Текст книги "The Hit"

Автор книги: David Baldacci

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

“I knew her enough to know that.” Zim leaned forward an inch. “Can I make a suggestion?”

“I’m listening.”

“Let it play out. Robie kills Reel. Or vice versa. Or they kill each other.”

“That was the original plan. It may still happen,” replied Kent. He leaned forward until he was only a few inches from Zim. “You’re the fail-safe. And if I’m reading things correctly you’re going to be deployed to get the job done. I can’t count on an ideal world. That’s a sucker’s bet and involves an element of luck that I simply can’t depend on.”

“Then the conditions better be right.”

“As you suggested, I will do better than try.”

“How?” said Zim.

“Jessica Reel isn’t the only one who can manipulate.”

“Not as easy as it might look.”

Kent said, “I don’t think it’s easy at all. It’s very difficult, in fact.”

“So how?”

“I’ll take care of that. You take care of your end.”

“That’s all I get?”

“Compartmentalize. It’s the best protocol all around.”

“You’re not the sort I expected.”

“You mean a judge?”

Zim shrugged.

Kent smiled. “I’m a special kind of judge, Mr. Zim. My time behind the bench is limited to a very few cases. The rest of the time is spent doing other things for my country. I like doing these other things far more than my infrequent rulings from the bench.”

“You must have pull. Otherwise I wouldn’t be sitting here with you.”

“I have more than pull. I’m often the one doing the pulling.”

“When will I be deployed?”

“The exact timing is unknown. But if I’m reading the tea leaves correctly it will be very soon. You’re to be ready twenty-four/seven. Move at a moment’s notice.”

“Story of my life,” replied Zim.

“Let’s hope it’s not the story of your death.”

“Goes with the territory.”

Kent sat back. “You keep saying that. I might start believing it.”

“I don’t expect you to understand it, Mr. Kent. It’s a small club I’m a member of.”

“I actually can understand that.”

“I don’t think so. Not unless you’ve killed as many people as I have. And there aren’t many in the world who have.”

“How many have you killed?”

“Thirty-nine. That’s one reason I’m interested in Reel. She’d make an even forty.”

“That’s impressive. And of course Robie would make it a very uneven forty-one.”

“Not something I would lose sleep over, I can assure you.”

“Glad to hear that.”

Kent smiled. The muzzle was against Zim’s forehead before he had time to react.

Zim’s eyes widened as the metal pressed against his skin.

Kent said, “As I mentioned, I wasn’t always a judge. I checked your file. You’ve been working for eleven years. Is that right?”

When Zim didn’t answer Kent pushed the muzzle harder against his face. “Is that right?’

“Yes.”

Kent nodded. “I pulled an even twenty. That was before they put a cap on time in the field to fifteen. I think people these days have gotten a little softer. I never even had decent night optics. Did four kills in the dead of night with a flashlight and a piece-of-shit Vietnam-era sniper rifle. But I still got the job done. And by the way, I never bragged about my kill total.”

Kent pulled the gun’s hammer back. “One more thing: did I mention that there was a test involved in your selection?”

“Test?” asked a bewildered Zim.

“If an old man could get the drop on you, I don’t think you’re much use to me. You’re not even qualified to wipe Robie’s or Reel’s ass. Which means this interview is officially over.”

Kent pulled the trigger, the gun fired, and the round destroyed Zim’s brain. He fell backward out of his chair.

Kent rose, wiped the blood blowback off his face with a handkerchief, and then holstered his gun.

He looked down at the body. “And for the record, I finished with sixty kills. There’s only one person out there with more. He’s old-school. Just like me. I never would’ve gotten the drop on him like I did you. Asshole.”

Kent walked out the door.

CHAPTER

51

REEL WAS STARING AT HER PHONE. On the screen was a familiar face, at least from a distance.

Will Robie looked back at her.

She knew she should have told him more during the standoff in Arkansas. But in truth she had been stunned to see him there. She had convinced herself that somehow the agency had been able to follow her and sent Robie in for the kill. That had rocked her, made any faith she had in him disappear. That faith had been restored when he hadn’t killed her, of course. But now she was afraid for him.

If the agency found out he had the shot but hadn’t taken it, Robie would be in serious jeopardy. And if she tried to communicate with him again and he agreed to work with her, something she had thought she wanted, then he would be in even graver danger. Killers would be sent after him. And he hadn’t prepared to go on the run like she had. As good as he was, he wouldn’t survive. They had too many resources.

