“Don’t get up, Cris,” Jonas said to me, but I struggled anyway. He got up and helped me to sit upright, careful not to pull on my back muscles. So, Tats or Tuck must have warned him about me. “How are you feeling?”
“Where’s Matt? Jake and Jane?” I demanded. I turned my whole body to see as the door opened and the two men came in with breakfast.
“The FBI have the two in custody, and they’re safe. They let me talk to them. I didn’t tell them where you are or that I was meeting with you. I left Jane back at my hotel room. She wanted to come but I wasn’t sure if it was safe yet.” He looked at the two men, gave me a short nod and I knew that he was asking if he could trust them. I gave a small shrug.
“I can’t see why they would take me away from my grandfather and bring me here for any reason other than to help me. It’s not like I’m paying them. They’ve done everything to make sure he can’t find me.”
“Tempe?”
“They said he’s dead. Shot in the head and dumped in a quarry somewhere where they held me,” I told Sanderson.
“A body was found near Granite, Vermont, shot in the head. The body was over six-three. The cops are keeping the identity secret which means they already know who it is,” he said. “Why would he have a falling out with your father?”
“I don’t know anything about my grandfather. My mom never told me anything, except that I was to go to him if something happened to her. But only as a last resort. I heard that he abused her and that’s why she ran away when she was a teenager. I didn’t even know his name until the FBI agents told me.”
“Now what?” I asked. Jax answered.
“We delivered you to your friends, you’re in safe hands. Now it’s time for us to disappear.”
“Can you? You have money? IDs? A getaway plan?”
He shrugged. “We’re mercs. We always have a back-up exit strategy. Course, additional funds would come in handy.”
“Jonas?” I asked. He reached inside his jacket and the two men grabbed at their own weapons. Jonas stilled, his hands up.
“Whoa,” he said carefully. “You dudes patted me down already, remember?” They lowered their hands away from their holsters.
He removed a thick envelope from his breast pocket and opened it. Inside were hundred-dollar bills amounting to fifty thousand dollars and a thin sheet of paper with numbers on it. A cell phone number. He gave it to me, and I handed it over to Jax. He stared at me, not the cash.
“That’s a numbered account in the Caymans with five million in it that used to belong to my…father. It’s yours. The cash will buy both of you a seat on a private jet out of Burlington to Vancouver. In Vancouver, you can get a flight to the islands. The codes are simple, written down but you have to memorize the account number and the dates to access the money.”
“How? When did you do this?” he asked.
“Tempe bragged to me about it. Also, I was once a mob accountant.” I sighed. “I’ve been many things in my past lives just never someone who ever got to die of old age or natural causes. I’ve died so many ways and so many times that I’m no longer afraid of death. I’m more afraid of living. Will you take the money and go?”
Jax took the envelope, paper and stuck out his gun hand. I reached out my own and shook his, but he pulled me into a hug and squeezed gently. Tuck did the same. He mumbled something about how I was giving mercenaries a bad name because they were so soft-hearted. Both mercenaries shouldered their packs and walked out of the hotel room taking the keys that Jonas held out. In quiet tones, he told them it was for a silver rental Ford parked down from the office.
We waited for fifteen minutes before Jonas let me leave the room, exiting in the rear of the parking lot. A gray SUV was waiting backed into a stall near the dumpster, engine running. I was willing to bet that it was in a spot not covered by surveillance cameras. There was a woman sitting in the driver’s seat and I recognized her plain, comfortable face. Jane, once Caitlyn of the St. Louis café. She smiled at me and popped the lock buttons.
I had no luggage and by the time we’d walked to the car, I was exhausted. Jonas helped me into the middle seat, buckled me in, and threw my few possessions in with me.
“Crispin,” she said smiling as she turned to face me. “I hope you feel better than you look.”
I shook my head. “I feel like hammered doggie-doo,” I admitted. “A lot has happened to me since I saw you last.”
“We heard. It’s amazing that you’re still alive and functioning,” she said. “I’d be nuts by now.”
“It’s not because of me,” I returned. “Crispin had a lot to do with it.”
“But you’re Crispin.”
I shook my head. “Not wholly. I’m a kaleidoscope of personalities that sometimes wars against each other. Most of the time, it’s Cris that carries us.” I leaned back against the headrest. “I’m really tired, y’all. I just want to lie down and sleep for a week. Where are you taking me?”
“Not back to the FBI safe house. Your grandfather is sure to know its location. As far as they know, he isn’t implicated in your disappearance.”
I opened my eyes and sat up in protest. “How can they not know? I told them that he was behind it and working with Tempe!”
Sanderson looked at me in disbelief. “He told the FBI that you planned all of it‒ your kidnapping, the murder of your father and his body dumped in the quarry.”
I sighed. In a very real sense, he was right. It was my fault that Tempe had wound up dead in the quarry. If I hadn’t left him alive the first time that I’d tried to kill him, he wouldn’t have had the second experience with my grandfather.
“Oh God, I wish I were dead,” I muttered. Closed my eyes, turned my back on them and tried to sleep. I thought I’d have a hard time with it but the minute my eyes closed, I was pulled down into the darkness before I could blink. I never felt the SUV drive off and didn’t wake even after it reached its destination.
My stomach growling woke me. And the smell of fresh cooking. I was suddenly starving and sat up slowly, confused as to where I was.
Looking around I stared at the inside of a house. Or apartment. In a small living room with a large screen TV on the wall facing towards an old, ratty couch, were two recliners, an exercise bike, cardio-glide and a cross country ski machine. All of them were being used as clothes racks.
