7 Steps to Midnight (6 page)

She walked him to the living-room sofa and drew him down. “Tell me,” she said.

He pulled in a long breath and told her everything from the
time he’d woken up in the plant to the man he’d hidden from before. He didn’t mention Veering. He wasn’t going to allow himself to believe that the old man had anything to do with what was happening.

“What did the man you hid from look like?” she asked when he was through.

Chris described him. “No,” she said. “That wasn’t him.”

Chris tightened. “Has someone spoken to you?”

“A man came to the university and spoke to me between classes,” she said.

“What did he look like?”

“Lean,” she answered. “Pale. Wearing a black suit and hat.”

He shuddered. “He’s the one who came to my house last night.”

“Oh, no.” His mother gazed at him in concern.

“What’s his name?” Chris asked.

His mother got up and walked into the dining room; her purse was lying on the table. Opening it, she took out her wallet and, reaching into it, removed a business card. She brought it into the living room and handed it to Chris.

The man’s name was Martin Meehan. There was no indication as to whom he worked for; the only thing on the card other than his name was an Arizona telephone number.

“Did he show you a badge?” he asked.

“No.” She shook her head.

“What did he say?”

“That you were in trouble and I should make sure to call him if you tried to get in touch with me.”

Chris swallowed dryly. The dogs are closing in, he thought. “That’s all he said?”

She nodded. “I tried to find out what was going on but he said he couldn’t tell me, it was secret.”

“Sure.” He slipped the card into his shirt pocket, then kneaded at his neck, grimacing. “I wish I hadn’t fallen asleep in that position.”

“Turn to the right,” she told him.

He did and felt her strong fingers begin to massage gently at the back of his neck. At first, the pressure made him hiss with pain but, little by little, it began to fade.

“The thing I don’t understand at all,” she said, “is Louise’s reaction to your phone call. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know.”

“She actually said you and
Maureen
?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to have to talk with her.”

His eyes were closed now, his neck feeling better. “What should I do, Mom?” he asked her.

“I’m not sure,” she said.

“I mean, should I give myself up? Let the police figure it out?”

“Well…” She sounded uncertain. “The man said that, above all, you shouldn’t contact any authorities. He said it was the worst thing you could do.”

“Considering what he did to me, that makes giving myself up to the authorities look pretty good.”

She kept working on his neck. “What happened to your hand?” she asked.

“My porch siding is redwood,” he told her. “I leaned against it.”

“We’ll get them out before you go,” she said.

He swallowed. “Go where, Mom?”

She didn’t reply for several moments. Then she said, “I wouldn’t go to the authorities.”

He turned in surprise to look at her. “You
wouldn’t
?”

She gazed at him inquiringly. “You think it has something to do with your work?” she asked.

“There’s no other answer I can come up with,” he answered. “That makes any sense, I mean.”

She got up and went to get her sewing box and a bottle of Bactine. Returning with them, she started removing the redwood splinters from his palm and fingers. Chris gritted his teeth as she did.

“Is what you do so crucial that…?” She didn’t finish.

“That people would like to know about it? Yes,” he answered. He hissed with pain. Then he made an amused sound. “Except if they knew how far I was from an answer, they’d be sorry they started all this.”

He watched his mother’s face. He knew that expression. She was analyzing.

“There’s no other factor in this?” she asked.

“No,” he said. He hesitated. “Unless…”

“What?” she asked.

Chris sighed. He was sorry he’d brought it up. What if Mom put too much credence in it?

“
What
, Chris?” she persisted.

“Well…”

He told her about Veering and their conversation. When he was finished, his mother grunted softly. “Curiouser and curiouser,” she said.

“You don’t really believe—”

“I believe he could be part of this,” she said.

Chris looked startled. He’d never thought of that. He’d vacillated back and forth between two possibilities—a plot against him versus Veering’s wager. How very shrewd of his mother to join them together.

“But
how
?” he asked. “I mean, how would the two fit together?”

“Both of them have made you doubt your sanity,” she answered.

