The Journalist (34 page)

Amid calm pilot chatter, Glenda joked as the
plane dropped. “Here we gooo, Boobie

where
is it?

there

touchdown

annnd, hit
it

”

Glenda’s movements over the controls were
quick and masterful as she and Herb chattered to each other.

Zack said to himself,
I think she’s
enjoying this.

“Hang onto your seat, Boobie, this is
no-woman’s land,” Glenda said.

“One o’clock,” Herb said calmly.

Glenda banked the plane right. A large cargo
plane climbed to the left.

“Wow, didn’t see that one,” she smiled.

Zack swallowed hard and looked out the side
window. The headlights of speeding vehicles on some expressway were
showroom close. He needed a cigarette. The plane banked back to the
left; and glancing down, he watched a clump of trees flash by, near
enough to touch.

Then the plane gained scant altitude, leveled
off, and Glenda spoke to the co-pilot. “Call BWI air control and
declare an emergency.”

“They’ll ask what nature.”

“How ’bout out of fucking fuel

”

Chapter Fifty Three

9:55 .m.
EST

“Buckle up tight, Boobie,” Glenda said to
Zack.

Zack tugged his seat belt and viewed the
twinkling lights that dotted the rising landscape below. In the
surreal silence, his thoughts mixed a thousand memories, wishes and
might-have-beens—
Fifty-two spins around the sun, and you die in
Maryland

not good time to think of
futures

They say it all flashes
by

as you get closer to the end you
pray or pay or something

do you
have a choice?

Heaven and
hell

and even now the doubt. But
the intellect concedes the doubt

feeds the doubt

what’s that?

free
will

who the hell is Joe Case
anyway?

He recalled a verse from Ecclesiastes, 9:11:
“I returned, and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the
swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise,
nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favor to men of
skill; but time and chance happens to them all.”

Time and chance happens to them all—that
explains it. Bus hit by a train, baby dropped down a
well

the tornado that killed Frick
but left neighbor Frack untouched

two seconds either way

senseless, luck of the draw.

He shook his head.
And then there’s
omnipotence, knowledge of past, present, and future. How can that
jog alongside free will?

He mumbled, “Logic of Tweedledee.”

Glenda said, “You okay, Boobie?”

“Yes, thank you.”

He thought about the times he slugged it out
with himself, his bishop, his conscience; forgiving, forgetful,
young-at-forty-five Elizabeth, Sister Ursula’s lead-pipe cinch
turns out to be a monkey-wrench curse.
Then there’s
O’Brien.

“You mumbling Boobie or praying?” Glenda
said.

“Praying.”

“You think it helps?”

“I’m still working on it.”

He went back to his thoughts:
Mary

first day of fall semester.
She strolls in to his classroom, a gift dropped through the
ceiling, lands front row, center. Trolling from the start. Was that
the sign I had been seeking? How do you know? Some signs are
between the eyes, others a glimmer at night, a passing train, black
nights, no light, no hope, no nothing. Can we never know the truth
except we die? But then, think about it—I was never really afraid
to die. Honestly, I almost long for the adventure. If only I could
believe. It’s called faith, Jocko. Augustinian faith. Help me to be
pure, Lord, but not just yet, got a few things to
do

right.

Zack felt that presence again, Joe Case, and
heard that in-your-face voice,
How many steaks can you eat a
week?

“You’re mumbling again, Zack,” Glenda said
then addressed the co-pilot. “Listen up, Herb. Don’t nobody pick
their nose just yet, this is going to be one helluva gotcha
landing.”

Zack watched yet another string of approach
lights growing larger as the plane descended like a falling star to
the Baltimore airport. He observed Glenda, in a blur of beeps,
flashing lights and quick movements, calling out this and that to
the co-pilot, switching things and looking like she was a kid at a
game in a video arcade. He noticed her smiling.

She really is enjoying this
, he
thought.

“Buckaroo time

”
Glenda shouted.

The jet hit the runway with a jarring thud.
Zack watched Glenda slam controls and stiffen her legs. The engines
thundered.

Zack’s seatbelt tightened around him; he
fought the pressure forward. He looked at the runway lights
flashing by. The tires screamed over muffled human screams and
shouts from the rear.

“We’re not going to make it,” he mumbled.

“You’re mumbling again, Boo

Boobie.” Glenda’s voice shook with the vibrating
airplane. “Anyway, I’m go

ing to
get

you roo

lled
out to the e

nd of this run

way. When this crate stops, hit an emergency exit in
the cabin and get your l

ittle fanny in the
clover, so

to speak. Then it’s up to
yooo

u, okay?”

The plane began to slow, and Zack smiled.
We’re going to make it.
“Got it.”

With a final little jolt they came to a stop
and Glenda took a deep breath. She looked at an army of distant red
flashing lights streaming toward the plane. She said to Herb, “did
we just land at BWI?”

“I’m afraid so.”

She looked at Zack and shook her head. “The
emergency vehicles are rolling, Boobie. Better hurry and duck it,
’cause if you’re wrong about this, my tush is going to be flying
Eskimo pies to Alaska and you’re going to the lethal injection
table.”

Zack said, “Captain, where are you from?”

“Parts unknown, why?”

“You ever know a Joe Case?”’

“No, why?”

“Nothing.”

“Looks like plenty of running room over that
fence, Boobie. You better get your butt moving.”

Chapter Fifty Four

10:05 p.m.
EST

Clutching his briefcase, Zack breathed hard
in the high grass and weeds.
What a few thousand cigarettes will
do
, he thought.

