Reamde

“You’ve been transferring money for three hours,” Csongor pointed out, “while I have been looking at the clock and the map.” He rattled an Idaho road map that Seamus had bought at a gas station yesterday. “There is no way that those guys should still be gone. The da G shou can wait for their money; they’ve waited this long.”

Because he had been studying the map, Csongor knew how to get them out of Coeur d’Alene and on the road north to Sandpoint and Bourne’s Ford. He followed the route, scrupulously observing all the traffic laws to minimize his chances of being pulled over. He did not think that a Hungarian driver’s license would pass muster in these parts.

“Maybe they just found something interesting to look at.”

“That’s not the point,” Csongor said. “A helicopter can only carry so much gas—it can only stay in the air for a certain amount of time.”

He sensed Marlon looking at him incredulously.

“I googled it,” Csongor explained, “when you went out to urinate.”

“Okay…”

“I know what you are going to say next: maybe they had mechanical trouble and had to land. But in that case they should have called us and told us that they would be late.”

“How late are they?”

“Very late.”

Marlon was still looking at him expectantly.

“Mathematically,” Csongor said, “the helicopter is out of gas.” He glanced at the dashboard clock. “Fifteen minutes ago.”

“Maybe we should call—”

“Call who?” Csongor asked, with a kind of cruel satisfaction. For he had gone down the same road in his mind and found only dead ends. He waited for Marlon to work his way to the same nonconclusion.

They blew through what seemed to be an important road junction at the extreme limit of the greater Coeur d’Alene metropolitan area and went bombing north on a nice straight open highway. It was turning into a beautiful day.

“So what are you going to do?”

“We are going to go to Bourne’s Ford, which is only a few miles from where they were flying, and go to the Boundary County Airport, and ask the people there if they know anything about a missing helicopter.”

About half an hour later they found themselves crossing a long causeway over a lake. Before them was the town of Sandpoint. Csongor noticed Marlon craning his neck to get a sidelong view of the speedometer. Glancing down, he saw that he was going ninety.

“It is not kilometers per hour,” Marlon informed him. “In the metric system, you are going at something like five thousand.”

“Not quite that fast,” Csongor said, but he did relent and drop down to eighty.

A minute later, he explained, “I believe Seamus went up there to find Jones. This was his real plan. But he could not say this out loud. Then Yuxia asked why she could not go along, if it was only a sightseeing trip. Seamus was trapped.”

“Yuxia is good at such things.”

“What do you think of her?” Csongor asked. “Is she your girlfriend?”

“For a while I was thinking maybe,” Marlon admitted, “but then I decided she was my sister.”

“Huh.”

“China is funny. One child per family, you know. We are all looking for siblings.”

Csongor nodded. “It is a much better system,” he said, “than the one we use in Hungary.”

“Why?”

Csongor looked across at Marlon. “Because you get to choose.”

Marlon smiled. “Ah.”

Csongor turned his attention back to the road.

“Your brother in California,” Marlon said.

“What about him?”

“Are you going to go and visit him?”

“Do you want to see California?”

He could hear Marlon beaming. “Yes.”

“It is probably a better place for you,” Csongor said, “than for me. If I go, I will take you. You can be the star. I will be your—”

“Bodyguard?”

“Fuck that. I was thinking entourage.”

“California, here we come!” Marlon exclaimed.

Csongor thrust a stubby finger out the window at a road sign that said CANADA 50 MI/80 KM. “We are going wrong way,” he pointed out. “Before California, we have to get into trouble. Then out of it.”

Marlon shrugged. “But that is what we do.”

Csongor nodded. “That is what we do.”

BY THE TIME Csongor had finished slowing down from highway speed, they were halfway through Bourne’s Ford and in danger of blowing past it altogether. As a way of giving them some time to get their bearings, Csongor pulled into a gas station. Using some American cash from his wallet—for Seamus had passed out a bit of spending money—he fronted the cashier $40, then strolled back to the SUV and began to pump fuel into it. The way that the gas pump worked was slightly unfamiliar and made him feel inept and conspicuous. But eventually he figured out how to latch the nozzle in the on position, and then he leaned back against the side of the vehicle and crossed his arms to wait for its enormous tank to fill. Marlon had made a quick toilet run and was already ensconced back in the passenger seat, scanning the airwaves for open Wi-Fi connections.