“We have one advantage,” Chapel said. He reached for the new shirt Andrews had bought him and started pulling it on. “They think I’m dead. Angel, what did you tell Hollingshead about Julia?”
“He thinks she’s on a train headed back to New York City. I considered telling him that CPO Andrews was taking her back on the jet, but it would be too easy for him to track that. She has to file a flight plan every time she moves to a new location.”
“If you’re headed for Alaska, I’ll take you, of course,” Andrews said. “But by that same reasoning he’ll know right away that you’re alive, as soon as he checks the flight records. There would be no other reason for me to take the plane to Alaska.”
“We’ll just have to risk it. Hope that he’s preoccupied and doesn’t check those records, at least not until we’ve got Taggart. It puts even more time pressure on us, but I don’t see any other way to get there in a hurry. How soon can you have the jet ready?”
“Hold on,” Julia said.
Chapel stopped buttoning his shirt to face her.
“You lost nearly half your entire blood volume,” she said.
“And got it back, from the transfusion. I feel fine,” he insisted.
“I’m sure you feel great. People always do after getting new blood. You’re still weak, regardless of how you feel. You were shot, Chapel. You have a gunshot wound. You shouldn’t be going anywhere except a hospital.”
“We don’t have time,” he told her.
“Believe me, I get it. All our lives are at stake. And I hear what you’re saying, that we have to move quickly before they come for us. But if your wound reopens in the middle of a firefight, or you just collapse from anemia… I don’t know how I’ll feel about that. I can’t just let you kill yourself, Chapel.”
“ ‘First do no harm,’ right? That’s the oath they made you swear?”
“I’m not a people doctor. My oath said something about only using my skills for the benefit of society. Whatever. I’m not saying this as your veterinarian. I’m saying it as your… buddy.”
Chapel reached out and put his hand on her arm. She didn’t shy away.
For a long moment they just stared into each other’s eyes.
“Angel,” CPO Andrews said, “can you book these two a room? Another room, I mean?”
Julia and Chapel turned to face her as one. “What?” they both asked.
The CPO just smiled knowingly.
“Are you going to try to stop me from going to Alaska?” Chapel asked Julia.
“I guess not. Just consider it to be against medical advice.” Julia turned around and started gathering up her things. “It’ll be cold in Alaska. It’s probably still winter there. Angel, can you order us some parkas? And maybe some nice, warm boots.”
“I’ll have them sent to the plane,” the speakerphone told her.
IN TRANSIT: APRIL 15, T+75:37
There were no mandarin oranges or goat cheese salads left on the jet — the tiny galley had never been meant to be used so often. Besides, it felt wrong to ask CPO Andrews to act like a stewardess now that she was part of their conspiracy. The three of them waited for takeoff together and ate cold chicken, the remains of the meal Andrews had gathered in Boulder.
On the table between the jet’s seats lay a cell phone, a cheap disposable flip phone that they left open so Angel could join their conversation. There was no need for hands-free sets now, since Chapel wanted Julia and Andrews to hear everything that was said.
“It’s five and a half hours in the air to reach Fairbanks International,” CPO Andrews told them. “That’s the closest airport to the address we have for William Taggart. Probably another hour in ground transport. That probably means snowmobiles, of all things. My weather data says it’s still very much winter up there — the snowpack won’t melt until May — and there are drifts five feet deep in the surrounding areas.”
“Snowmachines,” Chapel said. “In Alaska, they have snowmachines, not snowmobiles.”
“What’s the difference?” Julia asked.
“In Alaska, they’re called snowmachines. Everywhere else they’re called snowmobiles.”
Julia stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed. It was good to see her smiling again. He’d worried that the trauma she’d endured might have broken her spirit. Of course, every time he’d thought the woman must surely be at the end of her rope, she’d surprised him by coming back stronger. He should have expected no less.
“Angel,” Chapel said, “assuming Ian was traveling by train, how long would it take him to reach Fairbanks?”
“It’s hard to say. There’s no direct rail service — Amtrak only takes you as far as Vancouver,” Angel answered. Chapel could hear her clacking away at her keyboard. “If he was driving a car, it would take three days and nine hours, but of course, he won’t know how to drive. So it has to be longer than that, given the weird ground transportation options he’s looking at. How much longer I can only estimate. Say, a minimum of three and a half days.”
Chapel checked his watch. “So we’ll still arrive before him. It’ll be close, but we’ll make it.”
Everyone sighed a deep breath of relief.
“What about Laughing Boy?” Chapel asked. “Have you had any luck tracking him?”
Angel sounded apologetic. “No. He checked himself out of the hospital in Atlanta shortly after you left Stone Mountain. Since then he’s been a ghost. I did find out one thing you’re not going to like. There was a fire at the visitors’ center on Stone Mountain. A bunch of park rangers died. I think we can assume that was no accident.”
Chapel leaned forward in his seat. “What about Jeremy Funt?”
“Still in a hospital in Georgia. Still under armed guard — guards sent there by Director Hollingshead,” Angel pointed out. “Banks may very well want him dead, but Hollingshead is protecting him.”
Chapel nodded. He had a sudden hunch. “What about Ellie Pechowski? Have you been in touch with her at all?”
“She’s very much alive, if that’s what you’re asking. Do you want me to go down the list? Ellie, Marcia Kennedy, Olivia Nguyen, and Christina Smollett are all fine; there’s no sign they’ve been visited by the CIA or anybody else who might wish them harm. I got a phone call from Marcia Kennedy just an hour ago, asking if it was still dangerous for her to go outside. I told her yes, but I think you were right, that Laughing Boy needs to have proof someone’s been exposed to the virus before he can kill them. I think they’re safe, as long as Ian doesn’t come to see them.”
“That’s what we’re going to try to stop, now,” Chapel told her. “I almost hate to ask, but what about Franklin Hayes?”
“Perfectly healthy,” Angel told him, “and giving nonstop press conferences. He’s still reporting that you’re dead, that you died saving him from Quinn.”
“Wishful thinking,” Chapel said. “He’s probably assuming Laughing Boy will kill me before I can prove him wrong.”
“In the press conferences, whenever he talks about the ‘assassin,’ he always uses the term ‘domestic terrorist.’ There’s been no release of information concerning Quinn’s identity — or the fact that he wasn’t quite human. The media’s going crazy with the story, though, trying to link Quinn to everyone from Timothy McVeigh to the Unabomber to the Earth Liberation Front. Both sides, Democrats and Republicans, have been quick to blame the lunatic fringe of the other party. I’m guessing that Franklin Hayes won’t be getting any tricky questions at his confirmation hearing when he goes before the Senate. If they stop short of giving him a Bronze Star, I’ll be surprised.”
“Civilians aren’t eligible for that medal. You can only earn it during wartime.”