“Thank you for this,” Peter said.
“Don’t mention it,” said Alex. “And hey, don’t worry, there’s a chance they won’t connect us. To Peter this sounded like something to worry about. “Did you cut the cord with Freddy?” “One way of putting it, yeah,” said Alex, studying the road streaking out before them. Elizabeth leaned forward and looked at Alex. “Why did you send me that e-mail?”
“I tried to lure you here so I could warn you,” said Alex, without hesitation. “Warn me about what?”
“You don’t want to know,” he said. “She doesn’t want to know, right Hans?” He damn near winked when he used the name. “Right,” said Peter, with a look at Elizabeth that was meant to convey that he had no idea what the guy was talking about. “Just putting a stick in their spokes,” said Alex. “Guess we both saw the light about the same time, huh Doc?” “Right,” said Peter
“I mean, the Cold War ends and we keep going. Should’ve figured it out back then.” “Figured what out?” Elizabeth asked, looking back and forth between the two. “What do you want to warn me about?” she asked again, exasperated. Alex rolled his eyes and said nothing. She looked at Peter. “And if I’m such an apparent threat, why didn’t that man just kill me back there? He as much as told me he wasn’t allowed to. It looked like he was going to tie me up or something.” “I’m as puzzled as you are,” Peter said, and he meant it. He looked at Alex. “That thing I asked you to do? Did you do it?” Alex frowned, as though unable to remember for a moment, then brightened. “Yeah. Oh yeah. The party in question . . . understands. Knows you had to get out. Is sorry they didn’t recognize the danger. Wishes you well.” “Up to a point,” offered Peter.
“Yeah, up to a point, that’s right,” said Alex, with a quick glance at Elizabeth. “Also said to tell you, don’t come back.” Peter looked away. Outside the sky was starting to lighten. He thought he smelled jasmine. “The party in question-is that person still with the program?” he asked, lower. “Hard to tell, dude. On the fence, I would say. “Goddammit,” Elizabeth swore and lunged over the back of the seat, grabbing the ignition keys and switching off the engine before Alex even knew what she was doing. “Whoa,” said Alex in alarm, as the Range Rover rolled to a dead stop. We seem to have a situation here . . .” Outside, the coquis sang. There were no cars coming in either direction but none of them knew how long that would last. Peter looked at Elizabeth pleadingly: she was holding the keys tightly in her fist. “Listen, we can’t just sit out here, we’re sitting ducks.” “We’ll sit here until I get an explanation,” she said. “So, explain, Hans,” said Alex, with careful pronunciation of the name. “Please, we don’t have time for this,” Peter begged. “Before I get on any plane, I want to know what’s going on. I thought I was getting to know you,” she said to Peter, “but now I don’t know if I do at all.” Peter hung his head. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, Helen,” she spat out.
“I’m sorry, Helen,” he repeated, thanking Cod she had finally given him her name. Then he caught sight of Alex’s face. “Uh-oh . . .” Alex said.
Peter looked back at the woman. “The name’s Elizabeth,” she said. “I knew that,” he said hopelessly.
“What’s my last name?”
He stared at her, then looked away.
“Oh my God in heaven,” she said quietly. She looked utterly shattered. “What happened to you?” “We should get gooo-innnggg,” Alex said tightly. “I’m not Hans,” Peter said.
“What?”
“I used to be Hans,” he said feebly.
“Folks? Can we settle this on the plane, maybe?” “Used to be?” she said in a rage. “What the hell does that mean? You are him.” She gestured vaguely toward his knee. “The scars on your knee-I know them as well as the back of my hand. What did they do to you, for God’s sake? Fry your brain, or what?” “No,” he said helplessly. “They saved that.” He wasn’t able to say another thing as a car blasted out of the darkness behind them. It was heading straight for them. “Keys, Elizabeth!” said Alex. Suddenly more frightened than ever, she thrust the keys at him and Alex fumbled them back into the ignition. The engine sprang to life and the Range Rover took off, with a Humvee dangerously close behind. They raced now without heed for anything approaching safety. Ahead, Peter could make out the lights of the Vieques airport, but when he glanced back again, the Humvee was no more than twenty yards behind them. A series of flashes erupted from its frame. “Don’t worry,” said Alex. “Just scare tactics. So long as you’re with us,’ he glanced toward Elizabeth, “they won’t shoot to kill. Do me a favor, show your face.” “What?” said Elizabeth.
