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Page 36.

18. North by Northeast

Rick Buchan and his new friend Hannah Smith drove away from Paris. Rick drove past the peripheral highway system that circles Paris, and headed north by northeast toward Luxembourg.

The more Rick steered the car into heavy traffic, and the farther they got from all that had happened, the more secure he felt. It was a sense of relief—although he still had the matter of JAG and his trial hanging over him. No matter where he ran, eventually Uncle Sam's forces or NATO or Interpol would find him.

Hannah sidled close to him. She laid her left arm over his shoulder, and clutched his jacket with her right hand. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Being you."

Busily steering amid roaring trucks, buses emitting black diesel smoke, and darting cars, Rick managed a wry face. "If I had time, I'd return the emotion."

He threaded his way through city traffic, until he reached the A4 auto route at Charenton-le-Pont.

"We'll have time."

"At least for a while."

"Think positive."

"You should talk."

"I'm fine."

He favored her with a long look. "Are you?"

He could now lie low in the middle lane. It was all straight traffic, without a lot of weaving and jockeying, on the A4 as he headed north by northeast.

She nodded. "I'm getting there." She patted his thigh lightly. "I have you."

He patted her hand, squeezed it. "You're cool."

She rested her head against his shoulder.

As he drove, Rick felt a contentment he had forgotten was possible. His demons and terrors lurked at the periphery and would not go away—but here was a warm, live woman from his homeland beside him. They'd have much in common. He dared not think it any further through.

"We'll make it somehow," she said softly, snuggling.

He laughed softly, feeling a refreshing draft. "This is better than having a cat."

She punched his arm gently. "I can bite and I can scratch, too."

"I'll be careful."

"You better be." She snuggled all the harder, pressing against him with her arms folded together and her legs pulled up. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

"I was zonked."

She spoke with her eyes closed. "I'm not surprised. They gave you enough drugs to knock out King Kong."

"Why were you awake—were you scared?"

"Yes. We saw a man get killed, rotten as he was." She paused. "I was more worried about you. I lay there looking at you."

"If I'd known, I would have pulled you closer."

"I was afraid to get close."

"But no more?"

She shook her head. "I trust you, Rick Buchan."

"Even if I fall out of bed screaming?"

"It means you are human. I can touch you and you won't bite."

"I liked it when you held me after I fell on the floor."

"I should have been a nurse. Maybe I'll go to nursing school if we live through this."

He wanted to say that he hoped they would be friends if they lived through it, but didn't want to push the warm feelings he was having for her. He thought of Kendra Walsh, his JAG contact. That made two good women in his life now. Must be a good sign.

While Hannah dozed against his shoulder, Rick drove steadily in a silvery drizzle. Sometimes he had to keep the windshield wipers of the Mercedes going. It was a late model car, though not the latest or the top of the line. He supposed that Wan's henchmen could not all be driving luxury cars. Probably best to stay unobtrusive this way. It was a nice car to drive, in any case.

A few times, he leaned close just to sniff her hair. She had a warm, clean smell, hard to describe. Kind of like a fuzzy kitten.

As he drove, Rick thought about how special she was, and became a little more nervous. Was there any way that Wan's people could track the two of them? Surely their escape could not be this easy. Especially since he'd now killed a man—not in battle, not an enemy combatant officially, but a civilian. At a minimum, if he were investigating a case like that, he'd want to haul himself in for questioning. He realized with a sinking feeling that he'd probably left fingerprints on the broken pottery in the kitchen. Not to mention that he and Hannah had left their traces all over Fincoff's apartment. He must expect the worst, therefore—it was just a matter of time. Could he manage another two or three hours and reach Luxembourg unbothered? And what then? He had no plan, and doubted that Hannah did, short of visiting her friend Mélusine.

As signs for Reims started coming into view, Rick noticed at least two police cars—probably random, but seeing the white and blue cruisers with their red-white-blue light bars on top made him nervous. Having the gun in the car might get him arrested, in itself. He placed it in the glove compartment and stacked papers on top to hide it as best possible.

They were nearly halfway to Luxembourg now. Cruising along, even staying within reasonable speeds to avoid being noticed, the run from Paris to Luxembourg would take between three and four hours. There were a few tolls along the way, which he paid from his cash in the automated turnstiles.

About an hour later, as they approached Verdun (an hour or so from Luxembourg), Hannah rose and stretched. She yawned. "Are we almost there?"

"About an hour, maybe. Hey, I have an idea."

She sat back, looking sleepy, and rubbed his right shoulder with her left hand. "Oh?"

"We need to dump this car."

"And walk, sweetheart?"

"One thing at a time."

"What's the plan?"

"I've been thinking..."

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