24 Hours

“You told that guy at the hotel to forward Joey’s calls through to my cell phone, right? That means that whether Joey tries to call you at the Beau Rivage, or me on my cell phone, he’s going to get this phone. How do we decide who answers?”

Will’s face suddenly felt cold. How could he have missed it? If Hickey called Cheryl and got “the hotel” instead, his whole plan would be blown. “We’re all right for ten or fifteen minutes,” he said, thinking aloud. “I’ll answer. I’ll say we’re stuck in traffic on our way back to the Beau Rivage.”

“And after that?”

“By then we’ll be halfway to Hazlehurst.”

“Is that where we’re going?”

“North is where we’re going right now. That’s all we know until Joe calls and tells you something else. Where exactly is this motel you’re supposed to go to in Brookhaven?”

“Right by the main exit.”

Brookhaven was twenty miles nearer than Hazlehurst, and Will had once landed there to refuel, but he didn’t remember what sort of rental car facilities they had. He’d have to wing it.

The Baron shot into the clouds like a stone thrown through a waterfall, and his heart lightened instantly. The FBI chopper couldn’t see him now unless it had radar. And if he dropped to treetop level, it would take an air force AWACs with look-down radar to find him. He felt a brief chill as he remembered that Keesler Air Force Base was only a few miles behind them. There might be an AWACs in the air already, on maneuvers, and after his stunt at the Gulfport field, they might be glad to shadow him for the FBI. He needed to get down into the ground clutter as soon as possible.

“What about the house Joe took you to that night?” he asked. “By McComb. Anything else come to you?”

“No.”

“When the FBI raided the cabin, they found Huey’s truck. That means Huey and Abby probably left in another vehicle. Were there any other cars at the cabin?”

“I told you, I never went there.”

“But you must have heard them talking.”

“There’s a tractor there. I know that. Huey bush-hogs fields for part-time work.”

Will tried to picture Huey and Abby escaping from a SWAT team on a rusty John Deere. It didn’t seem likely.

“What else?”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about Joe’s family. Cars they’ve had. Come on…”

Cheryl shook her head in exasperation.

In the switchboard center at the Beau Rivage, a young operator sat reading the unabridged version of The Stand. When the hotel’s main line rang, he answered the way he always did: “Beau Rivage Casino Resort.” But when the caller asked for Suite 28021, he punched Alt-Z on his computer, executing a macro set up at the request of Remy Geautreau, the front desk manager. A digital connection was made and a forwarding number dialed. The operator verified that the macro had executed, then went back to his Stephen King novel.

Will jumped when the cell phone rang, but he dug it quickly from his pocket and checked his watch.

“I’m going to answer,” he said. “If it’s Joe, I’ll feel out what he expects and play it by ear. Hold the phone up to my ear, and hit SEND when I tell you.”

Cheryl held up the phone, but Will said nothing. He had just realized something. At maximum cruise, the Baron’s engines sounded like twin tornadoes, even with the soundproofing. Telling Hickey they were stuck in traffic near the Beau Rivage wouldn’t explain the roar. Hickey might even recognize the distinctive sound of airplane engines.

The cell phone kept ringing.

Will had two choices. Throttle the engines back to idle and hope they were quiet enough to be undetectable over the cell phone, or cut them altogether. Cutting the engines was far more dangerous, but only that would guarantee that Hickey wouldn’t hear them.

“Are you going to answer?” Cheryl asked.

Thankful that he had not yet dived for the ground clutter, Will pulled back to idle, feathered his props, and killed both engines. In the eerie silence, the plane began to fall.

“Shit!” Cheryl screamed. “What happened?”

“Hit SEND.”

Her face was bone-white. “Are we going to crash?”

“We’re fine! Hit SEND!”

He heard a beep, then the hiss of the open connection. “Joe?”

“How’s it hanging, Doc? You taking a nap up there?”

Up there? Will’s heart thudded. Then he realized that Hickey meant the hotel suite. He’d assumed Hickey would call Cheryl before he called the Beau Rivage, to verify that she’d gotten the money. But Hickey had clearly expected Will to answer this call. That meant Geautreau had successfully patched the call. It also meant that the “stuck in traffic” excuse was useless.

“Where’s Abby?” Will asked, trying to picture himself in the suite at the Beau Rivage rather than dropping toward the earth at a thousand feet per minute. “I want to talk to her.”

“Everything in its season, Doc. I’ll be talking to you soon.”

The phone went dead. Will dropped it in Cheryl’s lap and began his midair engine-start sequence.

“Start the engines!” she screamed. “We’re crashing!”