Mind Prey

back.
    He’s inside. We’ve got him covered.
    “They’re doing okay,” Lucas said nervously.
    “Give them time,” Sloan said. “The feebs could fuck up a wet dream.”
    Lucas and Sloan both looked at their watches simultaneously. Sloan said, “Five minutes,” and Lucas grunted.
    They were headed back toward the interstate, no other cars in sight. The landscape was littered with new suburban houses with plastic siding in pastel tints ranging from sunset to sage; here and there a farm field came up to the edge of the road. A flock of sheep grazed over a pasture.
    Lucas said, “Green pastures.”
    “Say what?” Sloan looked at him.
    Lucas said, “These are the green pastures, from Psalms. Elle was right. I’ll bet my ass that he’s about to lead us into Stillwater. How far are we from Stillwater? Ten miles?”
    “About that.”
    “Let’s head that way,” Lucas said urgently. “We’re pretty useless anyway.”
    “If he’s leading us, then this might not be what it looks like…”
    “Yeah, yeah,” Lucas said. “Exactly right.”
    And the radio said, We’ve got a confirmed hit, confirmed hit. He’s off, he’s gone, Jimmy get me…what? We’ve got cellular confirmed but no cell designation, it was too quick. Can we run that, Jimmy? Jimmy? Subject is out of the rest stop on his way to the car, can we get the intercept up…
    “What the fuck did he say?” Lucas asked. “What’d Mail say?”
    And the radio said, Subject was told to go to a picnic table and pull a note off the bottom side and follow instructions…subject is at the picnic table, subject is walking back to the car, he’s reading a paper, he has the instructions…
    “Come on, goddamnit, we gotta move,” Lucas said. “It’s Stillwater.”
    Subject is in car proceeding west on I-94.
    “Wrong way,” Sloan grunted.
    “He’s got no choice from there,” Lucas said. He slapped his own forehead. “And think about it, think about it: the guy makes the initial contact on Dunn’s cellular phone, and routes him to a public phone? Why’d he do that? Why didn’t he call him on the cellular again? Then he wouldn’t have to fuck around with the possibility that somebody else was using the pay phone. Why’d he do that, Sloan?”
    “I don’t know.” Sloan frowned as he thought about it. “Maybe…no. If he doesn’t trust the cellular now, why’d he trust it yesterday?”
    “He didn’t. Maybe he figured we’d be monitoring it,” Lucas said. “Maybe he did it so we’d be close by, but he’d know where we were at. I’ll bet that sonofabitch is in Stillwater right now. Goddamnit, what’s he doing?”
    Three minutes later the radio burped, Subject exiting at Highway 15…crossing Interstate, reentering Interstate…
    “What’s he doing?” Sloan asked. “Why didn’t he go this way?”
    “He’s going down to 95 and he’ll take 95 north to Stillwater,” Lucas said. “It’s simpler if you don’t have a map. How fast can we get there?”
    “We’ll be there in six or seven minutes. He’ll be ten minutes behind us. If you’re right.”
    “I’m right.”
    “Yeah, I know.” Sloan had the Chevy up to ninety, sloughed past the Lake Elmo airport with its pole-barn hangars, and onto Highway 5 east toward Stillwater.
    “Goddamnit, I wish we were set up with the Stillwater cops. Just a few guys to sit and watch. We could’ve shipped a picture of Mail out here.”
    They listened to the parade moving east on the interstate, then Lucas got on the radio to Dumbo. “We’re headed to Stillwater, we think he’s playing out the Bible verses he sent us. You probably ought to have your lead cars get off at Highway 95 and start north. And take it easy: we’ve got two more verses to go, but the last one talks about a trap.”
    “Got it covered, Minneapolis,” Dumbo said. “Keep your heads down. We don’t want a crowd.”
    “Thanks for the technical advice,” Sloan muttered.
     
    A S D UNN AND the federal parade turned off the interstate, Sloan blew past a Dodge pickup on the Highway 36 entrance ramp. The truck swerved onto the shoulder as they passed, and the driver, a young, long-haired man, leaned on his horn and then came after them as they weaved through the traffic, down a long passage of convenience stores and fast-food joints.
    “Asshole,” Sloan said, grinning into his rearview mirror.
    “Better hope he doesn’t kill any kids,” Lucas said.
    “Yeah. The fuckin’ paperwork alone. We gotta light