Zero Game - Brad Meltzer [79]
“Maybe I should stay up here,” Viv says. “Y’know . . . sorta just to keep lookout . . .”
Before I can respond, she glances back to her rearview. Behind us, a silver Ford pickup pulls across the gravel, into the parking lot. Viv anxiously eyes the driver, checking to see if he looks familiar. I know what she’s thinking. Even if Janos is just touching down right now, he can’t be far behind. That’s the choice: the demon aboveground versus the demon below.
“You really think it’s safer to be up here by yourself?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer. She’s still watching the silver pickup.
“Please just promise me we’ll be fast,” she begs.
“Don’t worry,” I say, swinging my door open and hopping outside. “We’ll be in and out before anyone even knows it.”
36
LIGHTLY TAPPING THE side of his thumb against the top of the Hertz rental car counter in the Rapid City airport, Janos made no attempt to hide his frustration with the South Dakota way of life. “What’s taking so long?” he asked the young employee with the skinny Mount Rushmore tie.
“Sorry . . . just been one of those busy mornings,” the man behind the counter replied, shuffling through a short pile of paperwork.
Janos looked around the main lounge of the airport. There were a total of six people, including a Native American janitor.
“Okay—and when will you be returning the car?” the man behind the counter asked.
“Hopefully, tonight,” Janos shot back.
“Just a quick visit, eh?”
Janos didn’t answer. His eyes stared at the key chain in the man’s hand. “Can I just have my key?”
“And will you be needing any insurance on the—”
Janos’s hand shot out like a dart, gripping the man’s wrist and swiping the key from his hand.
“We done?” Janos growled.
“I-It’s a blue Ford Explorer . . . in spot fifteen,” the man said as Janos ripped a map from the pad on the counter and stormed toward the exit. “You have a good day, now, Mr . . .” The man looked down at the photocopy of the New Jersey driver’s license Janos had given him. Robert Franklin. “You have a good day, now, Mr. Franklin. And welcome to South Dakota!”
37
W ALKING AS FAST AS I can with my briefing book in hand, I keep up my Senator stride as we head for the red brick building. The book is actually the owner’s manual from the glove compartment of the Suburban, but at the pace we’re moving, no one’ll ever get a good look. On my right, Viv completes the picture, trailing behind me like the faithful aide to my Wendell executive. Between her height and her newly pressed navy suit, she looks old enough to play the part. I tell her not to smile, just to be safe. The only way to belong is to act like you belong. But the closer we get to the brick building, the more we realize there’s almost no one around to call us out and scream bullshit. Unlike the trailers behind us, the pathways over here are all empty.
“You think they’re underground?” Viv asks, noticing the sudden decrease in population.
“Hard to say; I counted sixteen cars in the parking lot—plus all that machinery. Maybe all the work’s being done back by the trailers.”
“Or maybe whatever’s up here is something they don’t want tons of people to see.”
I pick up my pace; Viv matches my speed. As we turn the corner of the brick building, there’s a door in front and a metal grated staircase that heads down and into an entrance on the side of the building. Viv looks my way. I agree. Sticking to the back roads, we both go for the stairs. As we step down, little bits of rock slide from our shoes through the grating and down to a concrete alley twenty feet below. It’s not even close to the drop we’re about to take. I look over my shoulder. Staring through the steps, Viv starts slowing down.
“Viv . . .”
“I’m fine,” she calls out, even though I never asked the question.
Inside the red brick building, we cross through a dark tiled hallway and enter a kitchenette that feels