Evil Dreams (32 page)

“I guess,” he said, taking her arm to guide her toward the door, “I felt since no one else was in the room and the words were an uncommon combination, it wouldn’t be necessary. Only Tory and I were supposed to know. After all, Jon wasn’t consciously aware of them. A small mistake with big consequences. It’ll never happen again, I can assure you.”

“I’m sure it .won’t, darling,” she said squeezing his hand on her arm.

Half walking, half running, they hurried to catch up to Trina and the huge policeman who were just entering the elevator.

CHAPTER 17

The rain stopped shortly before the helicopter settled gently onto a landing pad at O’Hare. The pilot, apprised of the urgency of their flight, turned to his passengers and said, “You’ve got thirteen minutes, folks. I believe the Security Police are meeting you to take you to your flight.”

“Great,” Sam shouted above the
chop, chop, chop
of the rotor as he opened the door. “Thanks a lot.” He jumped to the ground, turning to help Trina, then Marie to his side.

“Doctor Dayton?” a voice yelled from behind them.

Turning, they saw a Security Police vehicle and a burly, blue uniformed man motioning for them to hurry.

“We don’t have much time but we’ll make it,” he said, throwing the gear shift into drive when Sam had followed the two women into the back seat. Tires spinning on the damp concrete, the car lurched forward, speeding toward the concourse where TWA flight 347 was being loaded.

With eight minutes remaining, the guard slammed on the brakes, careening to a stop at a ground-level door of the terminal beneath the wing of the 727.

“I’ll lead the way!” he shouted, leaping from the car to be followed by his passengers. They rushed up a flight of stairs, bursting into the main level of the concourse. “Here’re your passengers the police called you about,” the man said to the girl behind the check-in desk.

“Thanks, Steve.” Smiling professionally, she turned a charge card form to Sam who already had his Visa card and pen out.

Thank God for Hongisto’s efficiency,
he thought. The lieutenant had told them as they rode the elevator to the Stradler Building’s heliport that he would call any instructions to O’Hare and TWA if Sam would give him a charge card number. The necessary forms could be filled out and waiting for them when they arrived. If ever a policeman would be revered in Sam’s memory, it would be Lieutenant Jules Hongisto.

After he had signed his name to the form, the girl handed him three tickets and boarding passes. Sam, urging Marie and Trina to hurry, ran down the boarding tube to the plane.

One of the flight attendants, Kate Manrey, met them at the door. “A few minutes to spare,
j
Doctor.” Accepting the passes, she indicated they should take their seats and buckle their I belts. Once the door closed, the 727 jerked back- j ward as a tractor towed the plane out of its position at the concourse. The jet’s whine began building and the ship turned smoothly toward O’Hare’s maze of runways. Then, a few minutes later, the departing jetliner raced down the wet runway to which it had been directed.

Howie Liemen looked at Jon’s wristwatch. A smile crossed his unshaven face when he thought that less than an hour would pass before they touched down at Albuquerque International Airport. Looking at his captive, he saw that Jon appeared to be asleep. He turned, facing Tory across the aisle.

“It won’t be long now,” he said softly.

“How much longer?”

“Less than an hour. Are you excited?”

“Naturally. Why wouldn’t I be? It isn’t every day I get a chance to fly away from everything to pick up a fortune in gold,” she said dreamily.

“Jesus Christ! Hold it down,” he spat, looking about the cabin to see if anyone had heard her. “Do you want the whole fucking plane to know about it?”

She cast her eyes to the floor. “I’m sorry, honey. Really I am. I won’t say anything to anyone about this—ever.”

He turned away. She had no idea how close to the truth she had come. She had become a liability. She had outlived her usefulness. His forehead creased in thought as the expression ran through his mind. It was just an expression—a saying. But could it be the answer he wanted? He knew she wouldn’t fit into his plans once he had the gold. And he certainly didn’t want her in a position where she could blab to the authorities about his blackmail activities, or the treasure. So what was the answer? Elimination? The furrows on his forehead smoothed out, a calm, sagacious tranquility seeping into his thoughts. Why not? Who would ever find her in New Mexico? He knew a little about the area around Cistern. Her body would never be found if he disposed of it properly.