I have to go this alone.

She pulled the white paper from her bag and read through it again.

Having now met Roy West, she would have hardly expected the man to be capable of piecing together a plan of such complexity. Unfortunately, his decision to plot mass murder against his fellow citizens to fuel his bizarre rage against the government was entirely in keeping with the essence of his white paper. It and he were insane.

And anyone who subscribed to what was in that paper was insane as well. And dangerous.

West was dead. He couldn’t harm anyone ever again. But there were others out there far better placed to execute the Armageddon outlined in his paper.

Country by country.

Leader by leader.

The perfect jigsaw puzzle.

If death and misery on a massive scale had a face, it could be West’s perverted masterpiece.

And then there was the unknown. The person who she felt certain had to be out there. The three levels above West. The top-top-secret clearance. The person who had wanted the paper. Who had wanted to know the master jigsaw puzzle.

Roger the Dodger. Who was he? Where was he? And what was he planning right now?

The attack against Janet DiCarlo was predictable, but Reel had never seen it coming until it was too late. DiCarlo was alive, but for how long? Reel would have loved to sit and talk with her old mentor. To find out what and how she had discovered something that had led to her nearly dying.

But that wasn’t possible. Reel had no idea where DiCarlo was. And she would be heavily guarded. And yet if the attack against her had come from the inside, how safe would she be wherever the woman was?

Reel looked down at her phone again. Should she chance it?

Without stopping to think about it anymore, she pecked the keys and the message was sent to Robie, despite her having just decided not to communicate with him again. But it was a different sort of query, one that they couldn’t hold against him.

She didn’t know if she would get an answer. She didn’t know if Robie trusted her or believed her. She remembered being part of his team early in her career. He had been the most professional among a group of consummate pros. He had taught her things, without really saying much. He sweated the little details. They were the difference, he told her, between making it or not.

She had learned some of what had happened to him earlier in the year. He had done the unthinkable for people in their profession. He hadn’t pulled the trigger. He had disobeyed orders because he believed them to be wrong.

The average citizen would think there was nothing special in that. If you thought something was wrong, why not disobey? But it wasn’t that easy. More even than regular soldiers, Robie and Reel had been trained to follow orders without question. Without that unbreakable chain of command, without that devotion to authority, the system simply didn’t work. Nothing could interfere with that.

But each of them haddisobeyed orders.

Robie had refused to pull the trigger. Twice. The second time was the only reason Reel was still alive.

But she hadpulled the trigger. She had killed two men who worked for the government. Both constituted crimes punishable by long imprisonment or even death.

Reel wondered if Robie was still coming after her. She wondered if right now he regretted not killing her.

Her phone buzzed. She looked down at the screen.

Will Robie had just answered her.

CHAPTER

52

ROBIE LOOKED AT HIS SCREEN. His fingers had just finished typing. He wondered how long before people from the agency would contact him.

Or kick down his door.

Alive. For now.

That’s what he had typed and sent her in response to her simple question:

DiCarlo?

Robie continued to stare at his phone screen, part of him hoping that she would text again. He had many things he wanted to ask her. Things he hadn’t had time to ask when he had seen her in Arkansas.

He had just about given up when another text from Reel dropped in:

GPB.

GPB?

Robie was certainly not up to date on the latest Internet acronyms. And he had no idea if GPB was one of those or was a coded message from Reel. If it was coded he had no idea what it meant.

But why would she think he would?

He sat back in his chair and thought back to the last mission they had done together all those years ago. It was about as routine as you could expect in their line of work. But something had gone wrong, which sometimes happened.

Robie had gone to the left and at the same second Reel had darted to the right. If they had gone in the same direction, they both would have been dead. As it stood, they neutralized the threats coming at them from two sides.

Robie had thought about it later and even asked Reel why she had gone the opposite way, because there was no visible threat on either flank yet. She really couldn’t answer him other than to say, “I knew you were going the way you did.”

“How?” Robie had asked.

She’d asked a question in answer to his. “How did you know which way I was going to go?”

And he couldn’t answer her other than to say that he had just felt it. It was that simple. Not that he could literally read her mind. But he knew what her reaction would be in that exact situation. And she knew what his would be.

That had never happened to him again. Only with Jessica Reel. He wondered if that had been her last time too.

