The Surrogate Read online

  The unshaven man standing on his front porch wasn’t a kid, and he certainly wasn’t a Mormon.

  “Mr. Morgan, it’s Joe Brammer,” the man said, removing his hat.

  “Joe?” Harvey queried, looking over the top of his reading glasses. “Where’s your hair? You look like hell.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that. I need to talk to you. It’s very important.”

  Harvey pushed open the screen door and stepped to one side while the young man entered, then led the way to the room he and Betty had built onto the back of their house that most people would call a family room, but since he and Betty didn’t have kids they referred to it as the back room. Marvin, the elderly beagle, looked up from the sofa when they entered the room and thumped his tail a few times.

  “I remember you,” Joe said, bending to scratch the dog’s chin. “Glad to see that you’re still around.”

  Harvey picked up the remote and switched off the television. “Sit down,” he told Joe as he gestured toward the unoccupied end of the sofa. Then he settled himself back into his well-worn easy chair, where he now spent too damned much of his time. He and Marvin were going to turn to stone pretty soon if they didn’t start moving around more.

  Harvey watched while Joe continued to pet the dog as he glanced around the room, which—except for being dusty and cluttered with stacks of newspapers—was pretty much the same as it had been when Betty used to give the boy milk and cookies after he finished working in the yard. Or sometimes Joe had simply showed up at the door wanting to return a book or looking for a chess game. Harvey had taught the boy to play. Joe was a reasonably good player but not exceptional. Mostly, though, Joe had wanted to discuss whatever book he was returning, which was always from Harvey’s collection of what Joe called spy books. These books included histories, theoretical treatises, exposés, biographies and autobiographies, and novels detailing careers in and the business of intelligence gathering. And the boy would ask countless questions concerning Harvey’s own years at the CIA. Harvey’s area had been profiling. After years as a double agent, he had become one of the early practitioners in the field and had compiled profiles on world leaders, dictators, political figures, military leaders, and sometimes other spies. Only when he had a heart attack and was forced to retire at age fifty-two did what was left of his family learn the true nature of his government service. He moved back to Houston to be near his ailing mother, renew old friendships, and figure out if there was life after danger and cigarettes. The wife of a friend from his high school days convinced him to accompany them to a school reunion and made sure he met up with his former high school sweetheart, who had been widowed a number of years earlier. He and Betty had had twenty wonderful years together, especially after she retired from her teaching job and they began trekking about the country in their RV. Now he felt lost without her. He even thought about taking up smoking again.

  “Mom saw Mrs. Morgan’s obituary in the newspaper,” Joe said. “I’m really sorry. She was a great lady and the best teacher I ever had.”

  Harvey nodded. “Your mother wrote a nice note. She mentioned that you had finished law school and were spending some time abroad.”

  Harvey recalled how Betty had commented on more than one occasion that if she’d ever had a son, she would have liked him to be just like Joe Brammer. Harvey had agreed with her. Joe was a good kid.

  “Okay, son, you need to tell me why you showed up at my front door unannounced, on foot, and unshaven except for your head.”

  “I’m afraid that I’m involved in an extremely unusual situation,” Joe explained. “I can assure you that I haven’t done anything illegal or even unethical, but my girlfriend and I are being hunted down by some sort of government agents whom I believe answer to someone high up in the national government. I’m sure the agents involved think they are tracking some sort of international terrorists or a spy who stole national secrets, when what is really at issue is a gross misuse of power over something quite personal and has nothing to do with the law or international intrigue or any sort of threat to the United States government or its elected leaders.”

  Harvey nodded. “Wouldn’t be the first time,” he said. “So, tell me, just what is it that you want from me?”

  Joe sat up straighter. “Transportation,” he said. “Do you still have the camper?”

  “It’s a ‘recreational vehicle,’” Harvey corrected. “And yes, I still have it. I’ve only used it once since Betty died, though. Traveling around the country isn’t the same without her.”

  “I need the RV,” Joe said. “It’s a matter of life and death.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Yes, sir. I would like to sign some sort of lease, but I’d rather not leave a paper trail. If I live through this, you’ll get it back. If not, I’m sure my parents will reimburse you out of the money I inherited from my great-aunt, unless it has mysteriously disappeared, which is what happened to my girlfriend’s bank account.”

  “So you want to just get in and drive away without me telling anyone that I’ve seen you or that I no longer have an RV in my garage?” Harvey asked.

