Prologue (37 page)

“Is that Lewis?” she asked when the Corvette veered sharply to the right into the parking space opposite the entrance.
“And Pamela with him?”

Paul laughed. “He actually bought it! He always wanted a bug eyed ‘Vette. He never liked the Sting Ray model.”

“What’s he doing?” Amanda asked when Lewis drove the car past the officers and turned up
Merrimack Street
. Paul switched his attention to the room’s other window but gasped when the cruiser pulled out after the Corvette and Lewis accelerated down
Elm Street
, with Pamela craned backwards.

Paul turned open-mouthed to Amanda. “They’re, they’re after him,” he flustered.

“Why?” she asked.

Paul shook his head. “My God, he was right. I thought he was paranoid.”

He took a deep breath and sat on the edge of the bed. “He must have been right about those cops in the park.” He looked up at Amanda, a stunned expression on his face. “And now they’re after him.”

Amanda hesitated. “They’re after us, Paul. Not just him,
us
. We’ve got to get out of here.”

She grabbed her bag off the bed.

“Out of here? What, what do you mean?” Paul stammered.

“If Lewis is right then those cops are after us too. There’s no time. Grab your money and your ID. Leave the rest. We’ll head down the stairs. Forget the elevator.”

Amanda moved to the window and peered down.

“One policeman is still there,” she announced. “The other may be heading up here.”

Paul remained motionless on the bed. “We can’t go,” he spluttered. “We can’t separate from Lewis. How will he contact us?”

She wheeled on him. “How will he contact us if we’re in jail?
Or in a psychiatric hospital?”

Paul stood up. “O.K., O.K.,” he said. “I’ve got my money. It’s in my belt. I’ve got the ID.”

Amanda grabbed him with one hand and flung open the hotel room door with the other. She pushed Paul into the hallway and pulled the door shut behind her. Without locking it she hurried toward the red “Exit” sign. She pushed through the stairway door and began racing down the stairs.

“The police will take the elevator,” she said. “There’s still one cop in front of the building. We’ll go out the side entrance to avoid him.”

“Then where?” Paul asked, huffing along behind her as they twisted down the stairwell.

“There’s a train station by the mill yard. We’ll take the first one that comes along.” Amanda began taking the stairs two at a time. Reaching the bottom she paused at the door before tentatively pushing it open. She peered around the edge.

“Clear,” she said and swung it wide. That end of the lobby was empty and Amanda strode across the tile floor past a barbershop through the revolving door to
Merrimack Street
. She turned and strode toward
Elm Street
. Paul trotted to keep up. They furtively circled around and down
Depot Street
, watching for police, until they stood across the street from the back of a small ticket building along the railroad tracks.

“Not much of a train station.” Amanda frowned.

“The bigger one was torn down,” Paul said absently, looking up and down
Canal Street
. “My parents complained about it.”

“No police,” Amanda said. She led Paul across the road, through the mostly empty parking lot, and around to the front of the one-story building. On the side of the building was a white schedule sign with metallic letters. The next train was to
Boston
in 17 minutes.

Amanda bought two tickets and the pair moved to the far end of the platform and sat on a bench facing the tracks. Amanda cast an occasional glance at the traffic behind them.

“You sure they were after us?” Paul asked. “It still makes no sense.”

“No, I’m not sure,” Amanda answered. “I’m not sure of anything.”

Paul sighed. “How will we find Lewis? We have no communicators, computers or cell phones. What are we going to do?” He turned to her. “Maybe we should go back.”

She turned to look at him. “And do what?” she demanded. “Even if they don’t kill us or lock us up, Lewis is not coming back to the hotel. Regardless of whether the cops are after us, they were after him. If they caught him, he’s going to jail. If he got away, he’s not coming back. All we can do is try and get away to someplace safe.”

