"I did the custom job on the original myself," he said. "I spent two years doing it. Bought the thing when I was fifteen, before I could legally drive. I know every inch of that car."
I nodded. "Okay, then that solves the problem of how we make the switch. Your double's already got the super-Chevy."
"Yeah. But there's one more thing I have to do."
Carl turned to leave and I caught his arm. "Carl, don't. You're coming with us."
"Sorry, Jake, but-"
He swung a wild left. I put up my forearm, but it was a feint, and I was slow to block his quick right jab. The punch landed squarely enough to daze me. Darla rushed in, but Carl had already begun sprinting away. Darla chased after him but couldn't keep up. He disappeared into the streams of people exiting the track.
Darla ran back. "Are you all right?"
"Getting old," I said. "He suckered me good."
"Should we go after him?"
I rubbed my jaw, shaking my head. "No way to make a decision. We might screw things up by trying to prevent him from screwing things up. I'm coming around to thinking that nothing anybody does or tries to do can thwart fate from taking its course. This is turning into a Greek drama."
"I've always hated Greek drama," Darla said.
"Me, too. It's those damn choruses breaking in and yapping all the time."
We found the Volkswagen and got in. We went nowhere. The exits were jammed up, and we had to wait in line. We were held up a good fifteen minutes, arid we tried to catch a glimpse of the other Chevy. Carl either had beaten the rush or was tied up at another exit.
Finally we got out. When we were back on Roscoe Boulevard, I checked in with Arthur.
"Lori is now bearing generally south," Arthur informed me. "But she's on a road paralleling that big express highway down there."
Darla leafed through the map of L.A. "Sepulveda," she confirmed. "It intersects with Mulholland about a mile south of Sherman Oaks."
I turned left at the intersection of Sepulveda and Roscoe, heading south. We underpassed the Ventura Freeway and hit Ventura Boulevard, continuing straight. Sepulveda narrowed to two lanes, winding its way up into the Santa Monica Mountains. House lights glowed in canyons to either side.
Darla turned on the dome light and looked at the analog wristwatch she had bought. "Eleven-thirty," she said, and turned the light off.
We had no timetable: Carl had said that he didn't remember exactly what time the abduction had occurred. He guessed that it had happened around midnight.
A pair of headlights grew in the rearview mirror. Carl passed us, doing at least seventy miles an hour. The original ' Chevy was a hot vehicle, too. I floored the pedal, and Dave's VW coughed and gave its all, which was pitifully little. We chugged along in Carl's wake until his tail-lights vanished around a bend.
"Well, hell," I said. "There goes the monkey wrench into the works." I handed the communicator to Darla. "Check in with Arthur."
"Turn west off of your present route," Arthur instructed us. At least that much was going according to plan. Carl had pinpointed the kidnapping site as being somewhere near San Vicente Mountain, the peak of which overlooked Mulholland west of Sepulveda.
I missed the turnoff before the tunnel and had to double back. We went up a short ramp and got onto a dirt and gravel road-Mulholland Drive. It led us into a surprisingly remotelooking area. You'd never guess that one of the biggest cities the world had ever seen was just down the mountain. It wasn't exactly desolate, but you, got the feeling that you were a long way from everything.
The road was edged with scrub brush and an occasional prickly pear, and wound through groves of live oak and juniper. We drove along for several kilometers without seeing anything.
"Jake? Darla?"
"Yes, Arthur," Darla answered.
"The signal source has stopped at a point due west of you. You're almost on top of it."
I slowed, though I couldn't see thing. I coasted down a slight grade, searching my side of the road.
"Arthur, where are you?" Darla asked.
There was a slight delay, then: "Right above you. I have the phony airplane lights turned off."
"We don't see the car," Darla told him.
"It's parked about fifty meters off the road. Just to the right, up ahead."
I saw a gap in the brush-a narrow side road. I stopped. Darla said, "Arthur, are there any other vehicles in the area?"
"None that I can see or detect."
"Let's make sure," I said, starting forward again and turning off onto the side road, which was little more than a horse trail leading us around the base of a hill. We passed under a large brooding tree and came out into a hollow.
I saw a glint of candy-apple red in the sweep of the headlights as I turned around.
"There they are," Darla said. "Unless it's Carl."
"You're right on top of the signal," Arthur said. No other vehicles were in sight.
"Okay, this is it," I said. "Arthur?"
"Yes, Jake?"
"Are you ready?"
"As ready as I'll ever be." He sighed. "Dearie me, how do I get myself into these predicaments?"
"Did Carl ever mention another vehicle being nearby when it happened?" Darla asked with some concern.
"Not that I remember. Let's head back around the hill and park. We'll come back on foot."
I headed out of the clearing, following the trail back almost to where it made its T with Mulholland. I wedged the VW between two junipers and killed the motor.
"You got that flashlight?"
"Yup." Darla held it up.
I shut off the headlights and the night deepened around us. We got out and walked back up the trail. Insects clicked and snapped in the weeds. The city was a glow on the horizon, and a faint, distant roar. The air was dry and cool. Darla played the flashlight beam from side to side, searching. About halfway to the hollow we found a path leading up the hill, making its way among big gray boulders. Darla shut off the flashlight and we climbed up to the first switchback and hid behind the rocks. We looked down and listened.
"Carl may have gotten cold feet," I whispered.
Darla nodded. "Let's hope so."
We went down and continued on the trail, stopping when we reached the tree with the weeping branches. I put the communicator next to my lips.
"Any time, Arthur."
"Roger."
I looked up through the branches, but couldn't see anything. Nevertheless I somehow sensed the craft's descent, felt its immense bulk growing black-on-black against the sky like some dark angel auguring doom. A shiver ran through me, and I began to appreciate the extent of the trauma Carl must have suffered. I couldn't blame him a bit for having been scared out of his wits.
I heard a voice coming from the parked Chevy. It was Carl Two. A door slammed, and the engine roared to life. The back tires spun briefly, then the engine died. The starter whined futilely, again and again. There was a shout. In the dim scattered light of the city-glow we saw the Chevy begin to levitate from the ground, its front end rising. We heard Lori's voice, but she wasn't screaming. She was shouting something at Carl.
Suddenly there was a rustling in the brush above us, and the sound of running feet coming down the hill.
Darla gasped, "Oh, no-"
Carl One burst into the clearing, running toward the car, which by now had lifted a good two meters into the air. The passenger-side door had opened and Lori had one leg dangling out, holding the door open with both arms. Carl leaped and grabbed onto something-either the door or Lori's leg, or both. I couldn't see. He began to rise with the Chevy, hanging on.
Lori was screaming now, frightened and shocked and confused. Slowly, the three of them, two layers of a core sample of the same human being and the woman they both loved, floated up into the still California night.
"Jake?" came Arthur's voice. "What's happening down there? I have an extra body in the scoop beam."