Reamde

THEY SPENT THE rest of the day writing reports to their respective higher-ups. The next morning, Seamus and Olivia flew back to Manila. Seamus had business there at the U.S. embassy, and Olivia needed to make arrangements to fly home. The route back to Olivia’s hotel was almost a perfect reversal of the trip out, complete with the sweaty hike across the city to get around traffic. They reached the hotel at 10:12 A.M. and the hotel bar at 10:13, and after dutifully gulping down glasses of water for technical rehydration purposes, they moved on to alcohol.

“You can’t tell me that bizjet doesn’t have enough fuel to reach the States,” Seamus said.

She twiddled her hand in the air. “Northern tier,” she said.

“Bang! Mall of America,” Seamus proposed, reenacting the dive and crash with the hand that wasn’t holding a drink.

“Northwest corner much more likely,” she said. “Seattle, of course.”

“Bye-bye, Space Needle.”

“But the Space Needle’s still there, last time I checked. So if your theory is right—”

“My theory and yours, lady.”

“All right, all right. If our theory is right, he somehow got in without being picked up on radar and landed out in the middle of nowhere.”

“Do your analysts have any ideas as to how he could avoid radar?”

“Come in very low, of course,” Olivia said, “which burns fuel at an insane rate. Or else fly in formation with a passenger aircraft. Right under its belly.”

He held his hands up. “Why is that so difficult? Why is it so hard to get people to believe that Jones could do something like that?”

“Occam’s razor,” she said. “The Mindanao theory had fewer moving parts. So it has to be done away with before anything else can even be discussed.”

THEY SAID GOOD-BYE with chaste cheek pecks and went their separate ways: Seamus out into traffic, Olivia up to her room where she began trying to change her flight plan. She didn’t want to fly back to London. She wanted to go to the northwestern United States.

She wasted a day in that hotel room. First she had to wait a few hours for people to wake up in London. Then she had to push the idea that her time would be better spent following the Jones-went-to-North-America hypothesis. No one that she talked to was overtly hostile to the idea, and yet she could not seem to make any progress. Procedures ought to be followed. It wouldn’t do for her to suddenly touch down on U.S. soil and begin doing intelligence work; contact really ought to be made with counterparts in the American counterintelligence establishment. But no one was awake in America yet, so this would have to wait for another few hours. She fired off spates of emails, went down to the fitness center, got exercise, came back, did more emailing, made phone calls. Played T’Rain. Surfed the Internet for more about Zula and the Forthrast clan. Checked out the heartrending Facebook page that they had set up in an effort to find her. Did more emails.

At last, completely blocked on all fronts, she used her own money to purchase a ticket to Vancouver. She had friends and connections there, it was a Commonwealth country, not too many feathers would be ruffled by her parachuting into the place, and from there she could easily get down to Seattle if occasion warranted. It was certainly better than hanging around in Manila, which, she had come to believe, was about as far as she could get from Abdallah Jones without leaving the planet.

Having grown wise in the ways of Manila traffic, she allocated four hours for the three-mile taxi ride to the airport and found herself airborne at nine o’clock the following morning. A vast number of hours later, the plane landed in Vancouver, at eleven A.M. on what she was informed was Tuesday (they had crossed the International Date Line, occasioning some confusion as to this).

Her plan had been to crash and burn at a hotel in Vancouver, but she found herself strangely pert and eager upon landing. Partly it was a consequence of having spent a hell of a lot of money on the plane ticket. All the economy-class seats had been taken, so she had flown business class and actually managed to get some sleep. Awakening from a long nap somewhere over the Pacific, she found that a new idea and a resolve had materialized in her head: she would go talk to Richard Forthrast. She had been reading all about him and had more or less memorized his Wikipedia entry. He seemed like an interesting and complicated man. He must be thinking about his missing niece quite a bit, and obviously he would have insights about REAMDE and T’Rain that would never occur to Olivia.