'Bel, it's not. . .'

'I know what it is, Michael.' She sat up in bed, drawing her loiees up in front of her. 'And it's okay, I accept it. But I need to see those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds blasted off the planet. I need to be there.'

I stood for a moment in the dark, trying to understand.

271.

Then I brought my bags back in from the corridor and got undressed again.

I woke again at five. Bel woke up too. She didn't complain or say anything more about last night. She just got up and showered, then got dressed.

Before she dressed, she gave me a hug, her eyes squeezed tightly shut.

We stayed that way for a long time.

272.

20.Robert Walkins had a house overlooking Chesapeake Bay, between Washington DC and Baltimore and not too far from Annapolis. It was finished in clapboard which had been given a recent coat of brilliant white paint. The picket fence around the house was white too. You couldn't see much of the place from the road. You had to get out of the car and walk around to what should be the back of the house. In fact, the back of the house was what looked on to the road.

The front of the house, naturally enough, looked on to the bay. The downstairs seemed to be mostly workshop, garage, play room. A flight of stairs led up to a columned balcony, and that's where the front door was. The Stars and Stripes was fluttering from one of the columns. Hofler blew his nose again before knocking on the door.

While he waited, he turned and looked out across the long narrow lawn which was broken only by a few mature trees as it swept down to the edge of the bay. He knew erosion was a problem for a lot of these waterfront homes. Each year the Bay crept a little closer to your door. There was some wood lying around, either driftwood or part of some scheme to ward off nature's encroachment. And past it, stretching out on to the Bay, was a plain wooden deck. The day was fine and Hotter had to squint against the water's reflections as he peered towards the deck.

There was someone there, sitting on a chair with their feet up on a circular wooden table. They lifted a gla.s.s to their lips, then placed the gla.s.s down on a smaller table next to the chair. From this distance, Hoffer couldn't be sure, but he reckoned it had to be Walkins.

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As he walked back down the stairs, he didn't know whether to be relieved or not. He didn't like sitting in Walkins's house. The place gave him the creeps, what with there being no photos of the daughter anywhere, and all those photos and paintings of the wife. So he should feel better, more comfortable, talking to Walkins in the fresh air.

Only, he wasn't the outdoors type. He'd sat on Walkins's deck for a few hours one time, the salt wind whipping across him, and afterwards his skin had stung for days and his lungs had tried rejecting the smoke he sucked into them.

He crossed the lawn. slipping his jacket off and slinging it across one shoulder. He was nervous too. Well, meeting your sugar daddy face to face. It was bound to make you nervous.

'Sit down,' Walkins said, eschewing greetings. 'Drink?'

There was a bottle of J&B on the table, along with a bucket of ice and a spare gla.s.s. But Hoffer shook his head.

He gave a half-yawn, trying to unblock his ears. The flight had done for him again. G.o.dd.a.m.ned flying.

"How was England?' Walkins asked.

'like it had just lost the war.'

'We took vacations there occasionally. I liked the people.'

There wasn't much to say to this, so Hotfer stayed quiet.

He noticed that Walkins was looking old these days. Maybe it was just that he looked bored: bored of doing nothing all day but waiting for Leo Hoffer to call with news.

'Is he here?' Walkins asked. ; 'Yeah, he's here.' Hoffer was lighting a cigarette. Walkins didn't mind him smoking out here, so long as he took the stubs home with him. Hoffer never did figure it; the whole of Chesapeake Bay for an ashtray, and he had to take his G.o.dd.a.m.ned stubs home with him.

'How do you know?'

'I'm paid to know, sir.' Hoffer tried to get comfortable on the chair. The thick wooden slats didn't make thin 274.

easy. 'I've got contacts: airlines, travel companies, the airports...'

'Yes?'

'They flew into Boston. That part was easy. The woman was travelling under her real name, Belinda Harrison. There probably wasn't time or opportunity enough for them to arrange a fake pa.s.sport for her.'

'And him?' Walkins was nothing if not singleminded.

'Her travelling companion was called Michael Weston.

That's the third name he's used so far this time. I've got a contact in the FBI, I've got him keeping eyes and ears open.

If they get into bother, we'll hear about it.'

'Good.'

'Meantime, I've sent one of my team up to Boston to check hotels, car rental, that sort of thing.'

