“A Jeep or an Explorer — anything with four-wheel drive,” Tina told Elliot. “We don’t want to walk farther than necessary. We don’t want to walk at all if we can help it. There must be some sort of road into the place, even if it’s well concealed. If we’re lucky, we’ll have Danny when we come out, and he probably won’t be in any condition to trek through the Sierras in the dead of winter.”
“I have an Explorer,” Billy said.
“I guess I could have some money transferred from my Vegas bank,” Elliot said. “But what if they’re watching my accounts down there? That would lead them to us fast. And since the banks are closed for the holiday, we couldn’t do anything until next week. They might find us by then.”
“What about your American Express card?” she asked.
“You mean, charge a Jeep?”
“There’s no limit on the card, is there?”
“No. But—”
“I read a newspaper story once about a guy who bought a Rolls-Royce with his card. You can do that sort of thing as long as they know for sure you’re capable of paying the entire bill when it comes due a month later.”
“It sounds crazy,” Elliot said. “But I guess we can try.”
“I have an Explorer,” Billy Sandstone said.
“Let’s get the address of the local dealership,” Tina said. “We’ll see if they’ll accept the card.”
“I have an Explorer!” Billy said.
They turned to him, startled.
“I take my act to Lake Tahoe a few weeks every winter,” Billy said. “You know what it’s like down there this time of year. Snow up to your ass. I hate flying the Tahoe-Reno shuttle. The plane’s so damn small. And you know what a ticky-tacky airport they have at Tahoe. So I usually just drive down the day before I open. An Explorer’s the only thing I’d want to take through the mountains on a bad day.”
“Are you going to Tahoe soon?” Tina asked.
“No. I don’t open until the end of the month.”
“Will you be needing the Explorer in the next couple of days?” Elliot asked.
“No.”
“Can we borrow it?”
“Well… I guess so.”
Tina leaned across the corner of the table, grabbed Billy’s head in her hands, pulled his face to hers, and kissed him. “You’re a lifesaver, Billy. And I mean that literally.”
“I’m a small circlet of hard candy?”
“Maybe things are breaking right for us,” Elliot said. “Maybe we’ll get Danny out of there after all.”
“We will,” Tina said. “I know it.”
The roses in the crystal vase twirled around like a group of spinning, redheaded ballerinas.
Startled, Billy Sandstone jumped up, knocking over his chair.
The drapes drew open, slid shut, drew open, slid shut, even though no one was near the draw cords.
The chandelier began to swing in a lazy circle, and the dangling crystals cast prismatic patterns of light on the walls.
Billy stared, open-mouthed.
Elliot knew how disoriented Billy was feeling, and he felt sorry for the man.
After half a minute all of the unnatural movement stopped, and the room rapidly grew warm again.
“How did you do that?” Billy demanded.
“We didn’t,” Tina said.
“Not a ghost,” Billy said adamantly.
“Not a ghost either,” Elliot said.
Billy said, “You can borrow the Explorer. But first you’ve got to tell me what in hell’s going on. I don’t care how much of a hurry you’re in. You can at least tell me a little of it. Otherwise, I’m going to shrivel up and die of curiosity.”
Tina consulted Elliot. “Well?”
Elliot said, “Billy, you might be better off not knowing.”
“Impossible.”
“We’re up against some damn dangerous people. If they thought you knew about them—”
“Look,” Billy said, “I’m not just a hypnotist. I’m something of a magician. That’s really what I most wanted to be, but I didn’t really have the skill for it. So I worked up this act built around hypnotism. But magic — that’s my one great love. I just have to know how you did that trick with the drapes, the roses. And the corners of the map! I just have to know.”
Earlier this morning it had occurred to Elliot that he and Tina were the only people who knew that the official story of the Sierras accident was a lie. If they were killed, the truth would die with them, and the cover-up would continue. Considering the high price that they had paid for the pathetically insufficient information they had obtained, he couldn’t tolerate the prospect of all their pain and fear and anxiety having been for naught.
Elliot said, “Billy, do you have a tape recorder?”
“Sure. It’s nothing fancy. It’s a little one I carry with me. I do some comedy lines in the act, and I use the recorder to develop new material, correct problems with my timing.”
“It doesn’t have to be fancy,” Elliot said. “Just so it works. We’ll give you a condensed version of the story behind all of this, and we’ll record it as we go. Then I’ll mail the tape to one of my law partners.” He shrugged. “Not much insurance, but better than nothing.”
“I’ll get the recorder,” Billy said, hurrying out of the dining room.
Tina folded the map.
“It’s nice to see you smiling again,” Elliot said.
“I must be crazy,” she said. “We still have dangerous work ahead of us. We’re still up against this bunch of cutthroats. We don’t know what we’ll walk into in those mountains. So why do I feel terrific all of a sudden?”
“You feel good,” Elliot said, “because we’re not running anymore. We’re going on the offensive. And foolhardy as that might be, it does a lot for a person’s self-respect.”
“Can a couple of people like us really have a chance of winning when we’re up against something as big as the government itself?”
“Well,” Elliot said, “I happen to believe that individuals are more apt to act responsibly and morally than institutions ever do, which at least puts us on the side of justice. And I also believe individuals are always smarter and better adapted to survival, at least in the long run, than any institution. Let’s just hope my philosophy doesn’t turn out to be half-baked.”
At one-thirty Kurt Hensen came into George Alexander’s office in downtown Reno. “They found the car that Stryker rented. It’s in a public lot about three blocks from here.”
“Used recently?” Alexander asked.
“No. The engine’s cold. There’s thick frost on the windows. It’s been parked there overnight.”
“He’s not stupid,” Alexander said. “He’s probably abandoned the damn thing.”
“You want to put a watch on it anyway?”
“Better do that,” Alexander said. “Sooner or later they’ll make a mistake. Coming back to the car might be it. I don’t think so. But it might.”
Hensen left the room.
Alexander took a Valium out of a tin that he carried in his jacket pocket, and he washed it down with a swallow of hot coffee, which he poured from the silver pot on his desk. This was his second pill since he’d gotten out of bed just three and a half hours ago, but he still felt edgy.
Stryker and the woman were proving to be worthy opponents.
Alexander never liked to have worthy opponents. He preferred them to be soft and easy.
Where were they?
Chapter Thirty-Two
The deciduous trees, stripped of every leaf, appeared to be charred, as if this particular winter had been more severe than others and as cataclysmic as a fire. The evergreens — pine, spruce, fir, tamarack — were flocked with snow. A brisk wind spilled over the jagged horizon under a low and menacing sky, snapping ice-hard flurries of snow against the windshield of the Explorer.