The Brotherhood of the Rose (47 page)

Five minutes later, his determination received its reward. Below, not far in front of him, he saw the reduced shape of a dark blue Chevy station wagon veer around a wooded curve, heading southwest.

His chest expanded. But at once he subdued his excitement. The color and mode! were the same. Still, coincidence wasn't impossible.

He urged the chopper down for a closer look. No chrome, no whitewalls. Getting better, he thought. Roaring nearer, he saw the outlines of three passengers, two in the front, one in the back. It puzzled him that they didn't turn back to investigate the commotion behind them. They seemed to be men, though, and the passenger in the rear wore a hat. Even better. Then Saul was close enough to see the license plate through binoculars. The same as the one on the car at the lodge.

He raged, swooping faster, closer. Ahead, to the right, a semicircle of trees had been cleared. A rain-soaked gravel parking area was rimmed by picnic tables. The place was deserted.

In a fifty-five life-or-death crisis, simply approach the crisis, prepared to die if necessary. There is nothing complicated about it. Merely brar "e yourse4rand proceed. So Ishiguro, Saul's judo instructor, had taught him years before in the dojo. Saul braced himself and proceeded now, making an instantaneous decision, though he didn't intend to die.

He zoomed above the road, roaring closer. Breasting it on the left, he shifted his controls to the right and veered toward the station wagon.

A great deal happened at once. Saul briefly saw Castor's alarmed face behind the steering wheel. If Castor had stayed on course down the road, if the chopper's landing gear touched the station wagon, the chopper would have lost its equilibrium and flipped against the Chevy, consuming both in a massive blast of flame. Granted, Eliot would have been destroyed, but Saul had no intention of dying with him.

Castor reacted as Saul expected, twisting sharply on the steering wheel, veering in the old unobstructed direction, toward the parking area, the picnic tables, the trees.

Saul did the same, speeding parallel to the Chevy, forcing Castor not to stop, instead compelling him to keep rushing toward the trees. At the final moment, just before the chopper would have disintegrated on impact with the forest, Saul jerked the controls and swooped up, clearing the treetops. Enclosed in the chopper's plexiglass, his hearing tortured by the roaring flap of the blades, he knew he must have imagined the sound of a crash behind him.

imagination or not, it gave him satisfaction. Abruptly turning, he swooped back toward the parking area, seeing the Chevy's front end crushed against a boulder between two trees. Setting the chopper down hurriedly, he left the rotors on idle, grabbed the two Uzis and their full magazines, and jumped to the soggy gravel. Rain lashed his face. Even as he stooped to keep from being decapitated by the revolving blades, he began to fire, lunging at the wrecked station wagon, noticing steamy antifreeze gushing from its radiator, riddling the car with bullets.

But something was wrong. The Chevy's windows didn't break. Its doors weren't torn apart by his barrage.

He scowled. The station wagon was armored. Its glass was bulletproof. He charged through puddles toward it, firing another volley. The bullets walloped fenders and doors but still did little damage.

No one moved inside. Cautious as he hurried forward, peering through a rain-spattered window, he saw Castor slumped across the broken steering wheel, blood gushing from his forehead. Next to him, Pollux was... A mannequin. A dummy dressed in the denim jacket Pollux had worn.. And Eliot? In the back seat, a second mannequin lay on its side, wearing a black suit, a homburg fallen to the floor. That was why they hadn't turned toward the roar of the chopper.

He spotted the two-way radio built under the dashboard and realized at once the terrible danger he was in. Reflexes spurred him. Racing past the station wagon toward the trees, he felt a bullet from behind him sear his arm. Another bullet tore bark from the pine tree. The bark stung his jaw.

He didn't stop to whirl behind a tree and return the fire. He didn't wonder who was shooting at him or how the mannequins had come to be in the car. He just kept charging through the trees, gaining distance, desperate for time to think.

Because the two-way radio said it all. Dammit, Saul thought, why the hell didn't I realize? How could I have been so stupid? From the moment Eliot left the rest home, he must have kept in touch with the lodge. He'd have known I stole the chopper. Jesus, he probably counted on it. The mannequins must have been hidden in the station wagon when he left. The old man out-guessed me all the way.

