Veil of Civility

Chapter Thirty-Nine

The headlights of the stolen Chevrolet Trailblazer flashed over the roughly hewn driveway that led to his cabin as Declan McIver turned into the property. All he could see as he drove were the crooked branches of the area's many maple trees, the cabin itself being located a safe distance away from the road and only visible in the winter months when the leaves were off the trees. As the vehicle bounced over one of the many potholes in the road he glanced up to look in the rearview mirror out of force of habit, momentarily forgetting that he had removed the mirror from the vehicle in order to disengage the OnStar system, which could be used to track the vehicle's location via GPS. The last thing he needed at the moment was a team of FBI agents descending on the rustic hideaway.

Pulling the vehicle to a stop where he had once parked his Mercedes, now in the possession of the FBI, he shifted it into park and looked around as he exited onto the concrete pad that stood between the small house and a tall stack of firewood. The smell of burning wood filled his nostrils and he inhaled deeply. Stepping around the side of the house towards the front door that faced the shores of Lake Sherwood, he stopped as a bright light stabbed the darkness from the front of the house and a figure slowly stepped around the side of the log structure.

"It's me," he said, as his wife stepped off the front porch. She walked over the small patch of wet grass that stood beside the house and embraced him. There were no tears and no surprise at seeing him. Along the winding country roads he'd taken to get there, being sure he wasn't followed, he'd stopped and risked a call from a pay phone to the pre-paid cell he'd left with her the day before.

"What took you so long?" she asked.

"Just being careful," he said. It had taken him nearly twelve hours to make a drive that under normal circumstances could've been made in less than three. Along the way he'd travelled in several different directions and had used multiple vehicles. Knowing that the vehicles would eventually be reported stolen and that he had likely been seen at least once, all of his movements had been designed to make his actual destination a mystery.

"The radio said you'd been arrested," she said, holding him tightly. "I thought they'd kill you."

"They tried," he said, as he drew back from her and looked down into her eyes. He gave her a quick smile. "But that's not as easy as it looks."

"What happened?"

"It was Castellano, just like I thought."

"Was?"

"He's dead."

"Then this is over?"

He took a deep breath and shook his head, mouthing the word no. She buried her face in the flannel shirt he wore, found in the back of the stolen SUV, and sniffed away tears.

"Let's get inside," he said, placing his hands on her shoulders and guiding her towards the front door.

On the porch, he turned and scanned the area around the house as she stepped inside. The inky darkness of the mountain night made it quickly apparent that there was nothing to see and even if there was, seeing it would be nearly impossible. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, silencing the sound of the grasshoppers in the trees.

Inside the cabin a glowing red log crackled in the fireplace and emitted warmth that felt good after standing outside. He unbuttoned the flannel shirt and removed it, revealing the prison jumpsuit he'd been given at the Franklin County Jail. Spots of dirt and blood covered the torso and knee areas of the green garment and Constance made a face as she looked at him.

"It's not mine," he said, although he thought she probably knew that. "I tried to save Castellano after he'd been shot, but I couldn't."

"You didn't shoot him?" The crestfallen look on her face said everything about how she was feeling. Slowly, she took a seat in the Adirondack chair next to the stone hearth.

"Whoever these people are," he said, "they decided he was expendable if it meant getting me."

"Did you get what you needed, did you find out who those men from the other night were?"

"Aye, but I don't think it's going to do us any good now that Castellano's dead. Maybe it will help provide some proof of what's going on if there's ever a real investigation launched, but without Castellano, the identities of the people he was working for are going to be impossible to determine. I don't even have an idea about where to begin searching."

She sat forward and reached for his hand. Gripping it softly she asked, "What do we do now?"

"We can't stay here," he said, looking over the rustic interior of the cabin. "We have to get to a place where we'll be safe as long as we need to be. I'm not giving up on this. There's a conspiracy going on and sooner or later someone is going to figure that out. We'll be able to get back to our old lives." He squeezed her hand a couple of times and smiled. Inside he was beginning to feel concerned, they were running out of options, but he couldn't let her know that. He had to maintain the appearance of confidence if he was going to keep her from completely falling apart. In the last seventy-two hours she'd been through more danger than in the previous thirty-five years combined.

"Have you heard anything from Osman or Nazari yet?" she asked.

"Not yet. The problem is that I'm calling their American cell phones, which I'm not even sure will work in Israel where they're currently located."

"Why wouldn't they work?"

"Because there can be a big difference between American cell networks and those of other countries, it all depends on the carrier. I don't know a whole lot about it but I know that they're incompatible with each other in a lot of cases. Just like when we travelled to France and Spain, remember?"

She nodded. "What about the place that Dad and Mom have near Hilton Head? It's on a private island. We'd be okay there and it's a lot more comfortable than this."

He shook his head. "We can't. It's too predictable. We can't go near anyone we have an obvious connection with. It would only get them hurt, or worse."

"So we're going to just keep running from place to place?" she said, starting to sound desperate. "You can't have hidden that many cabins in the woods from me."

"No," he said, trying hard to maintain a calm appearance despite the emotions he was feeling. At this point it looked like the only realistic choice they had was to run, at least for a while. "There are two more people I can reach out to, but it means leaving the country."

"Where would we go?"

"Home," he said looking at her, "to Ireland."