spite of her weakness. I was beginning to get quite attached to her in a protective way; but I warned myself it was just a normal attack of the broken-wing syndrome. This was no time to get mushy about a pretty, crippled birdie that wasn’t necessarily a harmless domestic pigeon.
We picked up I-70 just south of town and ran it as far as Frederick, Maryland, and let it continue east to Baltimore without us, while we turned southeast on I-270, the Washington Pike. Ceiling unlimited. Visibility unlimited. Passenger mostly asleep beside me. Escort: none. Apparently the hideout car had thrown them off, at least for the moment. Sloppy work. They should have known I’d arrived in something that had to be somewhere if it wasn’t at the motel. They should have found it. But maybe the Honda had belonged to Karin Segerby and she’d decided she had no more gun-business, or other business, to transact with me.
Traffic density increased as we approached the District of Columbia. At last I cut out of formation at the proper exit, and drove for a while through residential districts that varied from luxury homes with green lawns and shade trees to shabby old apartment buildings right on the sidewalk. My own domicile fell into the latter category, but if people were laying for us, that was one of the places they could be waiting, although you won’t find my phone number, or address, in the white pages. Self-preservation. I chose a route that would pass a few blocks away.
Astrid Watrous sat up at last, and raised her seat back a bit. She tucked in her shirt and patted her hair into place, healthy feminine reactions.
“Feeling better?” I asked.
She shrugged. “After spending so many days in bed, my legs were starting to atrophy, I think. Where are we?”
“Washington, D.C. Tell me more about Lysaniemi.”
“I do not know any more.”
“Where did you get the name?”
“I am not able to tell you that.”
I glanced at her irritably. “Nor where it is?”
“That I do not know. Truly. I am sorry.”
I said, “A Finnish name. North of the Arctic Circle, you said. It probably wouldn’t be in Alaska or northern Canada; I don’t think many Finns settled up there. It could be in western Russia, near the Finnish border—languages particularly place names, have a habit of slopping across national boundaries—but that would make access pretty awkward for our conspirators unless it’s all a sinister Russky plot, and I haven’t been getting that impression. That leaves Norway, Sweden, and, of course, Finland. I guess we’ll have to check them out.”
She said, “You are very crazy if you are thinking what I think. I cannot possibly travel… She paused and frowned at me. “Is this what you really had in mind when you asked about my passport?”
I shrugged. “Maybe, but I wouldn’t have dragged you out of bed so soon if there had been a choice. But since we’re running anyway, why not there? All you have to do is sit. The Scandinavian Airlines System, or whatever, will do all the work.” I glanced her way. “Think about it. It’s as good a way of keeping out of people’s way as any. People who apparently want to kill us, motives as yet undetermined. But you’re a strong girl. You can do it. We’ll find a place to rest you up once we’re across the big water, before we get into any strenuous Arctic exploration.”
She was silent for a little; then she said, unsmiling, “Well, you could get another man to carry the feet.”
I said, “With a skinny wench like you, who needs another man? I’ll just toss you over my shoulder and walk off with you.”
“Now you are boasting,” she said. “All right, Mr. Helm. I will go along on your crazy expedition, just to see what you really do when I faint in your arms.”
“Good girl.”
She shook her head irritably. “Will you please to refrain from that smart-girl, strong-girl, good-girl nonsense? I do not need any pats on the head, thank you very much. I am not that
We picked up I-70 just south of town and ran it as far as Frederick, Maryland, and let it continue east to Baltimore without us, while we turned southeast on I-270, the Washington Pike. Ceiling unlimited. Visibility unlimited. Passenger mostly asleep beside me. Escort: none. Apparently the hideout car had thrown them off, at least for the moment. Sloppy work. They should have known I’d arrived in something that had to be somewhere if it wasn’t at the motel. They should have found it. But maybe the Honda had belonged to Karin Segerby and she’d decided she had no more gun-business, or other business, to transact with me.
Traffic density increased as we approached the District of Columbia. At last I cut out of formation at the proper exit, and drove for a while through residential districts that varied from luxury homes with green lawns and shade trees to shabby old apartment buildings right on the sidewalk. My own domicile fell into the latter category, but if people were laying for us, that was one of the places they could be waiting, although you won’t find my phone number, or address, in the white pages. Self-preservation. I chose a route that would pass a few blocks away.
Astrid Watrous sat up at last, and raised her seat back a bit. She tucked in her shirt and patted her hair into place, healthy feminine reactions.
“Feeling better?” I asked.
She shrugged. “After spending so many days in bed, my legs were starting to atrophy, I think. Where are we?”
“Washington, D.C. Tell me more about Lysaniemi.”
“I do not know any more.”
“Where did you get the name?”
“I am not able to tell you that.”
I glanced at her irritably. “Nor where it is?”
“That I do not know. Truly. I am sorry.”
I said, “A Finnish name. North of the Arctic Circle, you said. It probably wouldn’t be in Alaska or northern Canada; I don’t think many Finns settled up there. It could be in western Russia, near the Finnish border—languages particularly place names, have a habit of slopping across national boundaries—but that would make access pretty awkward for our conspirators unless it’s all a sinister Russky plot, and I haven’t been getting that impression. That leaves Norway, Sweden, and, of course, Finland. I guess we’ll have to check them out.”
She said, “You are very crazy if you are thinking what I think. I cannot possibly travel… She paused and frowned at me. “Is this what you really had in mind when you asked about my passport?”
I shrugged. “Maybe, but I wouldn’t have dragged you out of bed so soon if there had been a choice. But since we’re running anyway, why not there? All you have to do is sit. The Scandinavian Airlines System, or whatever, will do all the work.” I glanced her way. “Think about it. It’s as good a way of keeping out of people’s way as any. People who apparently want to kill us, motives as yet undetermined. But you’re a strong girl. You can do it. We’ll find a place to rest you up once we’re across the big water, before we get into any strenuous Arctic exploration.”
She was silent for a little; then she said, unsmiling, “Well, you could get another man to carry the feet.”
I said, “With a skinny wench like you, who needs another man? I’ll just toss you over my shoulder and walk off with you.”
“Now you are boasting,” she said. “All right, Mr. Helm. I will go along on your crazy expedition, just to see what you really do when I faint in your arms.”
“Good girl.”
She shook her head irritably. “Will you please to refrain from that smart-girl, strong-girl, good-girl nonsense? I do not need any pats on the head, thank you very much. I am not that
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