Assumed Identity

14

At 1:00 A.M., between Washington and Baltimore, Holly parked at a truck stop on I-95. Buchanan got out and used a pay phone.

A man answered, “Potomac Catering.”

“This is Proteus. I need to speak to the colonel.”

“He isn’t here right now, but I’ll take a message.”

“Tell him I got the message. Tell him there won’t be any trouble. Tell him I could have killed those four men tonight. Tell him to leave me alone. Tell him to leave Holly McCoy alone. Tell him I want to disappear. Tell him my business with Holly has nothing to do with him. Tell him Holly doesn’t know or care about him.”

“You sure have a lot to tell him.”

“Just make certain you do.”

Buchanan hung up, knowing that the number of the pay phone would automatically have shown itself on a screen on the “catering service’s” automatic-trace phone. If the colonel wouldn’t accept Buchanan’s attempt at a truce, a team of men would soon converge on this area.

Buchanan hurried back into the car, this time in the front. “I did my best. Let’s go.”

As she pulled out into traffic, he reached for his travel bag. The effort made him wince.

He took off his pants.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” Holly asked.

His legs were bare.

“Changing my clothes. I’m soaked.” In the flash of passing headlights, he squinted at the waist of his pants. “And bleeding. I was right. Some stitches did open up.” He took a tube of antibiotic cream and a roll of bandages from his travel bag, then started to work on his side. “You know what I could use?”

“A normal life?”

“Some coffee and sandwiches.”

“Sure. A picnic.”