When the call came he looked at the screen and then put his phone away. It was Langley. He didn’t feel like explaining to them why he had done what he had. In one sense he didn’t feel it was any of their business. If they could keep secrets from him, he could keep secrets from them. They were all spies, after all.

And that’s when a totally unrelated thought entered his mind. Well, part of his mind must have been thinking about it as he took this walk down memory lane.

Reel had told him few things about herself, but one had struck him.

“I’m a linear person, Robie,” she’d said after they returned from their last mission.

“Meaning what?” Robie had asked.

“Meaning I like to begin at the beginning and end at the end.”

With this thought inspiration occurred. He jumped up, ran to his wall safe, took out the three objects again, and looked at them.

Gun.

Photo.

Book.

GPB.

He sat down with renewed energy and interest. He had unconsciously laid them out in the correct order when he’d looked at them last. But at least now he had confirmation that there was an order to them.

He held the gun. He had already taken it apart and found nothing. But actually he had found something.

Everything I do has a reason.

That’s what Reel had written him. Everything she did had a reason.

He looked at the gun. Well, Glock had built this gun. She hadn’t.

His eyes narrowed.

But she haddone some alterations to the gun.

He looked at the weapon’s sight. Pennsylvania Small Arms Company. An add-on by Reel, though the standard sight that had come with the gun was perfectly fine.

The titanium plunger. Nice add-on, but again not necessary.

He examined once more the stippled grip that Reel had presumably put on the weapon. Again, although polymer frames like the Glock could sometimes be slippery, the original grip was perfectly fine.

So why had Reel taken the time to manually reengineer the factory grip when she didn’t really need to? Etching a stippled surface onto the frame would have taken time. And if you didn’t know what you were doing or made a mistake, it could make the weapon nearly unusable, at least so far as the grip was concerned.

And most of her killing would be done at long range anyway when the weapon’s grip really wasn’t an issue.

And then there was the thirty-three-round mag. That had bugged him from the first. In their line of work if you had time to fire off thirty-three rounds at something, that meant you had screwed up and were most likely going to die. One or two or possibly three shots and you were supposed to be out of there.

Seventeen rounds were pretty much standard in this Glock model. Yet she had nearly doubled her capacity in an extra-long mag that, in truth, was a little cumbersome.

Reel didn’t strike him as someone who enjoyed clutter.

He looked at the model number: Glock 17.

He was going to have to do this methodically. He imagined that Reel had come up with it in the same way.

Robie knew he was on the right path because of the text she had sent him. It had to mean Gun, Photo, Book. There was no other possible explanation. And it was a pretty shrewd way to go about it. Reel had known that the agency would allow him to search her locker and take her things once they had assigned him to hunt her down. And the only reason they had allowed him access to her locker was because they had searched through the items and found nothing useful in them. So she must have assumed that he would at some point gain access to the items and would examine them for a clue of some kind.

He took out a pad of paper and a pen and fired up his laptop. He opened a search engine and started looking, feeding the facts he had gleaned from the gun into the search. He had to go through quite a few false starts until what he saw finally started to make sense. Not complete sense, but enough to get him moving in a fresh and possibly rewarding direction.

He wrote it all down, closed out his search, and shut down his laptop.

He jumped up and went to pack a bag. He had somewhere to go. And he had to make sure he got there without someone tailing him.

Vance’s words came back to him. Could he successfully go off the grid?

Well, I’m about to find out.

CHAPTER

53

IT WAS A FINE, stately chamber, full of dark woods, mitered-perfect moldings, plush carpeting, large, ornate doors, massive lighting fixtures, and an air of sublime prosperity.

It was federal money spent just right. A true rarity.

At least that was Sam Kent’s humble opinion.

He sat in his office at the courthouse. He closed the book he was reading and checked his watch.

Just about time.

A minute later his clerk came in and announced the arrival of Congressman Howard Decker. The man walked in and shook hands with the judge as the clerk left them to their private meeting.

Besides chairing the House Permanent Select Committee on Intelligence, Decker had once been on a judiciary subcommittee, so his meeting with Kent would raise no eyebrows. Plus, the men had been friends for years and shared a commonality of thought and ambition. As the chairman of the Intelligence Committee, Decker had congressional fingerprints from the CIA to the Treasury Department and lots of federal real estate in between.