Hoffer was on auto-pilot. It gave him a chance to check out Walkins while he filled him in. Walkins had steel-grey hair and deep grooved lines in his face. He was a handsome man, ageing well despite his tragedies. But his eyes were filled to the brim with liquid, the pupils not quite fixed on the world outside. He took another drink of Scotch, but really the whisky was drinking him.

'This is a d.a.m.ned big country, Hoffer,' Walkins said at last. He sounded like he was boasting.

'Yes, sir,' Hoffer replied.

"A man could hide forever in a country this size.'

'Not if someone wants him found.'

'You believe that?'

'Yes, sir, I do.'

Walkins stared at him, so Hoffer daren't blink. He felt his eyes getting as watery as Walkins's. At last the old man pulled himself to his feet and walked to the rail at the end of the deck, leaning on it as he spoke.

'What now?'

'I've got a few leads,' Hoffer said, half-believing himself as spoke.

275.

'A few leads,' Walkins repeated, as though exhausted.

'You might be able to help, sir.'

'Oh? How?'

'Well, I presume you still have friends in positions of seniority?' I 'What if I have?' 1 'Maybe one of them could play with a name. The name's .

Don Kline. He was in London, and interested in the D-Man. ; He told me he was agency, but I'm not sure he was. That's I K1i-n-e.'

'I can ask around.'

The state Walkins was in, Hoffer doubted he'd recollects the name half an hour after Hoffer had driven away. He! wrote it on the back of one of his cards and walked to the

table, where he weighed it down with the lid from the icri bucket. Walkins was watching from the corner of his eye.

He nodded towards Hoffer as Hoffer went back to his seat.l Then he turned from the rail to face the detective, and took a

good deep breath. Ah, at last, thought Hoffer: the floor-

show.

'I want that b.a.s.t.a.r.d dead,' said Walkins, 'do you hear? I

want his a.s.s as cold as a mountaintop, and I want it

delivered to me here.' The voice was growing louder,

trembling with anger. Walkins started to move towards! Hoffer. 'And I don't want a quick death either, it's got to be!

slow ... slow like cancer, and burning like a fire inside. Do I you understand?' i 'Loud and clear.' It struck Hoffer. not for the first time, but

now with absolute conviction, that Robert Walkins was

howl-at-the-moon mad. There were white flecks at the edges

of the old man's lips, and his face was all tics and wriggling I demons. I 'You've got it, sir,' Hoffer said, trying to calm things i down. He was in the employ of a lunatic, but a lunatic who j paid the bills and the rent. Besides, rich lunatics were never I crazy ... they were eccentric. Hoffer tried to remember that.

276.

Finally, Walkins seemed to grow tired. He nodded a few times, reached out a hand and patted Hoffer's shoulder.

'Good, son, that's good.' Then he went and sat down again, poured himself another whisky, and dropped some ice into the gla.s.s. He sat back, sipped, and exhaled.

'Now,' he said, 'how will you do it?'

It took Hoffer a minute to answer. He was still trying to imagine himself as the Good Son.

277.

21.No sightseeing now, just concentrated travel. North < interstate="" 27="" to="" amarillo,="" then="" the="" 287.="" we="" were="" going="" be="" travelling="" west="" back="" in="" time,="" from="" mountain="" to="" pacific.-="" but="" we="" were="" heading="" nowhere="" but="" north="" to="" begin="" with.="" it="" was="" over="" 500="" miles="" from="" lubbock="" to="" denver.="" we="" skirted="" the="" peaks="" to="" the="" west="" of="" denver="" and="" crossed="" into="" wyoming="" just="" south="" of="">

'Tell me again,' said Bel. 'Why aren't we flying?'

'Air travel's easy to check if you're someone with tl clout of a government agency. Also, it's easy for them have airports covered, or car rental facilities at airports. Tl way, we're sort of sneaking up on them.'

She nodded, but didn't look convinced. I could have adde that I needed time to think, time to plan, time this drivej would give me. The thing was, I didn't know what we'd do

in Seattle. I hadn't a clear plan of attack. I was praying!

something would come to me between here and there.

We'd covered over 600 miles by early evening. I'd been thinking about a lot of things. One of them was that it crazy to arrive at our destination wiped out. Just off interchange we found a motel. Or it found us. We j cruised into the first forecourt of many on the road i booked ourselves a room.

