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the kitchen. He was alone in the house, but his only concern was that the
storm not impede his plans in any way. He was suddenly struck by the
horrifying thought that the president might somehow be killed before the
morning. It was a ludicrous notion, but it crawled into his brain.
Still, it made Kurt acutely aware of how important it was for him to be the
one to look the man in the eye and pull the trigger that would blast him from
this world. He was empty now of everything but that. He hadn t spoken to Jill
and he had worked hard not to let himself think of her. It was just him, and
the ugly thing in the back of his mind that he was certain would tear him
apart the moment all this was over, the moment he stopped to think. It didn t
seem to matter as much to him now whether or not he got away. He wanted to
escape, and would do his best, but without Jill . . .
He found another can of beer in the icebox and poured it into his tall glass.
He sat down at the kitchen table to look out over the lake and the distant
hills. Malevolent blue-and-white cords of electricity pounded the earth. The
power came on for an instant and then went out again. Kurt sat in the
darkness, watching the brilliant light show as the storm flashed up and down
the lake. Water raged from the sky and hail clattered against the roof.
Thunder fractured the night with the frequency of a horrifying battle. After a
time, the torrent of rain abruptly diminished into a thin drizzle. The
lightning, however, continued to illuminate the sky like a flickering lamp. A
few seconds later, Kurt thought he heard someone pounding on his front door.
Mystified, he groped his way through the blackened house until he stood
staring up through the open door at one of the biggest men he d ever seen. The
visitor was dressed sharply in the uniform of a state trooper, and Kurt could
only think that the man, whose long, powerful flashlight illuminated
everything within twenty-five feet of its beam, had for some reason come to
inquire if he was okay.
Mr. Ford? the trooper said brusquely. I have to ask you to come with me,
sir.
Kurt s heart skipped a beat. He looked at the man in disbelief, and then
scanned the flickering gloom outside beyond the police cruiser. If this had
anything to do with the president, he wouldn t be standing there alone with
just a single New York state trooper. He d be facing down a pair of agents
backed up by a platoon of snipers.
I have to ask you to turn around and put your hands up against the wall,
sir, said Jeremiah, his voice quavering ever so slightly.
Obviously there s been some kind of mistake, Kurt told him calmly. Do you
know who I am?
Nevertheless, Kurt stepped out of the house and turned to put his hands up
against the wall outside the door. Before he knew what was happening, the
trooper, with speed that belied his size, had his hands cuffed snugly together
behind his back.
Hey! he cried out in surprise. What the hell?
The trooper, whose name Kurt still didn t know, grabbed him firmly and led him
across the blacktop before tucking him into the backseat of the car. The
trooper s hand practically swallowed Kurt s head as he guided it in under the
lip of the car s roof. Kurt sat bewildered without bothering to struggle. The
size and strength of the man who was arresting him would be tough to overcome,
if he could overcome it at all, and Kurt still held the image of tomorrow s
fishing trip like a bright clear beacon in the forefront of his mind. He knew
there must be a mistake somewhere, and there was no sense at all in
exacerbating the situation by tangling with a cop.
Again he reminded himself frantically that if the president s security were
involved, it certainly wouldn t be a lone trooper they sent to secure or
interrogate him. He laughed quietly out loud, but broke off suddenly as they
turned left onto West Lake Road, heading south instead of north toward town.
Kurt searched his memory, but couldn t remember ever seeing the location of
the nearest state police barracks, so he presumed they were headed down toward
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Cortland, the next real city of any kind to the south.
This is a ridiculous mistake, he said after a mile or two of wet road in the
flickering light. Do you mind giving me some idea why it is you ve put me in
handcuffs and where you re taking me? Do you realize I m taking the president
of the United States out on a fishing trip tomorrow afternoon?
The enormous man said nothing. He merely checked Kurt out in the rearview
mirror before turning his eyes back to the road. Kurt thought he saw a
nervousness that he didn t like. Why would the trooper be nervous? Kurt s
stomach sank. He searched the inside of the vehicle for some sign of a ruse,
but everything he saw said this was a real police cruiser.
Kurt decided to say nothing more. There was no need. The cop wasn t talking.
He wasn t the brains behind this. That was obvious. Kurt would save his breath
until he met whoever was in charge. But when the car slowed and turned into
some rural road, he sat up straight and couldn t help from asking again,
Where are you taking me?
His eyes darted about in alarm when the cruiser took another turn and began a
slow climb up a gravel drive. The breath left his body as if he d been socked
in the stomach. Suddenly he took a deep breath and his panic was replaced by a
total calm. It was a reaction he d experienced before. In critical situations,
Kurt suddenly became calm. He knew police didn t arrest people and take them
to rural locations to see a judge. He was being taken to this remote place to
die. But when the realization was fully formed in his mind, instead of being
blinded by horror, he was able to somehow coolly assess the situation.
The people responsible for killing Collin had found him. This man wasn t a
trooper at all. The car was the real thing and must have been stolen. It was
still almost unthinkable that the president of the United States could be
connected with such diabolical lawlessness. But the image of Collin, lying
dead in the morgue, filled his mind and Kurt knew that if that could happen,
anything was possible.
Objectively, he looked around the inside of the cruiser. There was nothing at
hand he could use as a weapon. If he were going to have any chance at all, it
would come outside the car. If an opportunity came, he would have to see it
and seize it instantly. He presumed they weren t going to waste much time. He
would be taken out and killed within minutes, possibly seconds. There was
nothing anyone could learn from him. Kurt looked outside his window, taking in
the terrain. If he could somehow disable the big man and flee, he needed to
know as best he could where to run.
As the tail end of the storm passed to the east, a flicker of lightning
allowed him to examine the farm fields bordering either side of the driveway.
To his right was corn, tall and thick, bordered by a patch of old timber that
seemed to trail off down the hill into a lowland. On the other side was
nothing more than field after field of wheat and beans. If Kurt could get
away, east was the direction he would take, into the corn and hopefully the
woods beyond.
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