Turning his head, he studied Jon for a moment. Another liability. Once Jon had led him to the gold there would be no logical reason to release him. Even though the chances of his remembering anything were practically nil, the possibility that he might, nevertheless, existed. No sense taking chances at this stage of the game. It looked as if Tory would have company in her lonely, New Mexican grave.

Howie smiled evilly. Nothing left to chance. Every contingency, every little thing that could go wrong, taken care of in advance. The only way he liked things. Neat. All loose ends tied up. Settling back in his seat, he closed his eyes, dozing contentedly.

The thin, tinny voice of the captain awoke him from his nap a short time later. “This is the captain,” the voice said. “We’ll be landing at Albuquerque International Airport in approximately twelve minutes and we have already begun our approach. Please fasten your seat belts and when the
No Smoking
sign comes on, please extinguish your cigarettes. The temperature is seventy-two degrees Fahrenheit and the skies, as you can see, are completely clear. For those deplaning at Albuquerque, thank you for flying TWA and we hope to be able to serve you again in the near future.”

A soft “bong” accompanied the flash of the
No Smoking
sign when it went on. Tory, alert as she peered out the window watching the ground rush up to flash alongside the jetliner, grinned expectantly.

A squeal of rubber touching concrete, the plane’s weight settling on its landing gear, brought a smirk to Howie’s face. The 727 slowed when the jet’s baffles were turned, diverting the plane’s thrust to the front with a roar. After taxiing for a few minutes, it stopped at the small satellite terminal several hundred feet distant from the pueblo style main building. When the plane stopped, Howie turned to Jon, touching his shoulder. “Come on, Mr. Ward. Time to get off.”

Jon’s eyes opened, bright, clear, taking in the interior of the plane in once glance. “Where in the hell am I?” he demanded.

Without raising his voice, Howie muttered,
Blue trees!

Jon’s eyes glazed again, his face easing into a passive, slack expression, and he returned to the hypnotic state he had been in practically from the moment he had arrived at Doctor Dayton’s office over five hours before.

“Just be ready to follow me,” Howie ordered softly.

Once Tory left her seat, Howie commanded Jon to stand and move into the aisle. Sandwiched between his abductors, he left the plane. Entering the satellite building, they hurried down to the tunnel leading to the main terminal.

“What a beautiful place,” Tory exclaimed, slowing her pace to look at the Indian mosaics set into the walls of the tunnel.

“Come on. We got no time for sightseeing,” Howie growled, prodding Jon to a fast shuffling walk.

In less than five minutes, the trio stood at the Hertz Rent-a-Car counter, Jon mechanically signing his name, displaying his driver’s license as he had been instructed.

“Your Impala is out front,” the blonde who had registered them said, pointing to an unoccupied car. “There, the blue one. Here are your keys. Have a nice trip.”

“Thanks,” Howie muttered, taking the keys from Jon who had studied them, unable to understand why he held them.

The car, roaring to life when Howie turned the ignition key, pulled away from the curb slowly. He steered the Chevrolet toward the Yale Boulevard exit once they had left the terminal area.

“I thought you were in a hurry, honey?” Tory said from the back seat.

“I am, but it ain’t gonna do any good to get picked up for speeding in town. We’ll make tracks once we hit the freeway and get out of the city.”

“Oh,” she said, sitting back.

He turned right onto Yale, carefully maintaining the speed limit and, once he entered Gibson Boulevard, began accelerating. Several minutes later he shot up the approach ramp to the Pan American Freeway, heading north. Holding the car’s speed to fifty-five, he concentrated on driving at the speed limit. Within a few miles they sped onto the Coronado Freeway at the interchange and the Impala began picking up speed as they flashed past buildings and housing developments which became fewer and farther between. By the time the sun dipped behind the volcanoes on Albuquerque’s western skyline, they were well out of the city and the car raced westward through the encroaching New Mexican night.

TWA flight 347 lightly touched down at Wichita. Sam, impatient at the delay, squirmed in his seat. Marie and Trina, across the aisle, discussed the whole of Jon’s predicament. Watching the people who were deplaning, Sam motioned for Kate Manrey.

