He just had to hope he could get there first.
8
Alien Gold rushed into the office, white as a flour tortilla.
“Oh, God! Oh, my God! Where’s the remote? You’ve got to see this! Quick!” Carlos Salinas pointed to an outside corner of his desk and watched as Alien snatched up the TV remote and began frantically jabbing buttons. He almost dropped it twice before the screen came to life.
Carlos half rose from his chair as the picture came into focus… a picture of a very healthy-looking Thomas Winston, closely surrounded by Secret Service men, walking out of Bethesda Naval Hospital to his car.
Stunned, feeling as if someone had slammed the end of a two-by-four into his belly, Carlos could only stare as all the warmth drained from his body.
No! Vellgame Dios! This cannot be!
He checked the words in the lower left corner of the screen—CNN-LIVE—as the reporter’s words filtered faintly through the thickening air around him.
“As I said before, Bernard, this is a complete surprise. The President’s press secretary announced only moments ago that he would be leaving the hospital today, and here he is. The lack of advance warning may be for security reasons. As we all know, the President has received numerous death threats since his announcement a week ago tonight of his intent to decriminalize all drugs. And indeed, there seems to be more than the usual number of Secret Service agents in his personal escort today. I must say he looks hale and fit, and in an obvious attempt to squelch all the recent rumors to the contrary, the medical team here at Bethesda has issued a statement stating unequivocally that President Thomas Winston passed all his medical tests with flying colors and is in excellent health. Once again…”
“How did this happen?” Carlos said when he could finally speak.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Gold’s voice was so high now it almost squeaked. “He was never sick! He never took the fucking pills! He’s been playing us for idiots all along! They know about Keane… they’re going to catch MacLaglen next… and then it’s going to be our turn!”
Carlos slumped back into his chair. No… this could not be happening. How could everything go so wrong? It was a perfect plan. How could it turn out so miserably?
Gold turned away from the TV and leaned over the desk. “We’ve got to get out of here, Carlos!” Gold had been saying that for days. Finally, Carlos had to agree. The United States was no longer a good place to be.
But where could he go? Home?
A cold sick feeling engulfed Carlos like a truckload of wet sand as he realized that the silent scene here a few moments ago no doubt had been mirrored in another office… in Cali, Colombia. He was certain that Emilio Rojas had watched the smiling, waving President Winston with the same open-mouthed shock as Carlos. The major difference would be the other emotion tingeing the shock. Here it was dismay. In Colombia, it would be anger.
No, Colombia might be more dangerous than the U.S. Really, he had money enough to live anywhere. All he had to do was spin a globe and pick a spot.
Why not Spain? Yes, the Motherland. He would return to the land of his ancestors.
He nodded. Spain… strangely enough, he found something deeply satisfying in that course, as if he were closing a circle, finishing a multi-generational voyage.
He glanced at his nervous, sweaty money manager. A liability or an asset? After a few heartbeats he decided that Alien Gold was still useful. Carlos would need help in moving his money between the Swiss and Cayman banks where he kept most of it.
“Pack your things,” he told Gold. “But only the necessities.”
Gold rolled his head heavenward. “Thank God!”
“And send me Llosa,” Carlos said. “We have some loose ends to tie up before we leave.”
9
“Are you my cousin?” Poppy looked up at the Appleton standing before her—towering was more like it. She and Katie had been standing outside Lester’s section of the house when the guy came up and like started staring.
He could have been in his late teens or as old as thirty and had to be six-six, three hundred pounds. He rocked back and forth on his bare feet, hands behind his back. Thin, frizzy brown hair grew close to his scalp; he wore bib overalls over a flannel shirt, and she could smell him from here. But his face put her off even more. With his big, long head, wide-set brown eyes, and long, stretchedout nose, he reminded her of a horse… a fat horse, with half its teeth missing.
“Yes, I guess I am,” Poppy said, forcing the words out. “I’m your cousin Poppy.”
He laughed, and damn if it didn’t sound like a bray. “And I’m your cousin Levon.” He turned his attention to Katie. “And who’s this cousin?”
Katie had been clinging to Poppy’s thigh, and now she was pressing so hard against it she seemed to be trying to melt into it.
“This is Katie and she’s not kin. She’s just a very good friend. I’m keeping her for her daddy.”
“That’s nice,” Levon said, still staring. “You both sure are pretty.” Don’t get any ideas. Poppy thought. Her impression of the sexual practices of the Appletons was that they weren’t like too picky. She didn’t want to know any more.
Suddenly Levon’s hands came out from behind him and he was thrusting something toward Katie.
“Here,” he said. “This is for you.” Katie whimpered and cringed deeper into Poppy’s thigh. It took Poppy a few seconds to figure out what Levon was offering. It was made of ragged, filthy cloth and seemed to be stuffed with something. In some bizarre way it looked vaguely human.
“It’s my doll,” Levon said. “I had it ever since I was little. I brought it so Katie could play with it.”
“Thank you, Levon,” Poppy said, touched. “That’s real… sweet.” She looked up and saw him smiling, pushing the doll toward Katie. He really wanted her to have it, but Poppy knew there was no way Katie was going to touch it. And no way they could turn it down. Steeling herself. Poppy reached out and took the doll with her fingertips.
“Katie’s a little scared right now with all these… new faces around.” Jesus, she’d almost said strange.
“Why don’t she come down and play with the kids. We—”
A sudden whirring noise interrupted him. An engine of some sort, with a low-pitched rhythmic beat, coming closer, filling the air with noise.
And then she saw it: a helicopter.
Levon started running about, shouting for Lester who came limping around a corner, moving as fast as his bent spine would let him.
“Guns!” he shouted. “It’s the ATF come for the stills! Everybody get your guns!” Poppy looked about, and saw Appletons running everywhere, ducking into the house and reappearing with rifles and pistols.
“Better get back inside,” Lester said as he hobbled up to her. “This could be serious.” Poppy backed up under an overhang but didn’t go inside.
She was pretty sure that wasn’t an ATF copter; most likely it was looking for her instead of bootleg stills. She didn’t want to tell Lester that, but she couldn’t let all the Appletons get into federal-level hot water for her.
“Don’t shoot,” she told him. “You’ll only get in trouble.”
Lester stood staring at the copter which hadn’t come overhead yet. It remained hovering at the base of the rise.
“We’re not lookin‘ for trouble,” he said, “but we’ll surely provide it if someone starts it.”
“No. You don’t understand—” The helicopter suddenly turned and roared off.
“Lucky for them,” Lester said, spitting. “Damn lucky for them.”