“Of course,” he said. It was so obvious. He repressed his overriding feeling that none of it actually made sense. On a lower scale of logic, however, it
did
make sense that all of it was part of one conspiracy—whatever that conspiracy might be and however senseless it seemed at the moment.

“Who would want to
do
all this?” he asked. “And why make it all—”

“
Chris.
” She clutched at his wrist.

Twisting around, he saw that the car had returned.

For a moment, he didn’t know what to do. His mother decided
for him, pulling him to his feet and walking him rapidly to the kitchen. “Go out the back way,” she said. “I’ll talk to them and give you time. Where are you parked?”

“Around the corner.”

“Good.” She kissed him quickly on the cheek. “Go right away,” she said.

“You don’t think—?”

“After the way he treated you?” she cut him off. “All right, give yourself up to the authorities. But
not them
. Maybe out of Arizona.”

He felt hapless and inept as he stared at her. Then she smiled and stroked his cheek. “You’re up to anything,” she added. “You know that.”

He embraced her.

“Be careful now,” she said. “Use every skill.”

He nodded. “Love you, Mom.”

“I love you too. Now hurry.”

Their embrace tightened as the front doorbell rang. Chris kissed her on the cheek, crossed to the back door and opened it, glancing back at her. “You’ll be all right,” she said.

He nodded and went outside, closing the door. He jumped off the porch and ran across the yard, scaled the fence and ran across the next yard.
Man in flight
, he thought. Was that the title of some book he’d read? He scowled.

This wasn’t any book.

He crossed another fence and kept on running. Was Mom talking to them now? Was she up to pretending? Or would they sense that she was nervous? Would the antennae of their trade immediately pick up that she was lying?

The old woman looked at him incredulously from her back window.
Yeah, I’m back
, he thought,
mashing down your back lawn; sorry.
He would have been amused by the look on her face if things weren’t so grim. This was probably the most thrilling thing to happen to her in a month of Sundays.

He ran around the corner of the old woman’s house and started down the alley. Were the men alone or were there teams out searching for him? He kept running, angled across the old woman’s
front lawn and dashed for the Pontiac. How was Scotty Tensdale going to get home? he wondered. Yeah, like that’s important now, he countered irritably.

He unlocked the car as quickly as he could and slid inside. His hands were shaking so badly, he had to use both of them to get the ignition key in its slot. Twisting it, he heard the motor cough to life;
thank
you, Scotty. He tapped the transmission into gear and pulled away from the curb.

Not too noisy, not too fast, he told himself. He drew in trembling breath and pressed down slowly on the gas pedal. The small boy was still on his tricycle. Now he’d pull a walkie-talkie from his overalls and call for backup. “
Thuspect fleeing in maroon Pontiac,
” he’d lisp. “
Agent thixty-thix. Over and out.
”

“Oh,
shut up
,” he told his brain.

At the corner, he turned left and headed downtown. Now what? he thought. Where was he supposed to go? He’d really considered turning himself in until Mom had told him not to. That frightened him as much as anything that had happened. What made her think he shouldn’t, in Arizona anyway? What difference did it make where he did it? This had to be a federal thing; his work was for the government.

And why did Mom suggest that Veering was part of the conspiracy?

He felt a sense of vague amorphous dread building inside him, his mind jumping back again to the start: his missing car, his talk with Veering, the couple in his house, Meehan manhandling him, the call to Louise, Meehan showing up again with the other man.
Did
it all fit together? And was it all connected to the project? Were they all trying to make him doubt his sanity to prevent him from working on it? If they only knew, he thought.

His brain was already out of sync.

Anyway, he reversed himself once more, why such a complicated plot? Why not just run him off the road and shoot him if they wanted to delay the project?

Is that what they still planned to do?

“God,” he muttered. He was really frightened now.

What in the name of God was he going to do?

First of all, he needed gas. He’d managed to reach Tucson on the one tankful that Scotty Tensdale had thoughtfully, and unintentionally, provided for him. But now the gauge needle was almost down to zero. There was a Texaco station three blocks ahead; he’d stop there. Should he use his credit card? he wondered. Would it be a clue they could follow?