The tall, light-haired flight attendant moved gracefully down the aisle to Sam’s seat. “Yes, Doctor? Is there something I can do for you?”

“Is there time for me to get off the plane? I’d like to make a long distance telephone call from here. It’s quite urgent.”

“Normally we don’t like passengers to get off unless it’s their destination. However, I think it might be arranged. The terminal is quite close and we do have almost twenty-five minutes before take-off. You’ll find a bank of telephones to your left when you enter. I’ll give you a boarding pass so you won’t have any trouble getting back on,” she said, returning to the front of the plane.

“I thought of a telephone call I should make,” Sam said to the two women sitting to his left before following the attendant. “I’ll be back in plenty of time. Don’t leave without me.” He smiled reassuringly at Trina.

“Hurry back, Sam,” Marie called after him. Turning back to Trina, she said, “Now where were we? Oh, yes. You had asked something about why—”

“Why,” she cut in, “this—this thing—hadn’t happened sooner.”

“You mean—?”

“Why Hitler’s spirit,” she shuddered, “didn’t make itself known before. Why now?”

“I think it’s because your husband has such a strong personality and mind. The spirit probably had difficulty in trying to make itself known. In fact, that was one of the things he said the first time he spoke through Jon to Sam.
My host has been difficult to conquer.
The only way the other personality could get through was while Jon slept. Then, only the dream would manifest. But, because of the traumatic experience of committing suicide in the dream, Jon would wake up screaming. The rest lay dormant.

“What triggered it now that enabled the rest of it to come through so loud and clear?” she asked, turning to face Marie.

“Probably the hypnosis. It removed all of Jon’s defenses against being overcome.”

“My fault,” Trina said simply, resignedly, a tear meandering down one cheek. Looking out the window she murmured, “If Jon is all right and comes through this thing, I’ll never ask him to do anything again.”

“What?” Marie asked.

“It was at my insistence that he went to a doctor in the first place, and that ultimately led him to see Doctor Dayton.” She turned her back to Marie.

“You can’t blame yourself, Trina. Not for something that was to be inevitable sooner or later. Be thankful we know what the problem is and that we know where Jon is going. Don’t chastise yourself. It’s not fair. Ultimately, it would have happened with or without Jon’s involvement with other doctors and Sam. If you want to do anything, pray we get to Jon before anything adverse happens.”

They continued talking. Shortly before the door closed, Sam reboarded the plane to sit across the aisle from them, a wide grin creasing his face.

“What’s pleasing you so much?” Marie asked.

“I got thinking about the police meeting us,” he said softly. “I feel it would only be so much delay, don’t you?”

She hesitated before answering. Of course she knew how precious every minute, every second, could be now. Any needless setback they could avoid would mean that much more possibility of success. Nodding she said, “Probably. What have you done?”

“I called ahead to Albuquerque and was put in touch with a charter helicopter service. The man who owns and operates it, Chuck Bergan, is going to meet us in an airport vehicle at the satellite terminal.”

“The what?” Marie asked.

“It’s an auxiliary terminal building TWA usually uses that’s some distance away from the main building. He’ll pick us up and take us to his helicopter that’ll be a short distance away.”

“I hope it’s the right thing to do, Sam. We might have need of the police if this Liemen character tries to get rough.”

“Personally, I don’t think he will. He doesn’t sound like the type who would face up to anything really tough. Besides, we’ll cross that particular bridge when we come to it,” he said, buckling his seat belt.

“I hope you’re right,” she said, knowing Sam had probably drawn the correct conclusion about Howie’s strength of purpose and intent if he met any opposition.

“I also checked with this Bergan guy about distances. Cistern’s about one hundred thirty air miles or so from Albuquerque and we can get there in under an hour. He also happens to know where it is, which is lucky. From the way he described it, there’s only a few crumbling buildings at a crossroads and that’s it.”

“How far is Cistern if you’re driving? I assume Liemen will drive with Jon and your secretary,” Marie said.

“A little over two hundred. Bergan says they should average sixty miles an hour pretty easily on the wide open roads they have there. If they do, they’ll get there just about the same time we do. Of course, they could arrive a little ahead of us.”