The Distance Beacons (26 page)

"It's a bit obscure, don't you think? We're probably the only two people in Boston who know that poem."

"Why should that matter, Walter? It's not like anyone is going to read the book."

"That's a very good point."

I finished my eggs, and we waited for Mickey.

* * *

Eventually we heard the van pull up in front. Bobby and Doctor J came inside while Mickey stayed behind. I got to my feet and greeted them out in the store. "You didn't all have to come," I said.

"Wally, for Gwen we all come," Bobby replied. "You look like a piece of homemade shit, by the way."

"Thanks very much. Shall we get out of here?"

"Sure. Put that magazine down, Doctor J. Art, it's nice to see you again."

"Please be careful, everyone," Art said.

I shook Art's hand. "Thanks again," I said to him.

"'Not in vain the distance beacons,'" he replied. "'Forward, forward let us range.'"

"'Let the great world spin forever down the ringing grooves of change,'" I replied.

We went outside then, leaving Art behind, and I climbed into the back of the van with Mickey's tools. I waved to Mickey, who waved back. Doctor J and Bobby got in front, and we were off to the
Globe
.

* * *

Like everything else, the Boston
Globe
is not what it used to be. Once upon a time, its parking lots were jammed with cars, its rooftop antennae picked up information from around the world, its presses rolled ceaselessly, producing hundreds of thousands of ad-filled papers every day for news-hungry New Englanders. That's what the old-timers tell me, at any rate.

Nowadays, things are much more low-key. They still use the big old brick building on Morrissey Boulevard, but the parking lots are empty, the antennae useless, and the print runs minuscule. They still run some ads, though, including one for a certain private detective agency. And they still have some good reporters, especially Ms. Gwendolyn Phillips.

Mickey parked in the weed-covered lot outside the
Globe
Building. I peeked out the back window, looking for jeeps. If the Feds had any brains, they'd be here too, trying to find out what Gwen knew. There weren't any jeeps. No sense in taking any chances, though. "Go inside, Bobby," I said, "and ask Wolsey to come out here."

"Sure thing." Bobby got out of the van and headed into the building. The rest of us waited impatiently.

Ten minutes later Bobby returned with Gwen's editor, who clambered into the back of the van with me. Wolsey was a tall man with a fringe of black hair going gray. He wore bowties and ancient, frayed dress shirts. He adored Gwen.

"Thanks for coming out here," I said. "I'm kind of in trouble with the Feds, so I have to lie low."

"Walter, everyone's going to be in trouble with the Feds before very long, I'm afraid."

"Have they been here?"

"Cowens came late this morning—before we even knew Gwen had been captured. He asked some questions and poked through her desk."

"Did he find out anything? Do you know anything?"

Wolsey made a despairing gesture. "Walter, I wish I could help. We've got every reporter in the place working on this. But we just haven't come up with anything. Gwen came in early this morning and she was worried about you, because I guess you hadn't come home last night. Apparently you had some damn-fool theory about Bolton, right? Anyway, she wrote up a story about the investigation, and then she said she had a lead she wanted to follow up on, and she left. That's all we know."

"No idea what the lead was?"

Wolsey shook his head.

"And no idea where she was going?"

Wolsey made the same despairing gesture again.

"Did Cowens act like he knew anything?"

"Oh, you know Cowens. He just gives you that icy stare, and you can't figure out what he's thinking. When I thought about it afterwards, though, I was a little surprised that it was just him. I would've expected a bunch of soldiers to come in and turn the place upside down."

"I wonder if they were all out looking for me."

Wolsey shrugged. "I have no idea what the Feds are up to. They're just a lot less pugnacious than I thought they'd be."

"Apparently they're doing what they think Kramer would've wanted. Maybe they figure this'll keep her alive."

"I wouldn't count on their restraint lasting beyond sunrise tomorrow, though. Find Gwen, Walter. And the president. I'm getting scared."

"I'll do my best."

Wolsey shook my hand, then slid out of the van and returned to the
Globe
.

"Now what?" Bobby asked.

"Well," I said, "I guess we could give Louisburg Square a try."

Mickey promptly started up the van and headed back down town.

I was worried about returning home—the Feds certainly knew where I lived—but I was running out of options. Maybe Gwen had gone home after leaving the
Globe
, and maybe she had left behind some clue that the Feds had overlooked. A dim hope, perhaps, but what other hope did I have?

We were silent as Mickey drove. Things were too serious for idle conversation. It was getting late in the day. Another night loomed—and then sunrise. I shivered. "Pull up here," I murmured as Mickey drove along a Beacon Hill street leading into the square. Mickey stopped the van, and I prepared to get out.

"Let me go, Wally," Doctor J offered.

"Thanks, Doctor J, but no. Too dangerous."

"Less dangerous for me than you. I'm just a kid. What are they gonna do to me?"

"He's got a point, Wally," Bobby said.

Everybody wanted to help. The Feds could do plenty to Doctor J. "Look," I said. "Just turn the corner and see if the Feds are watching the place. Don't try and be a hero, okay?"

"You betcha." Doctor J scrambled out of the van and walked around the corner into the square. We waited. "We'll find her, Wally," Bobby said. I didn't reply.

After an eternity Doctor J came back. "Coupla Feds in a jeep outside," he reported. "I said I was lookin' for Stretch. They said nobody's home. They asked if I knew anybody else that lived there. I said nope, I just had a sewer problem needed fixin'. They told me to get lost. I thought about goin' around back and breakin' in, but I figured I should ask you first, Wally."

"Good man, Doctor J. You've done enough." I was disappointed. One more door closed. How many were left open?

We could break in the back, I thought, but it would probably be too risky.

"We should get outa here," Mickey observed, "in case they decide to take a look where Doctor J went."

