Dark Rivers of the Heart

shirts, and black Oxfords with rubber rattier than leather soles. All that was also as Roy had requested.
        Rink and Fordyce had new clothes for Roy that were virtually identical to their own outfits. Having shaved and showered aboard the jet during the trip from Cedar City, Roy needed only to change clothes before they could switch from the plane to the black Chrysler super-stretch limousine that was waiting at the foot of the portable stairs.
        The day was bone-freezing. The sky was as clear as an arctic sea and deeper than time. Icicles hung along the eaves of building roofs, and banks of snow marked the far limits of runways.
        Stapleton was on the northeastern edge of the city, and their appointment with Dr. Sabrina Palma was beyond the southwfft suburbs.
        Roy would have insisted on a police escort, under one pretense or another, except that he didn't want to call any more attention to themselves than absolutely necessary.
        "It's a four-thirty appointment," Fordyce said as he and Rink settled in the back of the limousine facing to the rear where Roy sat facing forward. "We'll make it with a few minutes to spare."
        The driver had been instructed not to dawdle. They accelerated away from the Learjet as if they did have a police escort.
        Rink passed a nine-by-twelve white envelope to Roy. "These are all the documents you required."
        "You have your Secret Service credentials?" Roy asked. From suit-coat pockets, Rink and Fordyce withdrew their ID wallets and flipped them open to reveal holographic identification cards with their photographs and authentic SS badges. Rink's name for the upcoming meeting was Sidney Eugene Tarkenton. Fordyce was Lawrence Albert Olmeyer.
        Roy extracted his own ID wallet from among the documents in the white envelope. He was J. Robert Cotter.
        "Let's all remember who we are. Be sure to call one another by these names," Roy said. "I don't expect you'll need to say much-or even anything at all. I'll do the talking. You're there primarily to lend the whole thing an air of realism. You'll enter Dr. Paima's office behind me and post yourselves to the left and the right of the door.
        Stand with your feet about eighteen inches apart, arms down in front of you, one hand clasped over the other. When I introduce you to her, you'll say 'Doctor' and nod or 'Pleased to meet you' and nod.
        Stoic at all times. About as expressionless as a Buckingham Palace guard. Eyes straight ahead. No fidgeting. If you're asked to sit down, you'll politely say 'No, thank you, Doctor." Yes, I know, it's ridiculous, but this is how people are used to seeing Secret Service agents in the movies, so any indication that you're a real human being will ring false to her. Is that understood, Sidney?"
        "Yes, sir."
        "Is that understood, Lawrence?"
        "I prefer Larry," said Oliver Fordyce.
        "Is that understood, Larry?"
        "Yes, sir."
        "Good."
        Roy withdrew the other documents from the envelope, examined them, and was satisfied.
        He was taking one of the greatest risks of his career, but he was remarkably calm. He was not even assigning agents to seek the fugitives in Salt Lake City or anywhere else directly north of Cedar City, because he was confident that their flight in that direction had been a ruse.
        They had altered course immediately after dropping under the radar floor. He doubted that they would go west, back into Nevada, because that state's empty fastness provided too little cover. Which left south and east. After the two enchiladas of information from Gary Duvall, Roy had reviewed everything he knew about Spencer Grant and had decided that he could accurately predict in which direction the man-and, with luck, the woman-would proceed. East-northeast.
        Moreover, he had divined exactly where Grant would impact at the end of that east-northeast trajectory, even more confidently than he could have plotted the line of a bullet from the barrel of a rifle. Roy was calm not solely because he trusted in his wellexercised powers of deductive reasoning but also because, in this special instance, destiny walked with him as surely as blood flowed in his veins.
        "Can I assume that the team I asked for earlier today is on its way to Vail?" he asked.
        "Twelve men," said Fordyce.
        Glancing at his watch, Rink said, "They should be meeting Duvall