Peter looked at her. She wasn’t confrontational. She seemed simply curious. He sighed. “What’s she look like? She’s lovely. Beautiful. A handsome woman, I guess you would say.” He was sorry he had added that. Patronizing bastard. The words felt like ashes in his mouth. “We’ve been married fifty years,” he said, as if it mattered. She took that in. “Fifty.”
“Fifty last June.”
“Are you still in love with her?” she asked, her voice trying to remain neutral. He didn’t hesitate to answer. “Yes.”
“Good. Then do you think it’s possible to love two people?” she asked. There was something edgy and accusatory in her tone, but also vaguely playful. Even her having brought up the subject made a certain mad hope spring up in his heart. “Yes, apparently it’s possible.”
“You’re not sure?”
“No, I am sure. I’m the perfect example. I love her, and I love you, that’s all I know” Elizabeth looked at him for a long time, then the cabby interrupted. They had arrived at their destination. He had deposited them at the Miracle Mile shopping district. There they each bought enough clothes to last a week, and suitcases in which to carry them. Peter asked Elizabeth’s advice on his purchases and she gave it sparingly, usually in a “yes” or “not a good idea” sort of way. Otherwise she went about her business silently. Peter bought shaving supplies, then found an ATM and maxed out his bank card for $300 in twenties. He found a sports store with a survivalist slant and bought a canister of mace and something called a Gerber/Applegate Combat Folder. The latter was a four-and-one-half-inch folding knife that opened with a thumb stud so it could be deployed, the term the clerk used, with one hand. Its handle was made of fiberglass-reinforced nylon, the rear forty percent of its edge was serrated, and it had an overall length, when opened, of ten and one quarter inches. According to the salesman, Ranger and Special Forces personnel, as well as police and game wardens, favored the Combat Folder. Peter bought it, struck by how easy it was to arm yourself in America, but comforted by that dark reality on this day. His last purchase was made at an electronics store. He had found a set of Motorola citizen-band walkie-talkies. He figured if they were separated, they could keep track of each other. They were small enough to fit in the palm of his hand, and supposedly had a range of up to three miles. Unfortunately there was, for the first time, a problem with his credit card. “I’ve been using it a lot today.” he said to the clerk. “It probably raised a flag. Let me talk to them.” The young man handed him the phone.
“Hello, this is Peter Jance.”
“This is Peter Jance?” a man asked.
“Yes, I said it was.
“Are you doing an unusual amount of shopping?” “Yes. We-I’m on vacation. It’s quite all right. The card isn’t stolen. Do you want to know my mother’s maiden name?” “We noticed that you purchased an item from Coral Gables Wilderness Inc. for ninety-five dollars,” the voice said, ignoring Peter’s question. “A Gerber/Applegate Combat Folder. Did you make that purchase?” “Yes,” said Peter. The hackles began to rise on his neck. “It’s a pocketknife.” “Combat Folder, though.”
“Yes, well, you know how they like to give fancy names to things these days.” “Do you know how to use it?”
“What?”
“Do you know how to use it?” the voice on the other end of the line repeated the question. Peter felt a cold shudder shoot up his spine. The man’s voice had taken on a harder, more mocking tone. “Well,” the man asked. “Do you?”
“Yes, I do,” said Peter as firmly as possible. “Good. You had better.”
There was a pause and then a click. Peter swiveled around. “Elizabeth!” he shouted. Absurdly, a line from Emily Post, a writer he had devoured at twenty-four when he had begun courting Beatrice, echoed in his mind. A gentleman never calls the name of his lady companion in public. “Elizabeth!” he screamed again.
“Peter?”
