Cold Betrayal

It was well past di

Now, though, with her stomach growling, she fingered the pilfered cheese sandwich. After being crushed against the door and the armrest, it was probably much the worse for wear. She was tempted to pull it out and eat it but decided that would be rude. There wasn’t enough to share, and she couldn’t very well eat in front of these people who were kind enough to give her a ride.

The man took his hand off the wheel, reached over, and put his hand on the woman’s ample thigh. Enid cringed. When Gordon touched her leg like that, she knew that he wanted her to hurry up to the bedroom as soon as di

Then, to Enid’s surprise, a telephone rang. It sounded just like the one on Gordon’s desk. She was astonished when the woman bent down and pulled a tiny device out of her purse. It looked just like the phones Gordon and the other Elders used, and the bright light from the screen lit up the cab of the speeding truck.

The woman did something to the screen and then held the phone to her ear. “Hi, Ramona,” she said. “We’re on our way. We’ll be there in an hour or so. No, we haven’t had di

Enid remained focused on the phone in the woman’s hand, amazed that on the Outside even women were allowed to use them. Perhaps the woman was some kind of Elder—but was it even possible for a woman to be an Elder?

The woman stuffed the device back in her purse. “Ramona’s cooking di

The man nodded and smiled, while the woman turned back to Enid. “Our daughter,” she explained. “She and her husband run an RV park north of Flagstaff.”

“Could I use that, please?” Enid asked, pointing toward the spot where the phone had disappeared into the woman’s purse. “I don’t have any money, but there’s someone I need to call.”

Shrugging, the woman retrieved the phone and handed it over. “You’re welcome to use it,” she said. “We have plenty of minutes. You don’t need to pay.”

Enid managed to locate the slip of paper and pull it out of her pocket, but once she had the phone in her hand, she looked at it in complete befuddlement.

“Don’t you know how to use it?” the woman asked.

Enid shook her head.

The woman took the phone back. She did something to it, and it lit up. “Who do you want to call?”

Wordlessly, Enid handed over the slip of paper. One at a time, the woman punched the numbers into the phone. When she finished, she handed the device back to Enid. “It’s ringing,” she said.

With her hand trembling, Enid held the phone to her ear. “May I help you?” a woman’s voice inquired.

“Irene,” Enid managed. “I need to speak to Irene.”

“I’m sorry,” the woman answered. “Did you say Irene? I’m afraid there’s no one here by that name, but if you’re looking . . .

Enid didn’t wait to hear more. With those few words her only source of hope had been snatched away. Irene was the only person Patricia had said might help her. Without Irene, Enid and her baby were Outside and completely alone.

Not knowing what else to do, Enid handed the phone back, and the woman returned it to the purse. As they continued south, Enid held her hand to her mouth and stifled a sob, but she couldn’t hold back the curtain of despair. With Irene gone, Enid had no idea where she was going to go or what she was going to do.

Without anyone to help her, no doubt Enid would be caught and returned to The Family. Most likely she’d be sent down to join Agnes and Patricia in tending the pigs. If that’s what happened to her, fine, but what would become of poor Baby A

6

Once Athena left, Ali made a quick call to B.

He listened to what she had to say. “So much for not getting sucked into the middle of it,” he said resignedly, “but it does sound as though she could use our help. Go ahead and give Stuart a call.”

Stuart Ramey was B. Simpson’s right-hand man at High Noon Enterprises. In person, Stuart’s social skills were somewhat lacking, but his personal foibles didn’t necessarily make themselves apparent in telephone or computer transactions. He had, with some difficulty, overcome his fear of flying, enough to make a few flights in the course of the last few months, but elevators were still an absolute no-no. He lived to work and mostly lived at work, which allowed him to schedule his life around whatever time zone B. was currently occupying.

In the past Stuart had lived in his office on an unofficial basis, making do on an air mattress on the floor of an office that was usually cluttered with leftover pizza boxes and other fast-food takeout debris. A few weeks earlier, while Stuart had been out of town on an enforced holiday, B. had taken advantage of his absence and had remodeled that corner of High Noon’s warehouse space into a combination office/studio apartment, complete with a bathroom, shower, and tiny kitchenette.

Stuart had returned to an office/studio combination that was now truly his private domain, and he loved it. What Ali appreciated about the new arrangement was that Stuart’s office now looked more like an office and less like a slovenly college dorm room. How Stuart’s private apartment looked, now safely shut away behind a closed door, was none of Ali’s business or anybody else’s.

Ali’s call to Stuart was answered by his new assistant, Cami—short for Camille. Cami Lee was a recent graduate of UCLA. She was a bright young Asian woman who had arrived at High Noon with a ready smile, boundless energy, and a cum laude bachelor of science degree with dual majors in both computer science and electrical engineering. To everyone’s relief, she seemed able to take Stuart’s lack of interpersonal skills in stride. Ali was thrilled that B. had managed to snap Cami up before anyone else could.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Reynolds,” Cami said when she answered the phone. “Mr. Ramey is on the other line. Would you like to hold or do you want him to call you back?”

Marveling at how young Cami sounded on the phone, Ali opted for holding and looked out the window while she waited. Over the course of the afternoon, the sky had darkened. The winter storm the weather forecasters had predicted seemed to be blowing in from the west. With the phone to her ear, Ali stepped over to the gas-log fireplace and turned the flame up another notch.

By the time she returned to her chair, Stuart was on the phone. “Hey,” he said. “What’s up?”

Ali spent the next ten minutes summarizing the situation with Betsy Peterson in Bemidji. “What’s our interest in all this?” Stuart asked when she finished.

“Since local law enforcement agencies are discounting what Athena and I regard as a real threat, I want High Noon to build a security safety net around Betsy,” Ali answered. “I want fully monitored electronic surveillance of her home. How do we go about making that happen?”

“Well,” Stuart said, “you’ve got a choice here. It can be done cheap, quick, or good. Pick any two.”