They sat at a table laid out with crystal and linen napkins and a cold lunch prepared by the court chef. Kent poured out glasses of white wine for them both.

“A nice treat,” said Decker. “The Congressional Dining Room gets a little old.”

“Well, we needed to talk, so why not here, in comfort and privacy?”

Decker chuckled and lifted the wineglass to his lips. “Not worried about someone listening in on the court that authorizes people listening in?”

Kent’s features were impassive. “We need to talk, Howard.”

Decker put the glass back down and his expression became serious. “It’s about Roy West, isn’t it?”

“It’s about a lot more than that,” said Kent.

“You think Jessica Reel did all that? It looked like a war zone on the news.”

“I’ve been to war, Howard. It didn’t look anything like a war zone. They look a lot worse than that.”

Suitably put in his place, Decker sat back in his chair and licked his already chapped lips. “What do we do now?”

“Our plan hasn’t changed, has it?”

“Which plan? To get Reel? Of course not.”

“Good, just checking. I wanted to make sure we are still on the same page.”

Decker grimaced. “But what steps have you taken? It doesn’t look like this Robie person is going to get the job done.”

Kent took a sip of wine and considered this. “He may get a job done. Just not the one we want.”

“I’m not following you.”

“I have received a very detailed report of what happened out in Arkansas. A very detailed report, from the highest sources.”

“And?”

“And that level of carnage could not have been perpetrated by one person, not even someone as skilled as Jessica Reel.”

Decker sat forward. “Are you telling me that she had help?” he blustered. He paused, then added, “Robie!”

“I have no definite proof of that. But it would be a coincidence of immense proportions to believe that someone else wandered into that little drama with a skill set perfectly designed for survival against what should have been overwhelming odds.” He put his glass down and took a forkful of salmon. “And I for one do not like coincidences.”

“If Robie and Reel have teamed up...”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you just said it had to be the two of them.”

“But that doesn’t mean they’ve teamed up, Howard.”

“What the hell else could it be? You just as good as said they killed all those men together.”

“Mutual survival does not mean you’re on the same side. I could be wrong, but it might simply be that conditions on the ground led to a temporary alliance.”

“But that’s still not good for us.”

“Of course it isn’t. But it might mean it’s manageable.”

“If Robie joins Reel?”

“Then he will be dealt with. I have people in mind for the task.”

“If it’s the same people you have going after Reel I’d say don’t bother.”

“And your alternative?”

“It’s your job to have the answers in this particular area, Sam, not me. Our division of labor was explicitly laid out. I helped get you the assets you needed. And the target. That was my job. I did it.”

Kent took a mouthful of rice and broccoli and washed it down with some water from a cut-crystal glass. “You’re right, it was. I apologize.”

Mollified, Decker sat back and started to eat.

Kent said, “I actually anticipated Reel locating West. I thought they were prepared to take care of her. I was obviously wrong. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“I would hope not.”

“I also tried to recruit someone to deal with Reel and possibly Robie, but he didn’t work out.”

“Will he be a problem?”

“I doubt it.” Kent picked up his glass of wine.

“How can you be sure?”

“Because I shot him in the head.” Kent took a sip of the wine.

Decker dropped his fork. It clanged off the china plate and fell to the floor.

“You don’t like the salmon?” asked Kent as he wiped his mouth.

His hands shaking, Decker bent down and picked up his fork. His face ashen, he said, “You shot him?”

“Well, there wasn’t a viable alternative, really. And he was an arrogant prick. Thought way too much of himself. Hell, I believe I would have shot him regardless.” Kent settled his gaze on Decker’s frightened features. “I don’t like arrogant pricks, Howard. I don’t like people who think too much of themselves. I tend to shoot them. I tend to shoot them in the head to make sure they’re dead.”

Decker licked his lips. “I know you’re under a lot of stress, Sam.”

Kent shook his head. “This isn’t stress, Howard. Living in a hole in the ground in the middle of a snake-and mosquito-infested jungle for months on end wondering what was going to get you first, the dysentery eating your insides away or the Viet Cong who kept picking your guys off one by one—now that, my friend, that was stressful.”

“I’m under a lot of pressure too.”

“Right. You get elected and you have your big office and your driver and your staff and the fancy dinners and you go back home and raise money by kissing rich asses and then you come here and occasionally actually do your damn job and vote on something. Lots of pressure. Politics is hell. Glad I never went there. I just wore a uniform and got my ass shot up. You, on the other hand, never wore the uniform.”

