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By Root 609 0

that had led up to his arrival, much of it emotional—Bill Lerner’s death, the narrow escape on the street in Moscow, finding himself on the secretary of state’s plane, and the ramifications of the information he’d learned about the missiles. But he’d always been good at compartmentalizing troublesome episodes in his life, pushing emotions to the side in favor of cognition. “Maybe if you’d let your heart in on a decision now and then,” his former wife, Doris, once said, “we could work things out.” He had tried for a brief period to do just that but was a failure. As far as he was concerned, emotions only clouded one’s ability to make reasoned, rational decisions, whether they involved family or what he did for a living.

Was stripping away emotions something he’d learned, he had wondered, or was it hardwired in him? There was even a period when he questioned whether his lack of affect represented a psychological problem of some sort, a failure, a device to shield himself from the pain often inflicted by emotions. He wasn’t comfortable grappling with that question, and when he and Doris decided to call it quits, he shucked not only the tension between them, but also any compelling reason to probe his psyche. He wasn’t sure which had provided the greater relief.

Now, boring through an increasingly nasty sky toward Charleston, his only thought was of Jessica and the note she’d left.

He’d taken the photocopy of the cabin’s deed with him in order to be able to find it once he rented a car, provided he could find a rental agency with available vehicles. He wore his vest again, with its multiple pockets, which he’d put on after showering and changing clothes at his apartment. If they’d planned to have dinner out, he would have worn a sport jacket. But Jessica had said they’d be eating at the apartment. He reached into a pocket and removed the Glock 17, checked its clip, and placed it on the right-hand seat. A sudden downdraft caused the Cessna to drop thirty feet, causing his lap belt to cut into his thighs. He checked his instruments, then returned his thoughts to the note and what it said: Max—Taken by Skip to Gauley Bridge, W.V.—Cabin deed in desk—Help!

Why would her former husband kidnap her? Pauling now knew that Traxler was the “Scope” who’d infiltrated the Jasper ranch for the FBI. Did absconding with Jessica have something to do with that? Or had Traxler done it for personal reasons, an outgrowth of their failed marriage? Ex-spouses or lovers could make for lethal company.

He pushed such questions from his mind as he turned to managing his intrusion into Charleston’s airspace with air traffic control. He hadn’t arrived any too soon. The weather had lowered to almost zero visibility. Rain pelted his windshield, and wind gusts buffeted the single-engine plane. He had to fight the controls as he flew a left-hand pattern in preparation for landing, first flying downwind parallel to the runway, banking sharply left ninety degrees, then making another ninety-degree left turn putting him on final approach. He maintained more power than normal to provide better handling as he passed high over the lights at the end of the runway and used half of it to put the plane down. Okay.

A ground controller directed him to the tie-down area for private aircraft, where he parked, killed the engine, shoved the Glock back into a vest pocket, and ran toward the terminal. He was soaked by the time he reached it.

“I need a rental car,” he snapped at a young man behind the desk.

“Okay, but first take care of the paperwork. That’s your 172 out there?”

“Yeah. Look, give me the papers!”

He filled out the form, slapped down a credit card to pay for the landing and tie-down fees, and followed signs at a trot in the direction of baggage handling, ground transportation, and rental car agencies. A uniformed woman with hair the color of nicotine read a magazine behind the Hertz counter.

“Hi,” Pauling said. “Got any SUVs?”

She looked up and then smiled. “No, only full-size or compact.”

“Full-size. And I need directions to Gauley Bridge.”

“Where