The Pelican Brief (Page 81)

Darby pushed her chair away, and walked back to the window. It was dark now, and the traffic was still slow and heavy. It was nice to have these mysteries revealed to her, but they created more mysteries. She just wanted to leave. She was tired of running and being chased; tired of playing reporter with Gray; tired of wondering who did what and why; tired of the guilt for writing the damned thing; tired of buying a new toothbrush every three days. She longed for a small house on a deserted stretch of beach with no phones and no people, especially ones hiding behind vehicles and buildings. She wanted to sleep for three days without nightmares and without seeing shadows. It was time to go.

Gray watched her carefully. "She was followed to New York, then here," he said to Voyles. "Who is it?"

"Are you positive?" Voyles asked.

"They were on the street all day watching the building," Darby said, nodding to the window.

"We’ve watched them," Gray said. "They’re out there."

Voyles seemed skeptical. "Have you seen them before?" he asked Darby.

"One of them. He watched Thomas’ memorial service in New Orleans. He chased me through the French Quarter. He almost found me in Manhattan, and I saw him chatting with another fella about five hours ago. I know it’s him."

"Who is it?" Gray asked Voyles again.

"I don’t think CIA would chase you."

"Oh, he chased me."

"Do you see them now?"

"No. They disappeared two hours ago. But they’re out there."

Voyles stood and stretched his thick arms. He walked slowly around the table, unwrapping a cigar. "Mind if I smoke?"

"Yes, I mind," she said without looking at him. He laid it on the table.

"We can help," he said.

"I don’t want your help," she said to the window.

"What do you want?"

"I want to leave the country, but when I do, I want to make damned sure no one follows. Not you, not them, not Rupert nor any of his pals."

"You’ll have to come back and testify before the grand jury."

"Only if they can find me. I’m going to a place where subpoenas are frowned upon."

"What about the trial? You’ll be needed at trial."

"That’s at least a year from now. I’ll think about it then."

Voyles placed the cigar in his mouth, but did not light it. He paced and analyzed better with one between his teeth. "I’ll make you a deal."

"I’m not in the mood for deals." She was leaning against the wall now, looking at him and looking at Gray.

"It’s a good one. I’ve got planes and helicopters and plenty of men who carry guns and are not the least bit afraid of those boys out there playing hide-and-seek. First, we’ll get you out of the building, and no one will know it. Second, we’ll put you on my plane and fly you anywhere you want. Third, you can disappear from there. You have my word we will not follow. But, and fourth, you allow me to contact you through Mr. Grantham here if, and only if, it becomes urgently necessary."

She was looking at Gray as the offer was made, and it was obvious he liked the deal. She kept a poker face, but, damn, it sounded good. If she had trusted Gavin after the first phone call, he would be alive and she would never have held hands with Khamel. If she’d simply left New Orleans with him when he suggested, he would not have been murdered. She’d thought about this every five minutes for the past seven days.

This thing was bigger than she was. There comes a time when you give up and start trusting people. She didn’t like this man, but for the past ten minutes he had been remarkably honest with her.

"Is it your plane and your pilots?"

"Yes."

"Where is it?"

"Andrews."

"Let’s do it like this. I get on the plane, and it’s headed for Denver. And no one is on it but me, Gray, and the pilots. And thirty minutes after we take off, I instruct the pilot to go to, let’s say, Chicago. Can he do that?"

"He has to file a flight plan before he leaves."

"I know. But you’re the director of the FBI, and you can pull some strings."

"Okay. What happens when you get to Chicago?"

"I get off the plane alone, and it returns to Andrews with Gray."

"And what do you do in Chicago?"

"I get lost in a busy airport, and catch the first flight out."

"That’ll work, but you have my word we won’t follow."

"I know. Forgive me for being so cautious."

"It’s a deal. When do you wish to leave?"

Chapter Thirty

She looked at Gray. "When?"

"It’ll take me an hour to revise it again, and add Mr. Voyles’ comments."

"An hour," she said to Voyles.

"I’ll wait."

"Could we talk in private?" she said to Voyles while nodding at Gray.

"Certainly." He grabbed his trench coat, and stopped at the door. He smiled at her. "You’re a helluva lady, Ms. Shaw. Your brains and guts are bringing down one of the sickest men in this country. I admire you. And I promise I’ll always level with you."

He stuck the cigar in the middle of his chubby smile and left the room.

They watched the door close. "Do you think I’ll be safe?" she asked.

"Yes. I think he’s sincere. Plus, he has men with guns who can get you out of here. It’s okay, Darby."

"You can leave with me, can’t you?"

"Sure."

She walked to him and put her arms around his waist. He held her tightly, and closed his eyes.

At seven, the editors gathered around the table for the last time Tuesday night. They quickly read the section Gray added to include Voyles’ comments. Feldman walked in late with an enormous smile.

"You will not believe this," he said. "I’ve had two phone calls. Ludwig called from China. The President found him there and begged him to hold the story for twenty-four hours. Ludwig said the man was near tears. Ludwig, being the gentleman, listened respectfully, and politely declined. The second call was from Judge Roland, an old friend of mine. Seems as though the boys at White and Blazevich called him away from the dinner table and requested permission to file an injunction tonight with an immediate hearing. Judge Roland listened quite disrespectfully, and impolitely declined."

"Let’s run this baby!" Krauthammer yelled.

The takeoff was smooth and the jet was headed due west, supposedly for Denver. It was adequate but not luxurious, but then it was owned by the taxpayers and held by a man who cared nothing for the finer things. No good whiskey, Gray determined as he opened the cabinets. Voyles was an abstainer, and at the moment this really irritated Gray since he was a guest and dying of thirst. He found two semichilled Sprites in the refrigerator, and handed one to Darby. She popped the top of the can.

The jet appeared to be level. The copilot appeared in the door of their cabin. He was polite and introduced himself.

"We were told that we would have a new destination shortly after takeoff."

"That’s correct," Darby said.

"Fine. Uh, we’ll need to know something in about ten minutes."

"Okay."

"Is there any liquor on this thing?" Gray asked.

"Sorry." The copilot smiled, and returned to the cockpit.

Darby and her long legs consumed most of the small sofa, but he was determined to join her. He lifted her feet and sat at the end of it. They were in his lap. Red toenails. He rubbed her ankles and thought only of this first major event – the holding of the feet. It was terribly intimate for him, but didn’t seem to faze her. She was smiling a little now, unwinding. It was over.