A stack of DVDs in milk crates was atop an old 1950s school desk next to a 60s stereo and record player. An old-fashioned 60s pole with swiveled lights leaned drunkenly near a cabinet with shelves. Atop the stereo speakers were two pistols. Really old. A Navy colt and a black powder hand gun. Crispin recognized both of them.
The kitchen was small. Longer than it was wide, and both Jonas and Jane were standing at the stove. I smelled bacon and burgers, saw them flipping them in the pan as I stood up, moving closer to them.
Opposite the kitchen was a small dinette with a table just big enough for three people. There were three plates set, ketchup, mustard, mayo, lettuce and tomato all neatly sliced along with toasted buns. French fries in the oven.
Jonas turned to face me. “Cheese? Bacon?”
I nodded and watched silently as he made a whopper burger with everything on it and set it on the plate in front of me.
“Where are we?” I asked before I picked it up.
“SAR Headquarters in Portland.”
“Portland Maine?”
“Portland, Oregon. It’s an old HQ that was decommissioned. Closed. No one uses it anymore except for me. Training purposes. I have the keys and bring up gas for the generator when I’m up here.”
“Up here? Does anyone know about it?”
“They do. But not in connection with me,” Jonas said. “You’re safe here.”
“What about Matt and Jake?”
“The FBI have released them to pursue other leads. Once they are sure no one is following, they’ll rendezvous with us. It may be a few days before they get here.”
“Are we in the mountains?” I asked and he led me over to a sliding door. We stepped out onto a deck that went all the way around the place and sat on top of a 300-foot tower. I could see for miles. Trees. And more trees. Pines mostly. Green everywhere. Mountains topped with snow magnificent against the bluest skies. I understood why he’d said, ‘up here’.
“Wow! How did you get me all the way up here? Up those stairs?” I gasped. He laughed.
“Wasn’t easy, Cris. You might be small and weigh less than sixty pounds, but you were dead weight all the way. Jane helped.”
I looked at her. “I weigh 65 lbs and I’m not through growing,” I said testily. “I’m not puny or small.”
“No, Cris,” she said quietly. “You’re a giant in everything that matters. Come back in and eat.”
I took one last look around and came inside. Ate everything on my plate and fell asleep again almost immediately after.
Jane teased me awake later that afternoon, complaining that she had never seen a kid sleep as much as I did. I could see that underneath her bluster, she was worried. Maybe it wasn’t normal to spend over twenty hours a day sleeping but I figured if my body didn’t need it I wouldn’t be doing it.
I knew that it was afternoon because of the angle the sun was coming through the big glass windows on the wrap-around porch. I had the urge to lie in one of the sunbeams on the floor and soak it up. Take a catnap. From the look on Jane’s face, I decided that wasn’t such a good idea.
“Where’s Mr. Sanderson?” I asked, rolling off the cot. The floor was cold and my feet bare. I looked around for my socks and boots. Not in sight.
“Down below, checking out our gas supplies.”
“Does he need any help?”
“You up to climbing down and back up three hundred and five steps?” She raised her eyebrows.
“Maybe after I eat.” I looked hopefully at the kitchen but didn’t see or smell anything cooking.
“There are sandwiches and chips. Ham, tuna or cheese.”
I stood up checking my balance and when I was sure that my feet would hold mer, I entered the kitchen. There was a plate set for me with three sandwiches and a mound of chips. I ate all three. Washed it down with cherry Kool-Aid and washed my dishes when I was done. I waited for Jane to point out where she had placed my socks, boots and a change of clothes. If I wanted to take a shower, I’d have to make the trip down to the base of the tower where the toilet and shower resided. There wasn’t a pump strong enough to force water that high using only a generator. Made going for a midnight pee somewhat arduous.
She didn’t make any attempt to stop me, warn me that I wasn’t fit or ready for the task. She just stood there at the top of that dizzying staircase and watched me limp down.
I went slow, my hand on the railing, my senses taking it all in. The sight of green forest and mountains vistas that were impossible for a photo to do justice, blue skies to gush over, the smell of pine, cedar and pure air. Of snow’s crisp bite in the wind. The music of the whispering breeze, of rough-legged hawk whistles over my head and the nasty scolding of irate chipmunks.
When I reached the grass and rocks on the last step, I heard the muted thump of the generator, following the noise around an outcrop of stone which dropped into a small hollow where a meadow lay spread out before me.
There, I found two sheds made of logs and barricaded with steel grates. One held the generator, tools, an ATV and assorted barrels of gas, tanks of propane and gallons of oil. The other shed was the outhouse/shower. Composting toilet and solar heated shower stall. The water tank was filled by an old-fashioned hand pump; the well under my feet. The line was black plastic PVC an inch thick and went from the handpump uphill to a large 500-gallon white plastic tank that was sitting on a stack of pallets parked on a huge rock. The shower was gravity fed from it. Heated by the solar panels atop the shower roof.
Mr. Sanderson was tinkering with the genny and didn’t turn around when I approached. Yet he knew that I was there. He raised his voice over the thumping and asked me to bring him a quart of 2 cycle oil.
I looked in the shed. Although it was dark, enough ambient light came in through the open door to show me a line of containers stacked on the shelves of the back wall. Oil, tranny fluid, ether and other assorted garage stuff filled the shelves. I grabbed the nearest one that said two cycle and handed it over.
He poured a little into a funnel and then into the generator. It sounded smoother. Satisfied, he turned it off and faced me. “Up to a walk, Cris?”
“I guess.”
“Follow me.” He led me off into the meadow and I followed him.