security investigation.
He stiffened as he saw the two men start for the car, Meehan’s expression menacing. What if he simply took out his revolver again and shot him at point-blank range? Chris shuddered. There was nothing he could do about it.
He felt a chill as Meehan walked over to the side of the car he was sitting in and leaned over. Chris saw how white his face was, how dark and lank his hair, how cold his blue eyes.
“I’ll catch up to you,” Meehan said.
Then he straightened up and turned away. Chris twitched as he heard the door pulled open on the passenger side of the Pontiac. Turning, he saw the man in the tweed suit getting in. “Let’s go,” the man said, handing Chris the keys.
“Where?” Chris asked.
“Back to your plant,” the man told him.
Chris felt confused. Weren’t they going to take him to their headquarters? Why the plant? “I don’t—” he started.
“Go. Let’s
go
,” the man said. He didn’t sound as kind now.
Chris started the engine and pulled out of the station into the street.
“You came pretty close to taking a slug there,” the man told him.
Chris swallowed; his throat felt dry. “Do you have some kind of identification?” he asked.
The man removed a billfold from the right inside pocket of his suit coat and flipped it open in front of Chris. Chris looked at the badge, then the identification card. The man’s name was Gerald Nelson. He felt a shiver convulse his back.
It
was
the CIA.
“Turn left at the corner and keep going north,” the man told him.
Chris saw him glance across his shoulder and looked up at the rearview mirror. Meehan was following in the dark blue car. “Is he going with us?” he asked.
“Just drive,” the man told him.
Chris said no more. They rode in silence until the car was out of Tucson, moving back into the desert. Then, after Chris looked into the rearview mirror again and saw that Meehan was no longer following, the man named Nelson said, “All right.”
Chris glanced at him.
“What’s going on?” Nelson asked.
“You tell me.”
“Don’t get smart,” Nelson said. “You’re in a lot of trouble.”
“
Why?
” Chris asked. “What in God’s name have I done?”
“Listen, Barton—” Nelson began.
“Barton?” Chris asked. “You
know
I’m Barton?”
“What’s your point?”
“My
point
?” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “There was a man in my house last night claiming that
he
was Chris Barton but your partner picked up
me
.”
“He’s not my partner, Chris,” the man said.
Chris felt as though his head were swimming.
“Turn in on that road,” Nelson told him. “I want to talk this over with you.”
Again, Chris felt a surge of relief at the man’s tone; he sounded genuinely concerned. “All right,” he said. Slowing down, he turned right into the dirt road and started into the desert. It reminded him of what he’d done early this morning. Would there be another grove of trees? What difference does it make? he thought in aggravation. He was going to find out what everything
meant
. That was all that mattered.
As he drove, he glanced at Nelson. The man was staring straight ahead, his expression grave.
“This is far enough,” Nelson told him when they’d driven a little more than a mile.
Chris braked and, at Nelson’s order, turned off the motor.
“All right,” Nelson said. “Let’s hear it; all of it.” He cut off Chris by adding, “I only know what Meehan told me.”
Chris told him everything he could remember, every detail of his experience since finding his Mustang missing… how long ago was it? He looked at the dashboard clock. Jesus, not even ten hours ago?
When he was finished, Nelson looked at him in silence, then grunted. “Interesting,” he said.
“Not to me,” Chris said.
“That’s not what I mean,” Nelson told him. “This is not—” He hesitated, looking at Chris guardedly. Then he said, “Well, I can tell you this much. It’s
He stiffened as he saw the two men start for the car, Meehan’s expression menacing. What if he simply took out his revolver again and shot him at point-blank range? Chris shuddered. There was nothing he could do about it.
He felt a chill as Meehan walked over to the side of the car he was sitting in and leaned over. Chris saw how white his face was, how dark and lank his hair, how cold his blue eyes.
“I’ll catch up to you,” Meehan said.
Then he straightened up and turned away. Chris twitched as he heard the door pulled open on the passenger side of the Pontiac. Turning, he saw the man in the tweed suit getting in. “Let’s go,” the man said, handing Chris the keys.
“Where?” Chris asked.
“Back to your plant,” the man told him.
Chris felt confused. Weren’t they going to take him to their headquarters? Why the plant? “I don’t—” he started.
“Go. Let’s
go
,” the man said. He didn’t sound as kind now.
Chris started the engine and pulled out of the station into the street.
“You came pretty close to taking a slug there,” the man told him.
Chris swallowed; his throat felt dry. “Do you have some kind of identification?” he asked.
The man removed a billfold from the right inside pocket of his suit coat and flipped it open in front of Chris. Chris looked at the badge, then the identification card. The man’s name was Gerald Nelson. He felt a shiver convulse his back.
It
was
the CIA.
“Turn left at the corner and keep going north,” the man told him.
Chris saw him glance across his shoulder and looked up at the rearview mirror. Meehan was following in the dark blue car. “Is he going with us?” he asked.
“Just drive,” the man told him.
Chris said no more. They rode in silence until the car was out of Tucson, moving back into the desert. Then, after Chris looked into the rearview mirror again and saw that Meehan was no longer following, the man named Nelson said, “All right.”
Chris glanced at him.
“What’s going on?” Nelson asked.
“You tell me.”
“Don’t get smart,” Nelson said. “You’re in a lot of trouble.”
“
Why?
” Chris asked. “What in God’s name have I done?”
“Listen, Barton—” Nelson began.
“Barton?” Chris asked. “You
know
I’m Barton?”
“What’s your point?”
“My
point
?” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “There was a man in my house last night claiming that
he
was Chris Barton but your partner picked up
me
.”
“He’s not my partner, Chris,” the man said.
Chris felt as though his head were swimming.
“Turn in on that road,” Nelson told him. “I want to talk this over with you.”
Again, Chris felt a surge of relief at the man’s tone; he sounded genuinely concerned. “All right,” he said. Slowing down, he turned right into the dirt road and started into the desert. It reminded him of what he’d done early this morning. Would there be another grove of trees? What difference does it make? he thought in aggravation. He was going to find out what everything
meant
. That was all that mattered.
As he drove, he glanced at Nelson. The man was staring straight ahead, his expression grave.
“This is far enough,” Nelson told him when they’d driven a little more than a mile.
Chris braked and, at Nelson’s order, turned off the motor.
“All right,” Nelson said. “Let’s hear it; all of it.” He cut off Chris by adding, “I only know what Meehan told me.”
Chris told him everything he could remember, every detail of his experience since finding his Mustang missing… how long ago was it? He looked at the dashboard clock. Jesus, not even ten hours ago?
When he was finished, Nelson looked at him in silence, then grunted. “Interesting,” he said.
“Not to me,” Chris said.
“That’s not what I mean,” Nelson told him. “This is not—” He hesitated, looking at Chris guardedly. Then he said, “Well, I can tell you this much. It’s
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