“I thought the game was over. I thought it took forty hours and ended at five this afternoon.”
“No. For you, Scavenger began at ten this morning. You have less than thirty-one hours remaining.”
“Scavenger.” The word carried the chill of death. “What happens if I don’t rescue Amanda and find the secret within the remaining time?”
The connection was broken.
4
Outside the coffee shop, buildings obscured the setting sun. The sky had an orange tint, but lower Broadway was sufficiently in shadow that cars had headlights on.
Balenger put the BlackBerry in his pants pocket and tapped his hand against it, preventing the Game Master from hearing what he asked Professor Graham. “How do I find the valley you mentioned? Where’s Avalon? Where’s the Sepulcher of Worldly Desires supposed to be? You mentioned Wyoming and the Wind River Range.”
Professor Graham looked exhausted. “Avalon no longer exists. To call it a ghost town gives it too much stature. Cottonwood doesn’t exist, either. Even with the help of the Wyoming Historical Society, it took me a month to identify the valley Reverend Owen Pentecost visited.”
“Where is it?”
“Lander is the nearest large community. The valley is fifty miles north along the eastern edge of the mountains.”
Balenger kept tapping his hand against his pants pocket and the BlackBerry inside. “How will I know I found the right place?”
“In that area, it’s the only valley with a lake. Any hiking or hunting store in Lander has terrain maps for the local area. You won’t have trouble finding it.”
“Did you go there?”
“Seven years ago. I spent all of July trying to find the Sepulcher. Sometimes, I wonder if it existed only in Donald Reich’s fevered brain. Jonathan tried to find it also.”
“And?”
“I’m sure he’d have told me if he located it.”
Maybe, Balenger thought.
He put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Thank you.”
Her shrug was wistful.
He kissed her cheek.
She might have blushed, it was hard to tell. “No one’s done that in a long time,” she said.
“Then I’m proud I took the liberty.” He waved for a taxi and gave the driver twenty dollars. “Take care of my friend.”
He watched the taxi disappear into the busy traffic along lower Broadway. The street had numerous businesses crammed next to each other. He walked to an ATM machine, inserted his card, and got the maximum amount of cash he was allowed: five hundred dollars.
He marched up the street to a phone store. Inside, he again tapped the phone in his pocket so the Game Master couldn’t hear what he said, “Do you sell BlackBerrys?”
“Sure do.” The male clerk had a ponytail and an earring. “Over there.”
Balenger took one that matched the type the Game Master had left for him.
“Good choice,” the clerk said. “The latest model. It’s three hundred dollars, but we’re giving a hundred-dollar mail-in rebate.”
“As long as you activate it right now, I don’t care.”
“No problem.”
No problem? In what universe did that apply? Balenger wondered.
“I need to make sure it can handle a webcam program called Surveillance LIVE.”
“That’s a special download. Costs extra. You do it through your home computer, then transfer it to the BlackBerry.”
“But I’m going on a trip where I won’t have access to a computer,” Balenger said. “I’ll pay you a hundred dollars cash to download it for me right now.”
“Definitely no problem. Why do you keep tapping your pants pocket?”
“A nervous habit.”
Ten minutes later, the clerk presented Balenger with his BlackBerry. “Fully loaded. You’ll need to charge the battery pretty soon. Right out of the box, it’ll be low. Here’s the charger cord, the carrying case, and the rest of the stuff it comes with.”
“And here’s your hundred dollars. It’s good to meet someone who knows his business.” Balenger gave him a check for the equipment and went outside. Only then did he stop tapping the BlackBerry in his pocket. He took it out. “Hey, are you listening? Make a note of this phone number.” He dictated the number for the new BlackBerry.
Then he put the Game Master’s BlackBerry into a trash bin, trying not to inhale the smell of old French fries. He took out the handkerchief that contained the location-marker chip he’d removed from his arm. He watched a homeless man push a cart of bags and old clothes along the sidewalk.
“Here’s twenty dollars,” Balenger told him. “Buy yourself something to eat.”
“I don’t need your charity.”
“Yeah, but take it anyhow. Save it for a rainy day.” He tucked the twenty-dollar bill into the homeless man’s shirt pocket, along with the miniature tracking device. “Have a good night.”
“Yeah, I bet they saved me a suite at the Sherry-Netherland.”
Balenger hailed a cab and got in. “Teterboro Airport,” he said.
“I do not know where that is,” the turbaned driver said.
“I don’t, either. It’s in New Jersey if that helps.”
The driver muttered.
“I’ll pay twice the fare if you get me there quick.”
The driver reached for his two-way radio.
5
Teterboro is a so-called “reliever” airport, taking pressure off the major commercial airports in the area by providing runways and hangars for corporate and private aircraft. That was all Balenger knew about it, but during the twelve-mile drive from Manhattan, he used the BlackBerry’s Internet connection to learn a great deal more.
He suspected that no commercial flights went directly from JFK, La Guardia, or Newark to Lander, Wyoming. The websites of several airlines proved him right. He would need to make a connecting flight in cities like Chicago or Denver, but there wasn’t a seat on those flights until the morning. Moreover, Lander didn’t have a commercial airstrip. The nearest airport for airlines such as United was in Riverton, about a half-hour drive from Lander. The soonest he’d reach Lander would be early afternoon, and probably much later. Too much time lost.
Most of his remaining thirty-one hours — correction: thirty hours now — would be wasted.
There was only one choice. The taxi went through a security checkpoint and let Balenger out at the terminal for Jet Aviation, one of Teterboro’s large charter and aircraft-storage facilities. The sky was dark when he gave the driver his promised bonus and walked under arclights toward the shiny, five-story building.
The glowing interior resembled a first-class lounge at a major airport.
A pleasant-looking man in a suit came over. “Mr. Balenger?”
They shook hands.
“Eric Gray. I charged the flight to the credit card number you gave me on the phone. The jet’s being fueled right now. Just to be clear, the cost is three thousand dollars an hour.”
“That’s what we agreed.” Balenger had expected questions about why he needed a jet in a hurry and why he didn’t have luggage, but now he realized that the people who could afford this kind of luxury weren’t accustomed to explain.
“We ran your name through a security list.” Eric smiled. “You’ll be pleased to learn that you’re not considered a terrorist or on any law-enforcement wanted list.”
Balenger managed to return the smile. “Good to know.”
They went through glass doors and faced a tarmac bordered by hangars on every side. Eric pointed to the right. “That’s your jet over there. The Lear 60.” It was small and sleek. “They’re almost ready for you.”
“Thanks.”
The BlackBerry rang. It had rung several times earlier while Balenger drove to the airport, but he’d refused to answer it. Now, in the glare of the tarmac’s lights, he removed it from the case on his belt.