"All right. Let's go talk to Stretch. Maybe he knows something."

Mickey nodded and started up the van. We drove down the back side of Beacon Hill toward Government Center.

The vigil had grown enormously since yesterday, I noticed as we swung around the plaza, heading toward City Hall. More people were in the plaza now than had been there to hear the president give her speech. Nothing appeared to be happening, though. No speeches, no band playing. Just people, silently waiting. It was impressive.

Our van was the only non-government vehicle in sight. "Kinda conspicuous," Mickey muttered. He parked behind City Hall. Once again, Bobby was commissioned to be the messenger. He returned a few minutes later, alone. "Nobody home in the sewer department," he said. "Sorry."

"Well," I said, "maybe he's—"

A quick gesture from Bobby silenced me. I heard slow footsteps outside the van. The three faces in the front seat turned forward. I slid down out of sight in the back.

The footsteps stopped. "What y'all doin' heah?" a Southern voice asked.

"Just looking for a friend," Bobby said. "Works at City Hall."

"We're kinda suspicious of cars hangin' around these parts, y'know."

"I can well understand. We'll just move along, then."

"Think Ah'll jes' take a look in back first. Open it up."

"Well, of course. Mickey, open it up."

Mickey got out. More footsteps. I took out the gun I had grabbed from the soldier at Leverett Circle. I leaned forward.

Mickey fumbled with the lock, making a lot of noise—as if I didn't already know what was going on. And then the doors were open. I saw the face of a young recruit, his rifle not quite at the ready. I could have shot him then, but I didn't. It occurred to me that the noise would be sure to get us into even more trouble, but that wasn't the real reason I didn't shoot. I didn't shoot because I had a chance to look into the soldier's eyes and see the sudden fear, and that made me feel my visceral revulsion toward death. Too many people have died.

Then Mickey was grabbing the rifle, and the two of them were struggling. It wasn't going to be much of a struggle, I realized, what with Mickey's shriveled arm and all.

I lunged forward and whacked the soldier on the back of the head with the butt end of my gun. He stopped struggling and looked at me, dazed. I hit him again, and he crumpled. I dragged him into the van, and Mickey quickly shut the doors behind us.

I took away his rifle and handed it up front to Bobby.

"Anybody see us?" I asked.

Bobby and Doctor J both shook their heads. "Don't think so," Bobby muttered.

Mickey got back behind the wheel. "Gotta get outa here," he said.

"Is he dead?" Doctor J asked, his eyes wide with fear and maybe a little excitement.

"No, just unconscious."

"Well, uh, what do we do with him?" Bobby murmured.

He wanted someone else to say it: we were a lot better off with the soldier dead than with him unconscious. I wasn't going to be the one to say it, though. "Look," I said, "we'll be okay if we just dump him way out in the suburbs someplace. He won't get back to town before tomorrow, and tomorrow who knows what the world's gonna be like."

"But what about Gwen?" Bobby asked.

"Mickey and Doctor J can take care of dumping the soldier. Bobby, why don't you go back to the vigil and see if Stretch is there? I'll be over on Atlantic Avenue by the Aquarium."

"Why Atlantic Ave.?"

"Because Stretch is a creature of habit, that's why. If he's at the vigil, bring him on over. He'll know where to find me. "

No one else had a better plan, and no one was volunteering to put a bullet into the unconscious soldier, so they obeyed me. I found a coil of rope in with Mickey's tools and tied up the soldier. Bobby got out and walked back to the plaza.

Mickey drove me the few blocks to Atlantic Avenue.

"Thanks for everything, guys," I said.

"Good luck, Wally," Doctor J replied, and he gave me a high five.

"Mickey, drop the soldier way the hell out of town."

"He'll wake up in Rhode Island, Wally." He waved into the rear view mirror. I struggled past the soldier, climbed down from the back of the van, and closed the doors. Mickey pulled away with another wave, leaving me alone in the street.

I walked quickly over to the ruins of the Aquarium. I searched behind a couple of rusted beams and found what I was looking for: Stretch's clothing, hidden while he went jogging. I breathed a sigh of relief and settled down out of sight to wait for him.

The view was as beautiful as ever, and I was as uninterested as ever in looking at it. Storm clouds lurked off to the west, but the harbor to the east in front of me was bright and calm. A few boats bobbed up and down at anchor, gleaming in the twilight sun; gulls dived and soared. But who cared? Gwen had maybe twelve hours to live, I was a tired, hunted man, and the rest of the world was in just as much of a mess as ever, despite President Kramer's dreams. I tried not to think about all of that, but it was hard.

"Get away from my clothes or you're in big trouble," a rather thin voice warned me.

I roused myself. "Who'd want to steal a pair of midget pants and a briefcase full of stuff about sewers?" I wondered aloud.

"Oh, Walter, it's you," Stretch said, coming around the fallen beams to where I was sitting. He was sweating, and his face was flushed. "I just saw the top of your head. What are you doing here? What happened last night? We've been so worried." And as he came closer: "Gee, you look terrible. Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm okay. Do you know about Gwen?"

Stretch shook his head. I hadn't expected that he would, if he was out jogging. Cowens was certainly flubbing this investigation, I thought; the Feds should have interrogated Stretch as soon as they got the message from TSAR. Well, Cowens was a soldier, not a policeman. "What's the matter?" Stretch demanded. "Is Gwen in trouble too?"

"I'm afraid so, Stretch." And I gave him a quick summary of what had happened since I left him to stake out Bolton's house. Had it really been less than a day?

Stretch was stunned. "You've been tortured? And Gwen's been kidnapped? And I'm out here jogging as if nothing were the matter?"

"Don't worry about that, Stretch. Just tell me if you have any idea what Gwen's lead was, or where she was going today."

Stretch chewed a knuckle. "I can't—I don't—"