Governor Ducharme closed the door of his house behind him and stood leaning on it. After a minute his wife poked her head into the hallway.
“Well hi. What are you doing standing there?”
“Come into the study, Grace. We have to talk.”
“That sounds serious. What’s up?”
He said nothing until he’d hung up his coat and they were both seated in his favorite room. If either drank, this is the time to pull out a bottle of old something, he thought.
“It’s come, Grace. The unthinkable.” He told her about the letter and the joint actions being planned.
She sat quietly, listening. “Is it just New England?”
“As far as we know. Nate talked to Carol Sorrentino in New Jersey, not mentioning the letter of course. He’s convinced she’s gotten nothing.”
“Do you think everyone will pick up and head south?”
“Anyone who can probably will. There aren’t that many who can just walk away from their lives, for something that may be an empty threat.”
“Do you think it is?”
“No.”
“The business in Stewart, that only lasted a few weeks?”
“The deaths all occurred over four days.”
“Perhaps businesses will just shut down until after the 22nd. Maybe you should even encourage it.”
“Maybe. We don’t know how soon after that they’ll strike. It might take them awhile to make arrangements, whatever they are.”
“Do you suppose they’ll drop something from an airplane? Is that how they’ll do it?”
“No. That will be covered. The skies over New England will be kept clear. Any plane without proper identification will be forced to land. Or be shot down.”
“Then how will they distribute whatever it is?”
“We’re going to make it just as difficult as possible for them. Starting tomorrow, we’ll have roadblocks on all the major highways, with state police searching each vehicle. Just a gesture. We don’t know what we’re looking for, and it could be very easy to conceal. I’ve read about poisons and germs so concentrated that just a few drops can wipe out a city.”
“In the water supply?”
“Yes. The guess is that’s what happened in Stewart, though when they tested it they found nothing. We’ll have armed guards around city reservoirs. The smaller towns will also be protected, but we’ll have to ask for volunteers from them to help.”
“Won’t they up the timetable if they know you aren’t going to pay?”
“We’re not going to come right out and say that. Over the next three days we’ll have our state budgets analyzed by the press. They’ll draw their own conclusions.”
“You’re not going to respond directly? Is that wise?”
“The only direct contact is with an account number in a Swiss bank. That doesn’t allow for much dialogue.”
“But you’ll have to tell the press what you plan to do.”
He nodded. “Better a slow realization than an abrupt shock.”
Far from Bedford, New Hampshire, a white ambulance with side lettering imperfectly painted out slowly cruised a broad expanse of Arizona desert. The driver was looking for something. Later he appeared to find it, for he stopped and got out to walk a distance from the vehicle, wiping the sweat off the band of his wide-brimmed hat. Then he returned for his passenger who got out slowly, revealing hands bound in front of him. The two walked a few hundred feet to a clump of burroweed and cactus framing a small declivity, the passenger in the lead, the driver prodding from behind with a pistol. They disappeared behind the sparse vegetation. Presently there was a shot. After a long silence, the wide hat could be seen emerging, the pistol at the man’s side. He climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine. With a last look around, he drove off, leaving the desert to its late afternoon heat.
Chapter 30
Wally rubbed sleep from his eyes on his way to the telephone. How many times had it rung before he was awakened? He picked up the receiver.
“Yes.”
“Wallace Carver?” A woman’s voice.
“Yes.”
“Hold for Mr. Krestinski, please.”
It was over a minute before the agent was on the line.
“Wally. John Krestinski. Cilla called yesterday, but I haven’t been able to get back to her until now. What’s happening?”
“You’re on that six billion letter?”
“Yes, so I haven’t much time. Have you found Loni?”
“Yes, but not Hudson.”
“I thought they were together.”
“They were taken to Sedona, Arizona where we both are. By the time we were able to rescue Loni, a member of the gang had taken Hudson into the desert, with the probable intention of leaving him there. He himself was to come back here to the villa they were using. He never showed. Cilla and I went after him, but had to give up after nightfall.”
“Wally, were any of the gang captured?”
“Two, a husband and wife, Harv - presumably for Harvey - and Dora Fender. They’re at the Sedona Police Station.”
“Good! Hold on a minute.” The line went silent for over two minutes. Then, “Okay, I’ll be out there this afternoon. How’s Cilla taking it?”
“Hard. She’s still in her bedroom, but I doubt if she’s slept. I looked in on her during the night. She was sitting in a chair looking out the window at the dark. No tears.”
“Could the two of you meet me at the Sedona Police Station at three o’clock your time?”
“Yes. I’ll get her there.”
“And Loni, where is she?”
“She’s here. Sleeping. She got cut a little and had to have some stitches at the hospital outpatient.”
“Bring her too.”
“There’s a connection between what’s happening here and the governors’ letters?”
“Would I be coming out if there weren’t?”
The duty officer blinked several times. Loni was without makeup, and she and Cilla together looked straight out of a Double Mint ad, without the cheery smiles. Loni, with a hand-size bandage on her right leg, limped gingerly into the Sedona police station and sat in a straight chair, identifying Dora and Harv in a small voice. Cilla was remote; there was pain there as well, but she didn’t allow it to show. She answered questions firmly and precisely, and avoided all small talk. After the police and the FBI man finished with the Fenders, Krestinski took Cilla aside.
“Are you alright?”
“Hudson isn’t.”
“We will find him, Cilla.”
Gray eyes held him. “John, Hudson and I are like one person. When one is hurt, the other feels pain. Hudson is hurt, perhaps badly. I do feel that. But I don’t think he’s dead. What I can’t get out of my mind is that he’s lying injured somewhere out in the desert, and we don’t know where to look. Wally and I drove until the road ran out. We’re not even sure it was the right road; there are lots of little branches… ” The words faded with distraction.
“I’ve arranged fly-overs, low altitude planes crisscrossing southern and western Arizona.”
“But it’s a big desert.”
“Hudson had it right. Loni was the place to start.”
“What have you learned?”
“We’ve got a bit of the story from Dora and Harv. They say they had no idea of the scope of this thing.”
“They do, huh.”
“They say it was Franklin Scoggins, who lives across the street from them, got them to house sit Loni. He said he works for FBI Witness Protection and maybe they’d like to make some extra money.”