Mike spoke up. “It could be possible. There have been defectors, although most of them usually die in so-called accidents, or disappear.”
Frank rubbed his chin. “Let’s suppose somebody does defect though. It’s possible they could have remained hidden very much the way Maggie did. Maybe they started this other church and their sole purpose was finding you,” he nodded at Vince, “and, once finding you, killing you.”
“See?” Vince exclaimed. “How many times do I have to spell things out before you start believing me?”
“Granted, it’s a good theory,” Mike said. Now Mike was pacing the room. He went to the window and peeked out between the blinds. He was silent for a moment. “It’s possible. The more I think about it, the more plausible it sounds.”
Frank appeared to be accepting the theory more, too. “Whoever this group is, they wouldn’t have to be very big. It could be as little as half a dozen members.”
“And they wouldn’t necessarily have to have been together for very long,” Vince said. “Just long enough for whoever knew enough about The Children to preach Children theology to his new congregation, and come up with some kind of tactical plan in finding me.”
“Do you think it’s possible that if this is true, that this renegade member might be a member of both sides?” Frank asked Mike. “You know, a member of The Children of the Night and a secret member of this other group?”
“I don’t know,” Mike said, shaking his head. “I find that hard to believe, but anything’s possible.”
They were silent for a moment, Mike returning to the other bed. Frank remained reclining against his bed, Vince in his chair. Finally, Mike broke the silence. “Let’s see what the news says.” He reached for the television remote control and turned it on.
He flipped through the channels. It was closing in on ten p.m., and they had to endure another ten minutes of Law and Order before the local news came on. When the broadcast started, the shoot-out in Lititz was one of the top stories.
They watched spell-bounded as the facts were revealed. There were four dead, with another—Reverend Powell—listed in critical condition. Only one of the dead had been positively identified—Lititz Borough patrolman Tom Hoffman. Vince felt a stab of guilt as he learned this, then quickly fought to push the emotion down. Dozens of people had witnessed the gunfight, which erupted shortly before the lunchtime rush. Three of the gunmen had gotten away and were being sought. Police sketches came across the screen and Vince fought the urge to laugh. Frank did laugh. “What a joke! How the fuck do they expect to find people with sketches like that?”
The sketches in question were rendered with stiff brushstrokes of heavy pencil. Even though the caricatures didn’t resemble any of them remotely, Vince was able to pick out who was supposed to be who. Frank was easy to pick out—his sketch showed a longhaired man with a puffy face and squinty eyes and a stubbled beard. Good thing they’d all gotten haircuts. As far as a puffy face went, Frank never had one to begin with. So much for witness descriptions.
Mike and Vince’s sketches were crude, and if presented side by side with their actual photographs, one would be hard pressed to find any resemblances. The one Vince guessed represented Mike’s depicted a guy with less hair than Mike really had, also with squinty eyes. Vince’s own sketch revealed a guy that looked like Timothy McVeigh; stony-faced, cold, emotionless.
The broadcaster finished by saying that the State Police and the FBI had been brought into the case and that a manhunt was now underway. And, of course, anybody seeing anybody resembling the sketches was urged to call a special hotline that had been set up.
Mike turned to Vince and Frank. “Good thing we parked our first rental car in a public parking garage. Let’s leave it there. We’ll drive the other one to Pittsburgh and turn it in and catch the first plane we can get tomorrow.”
“Sounds good to me,” Frank said.
“You think that’ll be enough to throw them off?” Vince asked.
“You don’t see them breaking down the doors to get to us now, do you?”
“No.” That wasn’t the point, though. There was still the possibility the authorities would eventually catch up with them.
“We’ll see what’s in the paper tomorrow,” Mike said. “And check out the news on the major networks. That should give us some clue as to how the investigation is progressing. Maybe they’ll ID the other guys by then. For now, I think we should get some sleep.”
That was easier said than done. They shed their clothes for T-shirts and boxers, and they all took turns in the shower. They flipped a quarter for the sole bed and Mike won. Vince lay down beside Frank in one of the beds, facing the window, thinking about all that had happened and wondering when the nightmare was going to end.
EVERYTHING WENT SMOOTHLY the following morning, Friday. After waking up, they washed up, brushed their teeth, dressed into the suits they’d purchased the day before, packed their things, and exited the room. Mike turned the TV on while they changed, hoping for more news on the shoot-out but there was nothing else forthcoming. They meandered downstairs to check out. Mike signed the bill and they were off.
Vince was nervous as they headed through the hotel’s parking garage to the vehicle Mike and Frank secured yesterday. He kept expecting federal agents to pop out from behind cars and black SUV’s brandishing weapons yelling, “Freeze! You’re under arrest!” Or, worse, another assassin popping out from behind a parked car and letting loose with more automatic gunfire.
Of course they were armed again, but Vince didn’t feel any safer. Mike unlocked the car—an Audi—and they stowed their luggage in the trunk and Vince slid into the front seat. Mike drove. Vince watched to see if they were being followed as they exited the garage and headed up Broad Street. “We aren’t being followed,” Frank said fifteen minutes later as Mike headed west out of the city limits.
“How do you know?”
“Because I know. I’ve been on alert like this for a year now. I’d know if we were being followed.”
Vince almost responded with, if you’re so good at telling if we’re being followed, how come you didn’t know we were followed to the Family Cupboard yesterday? That only would have sparked a fight and he didn’t want to fight with Frank.
They made the drive to Pittsburgh in silence. Vince fiddled with the radio, then stopped at a rock station playing the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Mike turned the air conditioner on, and Vince sat back and watched the scenery flash by.
It was a four-hour drive. Once they got to the Pittsburgh city limits, Mike pulled over to a gas station to fill up the car’s tank. Frank went into the station’s kiosk and emerged with bottled water, sodas, and a map. They consulted the map over their refreshments after the gas tank was filled up and ready to go. “Pittsburgh Airport looks to be a twenty minute drive,” Mike said. “Let’s go.”
Thirty minutes later they were at the Pittsburgh Airport parking garage. Mike turned to Frank. “Let’s get these in the suitcases,” he said, taking out his gun and the spare clips from his coat pocket. They packed the weapons securely in the suitcases then, carrying their luggage and looking very much like normal, upper-middle class businessmen, they made their way to the rental car agency where they turned in the keys to the Audi. Mike led the way to a United Airlines terminal. He walked to the ticket counter and talked with the agent for fifteen minutes. When he came back he was holding three tickets. “I got us stand-by seats on a flight that leaves in two hours,” he said. “Let’s go to the gate and hang out.”