Gideon's Corpse

60

Gideon had reached Tucumcari, and he pulled into a Stuckey’s to fill up on gas. It was about one in the afternoon and he’d been making excellent time. He felt a certain relief. He’d made a clean getaway and he was driving a vehicle unknown to law enforcement. He had twenty-three more hours of driving ahead of him, more or less. Alida’s money might not be enough to get him all the way, but if he had to raid a cash register or two he’d deal with that when the time came.

After filling up, he went into the Stuckey’s, in full disguise as Mr. Touchy-Feely-Middle-Aged-Divorced-Man-on-a-Road-Trip-of-Self-Discovery, and stocked up on beef jerky, Cheetos, Twinkies, and Ring Dings, along with a case of Coke and a box of NoDoz. He found a plastic hospital urinal and—after a momentary hesitation—added it to his basket. That would shave some time off his run. He brought everything to the counter, purchased it, and carried the bulging bag to his car. He got in and was about to start the engine when he felt something cold against the nape of his neck.

“Don’t fucking move,” came the low, hoarse voice.

Gideon froze. He glanced at the glove compartment, where he’d stashed the Python.

“I’ve already got your .357,” came the voice.

Now Gideon recognized the voice as Fordyce’s. Unbelievable. How had this happened? This was a disaster—the ultimate disaster.

“Listen to me well, Gideon. I know now you’re innocent. I know you were framed. And I also know the security director, Novak, was in on it.”

Gideon wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. He struggled with disbelief. Was this some kind of gambit? What was Fordyce up to?

“The investigation is seriously off-track. I need you. We need to partner together, just like before, and finish this assignment. Gideon, you’re a foxy son of a bitch, and I don’t know if I trust you any farther than I could throw you, but I swear to God we’re the only ones who can prevent that nuke from going off.”

This was becoming more convincing. “How did you find me?” he asked.

“I put out a routine ‘Attempt to Locate’ on the Jeep’s plate, got a report you were headed east on I-40, drove like hell, and found you here.” There was a pause. “Look, I know it’s hard to wrap your head around. Like everyone else, I was fooled. I thought you were guilty. But now I know different. I don’t know where you’re headed, what lead you’re following up, but I damn well know you’re going to need help.”

Gideon looked at him in the rearview mirror. “How’d you get the plate number?”

“I—I figured, since you were on the run with Alida Blaine, that you might be using one of her family cars.”

Gideon said nothing. So the vehicle wasn’t unknown to law enforcement, after all.

“Here’s your Python.” Fordyce handed it back to him. Gideon could see it was still loaded. “To show my good faith.”

Gideon glanced into the rearview mirror again, looked into Fordyce’s eyes, and saw sincerity. The man was telling the truth.

“Let’s go. We’re racing against the clock.” Gideon started the Jeep.

“Wait. We can take my pool car. I’ve got a siren, the works.”

“You’re AWOL from the investigation—?”

“They put me on leave.”

“This car’s marginally safer. They might come looking for you first.”

Fordyce paused. “Makes sense.”

Gideon pulled out of the Stuckey’s, back onto the interstate. “While we drive,” he said, “I’m going to tell you what I’ve learned. And you tell me what you know. And then I’ve got a laptop in the back that needs to be broken into. You once said you worked in the FBI’s decryption section. Think you can help?”

“I can try.”

Gideon set the cruise control at seventy-nine. Then, with the car humming along the interstate, he began to tell Fordyce everything.