And the sniper shooting at Saul? It had to be Pollux, who'd followed Castor in another car. If Saul hadn't seen the mannequins and the two-way radio, if he hadn't darted toward the trees the instant he sensed the trap,. Pollux would have killed him. Eliot would have been the victor.

No! Saul inwardly screamed. No, I won't let him beat me! I've got to get even for Chris!

He scurried deeper through the trees and rain, shifting direction when he knew Pollux couldn't see him. The road, Saul thought. I've got to get back to the road.

Pollux, of course, would be stalking him, aiming toward the sound of rustling bushes and snapping branches, and for that reason, Saul intended to make all the noises he could. He meant to lure Pollux into here. And as soon as Pollux was far from the road, Saul planned to use silence, creeping instead of racing, confusing Pollux, gaining a chance to retreat to the road.

For Pollux didn't matter. Eliot did. And the thickening rain made Saul shiver with understanding. Would an old man expose himself to such terrible weather if he didn't have to? Eliot's plan had been to use Castor as a decoy while Pollux came in from the rear and caught Saul by surprise. But Eliot must have considered the possibility that there'd be a fight. Would Eliot wait unprotected in the second car? Would he hide in the rain in the woods? Not likely. The old man would prefer a place warm and safe.

Dear God, the old man's somewhere along the road I followed. He's holed up, probably in a cabin, a" motel, a tourist lodge. He'd never wait at the airport for his plane-if he intended to take a plane at all.

But Saul had flown over several motels. With sufficient ime, he could retrace his route and check them all. But that was the point. There wasn't time. Pollux would continue hunting him. The provincial police would soon be here to investigate the accident. I have to get away, he thought.

In twenty minutes, sweating despite the cold, intensifying Saul reached a bend in the road a half mile away from the picnic area. Despite his silence and care, he felt a persistent prickly spot between his shoulder blades, where Pollux's bullet just might strike him.

Have to find Eliot. After hearing a motor approach around the bend, he waited to make sure it wasn't a police car. Seeing a battered van, he lurched from the trees and waved to make the driver stop. When the longhaired kid behind the steering wheel tried to veer around him, Saul aimed the Uzi. The kid blanched, slarairied on screechy brakes, and got out, holding up shaky hands. "Don't shoot me." He backed up and, started to run.

Saul scrambled into the van. Its gears whined as he tugged the shift into first. With a lurch, it started forward. Speeding along the road, he passed the picnic area, where the helicopter's blades continued to turn.

The driver's door on the station wagon hung open. Castorwasn't dead. Holding his stomach, he stumbled from the wreck. But Castor heard the rattle of the van and glanced toward the road in time to notice Saul behind the wheel.

Blinking, Castor shook his head as if he doubted what he saw.

Abruptly he straightened with a wince. Blood streaming from his forehead, he lurched toward the trees, no doubt for Pollux.

That was all right, Saul thought, disappearing from the picnic area. In fact, it was fine. It couldn't be better.

He soon saw a dark green Ford parked along the road, probably the car Pollux had used to follow Castor. Determined to be thorough, Saul stopped and got out of the van, aiming, checking the Ford, but it was empty. The mud on the far side revealed no footsteps where an old man might have gone to take cover in the forest.

Saul nodded, more confident of his suspicion. He whirled to peer through the rain down the road toward the picnic area. Pollux was sprinting in his direction, Castor hobbling behind him. Pollux halted when he spotted Saul, but as he raised his pistol, Saul rushed to get into the van. A bullet whacked, the rear hatch. Saul felt elated, pulling away. It wouldn't be long now.

Two bends down the road, certain his pursuers couldn't see him, he turned left down a gravel lane and soon turned left a lane, shielding the van in a thick grove of trees. He jumped down to scramble, hunched in the rain, toward the edge of the road, and hid behind dense bushes, watching, waiting.

A minute passed. He swelled with satisfaction, seeing what he wanted. His ruse had worked.

