One Mile Under (43 page)
Authors: Andrew Gross
“Guess I could say the same thing. Played with my aim a little; otherwise that McKay guy would have never gotten the drop on me.”
“So I suspected.” Hauck said, twisting around. “The ribs hurt like a sonovabitch, though.”
“Chuck.” The farmer’s wife nudged him forward.
“Okay, Marie …” Watkins took off his cap. “We want to say thank you,” he said, and put out his hand. Hauck had to reach awkwardly with his left arm to take it, wincing. “Sorry …” the farmer said.
Hauck said, “I’m feeling like I’m the one who should be thanking you.”
“It’s mutual then. Though part of me does feel you owe me a new barn.”
“Be sure and send the bill to RMM.”
“You can be sure I will.”
“
Chuck
…” Marie Watkins nudged him again.
“Marie,
please
…” Watkins glanced at her irritably. He cleared his throat. “Not just for what you did. For helping us all take a stand …” He squeezed his cap, as if he were wringing out the last drop of water from it. “What I meant was, thank you for giving me back my son. The way it was, I’m not sure I would ever have been able to think of him again without anger or even shame.
Now …
Now at least why he died means something … And I’m working on trying to forgive myself. Like you said you did with your little girl.”
Marie Watkins interjected, “What my husband means to say is …”
“Dammit, Marie, if you could just butt out, I think Mr. Hauck and I both know what I’m trying to say …”
“I think we do, Ms. Watkins,” Hauck said, with a wink to Chuck.
“See.” Watkins shot a roll of the eyes at her. “Have to admit,” he said, turning back to Hauck, “I quite liked what you came up with for that guy Robertson, though.” His eyes lit up in admiration. “Got to thank you a lot for that one.”
“No point in letting him hang around forever,” Hauck said with a smile.
“Hang around …” The farmer laughed, the first time Hauck had heard him. “I kind of like that too.”
The two of them shook hands, two unlikely partners who both knew they would likely never see each other again.
And Dani … She drove up the day Hauck was released and insisted on driving him back to the Denver airport. She looked nice, in a printed dress, her thick hair up. Pretty sandals. A little makeup on.
Of course, Blu was there in the back of her wagon. For most of the trip they just spoke about trivial things: How Hauck was mending. How long he was going to stay back east. She bet he was thrilled to go and see his daughter.
They drove down I-85 without saying what they really meant to say between them until the turnoff for the Denver airport, where Dani just pulled over to the side of the highway.
Hauck saw there were tears in her eyes.
“You going to be okay …?” he asked, and gave her a napkin from the fast food drink on the console.
“Yes.” She nodded and dabbed her eyes. “No.” The tears began to fall. He drew her into him with his good arm and held her against his shoulder. “I feel like such a jerk,” she said, burying her face into him in a mash of tears.
“We’re all jerks sometimes,” he said, stroking her hair. “I’ll always be there for you, Dani. You know that. Whenever you need me, you just call.”
“Sounds like some stupid James Taylor song.” She nodded. Then she pulled away and looked at him, her eyes glistening. “Thank you.”
“Everyone seems to be saying that to me today.”
“Thank you for believing me. Thank you for saving my life. Thank you for making it through. If you hadn’t, I don’t think I’d ever have had a happy day for the rest of my life.”
“But we did,” Hauck said, smiling. “Both of us. So we don’t have to worry about that, right?”
She blew her nose and nodded. “Right. My dad’s flying in tomorrow. From South America. We’re going to spend some time here and talk about a few things.”
“Tell him something for me?”
“What?”
“Tell him this was just a bit more adventurous than he led me to believe. And next time, to call Tom Cruise.”
Dani laughed again. “I will.” She hugged him, and saw him wince from the awkward embrace. “Oh my God, sorry …”
“It’s okay. I’m just not sure I can take a lot more of these goodbyes.”
Then she wiped her eyes and looked at him.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“My old boss called. The police chief in Greenwich. He said he’s retiring. They’re looking at a few people who might fit the job. My name came up.”
“You’d be happy? Doing that?”
He’d waited for the rising tide inside to tell him that there was something bigger to do in his life, and the truth was, it just felt fine. “I think I would.”
“You remember what I said to you on the phone? Before you went back up there. About your being here for me.”
“Of course.”
“Please stay in my life, Uncle Ty. Promise me.”
“That’s one promise I can keep, Dani. And I will.”
They hugged again, gingerly this time, and Dani put her head against his chest. “I don’t want to let you go.”
