Storm Front

looking for a red Volvo station wagon.”
    As they taxied out, Virgil saw the desk man standing with another man, and the desk man was pointing at the plane. If anything went wrong, Virgil thought, the governor was going to get a very large bill.
    They were off the ground in ten minutes. The day was another hot one, with puffy gray-white clouds, and a haze that closed around them like a cotton-lined bowl. They climbed out and then Awad, showing an easy touch, banked left and headed due south. In one minute, looking down, Virgil said, “Okay, that’s where 22 crosses 14—just follow 22 south.”
    Awad did, and in another minute, Virgil said, “That’s 83 dead ahead.”
    The highway was a pale thread against the lush countryside. Virgil said, “We need to get as far away as we can and still see the intersection.”
    Awad said, “I shall find a convenient cloud.”
    Virgil’s cell phone buzzed: Davenport. “You up in the air?”
    “Yeah, we’re waiting for Jones to call.”
    “I’ve got four patrolmen waiting down south of you, but they’re pretty far out. They were running a big speed trap on I-35 over north of Albert Lea. We got some sheriffs’ cars on the way, but I’ve told them to hold back unless you call. I got a dispatcher’s number for you.”
    Virgil noted the number and Davenport said, “Tracking that incoming call is going to be a problem. We’ve got the phone companies working on it.”
    Virgil’s phone beeped and he said, “I’ve got an unknown call coming in, it’s probably Jones, gotta go, get me that phone if you can.”
    He switched over and Jones said, “I’m coming to the intersection.”
    Awad banked the plane and al-Lubnani said, “I see a red car.”
    Awad banked again, bringing the plane around, and Virgil put his binoculars on the intersection and saw the Volvo roll to a stop. “We got you,” he told Jones. “As soon as they call, let me know.”
    Awad kept the plane in the hazy clouds, the Volvo barely visible, and at times, invisible, but since Jones was limited to following the highway, they couldn’t lose him. They watched as the car crawled south a few miles, and then Jones called and said, “They just called me and said I’m supposed to go east on 30. They must be watching me somehow.”
    They watched as the car turned east, and Virgil told Awad and al-Lubnani, “If they’re watching him, we might be able to spot their car.”
    They scanned the roadsides, but didn’t see anything that seemed to be pacing Jones. After a while, Jones called again and said, “They say to go south on 13. They must be right on top of me. Do you see them? Where are you?”
    “They are going to Albert Lea,” Awad said to Virgil. “This is a training loop I fly.”
    “We’re watching,” Virgil told Jones. “Keep moving.”
    They followed Jones cross-country to Highway 13. The Volvo stopped at the intersection, then pulled onto the shoulder of the road.
    “Watch him, watch him,” Virgil said to al-Lubnani, who’d moved over so they were both looking out of the same side of the plane. “This might be the delivery point. See if he throws the stone out the window.”
    “We’re too far away,” al-Lubnani said.
    Virgil said, “Raj, can you edge in a little closer?”
    Awad tipped the plane toward the Volvo, and ten seconds later, the Volvo made a U-turn and started back the way it had come, accelerating, blowing past a car that it came up behind, and Awad said, “He is going a hundred and fifty kilometers an hour.”
    Virgil got on the phone, but Jones didn’t answer. Virgil tried again, and a third time, and finally Jones came on and said, his voice curdled in anguish: “They saw you. They say you’re tracking me in an airplane. They say they’re going to cut a finger off and mail it to me.”
    “Why did you slow down there? Did you throw the stone out the window?”
    “I’m going away. I’m not talking to you anymore.”
    And he hung up.
    Virgil redialed, but Jones wouldn’t answer. The Volvo continued speeding back west, and Virgil said, finally, “Raj, we’ve got to go back. I think he threw the stone out the window back at that intersection. We’ve got to go back and watch it until we can get a sheriff’s car there.”
    “What about the red car?”
    “We have to let it go. I’ll get somebody else to run it down.”
    —
    V IRGIL CALLED the dispatcher out of Mankato and had her vector a couple of city cars toward Jones, and to direct anyone