“Look out the back window. Wave.”
“Are you crazy? Jesus!” she suddenly said, as the windshield exploded and the Range Rover skidded sideways, flames boiling up from the rear wheel housing. Alex had pitched forward; the vehicle was out of control. Peter dove for the wheel but it was too late. The car was leaving the road airborne, arcing out and down into a stand of mangrove trees. It hit with a huge concussion of water and mud, and then there was darkness. Adrenaline thundered through Peter as he wrenched a door open, allowing Elizabeth to squeeze through. Then he reached for Alex, but the kid had vanished and the driver’s door hung open. Peter thought he heard him cry out behind them, urging them to run faster. Then there were other shouts, further off, and the smell of gasoline in the water. In a blind rush, Peter threw himself out of the car and pulled Elizabeth away into the darkness. An instant later the swamp was bright with the white-hot explosion of the Range Rover. “Holy Mother of God,” said Peter, shoving Elizabeth ahead of him. The fireball’s gruesome light threw the rest of the swamp into deep and violently dancing shadows. “Alex!” Peter called.
There was no answer. A silhouette was shaking through the man-groves, but whether it was Alex or one of their pursuers he couldn’t tell. To double back would be hopeless. They forged off through the ankle-deep water, the roar of the conflagration veiling their movements. Within minutes they could glimpse the airport through the twisted trees. A light twin-engine turboprop was doing its engine runup and several people were paused at its boarding stairs, staring back toward the burning swamp. Suddenly Elizabeth was sprinting ahead of Peter, waving frantically-at whom he couldn’t see. But as they both broke through the trees into the marsh just below the tarmac, somebody-a flight attendant, it looked like-was running toward them. No, three flight attendants in fact. “Mary?” Elizabeth shouted in amazement as they struggled up the levee elevating the runway from the mangrove swamp. Mary Blanchard?” “Lizzer?” the shout came back. Elizabeth was running so fast now that Peter had a sudden terror he was about to lose her forever. She clawed her way to the runway and grabbed the flight attendant, obviously somebody she knew. “Mary, I need to get out of here now-
Peter’s heart contracted, then he heard her correct herself and he thanked God again: “XVe do, I mean,” she said. Mary stared at them. They were both bleeding, wet and mudsmeared. “Uh, you guys got tickets?” “No,” said Peter, looking over his shoulder at the three vehicles storming along the airport approach road, “but we need to get on board with you.” He started to push Elizabeth toward the ramp of the plane, an American Airlines flight, seriously behind schedule due to equipment trouble. But now the pilot, having heard the fuss and in no mood for more delays, stepped in their way. “Can I help you people?” His tone was flat and without sympathy. “We want to buy a ticket on your flight,” Peter said. “We’re fully booked,” the pilot said, looking at their clothes with disdain. “There’s a flight tomorrow. Maybe by then you can clean yourselves up a little and-” Peter swiveled back toward the approach road. The government cars had slowed and fanned out, searching among the planes. But one Humvee seemed to be moving more or less directly toward them. “I’ll pay you a thousand dollars.”
“I’ll call airport security, how’s that sound?” the captain said, stalking to his cockpit and picking up the microphone. Mary Blanchard was taking Elizabeth aside. “Listen,” Peter heard her say, “I don’t know what kind of trouble you’re in, but we’ve got to get to Puerto Rico to hook up with the flight we’re working, okay? If you can make it there, I’ll somehow get you on it. That’s a promise. American Flight 99, 6:00 A.M.” She cocked her head toward Peter. “I guess he finally showed up, huh?” Without waiting for confirmation, Mary hurried aboard. Beyond, the Humvee had veered and was now heading straight for them. Elizabeth grabbed Peter’s hand and pulled him to her. He followed blindly until he saw where she was running-toward a single-engine Cessna warming up nearby. “Get the pilot out of there!” she screamed at him. He looked at her. “You know how to fly?” “No, you idiot, you do!”