirror as he drove.
“Looks good on you, baby.”
She beamed at him. No wonder he was single.
He turned off the main road, and she saw a convenience store near a huddle of closed shops, its neon sign proclaiming speed and economy in blinking red and blue.
“Pull over, Jim. I need to get some stuff,” she said, pointing.
He obliged and swung into one of the parking stalls.
“I’ll just be a minute. I wonder if there’s a pay phone?”
“Don’t know. Maybe,” Jim offered, sounding distinctly unenthusiastic at having his party interrupted.
“Be back in a few. Don’t take off without me. I still need you to take me back to get my car at some point,” she said, the implicit promise that it would be much later obvious by her tone.
His mood perked up. “I’d wait all night. But don’t make me,” he said, delighted that things seemed back on track.
She walked into the store and performed a quick scan. There was a rear exit by the storeroom. She approached the old man at the register and gave him her most winning smile.
“I hate to bother you, but do you have a bathroom I can use? It’s kind of an emergency…”
He looked her up and down with cynical eyes, and then his expression softened.
“Emergency, huh? I would tell you to go down the road a quarter mile and use the gas station’s, but it’s pretty grim. Wouldn’t wish that on a pack of starving dogs.”
“Please? I’ll only be a minute. I would really appreciate it…”
He pointed a gnarled finger at a doorway leading to the rear of the store. “Second door on the left. Don’t take forever,” he growled, then resumed reading his paper.
She stopped for a few moments at the bathroom, then continued to the rear exit, taking care to unlock the deadbolt as quietly as possible before easing it open and stepping into the night.
A quick glance confirmed that there were several dozen homes nearby, and she was confident that she would be able to find a vehicle she could hotwire. Jim had served his purpose — she was now at least seven miles from the hospital, so the odds of them being able to mount a coherent search were dropping with each passing minute.
A small residential street stretched fifty yards behind the shops; she darted for it, using the trees as cover. Her brief romance with Jim had come to an abrupt end. She wondered how long he’d sit out in front waiting, then switched mental gears. She needed wheels so she could put real distance between herself and the CIA goons.
Jet prowled the street, eyeing the various cars parked along the curb, and then her ears detected a sound that wasn’t consistent with a rural Virginia town — the thumping of rotors in the distance. A helicopter.
The search had begun.
She moved from shadow to shadow, trying the door handles of the sorry procession of vehicles, and stopped when she came to a ten-year-old Nissan Maxima. The door opened with a squeak, and she slid behind the wheel, taking care to shut off the interior light so as not to alert anyone. She reached below the steering wheel and felt for the bundle of wires she knew would be there and then paused.