“I said you’d be surprised how much support there is out there,” Marie told him when he asked. “Sometimes the ones who work for government in the day are secretly our biggest allies. They know what goes on.”
And they did work. Notification came via John that accommodation had been reserved for Professor Wintner and Dr. Armley at the St. Louis Hilton as guests of the Hyadean Office of Terran Cross-Cultural Exchange, which was the department that employed Vrel. They could book themselves a flight first-class, charged to a Hyadean account. It made a crazy kind of sense, Cade had to admit on reflection—the last place that Terran security would be looking for fugitives. Sometimes Hyadean logic managed to surprise him still. Being Hyadean, Vrel wouldn’t be subject to the same scrutiny and restrictions as a Terran trying to make comparable arrangements.
They disposed of the guns and other possibly incriminating articles, and Cade handed over his own ID papers and personal effects for mailing to a collection address where he could pick them up later. A woman from the local network drove him and Marie to downtown Chattanooga, where they got a taxi to the airport. Although, as far as Cade knew, no civilian flights had been affected, much was being made of the dangers of terrorist missile attacks, with signs in the airport warning that passengers flew at their own risk. Cade read it as part of a campaign to promote fear.
With their official credentials and new identity documents, Cade and Marie cleared the airport check-in routine without incident. They departed an hour and fifteen minutes later on an early afternoon flight to St. Louis, changing at Atlanta.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
ON ARRIVAL AT THE ST. LOUIS HILTON, Cade and Marie found themselves booked into a twentieth-floor suite consisting of a comfortably furnished and stocked lounge area in addition to two bedrooms—a typically prim Hyadean consideration, although it suited the circumstances. The desk clerk produced a package for collection by Professor Wintner that contained a phone—presumably with “clean” programmed-in identification and serial numbers—a number at which Vrel could be reached, and two thousand dollars in cash. Cade called Vrel as soon as they got to the suite. Vrel was relieved that they had made it, but was tied up in the city on business right now. He would join them at the hotel later.
“I see your lifestyle hasn’t changed much, Roland,” Marie commented. She had been wandering around, inspecting the contents of the mini-bar and refrigerator while he talked to Vrel. “Always the man with the right friends. It’s a change from that camper on the farm.” She didn’t sound entirely approving.
“Well, suit yourself if you want to stake out a claim on the moral high ground,” Cade replied. He picked up the wads of hundreds and fifties and ruffled it at her. “Wearing the same clothes for three days makes me feel kind of grubby. I don’t know about you, but I’m going out to do a little shopping, and then freshen up for dinner. Are you coming along, or going to start preaching?” Marie thought about it, sighed, and decided preaching was out for the rest of the day. “So now you’re sullying your image by dipping a finger in Hyadean wealth too,” Cade said. “What’s happening? Are you converting me, or am I corrupting you?”
“I don’t know. But you’re right. I just want to feel clean clothes again,” she said.
* * *
By the time they sat down in the hotel restaurant, they were chattering and swapping banalities almost like old times. Despite the public exposure—or maybe as a consequence of surviving it without incident—Cade felt more secure than he had for days. Inwardly, a part of him was waiting for Marie to get around to politics or principles, because she always had—it was usual. Less usual was his realization that the anticipation wasn’t bothering him. In fact, he found he wanted to talk more about such things. The irony was that Marie, for her part, seemed to be heeding his preferences for once by avoiding them. It was Cade, finally, who brought the subject up.
“What’s happened to the fanatic I remember of old? If this goes on, you’ll have me thinking we might actually get through dinner without stepping into quicksands.”