按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
and the girls a year earlier； he was not nervous during the trip to Denver。 Initially he worried that he would have an anxiety attack and begin to relive the plunge of Flight 353 as he had so often imagined it； but after just a few minutes； he knew that he would be all right。
He wasn't apprehensive about dying in another crash。 Perversely； if he perished in the same way that his wife and daughters had been taken； he would be calm and without fear on the long ride down into the earth； because such a fate would seem like a wele return to balance in the universe； an open circle closed； a wrongness made right at last。
Of greater concern to him was what he might learn from Barbara Christman at the far end of his journey。
He was convinced that she didn't trust the privacy of telephone conversations but would talk with him face…to…face。 He didn't think he had imagined the note of disappointment in her voice when she learned that he was not calling her from Colorado Springs。 Likewise； her speech about the dangers of believing in conspiracy theories and the need for grief therapy； although passionate and well stated； sounded to Joe as though it had been intended less for him than for the ears of eavesdroppers。
If Barbara Christman was carrying a burden that she longed to put down； the solution to the mystery of Flight 353 might be close at hand。
Joe wanted to know the whole truth； needed to know； but dreaded knowing。 The peace of indifference would forever be beyond his reach if he learned that men； not fate； had been responsible for taking his family from him。 The journey toward this particular truth was not an ascension toward a glorious light but a descent into darkness； chaos； the maelstrom。
He'd brought the printouts of four articles about Teknologik； which he had gotten from Randy Colway's puter at the Post。 The business…section prose was so dry； however…and his attention span so short after only three and a half hours of sleep…that he wasn't able to concentrate。
He dozed fitfully across the Mojave Desert and the Rockies： two hours and fifteen minutes of half…formed dreams lit by oil lamps and the glow of digital clocks； in which understanding seemed about to wash over him but from which he woke still thirsty for answers。
In Denver； the humidity was unusually high and the sky overcast。 To the west； the mountains lay buried under slow avalanches of early…morning fog。
In addition to his driver's license； he had to use a credit card as ID to obtain a rental car。 He put down a cash deposit； however； trying to avoid the actual use of the card； which might leave a trail of plastic for anyone who was tracking him。
Though no one on the plane or in the terminal had seemed to be especially interested in him； Joe parked the car at a shopping centre not far from the airport and searched it inside and out； under the hood and in the trunk； for a transponder like the one that he had found on his Honda the previous day。 The rental Ford was clean。
From the shopping centre； he wove a tangled course along surface streets； checking his rear…view mirror for a tail。 Convinced that he was not being followed； he finally picked up Interstate 25 and drove south。
Mile by mile； Joe pushed the Ford harder； eventually ignoring the speed limit； because he became increasingly convinced that if he didn't get to Barbara Christman's house in time； he would find her dead by her own hand。 Eviscerated。 Immolated。 Or with the back of her head blown out。
2
In Colorado Springs； Joe found Barbara Christman's address in the telephone book。 She lived in a diminutive jewel…box Victorian； Queen Anne style； exuberantly decorated with elaborate millwork。
When she came to the door in answer to the bell； she spoke before Joe had a chance to identify himself。 'Even sooner than I expected you。'
'Are you Barbara Christman？'
'Let's not do this here。'
'I'm not sure you know who I…'
'Yes； I know。 But not here。'
'Where？'
'Is that your car at the curb？' she asked。
'The rental Ford。'
'Park it in the next block。 Two blocks。 Wait there； and I'll pick you up。'
She closed the door。
Joe stood on the porch a moment longer； considering whether he should ring the bell again。 Then he decided that she wasn't likely to be planning to run out on him。
Two blocks south of Christman's house； he parked beside a grade…school playground。 The swings； seesaws； and jungle gyms were unused on this Sunday morning。 Otherwise； he would have parked elsewhere； to be safe from the silvery laughter of children。
He got out of the car and looked north。 There was no sign of the woman yet。
Joe consulted his wristwatch。 Ten minutes till ten o'clock； Pacific Time； an hour later here。
In eight hours； he would have to be back in Westwood to meet Demi…and Rose。
Along the sleepy street came a cat's paw of warm wind searching the boughs of the pine trees for hidden birds。 It rustled the leaves on the branches of a nearby group of paper birches with trunks as luminous white as choirboys' surplices。
Under a sky grey…white with lowering mist to the west and drear with gun…metal thunderheads to the east； the day seemed to carry a heavy freight of dire portents。 The flesh prickled on the nape of Joe's neck； and he began to feel as exposed as a red bull's…eye target on a shooting range。
When a Chevy sedan approached from the south and Joe saw three men in it； he moved casually around to the passenger's side of the rental car； using it for cover in the event that they opened fire on him。 They passed without glancing in his direction。
A minute later； Barbara Christman arrived in an emerald…green Ford Explorer。 She smelled faintly of bleach and soap； and he suspected she had been doing the laundry when he'd rung her bell。
As they headed south from the grade school； Joe said； 'Ms。 Christman； I'm wondering…where have you seen a photograph of me？'
'Never have；' she said。 'And call me Barbara。'
'So； Barbara。。。 when you opened your door a bit ago； how did you know who I was？'
'Hasn't been a stranger at my door in ages。 Anyway； last night when you called back and I didn't answer； you let it ring more than thirty times。'
'Forty。'
'Even a persistent man would have given up after twenty。 When it kept ringing and ringing； I knew you were more than persistent。 Driven。 I knew you'd e soon。'
She was about fifty； dressed in Rockports； faded jeans； and a periwinkle…blue chambray shirt。 Her thick white hair looked as if it had been cut by a good barber rather than styled by a beautician。 Well…tanned； with a broad face as open and inviting as a golden field of Kansas wheat； she appeared honest and trustworthy。 Her stare was direct； and Joe liked her for the aura of efficiency that she projected and for the crisp self…assurance in her voice。
'Who are you afraid of； Barbara？'
'Don't know who they are。'
'I'm going to get the answer somewhere；' he warned。
'What I'm telling you is the truth； Joe。 Never have known who they are。 But they pulled strings I never thought could be pulled。'
'To control the results of a Safety Board investigat