Hell, they had the only clue they needed, he thought as he turned into the station, a maroon Pontiac with a registered license plate. If he was really going to go on—where, he had no idea—he’d have to dump the car and travel some other way.

He braked by the front pump on the full-service island and got out. Not waiting for the attendant, he unhooked the nozzle on the unleaded pump and pushed down the handle. As the pump started humming, he carried the nozzle to the back of the car.

There he stopped dead, staring blankly at the place where he’d expected to see the gas-tank cover. Then he grunted in disgust at himself. This isn’t the Mustang, idiot. Sighing, he returned to the pump and rehung the nozzle as the heavyset attendant came trudging up. “Yessir,” he said.

“I thought I had my other car,” Chris said. “I’ll have to move.”

“Yessir,” said the attendant.

Chris got back into the car and turned on the motor.
Use your skills
, he remembered his mother’s words.
Yes, Mater, right away
, he answered silently, smiling without humor.

He moved the car to the other side of the service island and turned the motor off again. “Is your bathroom unlocked?” he asked as the attendant approached, carrying the nozzle.

“Sure is,” the attendant said. “Check under your hood?”

“Under Scotty’s hood,” he mumbled to himself. “No, that’s all right,” he told the attendant.

He was halfway to the bathroom when it occurred to him that maybe Scotty Tensdale wasn’t all
that
attentive to his Pontiac; it might need oil, transmission fluid, battery water, who knew what else. “Yeah,
would
you check everything under the hood?” he called back. “And check the tires?”

“Yessir,” the attendant said.
You and F. Crain should get together for one bang-up conversation
, Chris thought as he turned back toward the bathroom.

He went inside the bathroom and locked the door, flicking the light switch. The room remained shadowy, its only illumination coming from the window over the door. Swell, Chris thought. He moved to the urinal and relieved himself, then washed his hands at the sink, wincing slightly at the tenderness in his right palm and fingers. Had his mother gotten all the splinters out? He hoped so, washing off his face. The cold water felt good on his skin.

He dried his face and hands with two paper towels. His cheeks were getting bristly. Going to look like a proper fugitive soon, he thought. This did not amuse him.

“All right, what now?” he asked the man regarding him from the mirror. “
Quo
fucking
vadis?
”

“
Where can you afford to
vadis
?
” the man responded.

Chris took out his wallet and checked. Two twenties, a ten, a five, his MasterCard and American Express charge cards. He made a pained face. And the Texaco card sitting in the glove compartment of his Mustang.

“Jesus,” he muttered. He’d have to use cash for the gas and there was little enough of it.

He stood gazing at his reflection. It had occurred to him that he could drive back to his house. If the presence of the man and woman had been necessary only to throw him off in the beginning, they might be gone now, the door chain and the kitchen telephone with them. Was it worth a try to find out? It had a definite appeal because it wasn’t simply flight, it was a move
toward finding out what was happening. And it might be the one place they wouldn’t think he’d go.

“Yes, good,” he said. That’s what he’d do.

***

When he unlocked the door and pulled it open, the two men were standing outside, waiting for him.

As insane as the idea was, Chris had an urge to hurl himself at them and break free.

But they frightened him the way they stood, faces impassive, looking at him. For all he knew, they were prepared to draw out guns and open fire on him at any instant.

He swallowed dryly, stepping out into the sunlight. Suddenly, he felt very tired, very drained. “All right,” he said. In a way, he was relieved. Whatever happened, he’d find out what was going on.

His sense of relief evaporated as Meehan started for him, limping. His
knee
, Chris thought, alarmed. Impulsively, he drew back and bumped against the door. “Leave me alone,” he said, remembering the agonizing pain he’d felt when Meehan had twisted his arm behind his back.

Meehan didn’t reply but kept moving toward him. Knowing what the agent meant to do, Chris ducked away from him so that Meehan’s lunge for his arm missed.