“I was too young for Vietnam.”

“So you would have volunteered, like I did?”

“I’m not saying that.”

“And nothing was stopping you from joining over the years.”

“Not everyone is cut out for the military. I had other goals in life.”

“I earned two Purples and a Bronze and would’ve gotten the Silver but my CO didn’t like the fact that his troops would rather follow me than him. After the war I got my college and law degrees. Uncle Sam helped pay for it. No complaints there. I did my time. I got my quid pro quo. You did shit and now you servethe people from a nice, safe office.”

Kent suddenly reached across and gripped the back of Decker’s fleshy neck and jerked him forward until their faces were barely an inch apart. “So the next time you seek to lecture me on anything will be the last time you lecture anyone about anything. Are we crystal clear on that? Because I don’t intend to repeat it.”

Kent let Decker go and sat back. He picked up his fork. “Try the rice. It’s a little spicy, but it goes well with the seasoned broccoli.”

Decker didn’t move. He just sat there staring across at Kent.

Kent finished his lunch and rose. “My clerk will show you out. I hope you have a productive day up there on the Hill serving your country.”

He walked out of the room, leaving Decker trembling in his chair.

CHAPTER

54

ROBIE DROVE SLOWLY DOWN THE narrow streets of Titanium, Pennsylvania. It was a small town with the usual assortment of homes and businesses. People ambled down the street, window-shopping at the mom-and-pop stores located there. Cars puttered along. Folks waved at each other. The pace was slow, comfortable.

He had done everything possible to avoid being trailed here. He felt it would have been impossible for even the best agents out there to keep him under surveillance. And if they had, they deserved to put one in the win column.

He eyed his GPS. He was looking for a certain street, and he hoped it was the right one. The computer told him it was a mile or so out of the downtown area.

Marshall Street. As in Ryan Marshall, the senior field agent who showed me and Reel how to stipple our pistol grips. Something only the two of us would know.

Robie had loaded in a specific number address on Marshall Street. It could have been one of two possibilities. He had inputted the one he’d chosen on the flip of a coin back at his apartment. However, in such a small place he figured Marshall Street couldn’t be that long if he had to run down the second choice.

He slowed the car after he’d left the town and reentered a rural area. He made the right on Marshall and drove straight back until the road cut sharply to the right. There didn’t seem to be any street numbers here, because there were no houses. He had just started to fear that his trip had been for nothing when he cleared another curve and saw it up ahead. It looked like a motor court of some sort, dating back to maybe the fifties.

Robie pulled his car to a stop in front of a small office that had a large plate glass window in front. The building formed a horseshoe with the office at the center. It was two stories high and dilapidated.

Robie didn’t focus on that. His gaze went first to the street number painted on the front of the building.

Thirty-three.

The same number as the rounds in Reel’s Glock’s oversize mag.

The other number that Robie had considered was seventeen, the model number of the Glock.

Thirty-three had obviously been the correct one. His coin flip was a winner. But it also made sense. The 17 model was standard. Reel had modified it with the extra-long mag.

His gaze next went to the sign in front of the motor court. Its background was painted white, with narrowly drawn black concentric circles emanating from the center, and the perimeter painted a bold red. The name of the motor court was the Bull’s-Eye Inn; the sign represented the bull’s-eye.

Cheesy, thought Robie, but maybe it had been original and catchy when the place was first built.

The red edge was what had drawn his attention, however.

He held up the photo he’d found in Reel’s locker. The picture of Reel and the unknown gent. The edge of red on the right side of the photo could be from the sign, if they had been standing next to it. More confirmation that he was in the right place.

Robie parked the car and got out and headed to the office. Through the plate glass he could see an elderly white-haired woman sitting behind a waist-high counter. When he opened the door a bell tinkled. The woman looked up from her computer, which was old enough not to be a flat-screen but still had the bubble butt the size of a small TV. She rose to greet him.

Robie looked around. The place didn’t appear to have been changed since opening day. It looked frozen in time from well before a man had walked on the moon or JFK had been elected president.

“Can I help you?” the woman said.

Up close she looked to be in her eighties. Her hair was delicate, cottony, her shoulders rounded and bent, and her knees didn’t look all that sturdy. The metal nameplate on her blouse read “Gwen.”