Standing up and walking were strange. My whole body tingled. In my head I was still in the car, still driving. I'c been on automatic for the past hour or so. My left arm was sunburnt from leaning on the driver-side sill. Bel had done her share of the driving too, seeming to understand the c better than I did, at least at first. We had our differenc 278.

about choice of music and choice of stops along the route, but otherwise hadn't said much really. Oh, at first we chattered away, but then we ran out of things to say. She bought a trashy novel in a service area and read that for a while, before tipping it out of the window on to the verge.

'I can't concentrate,' she explained. 'Every time I think I'm managing to block it out, I see it again ... I see Max.'

She didn't have to say any more.

At the motel, we each took a bath. We phoned out and had a restaurant deliver ribs and apple pie. We stared at the TV. We drank c.o.ke with lots of ice. And we slept. The beds were too soft, so I swapped mine for the floor. When I woke up in the night, Bel was lying beside me. I listened to her breathing and to the vibration of the traffic outside. Our room held a pale orange glow, like when my parents had left the landing light on and my bedroom door ajar. To keep away the monsters.

How come the monsters would only come at night? What were they, stupid?

In the morning, we ate at another diner. 'The coffee gets better out west,' I promised. But Bel took a proffered refill anyway.

We took 1-80 west across the continental divide. This was high country, and there were tourists around, slowing us down sometimes. They travelled in state of the art vehicles which were like motor caravans only the length of a bus.

And behind they usually towed the family car. They probably saw themselves as descendants of the pioneers, but they were just vacationers. It was hard not to get into conversation with them at stops along the route. But if we did, there were endless questions about Europe. One woman even insisted on capturing us on video. We tried to look lovey and huggy for the seeing-eye. It wasn't easy.

'Maybe drugs would help,' Bel suggested.

Not in the long run. They'd keep us driving, but they 279.

only mask the symptoms, they don't cure them. We'd end up hospital cases.'

'You've been there before?'

I nodded and she smiled. 'I keep forgetting how much more worldly than me you are, Michael.' i 'Come on, let's see if we can fill up the cool box.'

We stopped outside Ogden on 1-84. Another motel room,"

another long soak, another diner.

Bel rested her head on the table top. 'Remind me,' she said, 'which state are we in?'

'Utah, I think. But not for much longer. It'll be Idaho soon.' The waitress took our order.

'Are you all right?' she asked Bel.

'I'm fine, thanks, just tired.'

The waitress moved off. 'She thinks you're on drugs,' I told Bel.

'Only adrenaline.'

'This isn't the best way to see the country. Actually, that's a lie. This is the only way to see America. We'll do it properly one day, if you'd like to.'

'I'd love to, Michael.' She rested her head on the table again. 'Say, in a decade or two.'

'I once spent a week in a car going across the country. I slept in that car.'

'You must have felt like s.h.i.t.'

I smiled at the memory. 'I felt very, very alive.'

'Well, I feel half-alive at best, but that's better than"

nothing.' She took a long drink of iced water. 'You know, if I hadn't gone off with you, I mean to London and, Scotland...'

'I know,' I said. I 'Christ, Michael, I'd be dead now.' There were tears in haj eyes. She looked away, staring out of the window, and puj her hand to her mouth. The hand was trembling. When

made to touch her, she jumped up from the table and ran

outside.

280.

I ran out to join her. Our diner was a truck stop. There was a vast tarmac parking area, with only a couple of trucks at its farthest edge. Stadium-style lights shone down on us from the lot's four corners. Our waitress was peering out of the diner window.

Bel was walking in a rough circle, eyes to the ground, and she was wailing. She flapped her arms to keep me away, so I took a few steps back and crouched down on the ground.

The tarmac was warm to the touch. I sat there with my legs out in front of me, watching the exorcism with little pleasure.

She was saying things, sometimes yelling them. Curses, swear-words, imprecations. Finally she got to her father's name. When it came out, it was stretched to breaking point, like she was tearing it out other system. She repeated it over and over, then had a coughing fit. The coughing became a dry retch, and she fell over on to her hands and knees. A huge lorry was pulling into the car park, air-brakes wheezing. The headlights picked out the figure of a crazy woman. The driver made sure to park at a good distance.

Eventually, when Bel was taking deep uneven breaths, I got up and walked over to her and crouched down again to put my arm around her.