Later, her body heavy, as she got ready for bed, she decided to update her file. She’d put it in the nightstand to the right of the bed, under the Gideon’s Bible, before they went to Desert Truck Land.
But when she opened the drawer, the file wasn’t there.
Odd. She specifically remembered placing it under the Bible when she’d checked in earlier.
Maggie looked in the nightstand to the left of the bed.
Her file was there.
Strange. How did it get moved? This was not where she’d left it. Maybe housekeeping came in. Maggie picked up the phone and called down to the desk.
“No, ma’am. No one was in your room today. They’re not scheduled to clean until you check out.”
Maggie was puzzled. Weird. Maybe she’d moved it herself and didn’t remember.
She checked her door, the lock, the dead bolt, the bar and the chain, then got into bed.
As she fell asleep she tried to resurrect her beach dream.
A block away, an Impala with darkened windows was invisible among the hundreds of cars in a public lot that offered a clear line of sight on the motel through high-powered military binoculars. While one man snored in the back, the second was alert, watching the doors to Maggie’s and Graham’s rooms.
Every hour he would type an updated report on his laptop and e-mail it to his uncle in Addis Ababa.
58
Las Vegas, Nevada
Most Las Vegas dreams started, or ended, at McCarran International Airport.
The transit point for winners and losers.
Here, the consequences of first and last gambles played out with the perpetual chime and clack of slot action. After returning the rental car, Graham and Maggie found a soft-lit lounge where they waited under a cloud of defeat to check in for their flights. Maggie had tea and glumly poked at the bag while it steeped. Graham had orange juice and a muffin.
News clips of the pope greeting ecstatic Americans jammed into a stadium flashed on the TV monitors sus pended over the bar as Graham took a call on his phone from Casta, who had follow-up questions on Dixon. To take her mind off things, Maggie changed a dollar into four quarters and went to the slot machine in the corner. Lemons, oranges, bells and bars clattered from left to right, with the first coin she played. No win. It was the same for the second.
And the same for the third quarter.
Typical.
She played her last one and the first reel left a cherry at the payline; so did the second, and the third. Then the fourth. Lights flashed, pongs sounded during the rollup as the machine tallied Maggie’s win, releasing a torrent of coins into the tray.
At that moment Maggie’s cell phone rang. As she answered, she hurried outside the lounge to get away from the noise.
“Maggie Conlin?” the female caller said. “Yes.”
“This is Wanda.”
A tense moment passed between the two women. “I’m sorry about what happened yesterday at the office.”
“Will you help me?”
Seconds passed with Maggie pressing her phone to her ear. She looked at the happy families, the excited couples, the tour groups with snippets of German,
French and Japanese conversations, all streaming by in rivers of smiles.
She squeezed her phone hard.
“Wanda? You didn’t call just to apologize. Will you help me?”
“Karl is who he is. He cuts corners and is afraid you were cops and-”
“I don’t give a damn about him, I need to find my son. Please.”
“I’ll help you.”
Maggie waved frantically at Graham until he saw her. Then to Wanda she said, “We’re on our way to your office now! Soon as we get a taxi.”
Six Seconds 349
“No! Don’t come. That’s a bad idea. I’ll tell you over the phone.”
“Okay, give me a second.” Graham joined Maggie. She pointed to a table, pulled out a notebook and scrawled, WANDA. WILL HELP. He gestured to his ear. “Okay, Wanda, it’s noisy here, I have to turn up the sound. Speak up, speak clearly, please!”
Maggie adjusted the sound to its maximum level then turned it so Graham could hear. Their heads touched as they listened.
Graham pulled out his notebook.
“Your husband, Jake, traded his rig with us. He looked familiar in the pictures and I checked our other files. Karl keeps a second set of books.”
“What did Jake trade for? Where did he go?”
“It was an International, but the records were changed. You won’t find it. It’s what Karl does to make money under the table. He alters serial numbers and vehicle identification numbers, then he pays guys to help him authenticate records. I’m telling you because I’m leaving him because he- I think you know what men like Karl do to women.” Wanda made a swallow ing sound like she was drinking. “And you seemed so nice.”
“Life can be hard, Wanda, I know. Is that all you can tell me about Jake?” Maggie’s voice broke. “Can’t you tell me anything else? Please.”
“Jake and Karl talked in Karl’s office for a long time. Karl made me bring them coffee. They were loud. I heard Jake say that he had a line on work and some property in Montana. That he was going to start new there, put the past and his ex behind him.”
“Ex? I’m not his ex. That’s not- Wanda, where in Montana?” Maggie made notes.
“I don’t know.”
“Nothing?”
“A couple weeks after the deal, Karl had me send Jake some paperwork he needed to make the truck ‘legal,’ so I have an address that might help you.”
“In Montana?”
“Yes, a P.O. box address care of the Sky Road Truck Mall, Grizzly Tooth Freeway, Great Falls, Montana.”
“Thank you, Wanda. Oh, thank you.”
“I saw your boy. Recognized him in your pictures, too.”
Maggie’s heart nearly burst.
“You saw him!”
“He was here with your husband. Came in to use the bathroom.”
“How was he?”
“A little sad-looking, little stressed. As I recall, he was with this woman, Jake’s girlfriend, I think.”
“What do you know about the woman? Do you have her name, a description?” Graham was jotting some thing, Maggie read it into the phone. “Did she touch anything that no one else has touched?”
“Don’t know. But she was pretty. Kind of dark, in an exotic way. She didn’t say much, barely smiled. Oh- I have to go, sorry. Good luck. I hope you find your son.”
“Thank you. Thank you so much.”
Maggie ended the call and looked at Graham.
“I’m taking the next plane to Great Falls,” she said. “Are you coming?”
Book Five:
“Forgive me for what I’ve done…”
59
Seattle, Washington
Rick Mofina
Six Seconds
A King County sheriff’s helicopter thudded above the city in the clear morning sky.
People filled Pioneer Square and several surround ing blocks for a glimpse of the pope. Thirty-five thou sand, according to estimates coming through Blake Walker’s earpiece.
He scanned the faces at barricades and windows overlooking the square.
This was it.
His team’s turn to protect the pope.
Everyone on the Secret Service’s advance team had been pulling nineteen-hour days for this leg of the papal visit. Drawing from the watch list and working with local police, they’d studied the Service’s Trip File and The Album, they’d interviewed all the people who had ever uttered a threat against the pope, or the president.
No major security breaches had happened in Boston, New York, Miami, Houston or Los Angeles, the previous cities on the papal visit.
In New York, a seventy-six-year-old grandmother
354 Rick Mofina wrapped her arms around his neck and refused to release him as she broke down with emotion. In Los Angeles, a poor construction worker, whose wife had been diagnosed with terminal cancer, broke through the barricade and tugged at the Holy Father’s vestments before security escorted him back. Later, the pope met privately with the man and prayed with him.