Robie said, “I was just driving through and saw this place. Quite something.”

“Original owner built it right after WW-Two.”

“Are you the new owner, Gwen?”

She grinned, showing capped teeth. “Honey, there’s nothing ‘new’ about me. And if I were the owner, I wouldn’t be sitting here trying to use a computer. I’d hire someone to do it for me. But I can always phone my great-granddaughter. She tells me what button to hit.”

“You have any rooms available?”

“Yes, we do. Not exactly the busy season for us. Most people come here to get closer with nature. But it’s a little cold to be with nature right about now. We do the best in the summer months, and late spring is pretty good too.”

“Is Room 17 available?”

She looked at him with a quizzical expression. “Room 17? We don’t have a Room 17.”

“But it looks like you have more than seventeen rooms.”

“Oh, we do. But it was the quirk of the original owner. He started with room 100 and worked up from there. Guess he wanted the place to sound a lot bigger than it was. We have twenty-six rooms, thirteen on each floor. That’s unlucky, come to think of it. Thirteen. But we’ve been here a long time, so I guess no harm, no foul.”

Robie had taken a shot in the dark with the number 17. If Reel had left him hidden clues he wanted to try all of them.

“Well, then give me whatever room you have available.”

She slid out a key for Room 106 and handed it to him after he paid for two nights in cash.

“There’s a pretty good place to eat in town called Palisades. That’s the nice restaurant anyway. You know, tablecloths and napkins made of something other than paper towels. They got stuff on the menu I’ve never heard of and couldn’t cook myself to save my life. But it’s real good if you got the money to spend, which most folks around here don’t. Now, if you’re economy-minded you can try the Gettysburg Grill one block over from Palisades. It’s just plain comfort food. Burgers, pizza, and fries. I’m partial to the Neapolitan shake they do. It’s real nice and only costs a buck.”

“Thanks.”

Robie was turning to go back to his car and get his bag when her words made him stop.

“Of course, there is a Cabin 17.”

He turned to face her. “A Cabin 17.”

“Guess I forgot to tell you about our cabins.”

“I guess so,” said Robie, looking at her expectantly.

“But it wouldn’t have done you any good.”

“Why is that?’

“Well, if you had your heart set on Cabin 17, I couldn’t have rented it to you.”

“Why not?”

“It’s already rented. Has been for a long time.”

“A long time. By who?”

She pursed her lips. “Well, that’s confidential, isn’t it?”

“If you say so,” replied Robie with a smile. The last thing he needed was her calling Titanium’s police on him for being overly curious. “Thing is number 17 is the one I wore when I played football in college. Best years of my life. So wherever I go, I always try to stay in number 17. Stupid, I know, but it’s important to me.”

“Hell, honey, I play the same numbers on the lottery every week because they’re my wedding day, 11, 15, and 21, my age when I got married. My big ball Lotto numbers are the year I was born, which I won’t share with you because you’d know I was over twenty-one. Hard to know just by looking at me, right?”

“Right,” said Robie, with another grin.

“So I don’t begrudge you your 17.”

“Thanks,” answered Robie. “So where are your cabins?”

“Oh, we have twenty of them. I know, almost as many as the rooms we have. But that was the original owner’s idea again. Let you get communal with nature. They’re set back in the woods. Very rustic. That means one room with a bed and a toilet and sink, a woodstove that’s also a cookstove, and running water when the pump’s working. So, R-U-S-T-I-C.”

“How about a shower?”

“You can use the one here. We have it designated for cabin renters. Or you can just use the sink in the cabin for a quick one. Most folks renting cabins don’t have personal hygiene high on their priority list. Hell, I never see most of the folks. They come and go as they please.”

“Other than Cabin 17, any others rented?”

“No.”

“Anyone in Cabin 17 now?”

“I wouldn’t know. Like I said, they come and go.”

“They. Two people?”

“Well, aren’t you the curious one?”

“Always have been. Gets me in more trouble, so I’ll just stop right now.” Robie gave her another grin, which he hoped was disarming. He had the sense he had just pushed too hard. He hoped he didn’t regret it.

She eyed him. “Look, honey, you want to trade in your room for a cabin? Number 14 is all ready to go. It’s got a nice view and a new toilet. Well, new in the sense that it’s less than five years old and works more often than not.”

“Hey, why not?” said Robie. “I like communing with nature as much as the next person. How do I get there?”