Paul gazed at her, and his expression turned soft. For a brief moment, with the sun behind her, it seemed as if 28 years had melted away. They were sitting in the middle of the Arts Quad on the Cornell campus, Amanda eating a slice of pizza from Corny’s Pizza Truck, one hand wrapped around a can of Mountain Dew.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, seeing his expression.

“Hey you,” Paul said.

Amanda looked at him blankly, and then raised both eyebrows as if she understood. She flung her pocketbook over her right shoulder and shifted her feet nervously on the pavement.

“Still using the same pocketbook, I see,” Paul said. “Didn’t Leavitt’s have any new ones?”

“They were all too small,” she said, staring quietly across the tracks at the canal and beyond, another mill building.

“Where shall I go, what shall I do?” she mused.

“Gone With
The
Wind?”
Paul guessed.

Amanda nodded. “I think so.”

“How about
The
Waldorf in
New York
?” Paul suggested. “Lewis mentioned it back when we planned to go to
New York
in ’62. Maybe he’ll think of it.”

“Maybe,” she said. “In
Boston
we’ll have to switch from North Station to South Station to get to
New York
.”

Paul grimaced. “Why not fly?
Manchester
has an airport.”

Amanda nodded. “Along with Kennedy’s itinerary I also had a complete printout of all air crashes for the whole period in 1962 that we’d be here. However, I didn’t do it for 1963.”

Paul nodded sagely. “Train it is then. If we get separated let’s have a plan. The New York Times should be available everywhere. I’ll place a help wanted ad for a...eh...tutor. PHYSICS TUTOR WANTED. It will have a phone number or P.O. Box. In either case I will switch the first two digits of the real number so only you will reach me.”

“Sounds like a plan,” she said.

As if on cue they heard
a train whistle
. The other passengers lounging about the platform perked up. A Boston & Maine Budliner with three passenger cars circled into view and glided to a stop in front of them. Paul and Amanda stood up. Amanda cast one last look back up
Depot Street
. Seeing nothing, she climbed aboard after Paul.

Chapter 17

Just south of
Washington
,
D.C.
, Lewis Ginter swung the Corvette off the roadway and across a gravel parking lot. He let the sports car roll up to the two-story white wood frame motel before dousing the headlights. He left the engine running.

It was well after
midnight
and he and Pamela had been driving since escaping
Manchester
that afternoon. They had stopped in
Connecticut
for food, and Ginter purchased a series of Esso road maps which covered the country. On impulse, Pamela had bought a red and yellow scarf to keep her hair from flying, only to discover Ginter putting the convertible top back up after fishing around in the trunk. When he got back behind the steering wheel, he was wearing the oversized sportcoat he had purchased that morning.

The pair sat in the dark, staring at the side of the building.

“We don’t have to stop yet, I can drive,” Pamela said. She loosened the kerchief.

“I’m not tired,” Ginter said.

He smiled. “But it’s been a long day and it’s better to be safe. We’ll get plenty of sleep tonight and then drive straight through.”

Ginter folded the road maps next to his bucket seat. “Pre-GPS navigation aids,” he said.

“Are we going to get there in time?” she asked.

“Easily,” Ginter answered. “We could be in
New Orleans
by late Wednesday, even stopping to sleep. We don’t have to drive through if you don’t want to.”

“And then what?” Pamela asked. “What are you going to do in
New Orleans
?” It was the question she had wanted to ask since learning of their destination.

“Stop General Lee from defecting,” Ginter answered, reaching across her and shoving the maps into the glove box.

“Huh?”

“O.H. Lee.
The future ‘Hero of Acapulco.’
The American who saved, or will save, Ché Guevara in
Bolivia
in 1968.
According to his autobiography he is currently in
New Orleans
. He defected to the
Soviet Union
a few years ago, but returned. He’ll defect to
Cuba
later this year. He’ll head up a guerilla expeditionary wing that will save Ché from the Bolivian army. If I can stop the defection, he won’t be in
Bolivia
. If Ché is killed or captured there’s an excellent chance the insurgency falls apart in
South America
. And without that toehold
America
may not have to capitulate.”