He looked up. Like a far-away amusement park,
the glow of the airport terminal in the background, emergency
vehicles flashing red lights and sirens charged toward the
plane.

He slithered up beside a chain link fence and
tugged on the cold steel. The roar of a jet shook the ground. He
looked up and saw the wheels retracting. Jet exhaust settled over
him.

He touched his cellular telephone tucked
inside his jacket pocket:
Call Beno

what was that number?
He started to reach then
remembered, the match book on which he had written the number was
in a pocket in a clothes hamper on board
Veracity
. His
thoughts were bouncing like ping pong balls bouncing on a cement
floor:
What was that young man’s name

Boston

555-BENO

get to a
pay phone, leave your cellular number

. No

leave the pay
phone number

this is
insane.

In front of him he looked at a
razor-wire-topped fifteen-foot fence.

Over the top is out
, he reasoned. He
looked down and there, in front of him, was a small opening in the
earth at the bottom of the fence. He whispered to himself,
“Fifteen-foot fence, razor-wire on the top, hole at the bottom,
figures.”

He heard Jocko say
This is not the time to
editorialize, get moving.

Chapter Fifty Five

10:30 p.m. EST

Running, jogging, walking, Zack noted that
Friendship was the name of a park he found himself in. After what
seemed two miles, he came upon a rusty Dorsey Road street sign. He
looked to the other side of the road. Next to a park information
building and display, a pay phone glowed under a dim light.

Catching his breath, he focused on two
thoughts: Armstrong’s goons killing him, and getting in touch with
Beno. On the goons—
goons are goons.
On Beno—
she’s
probably in jail or worse. Call her office number

message service

bugged

you have
any dazzling ideas, Jocko? Shut up and call her.

Sweating and spent, Zack crossed the road and
reached the audio pay phone. Exuding casualness, he leaned against
the plastic bay and surveyed the area. Nothing unusual. He swiped
Jim’s credit card and pressed Beno’s emergency number, 555-BENO.
After two rings a pleasant female voice answered.

“This is Senator Beno’s messaging
center.”

“Boston there?”

“No.”

“This is Zackary Stearn, editor of
The
Boca
, Miami. I must get a message to Senator Beno.”

“Sir

the Senator is
not available, no one is available, the emergency

”

“You do not seem to understand. This
is
the emergency. I was to meet her

”

“Sir

”

“What happened to that nice young man, Boston
Smith? I talked to

”

“He’s not on duty now.”

“Look, I don’t have much time. Boston had a
number Beno could be reached

she’ll know.
Believe me, please. Give her this number, I’m at a pay phone,
410-555-3561.”

“Sir

”

“Please, the Senator will know.”

Pause.

Zack said, “Trust me, I was to meet her,
trust me.”

Pause. “Well, all right, I will try to relay
the info to the Senator, but

”

“Thank you immensely.”

With his little finger, he depressed the
receiver switch and talked into the dead phone. Minutes passed. The
phone rang. He released the switch and said, “Senator.”

“Zackary.”

“Now do you believe?”

“I do not know what to believe.”

“I do. You in a car?”

“No, I’m at the friend’s home. Why didn’t you
call me direct?”

“I misplaced

ah

we don’t have much time.
This phone is probably bugged. Your friend have a car?”

“Of course. But Mr. Stearn—”

“We don’t have much time. Anybody know you’re
there?”

“No, ah

”

“Where are you?”

“I told you, at

”

“You drove there?”

“No, my friend picked me up

”

“Good.”

“Mr. Stearn, this is very

”

“I know, I’ll explain everything later.”

“Where are you?”

He thought about that for a moment but there
was no other way.

“Somewhere around Baltimore airport,
expressway, a park, Friendship Park.” He looked around. “On Dorsey
Road.”

“One moment, I’ll ask my friend.”

“A moment may be too long.”

“What?”

“I’ll wait, hurry.”

He watched fifteen seconds tick off his
watch.

Finally, Beno came back on line. “Zackary,
yes, we know where it is.”

“Can you pick me up?”

After another moment, “We’ll be there as
quickly as possible.”

“Hurry.”

Chapter Fifty Six

11:01 p.m.
EST

Zack crossed back over the road from the
phone. The wind was picking up, and ominous lightning and much
thunder to the east portended a storm was approaching. He hid
behind a tree. The wind blew leaves and twigs. He wiped the sweat
from his face with his palms. He looked at his watch and began to
wonder:
Will Beno make it? Goons. How far can she be? What if
she doesn’t show? Dance, Jocko. Trouble is


Waiting, minutes passing, thoughts careening,
he sat on the ground opened his briefcase and began writing on a
yellow pad.

Writing, pausing to think, doubting, time
passing, lightning and thunder overhead, Zack talked to himself,
Give her another ten minutes

if
she doesn’t show up, look for a cab, get to the airport. Stay away
from airports, got to get back to Miami. Rent a car

hold it. There, coming down the road, headlights,
that’s a limo.

A long white limo approached. He squinted his
eyes.
Must be Beno. You hope.

The limo stopped and the rear window lowered.
A small light illuminated the passenger area long enough for Zack
to catch a glimpse of the Senator. He moved from behind the tree
and toward the car.

The rear door opened.

“Zackary, get in,” Beno said.

He entered and closed the door behind him.
The limo began to move.

Her fragrance reminded him of Mary. “Senator
Beno.” He extended his right hand.