The green car raced past. Pollux looking desperate as he drove. Next to him, Castor stared through the windshield, no doubt straining for a sight of the van.

Saul knew he could have shot them as they went by, as surning the car wasn't armored as the Chevy had been. But all that would that have gained? They weren't Saul's objective.

Eliot was, and Saul was hoping Castor aw Pollux would rush to protect their father.

Lead me to him. Soon now, he thought, running back to the van. The end was close.

He felt it intensely. Very soon.

But he couldn't let them know they were being followed; he had to stay back out of sight. In their place, he'd have periodically checked his rearview mirror, out of habit, just as he did now-to make sure he himself wasn't being followed, by a police car, for example. Such a precaution had its drawbacks, though. If he couldn't let Castor and Pollux see him, he couldn't allow himself a glimpse of them. As a consequence, he had to hide the van near every motel and lodge he came to, sneaking up in search of their car.

The process was tedious, frustrating. After the fourth lodge he checked, he began to fear he'd overlooked the Ford. The police must have reached the scene of the accident by now.

The long-haired kid must have told them his van had been stolen. They had to be searching for him.

And what about the guards from the rest home? They'd be hunting him as well. They'd have sent for help. The only good thing was that the rest home didn't have another chopper. They'd have to pursue him in cars. But eventually they'd be coming down this road.

His need to retain his freedom fought to overcome his need to punish Eliot. Give up the hunt, a dark voice warned him. You'll never find the old man before the cops or the guards arrive. You tried, but circumstances worked against you. There'll be other chances.

No, he told himself. If I let him slip away, he'll run so far and burrow so deep I'll never find him. He won't leave a trail. it has to be now. There won't be another chance.

Thirty minutes later, at the seventh place he checked, two parallel rows of cabins with parking spaces in the middle, he found the dark green Ford.

A neon sign in front of the office said Rocky Mountain Inn. The sign was illuminated in the gloomy rain. The Ford had been parked with its back end toward a middle unit on the left, the trunk left open.

Hiding the van down the road, Saul climbed through ramswept trees to a bushy ridge that gave him a view of the cabin behind the Ford. He watched from cover as the cabin door cracked slowly open. Pollux glanced out, then quickly put a suitcase in the trunk and closed the lid, ducking back inside.

Saul squinted. All right, then. He gritted his teeth. I got here just in time. They're about to leave.

He quickly calculated. The Uzi wasn't accurate from this distance. If he positioned himself behind a cabin across from the Ford, he could shoot when Eliot came out to the car.

But he had to get down there fast. He found a sheltered draw that sloped to the cabins and scrambled down over deadfalls, choosing a spot behind a middle cabin in the row opposite the Ford. The rain became thicker, darker, colder. As he waited, not showing himself, listening for the sound of the heavy engine starting over there, he began to have misgivings.

It's too easy, he thought. It felt like a setup. Eliot wouldn't allow his escorts to park their car directly in front of his cabin. They sense I'm around. They're using the car as a decoy.

Still Saul remained convinced that Eliot was here. Which cabin, though? He remembered what he'd seen from the ridge above these units. Twenty of them, ten on each side. Because of the rain, the tourists had apparently decided not to go out sight-seeing today. How else explain the vehicles in front of fourteen cabins? Of the six empty slots, two flanked the cabin in front of the Ford. A third empty slot was down near the office. A fourth was on that side but at the opposite end, to the right, in back, almost into the forest. The remaining two were over here on this side.

Heart aching, Saul remembered a game he and Chris had liked to play when they were at the orphanage. The game had been introduced to them by Eliot. He'd called it the shell game. "Con men trick suckers with it at carnivals," he'd said. "It works like this. Three empty shells. Set them in a row. Put a pea under one. Then rearrange the order of the shells-several times-as fast as possible. Like this. Now tell me. Which shell hides the pea?" Neither Saul nor Chris chose correctly. "Which goes to prove," Eliot said, "the hand is quicker than the eye. Except I want you to practice this game till you always know which shell hides the pea. I want your eyes to be quicker than anyone's hand."