“Where are you going?”
“North. Toward Los Alamos. It’s the only thing I can think of right now. He’s familiar with the areas around the lab. Any ideas? I’m open.”
Suddenly Ro hit her forehead. “God, I’m an idiot!” She turned to him. “When we take the reservations at the hotel, we take the license plate of the rental car.” With shaking hands she started punching in numbers. A few moments later she said, “Hi, Tom, this is Gretchen Majors . . . I’m fine . . . yes, it is a beautiful day.”
Ben looked at her and whispered, “What the fuck?”
She shushed him. “Good to hear. Uh, I need your help. Can you look up the license plate of a guest for me? I got a call that he’s stranded and he doesn’t—”
“Get to the point!”
“Shut up!” she whispered. “Kevin Barnes, but he could be under the name Karen Bevins or Eva . . . I don’t know why but I do know he uses aliases.”
Another interminable pause. “Hurry up!”
She ignored him. “I really don’t know why he uses false names, but I need to get the license . . . I got a call from someone at the airport . . . I don’t know why they didn’t call the hotel. I gave him my card and maybe that’s why . . . Yeah, I had my cell on it.”
“Goddammit, Ro! He’s got Lilly—”
“Shut up!” She turned to her phone. “No, not you. I’m talking to my dog. Yes, I know giving out your cell is against policy. I’m sorry. But if you could look up that plate, please?”
She was really winging it. C’mon! Hurry up!
“Yeah, he might be staying elsewhere but he usually stays at the Jackson Santa Fe or the Jackson Albuquerque. Could you check with Albuquerque? Thank you so much. I’ll wait.” She turned to Ben. “I’m doing something illegal. He’s doing something illegal. Don’t say a freakin’ word.”
“What’s taking him so fucking long?”
“Vicks!”
“It’s LILLY.”
“I’m just as nervous as you are, so shut up! Hi, Tom, I’m still here . . . Uh, yeah, that’s probably the person I’m looking for.”
“What’s the alias?” he shouted.
She plugged up her free ear with her finger so she couldn’t hear Ben. “Thank you, Tom. That’s a white Hyundai Elantra, right? Good. Would you happen to know what rental company he used? Avis? Great. And would you happen to have the license plate?” She began scribbling something down. “That really helps. Thanks, Tom, I owe you one.” She ended the call.
“You got the license plate?”
“I did.”
“I love you. Call it in to Shanks.”
“I will, but right now, I’ve got a better idea.” She made another phone call. “Hi, this is Gretchen Majors from the Jackson . . . Yes, I’m calling because I need a location on a car that was stranded . . . a white Hyundai Elantra.” She gave the person on the other end the license plate. “The customer called me from the spot, but in his panic he forgot to tell me where he is. I don’t know why he called me. I must have given him my phone number . . . I’d do it myself, but I’m busy with something else, so if you could just give me the location . . . thank you, I’ll wait.”
Ben was drowning in tension. He couldn’t breathe as the seconds droned on, his heart like a steam drill. His eyes were blurry, which was especially bad because he had just entered the highway at top speed, racing to nowhere. Finally, he heard her voice.
“Route 501 toward Los Alamos . . . No, I don’t understand why the car is still moving. He said he was stranded.”
Ben’s instincts had put him in the right area but now that he knew he was close, he had an even bigger sense of urgency, putting pedal to the metal. Both he and Ro were jolted backward and Ro gasped. But she continued to sound professional over the phone. “I really don’t understand it either. I’ll get to the bottom of it and call you back. Thank you very much.” She hung up. She was clutching the door, her complexion something in between white and gray. “You heard what he told me?”
“I did.”
“So you know where he’s going?”
“I know what route he’s taking. Call Shanks.”
“I’m a step ahead of you.”
Ben’s brain was on overdrive. The fact that his car was still en route somewhere was a good omen. “After you speak to Shanks, call back the guy at the desk and check up on the car’s location.”
“Vicks, I’ve used up my goodwill. I won’t get any more out of him. But Shanks can call back and get a bead on him.”
She was thinking way more clearly than he was. She clicked off her phone. “Shanks’s number goes to voice mail. Nine-one-one?”
“Text him first.”
She did. Thirty seconds later her cell rang. Without saying hello, she said, “I got his license plate and a rough idea where he is.” She gave him the information. “The car is on the move. Avis has a locator on the vehicle. They can give you the exact point-by-point location. Last time I checked, the car was moving down—”
She stopped talking. Ben could hear shouting over the line, even though the phone wasn’t on speaker. Ro was stuttering. “But . . . but . . . but . . . No, I don’t know where we are, sir. Ben’s driving.” More screaming. “I’ll tell him, sir. Yes . . . yes . . . yes . . . thank you. Bye.” She hung up. “He wants you to go back to River Remez pronto and let the police handle it.”
“Fuck that.” He exited the highway heading toward 501.
“Do you know where we’re going?”
“I know exactly where we’re going. I hope that’s exactly where he’s going.” Suddenly he was seized with dread. He banged his fist against his head. “Oh shit!”
“What?”
“The road to the Los Alamos highway is guarded by national security. There’s a checkpoint we have to pass. I’m sure the motherfucker got through easily because he has a security badge.”
“So we can’t get through?”
“No, we can get through. It’s not a problem . . . unless the guards have been notified and they’ve closed off the road. Then we’re screwed. Not to mention that I’m so nervous I’m probably going to be questioned. The guard’s gonna ask for ID. Do you have a New York driver’s license?”
“I have a local driver’s license.”
“Under Gretchen Majors. Right. But do you have a New York driver’s license?”
“Yeah, I’ve got that too.”
“Use that one.” They were approaching the stop, the roadway narrowed by concrete barricades and continuing on the other side of the checkpoint. Ben brought the car down to a crawl. “Okay. This is the story. We’re going to the Caldera to hike. We’re in casual clothes, so it’s plausible. Just play along, okay?”
“What’s the Caldera?”
“Stop asking questions and just go along with it.”
“I’d like to know what it is so if they ask me questions, I can answer them without looking stupid.”
“I don’t have time for a fucking history lesson.”
“God, you don’t have to shout.”
“I’m fucking nervous.”