All his life, Nero had believed that religion was merely a vehicle to protect man from his true nature. That without the shackles of the spirit, one could thoroughly indulge himself in the task of living which was a nasty business when done correctly, except very few could do it correctly, thus the need for religion.
In fact, Nero had very much appreciated the purpose of religion. He liked Jung who said that if God did not exist, then man would have had to invent him. Religion was very important. The break-up of the Soviet Union, Nero laid to the fact that the communists had ignored the very effective purpose of religion. Much more effective than communism for keeping the masses in their place.
Man was an animal, Nero believed. Left to their own devices, the majority of men and women would destroy themselves rather quickly. Religion helped. So did the Cellar. It kept the country on the straight path of sanity against the powerful people driven by emotion who would just as easily destroy it for their own selfish, short-sighted reasons.
There had often been times in his life where Nero had pondered the difference between him and his fellows. At an early age he’d simply accepted that differences existed. Then he’d accepted he wouldn't change. Even that he didn’t want to change. What could have been a distressing turbulent existence became instead a rather calm, calculated life with the occasional turbulent event.
What had happened to him in France at the hands of the Gestapo had only deepened this belief system. He’d felt no resentment upon his return to the States and meeting the man who had occupied this office and agreed with the decision that had cost Nero his eyes and his teammates their lives. It had been a smart decision with a large pay-off in favor of the United States and its allies that clearly outweighed the handful of men knowingly parachuted into the meat grinder. Those who had thrown tens of thousands onto the beaches of Normandy knowing many of them would die had been hailed as heroes and been feted with ticker tape parades after the war. Numerous statues had been cast in their honor. What was the difference? His predecessor had accomplished so much more with less loss of life. As had Nero over the decades since. Only for the Cellar there were no statues or parades or medals, nor was there any desire for them.
Knowing he might be so close to ending this entire messy business put Nero in an oddly reflective state of mind. He found it odd because it was new to him. He had simply never dwelt on the past to heal wounds or relive joys. And this was not because he had problems with the past; it was because he felt nothing. Nero had lived his entire life without feeling any emotion except for occasional anger, which seems the one human emotion able to birth itself in a void. Nero felt no real joy to be sure, but he had also never really experienced emotional pain or regret. A person like that was capable of amazing things, or nothing at all.
Nero, by accepting his lack of humanity, had made himself indispensable to that same humanity. Every country needed a few men who could accomplish what was necessary and unlike the sociopaths whom he passingly resembled and frequently employed, Nero could stop when that was necessary. That's why he could anticipate having the tape and papers but not feel the anxiety of not having them. After all, they were minor compared to what was really at stake here.
The phone rang and his contact in the DST, an old-timer who had been part of the Resistance team that rescued Nero so many years ago was on the line. Without preamble or giving a reason, Nero made his request.
CHAPTER 20
"Can't I at least take a shower?" Hannah asked. "I need a break."
"We can rest when we're dead," Neeley muttered as she threw a duffel bag full of equipment into the bed of the pick-up truck.
"Oh, that's nice," Hannah said. "The words of Gant again?"
"No, Warren Zevon," Neeley paused in loading the gear. "They're after us. They know we're here and Mitch was just the point man. You can bet there will be more. Racine is probably on the way as we speak."
“No.”
Neeley stopped and looked at Hannah, surprised at the certainty of the word. “Why not?”
“Because he sent Mitch after us.”
“And?”
“Racine didn’t expect Mitch to fail, but if he did, then there’s a backup plan. If that fails, then Racine will come.”
“Why do you say that?”
“It’s been his pattern so far and he’ll continue it.”
Neeley thought through what Hannah had just said and realized the other woman was right. Racine would have a back-up in place. It was what Gant would have done, although she knew Gant would have made himself the primary on any mission. “OK. I buy that. But we still have to get out of here before his back-up plan kicks in.” She went into the house.
Hannah looked up and down the street Neeley’s small house was on. She was tired from the climb and the adrenaline rush had worn off during the drive back from Eldorado Canyon. Neeley had jumped out of the truck as soon as they'd arrived and started loading the gear.
"Are we going to drive to France?" Hannah asked as Neeley bustled past her with another load.
"No, we're flying."
"Not another one of your friends, I hope," Hannah said.
"We'll fly a commercial airliner," Neeley said.
"What about passports? I didn't pack mine in the rush."
"I'll take care of that," Neeley said. "Listen, you mind giving me a hand here?"
Hannah eyed the growing pile of equipment in the truck. "We're going to take all that with us?"
"No, we're not taking it with us," Neeley said, "but I don't want to leave it here for Racine's goons."
"Then what are we going to do with it?"
"We're going to cache the money." Neeley was bunging a pair of skis to the rack on the top of the camper shell. "Just help load the truck, Hannah. Please."
"Are we going skiing?" Hannah asked, a concerned look on her face.
"Just load!"
Hannah bit the inside of her lip and helped. Twenty minutes later, Neeley was driving through Boulder. She pulled into a crowded shopping center and parked. "Wait here," she ordered Hannah. "I have to get a few things in McGuckins." Neeley jogged into the hardware store and shortly reemerged with a shopping cart full of supplies, most of which she quickly piled into the back of the pickup.
As Neeley slid into the driver's seat, she thrust a box of plastic garbage bags and a roll of duct tape at Hannah. "Start bagging the money," she ordered, pointing at the briefcase right behind Hannah's seat. "Break it down into stacks of fifty grand and then triple bag each stack. Tape each bag shut and make sure they're tight. Try to leave as little air in each as possible. Make the bags narrow enough to fit inside the PVC pipe. Leave about thirty grand to take with us."
Hannah opened her mouth to say something, then thought better of it and got to work. Neeley drove to Broadway and turned right. After three miles Broadway linked up with Colorado 36 and the end of town. She turned onto 36 and drove north, paralleling the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. She checked her rearview mirror constantly and once pulled over to let a row of cars pass her. After ten miles she was sure no one was following them.
Route 36 turned left into the foothills at the small town of Lyons. The road narrowed and started twisting and turning, following St. Vrain Creek into the mountains. They began gaining altitude.