The Boy from the Woods(54)

“Saul?”

“Yes.”

“Get to the point.”

“Just keep me informed—and I’ll keep you informed. It’s your best bet for finding that girl. You served admirably because you love this country. But Eggers is a threat like none this country has faced before. He’s hoodwinking this nation with his charisma, but his supposed ‘manifesto’ is really a call for anarchy. It’ll lead to food shortages, worldwide panic, constitutional crises, and even war.” Saul slid a little closer and lowered his voice. “Suppose the Maynard tapes show the real Rusty Eggers. Suppose they open people’s eyes to the grave dangers right in front of them. This is bigger than any mission we undertook overseas, Wilde. You have to believe me on that.”

He handed Wilde a card with his mobile phone and email. Then he slapped him on the back and walked past the reception desk toward the door.

*



Wilde pocketed Saul Strauss’s business card and stood.

He meandered toward the lobby bathroom, urinated for a fairly long time, then—to quote-paraphrase Springsteen—he checked his look in the mirror and wanted to change his clothes, his hair, his face. He splashed water on his cheeks and tidied himself up as best he could. He walked to the glass elevator and pressed the up button. Nicole the bartender caught his eye and gave a small nod. He didn’t know how to read it or if it meant anything at all, so he gave her a small nod back.

To get to the top floor you needed to slide a key card into the slot. He did that with the card Sondra had given him. He rode up, leaning against the glass, looking down as the lobby grew smaller and smaller. Faces swirled through his mind’s eye—Matthew, Naomi, Crash, Gavin, Saul, Hester, Ava, Laila. Laila.

Shit.

He got out and headed down the corridor. He stopped in front of the door with the brass sign reading PRESIDENTIAL SUITE in fancy script. He looked at his key card. He looked at the door. Sondra was beautiful. You could criticize this type of relationship or label it or consider it empty or whatever other judgment card you feel like pulling out, but it was all a matter of perspective. He and Sondra could link up and have something special. Just because it didn’t last did not make it less so. Cliché, sure, but everything dies. A beautiful rose lives but a short time. Certain termites can survive for sixty years.

A Bon Jovi song came to mind. Man, first Bruce now Jon. How New Jersey could he be?

“Want to make a memory?”

Wilde took one more look at the door, thought of Sondra and that long red hair fanned across his chest. Then he shook his head. Not tonight. He would head back down to the lobby and call her from the house phone. He didn’t want her waiting up for him.

That was when the door opened.

“How long have you been standing here?” Sondra asked.

“Minute or two.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Probably shouldn’t.”

“Talk?”

“I’m not much of a talker.”

“But I’m a supergood listener,” Sondra said.

He nodded. “Yeah, that’s true.”

She took a step back. “Come on in, Wilde.”

And he obeyed.





CHAPTER

TWENTY-TWO



When Wilde woke up, the first thing he thought about—even before he realized that he was in a strange yet familiar hotel room rather than his Ecocapsule—was Laila.

Damn.

Sondra sat in a chair with her feet tucked under. She looked out the window, her face lit by the morning sun. For a few long moments, neither one of them moved. She stared out the window. He stared at the profile of her face. He tried to read her expression—serenity? regret? contemplation?—and he realized that whatever he deduced would probably be wrong. Human beings were never that simple to read.

“Good morning, Sondra.”

She turned to him and smiled. “Good morning, Wilde.” Then: “Do you have to leave right away?”

Again, despite the warning he had just given himself on human beings, he tried to read her. Did she want him to leave—or was she giving him an out if he wanted to take it?

“I have no plans,” he said. “But if you do—”

“How about we order some breakfast?”

“That sounds great.”

Sondra smiled at him. “I bet you know the breakfast menu by heart.”

He didn’t reply.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

Wilde shook it off. She asked him what he wanted to eat. He told her. She stepped into the suite’s living room and picked up the phone. Wilde got out of bed naked. He was padding toward the bathroom when his phone erupted.

Not buzzed or rang or vibrated. Erupted.

He quickly snatched it up and stopped the alarm.

“Everything okay?”

He looked at the screen. The answer was no.

He swiped left, which some might find ironic under the circumstances. It wasn’t Tinder—it was his security system. A car had pulled into his hidden road. No big deal. The alarm doesn’t sound for that. It just triggers the other motion detectors. Two of them had gone off. As he watched the screen, a third lit up. That meant people, at least three, were walking in the woods in search of his home. He swiped left again. A map came up. A fourth alarm triggered. They were traveling from the south, east, and west toward the Ecocapsule.