So I was riding up Interstate 270 through northern Maryland with no idea what I would find.
Okay, I was intrigued.
But how had he found me?
Did someone in DC tip him off?
I thought back over the daythe security checkpoints at the Air Force base, the stonewalling at the Pentagon.
Had Payton had a change of heart?
No way, I thought, remembering her expression after the phone call.
She had too much to lose.
Whoever was on the other end of that line wanted Eardley buried for good.
No, he wouldnt bother with the cloak-and-dagger, the cryptic note.
My phone buzzed in the cup holderEmily Parker.
Its been too long.
Ha, she answered.
Im guessing youre not on that train back to New York right now.
And miss my date with Paul Haber?
Id texted her about the note, asking her if she could find anything on the mystery man.
Well, I have something interesting for you.
So you dont want to know?
That he served in Iraq, and his service overlapped with Eardleys.
Both worked in special operations.
And whats more, I also turned up a photo.
+++
Marble Spring was a blip on the map in rural Pennsylvania, up in the Allegheny Mountains.
I practically have more people in my family.
I hooked a right on US 15 into Pennsylvania about an hour and twenty minutes later.
Stunning ridgeline views opened up as I crossed remote rusting bridges.
The pelting rain began speed-drumming off the top of the Chrysler.
Five minutes later, I stopped before Marble Springs single blinking yellow stoplight.
Since there wasnt another driver to be seen, I paused to look around.
Still stopped at the light, I tried my email again.
Service was spotty in the hills, but finally the photo from Emily had come through.
It showed our John DoeEardleyyoung and handsome in uniform.
And looking very buddy-buddy with the guy next to him, who had an arm slung over Eardleys shoulder.
Tall, also handsome, and apparently Paul Haber.
CHAPTER 18
I FOUND LINCOLNLane about two miles west of the town.
It was a narrow, steep strip of crumbling blacktop, more driveway than road.
I counted three residences as I came up the long slope of the valley.
200 Lincoln Lane was the end of the road.
You couldnt see any sign of the house.
The driveway was unbelievably longthree miles, if not more.
You could hardly call it a driveway, since it wasnt paved.
I thought I had made an idiotic mistake and was now driving on a state park hiking path.
Must be Habers business, I thought.
Through the wire, I could see the shooting range about half a football field away.