“Then don’t.” With his arm around her, Hauck thought, of all the things that happened here, maybe this was the best.
Hauck’s jet traversed over the tarmac and back to the gate.
When the seat belt signal dinged, he stood up and tried to pull his bag down with his good arm. He didn’t have much with him. Only a couple of shirts and jeans. It seemed funny now, with what happened, that he’d figured he’d stay only a couple of days.
The man across the aisle, who had the look of a guy who’d been on the road for weeks, noticed the sling and helped Hauck pull his bag down. “What’d ya do?” he asked.
“Shoulder sprain,” Hauck said. “Fly fishing.”
“Must have been one helluva bass,” the guy said with a laugh. “Those suckers can be tricky. Whatever you do, make sure you do the PT. That makes all the difference in the world.”
“I will,” Hauck said brightly. He took his bag from him and nodded thanks.
“Traveling or coming home?” the man asked, pulling his briefcase from under the seat and wrapping a strap around his shoulder.
Hauck thought for a moment. About the life he’d left behind here. About his daughter, Jessie, who was waiting for him here. He didn’t know what was ahead for him. Talon was gone now. Wherever that led.
The head job in Greenwich, huh?
He tried to fit that on for size. He and Naomi had tried to plan a week when they could get together, but she was in Houston next week and had budget meetings after that. It had been a long time away. Months. And felt right, to step back out. At last.
“Home,” Hauck said.
This is my first Ty Hauck book in five years, and it was like getting back together with an old friend. Though the setting is not a familiar one for Ty, the nature of his character, his dogged search for the truth, usually undertaken on behalf of someone else (generally female), his humble and overachieving way, and his unfailing willingness to put his life on the line have always made him kind of a white knight for me, an idealized version of who I aimed to be.
But I’m just a guy who sits at my desk with a keyboard and a computer, and writing a thriller is more often a battle in problem solving than a search for inspiration, so this is a good time to thank the handful of people who did truly help in getting this one done, and hopefully done well: Tree Trujillo, an accomplished rafter, for vetting my whitewater scenes (I knew taking my family on those crazy rides down the Snake and Kennebec Rivers would come in handy one day). Tim Hopper, chief economist at TIAA-CREF in Houston, for some timely info, over dinner in Steamboat, on the economics of the fracking process; and Roy Grossman, an early reader of many of my books, and whose perceptive comments helped make this one a whole lot better.
Also a nod of thanks to my longtime team at William Morrow: Henry Ferris, David Highfill, Lynn Grady, Liate Stehlik, Danielle Bartlett, and Julia Wisdom, who, despite a few bumps and spills over the years, have guided me on one of the most memorable rides of my life. And to Simon Lipskar of Writers House, who continues to guide me, wherever that leads.
Two articles that helped me in this book deserve mention: “Option for Drilling Pits Farmers Against Oil Thirsty Wells” (
New York Times
, September 6, 2012). And a blog post by Brendan Demelle on
desmogblog.com
, “Gas Fracking Industry Using Military Psychological Warfare Tactics and Personnel in U.S.” (September 6, 2011).
The themes of this book are cover-up and vindication, but the story leads through fracking and horizontal drilling, and in writing it, I immersed myself in much of the technology and environmental impact. Normally I just say it’s not for me to agree or disagree on such issues. I’m a thriller writer, not a journalist. It’s merely a device. But if I had to take sides on this one, I think I would come down on the side of being
for
it—with as much environmental oversight as possible. Many of the characters in this book are drawn from real people—and they are passionate, committed, and moral about their jobs. To me, the long-term strategic goal of making our country energy independent outweighs, for now, at least by a margin, the environmental risks. Subject to change, of course. But for once, even as just a thriller writer, I thought I’d take a stand.
Hilary Cantor’s life is falling apart. She has lost her job, is about to lose her house, and is running out of money to care for her young son with Asperger’s syndrome.
But when Hilary is first on the scene of a fatal car accident, she finds a satchel full of cash on the backseat – enough to solve all of her problems. Her split-second decision has devastating consequences …
Because the money she takes is at the heart of a conspiracy involving murder, blackmail and a powerful figure who’ll do anything to keep the past buried. They don’t just want their money back: they want Hilary’s life – and that of her son.
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Before turning to full-time writing, Andrew Gross was an executive in the sportswear business. Andrew has written nine novels, seven of which were Top Ten bestsellers in the UK. He has also co-authored five
New York Times
Number One bestsellers with James Patterson. He currently lives in New York with his wife Lynn and their three children.
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