He spun around. She was no more than ten yards away. “Come on,” he said. She saw the look on his face and took off with him as he ran out of the store and down the crowded sidewalk to the nearest pedestrian alley Seconds after they were out of sight, a dark green Ford Bronco with smoked windows pulled to the curb outside Sunshine State Electronics. Five men in civilian dress who looked like military types charged into the shop. Peter and Elizabeth waited until they were out of view, then ran to the other end of the alley, coming out on SW 57th Avenue. Peter started to hail a licensed cab, but Elizabeth steered him toward a gypsy instead. “No radio,” she explained as they fell back onto its torn seats, out of breath. His head was pounding and he had to force himself to remain engaged with her. “Right. They’ll call the cab companies. She nodded. “Be on the lookout for two people wearing clothes that still have the price tags on them.” Peter checked his clothes. On the adjustment strap of his baseball cap, stamped “Gator Hunter,” he actually did find a tag; he threw the cap out the window. The taxi was a block away by the time the Marine reinforcements swooped into the shop’s perimeter, and completely out of the area before a chopper arrived to get a bigger view. Peter started to give the driver the name of their hotel, but Elizabeth stopped him. “You paid by credit card,” she said.
“You’re right again,” he said, head throbbing. She was taking charge now. It was as though she could sense his weakened state. In an agonized daze, he considered if that meant that she had decided her best chance for survival lay in sticking with him. “Vieques,” she said softly.
“I’m sorry?”
Her eyes were closed. “Just thinking out loud. The cloning experiments you mentioned. You said they were all conducted on Vieques?” “I guess I did.” He didn’t really want to go through this again. “Why?” “Just sorting through some memories.” She looked at him and smiled. But her smile held a touch of acid. “And coincidences. The way we met at Phosphorescent Bay, for instance. Did I mention I dreamed of the place before I saw it? And El Fortin-I knew what it was without looking it up-same for the tree frogs. I didn’t mention this?” He smiled uneasily. “No, I don’t think you did.” “And you know, of course, that my father might have been stationed in the Caribbean.” His rising panic was beginning to cloud his brain. “Really, Elizabeth, we should be thinking of how to get out of here. Do you have anyone you can wire for money to buy a couple of plane tickets?” She looked at him and saw the pain. She got it. “Find a bank,” she said to the driver. “And a phone booth.” The driver did both. With her travel bag weighted down with quarters, Elizabeth called Annie in Zurich. Peter stood outside the booth, keeping an eye out for soldiers and cops, but also trying to eavesdrop. “-in deep shit, Annie,” he heard her say. “Am I missing him? Not as much as I’d like to. Sorry to be so cryptic… Yeah, I guess it’s fair to say I’m feeling awful… I hope you can help.” He edged closer, but she caught the move and stood there with her eyes on him until he understood and moved well out of earshot. Peter retreated to a pile of new tires chained to a sign. They were calling from a pay phone at a gas station and he idly watched the business come and go. A metallic taste was creeping into his mouth, either a herald of another mini-stroke or a symptom of his growing confusion. When his stomach growled, he realized that neither of them had eaten in twelve hours. Finally she hung up. Smiling. They headed back to the mall. “Mission accomplished?”
“Yes, thanks to Annie.”
“Someone who’s going to wire money?”
“To Home Savings.”
“She must be a very good friend.”
“My best in the world.” Once inside, Elizabeth scanned the mall restaurants. “From before I had my accident,” she added, almost without thinking. “Your accident?”
“Not worth going into.” She swept her hair back from her face. “Listen, do you want anything to eat while we’re waiting? I could eat a horse. Or at least a burrito.” She gestured toward a nearby restaurant. “Of course,” he said, taking the rest of the quarters. “And a Coke, if you would. I need to freshen up. I’ll meet you there.” She pointed to an empty table. He bought two burritos, a lemonade and a Coke, swinging his body around as mall security walked past. The uniformed woman, bouncing along to the rap music booming from the mall’s PA system, didn’t appear to be on any sort of alert. Eventually she vanished into a video store. He bit into his burrito, enjoying the frank uncomplicated goodness of it, finishing it quickly. He also downed the lemonade. He was staffing to worry about the pain behind his sternumwondering whether it was acid reflux or his vagus nerve splices fraying-when he realized that almost twenty minutes had gone by and Elizabeth still hadn’t returned. He took her Coke and burrito and went in search of the rest rooms. The woman’s room was open and empty.