Twenty Years Later(91)
When she came through the front door, she spotted him. He lifted his hand in an amicable wave and offered a heartfelt smile. He stood when she came to the booth and they embraced in a warm hug.
“I was shocked you called,” Meghan Cobb said, her mouth near his ear.
“Sorry to spring this on you without warning,” Walt said.
“How long have you been in town?”
“A couple weeks.”
He sensed her pain that he had not called her before now. He equally detected her comprehension that something was different about him.
“Why didn’t you call me sooner?” Meghan asked, but there was no conviction in her voice. “We could have spent some time together.”
Walt shook his head. “This is about something else.”
Neither spoke for several seconds.
“What’s her name?” Meghan asked.
“Who?”
“This change,” she said. “Only a woman could have caused it.”
Walt didn’t answer.
“I like it. This version of Walt Jenkins. It reminds me of the old you. The man I used to love. It’s good, Walt. I’m happy for you.” Meghan cleared her throat before she spoke again. “You said something was wrong. What is it?”
“I need your help.”
CHAPTER 61
Manhattan, NY Friday, July 9, 2021
IT WAS FRIDAY EVENING BEFORE SHE GATHERED THE COURAGE TO CALL him. Her hand shook when she lifted the cell phone and placed it carefully on the coffee table. She hit the speaker button and then tapped the phone number she remembered from childhood. It, too, contained the three sevens from the address, and Avery hadn’t known the number still rested in the folds of her mind until she decided that this was the best move she could make. She hoped to God it worked.
She pressed send and waited. Four long rings chimed through her hotel room, each one causing her heart to pound harder in her chest. Then, he answered.
“Hello?”
Avery tried to speak, but couldn’t. The sound of his voice after so long caused her vocal cords to seize.
“Hello?” he said again.
“Dad? It’s me.”
Now her father paused. The sound of her own voice surely causing the same reaction for him.
“Claire?”
“Yes, it’s me.”
“You got the card,” he said. “I knew you’d know what to do.”
“I have to see you, Dad. I don’t have a lot of time.”
“I’d love that. Where?”
“I’ll come to you. To the Lake Placid cabin. It’s safest that way.”
“When?”
“Sunday.”
“Okay.”
Neither spoke for a moment.
“Claire, I wanted to tell you—”
“Not over the phone, Dad. Get off the landline. I’ll see you Sunday.”
“Okay.”
Avery ended the call, her hand shaking now more than it had been a moment earlier.
“Do you think it will work?” she asked.
On the coffee table next to Avery’s phone was the thin metal box containing the listening devices Jim Oliver had given to Walt. Moments earlier, Walt had removed one of them, activated it, and placed it next to Avery’s phone so the entire conversation could be recorded.
“I’m not sure,” Walt said. He was sitting on the couch next to her. “But it’s your best shot if you want to keep the feds occupied and focused on the cabin.”
Walt lifted the device from the table, stood, and placed it in his pocket.
“Now the hard part starts. Are you sure you’re up for it?”
Avery nodded. A few minutes later they hailed a cab outside the Lowell. From the backseat Walt told the driver where they were headed.
“Javits Federal Building. Twenty-Six Federal Plaza.”
FBI headquarters.
CHAPTER 62
New Orleans, LA Sunday, July 11, 2021
WHEN THINGS HAPPENED, THEY HAPPENED QUICKLY. MONTHS OF limbo had been suddenly replaced with action. Years of planning had been changed at the last minute. He had only a small window to pack his belongings and get moving. It all came down to this moment. There was no time to think it through. No time to plan it out. No time to use logic or critical thinking to make sure things would work. They either would, or they wouldn’t. But staying put and hunkering down at the cabin was no longer an option. The feds were on the prowl, and closer than they’d ever been. It was now or never.
Fueled by half a dozen energy drinks, he drove through the night. He wanted to speed and race and put miles behind him, but couldn’t risk a ticket. He drove in the middle lane and pegged the cruise control right at the speed limit designated by each state he drove though. It was five in the morning when he finally made it to New Orleans. The timing was good. Had he arrived earlier, he’d have too many hours to burn. Any later, and he’d be cutting it close.
He ditched the car in a Target parking lot about a mile from the terminal. His legs were stiff from the drive, which was nonstop other than bathroom breaks. When he reached the Julia Street Cruise Terminal, he walked over to the railing and looked out at the Gulf of Mexico just as the horizon was starting to burn with dawn. The brightening sky and the orange glow of the ocean filled him with hope that soon he would be free. That maybe, perhaps, this could work.