  “Yes, sir. Not even my parents, should you happen to run into them. I know they’re worried about me, but their phone lines are tapped and their house is being watched. I don’t dare call them or go over there, and I really need for you not to mention to them or anyone else that I’ve been here.”

  “I’ll make you a deal, son,” Harvey said. “You tell me about your troubles, and I’ll let you take the RV.”

  Joe shook his head. “I can’t let you get involved. You can always say that I stole the RV, but if these people thought that you knew what was going on…” He paused, apparently not wanting or unable to put into words the seriousness of the risk.

  “Joe, there was a time in my life when I carried around a little pill to put under my tongue if my cover was blown. Now the love of my life is dead. I don’t have any children. I’m bored as hell. And I just might be able to help you. It might be the last opportunity I have to be significantly useful to another human being, so I’ll get you a beer and I want you to start talking.”

  Joe closed his eyes and slumped against the back of the sofa. Marvin actually roused himself enough to scoot closer and push his head under Joe’s hand. Absently Joe began stroking him. Harvey could well imagine what was going on in the boy’s head. Here he was in the presence of someone who would be a knowledgeable listener and just might have some insights as to how he might extract himself from the situation in which he found himself. But anyone who helped him might also face the same danger that he faced.

  Finally Joe’s eyes opened. “I didn’t come here to get you involved.”

  “I know you didn’t, son. You need my RV so you can better manage being on the run. But it would be absolute torture for you to leave this retired old spy sitting here in his easy chair not knowing what the hell you’re running from.”

  Joe actually grinned.

  Harvey grinned back. “Before we get to the serious stuff, though, let’s have a bite of lunch.” He installed Joe on the kitchen stool and put a bowl of chips and a can of beer in front of him. He actually felt happy or something closely akin to it as he bustled about the kitchen making tuna-salad sandwiches and iced tea. While he worked, Harvey asked Joe about law school and his travels abroad.

  Harvey was touched when Joe turned the conversation to Betty, saying how all the kids at Memorial High School knew they could go to her with their problems whether they were enrolled in one of her math classes or not. He found himself telling Joe about Betty’s final illness and how valiant she was and how much he missed her. “Don’t get me wrong,” Harvey said. “Betty and I had our disagreements and pouts like anyone else, but all in all it was twenty damned good years.”

  After they’d eaten, Harvey took Joe out to the garage and showed him the RV, which had traveled more than 200,000 miles over its two decades and was on its second motor but had been diligently maintained and ran
like a top. The vehicle was almost too large for the garage but was considerably smaller than Joe had remembered. But with a double bed, minuscule bathroom, kitchen facilities, and small table, it was all they needed. Harvey explained how to fill the water tank, dump the holding tank, and turn on the pilot light for the hot-water tank. The vehicle was fully equipped with dishes, towels, and bedding.

  Then they settled down in the back room. Joe did most of the talking, of course, but Harvey listened with great care and asked questions when appropriate. The look on Joe’s face when he spoke of Jamie Long brought the ache of missing to Harvey’s heart. When he learned of Jamie’s involvement with the Hartmann family, his heart sank.

  At the end of Joe’s tale, Harvey went to the kitchen to fix a pot of coffee. Over coffee he told Joe what little he knew about the Hartmanns. From time to time, during his decades-long career as a profiler observing and drawing conclusions about the inner workings of the minds of world leaders, he had come across the Hartmann name. He knew that Buck Hartmann had had no qualms about doing business with tyrants, and that those same tyrants had looked forward to the day when Buck’s son, Jason, would be president of the United States. But Jason had died, and old Buck had groomed his grandson to take over the family’s business interests but not to enter the political arena. Gus Hartmann was too short for that. And probably too smart.

  “Probably Gus wants an heir as much as his sister does,” Harvey speculated. “He needs someone to take over the family business, and she probably wants a child who can carry on the family ministry. Your Jamie has gotten herself into one hell of a mess, that’s for sure. And now you’re right in there with her, Joe.”

  Joe looked exhausted, and Harvey wanted to mull things over before he said any more, so he suggested they call it a night and showed Joe to the guest room. “I’ll get up early and take the RV in for servicing,” Harvey said. “When I get back we’ll continue our discussion.”

  Harvey was already organizing his thoughts for tomorrow’s session. And spent several hours at the computer before finally going to bed. He was quite certain that Joe was never going to get to Gus Hartmann. But Amanda Hartmann was a very public person.

  He wasn’t even sleepy when he finally went to bed. He felt more alert and vital than he had in years.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  FOR HOURS, JAMIE lay on the sand, hidden by the sea grass, barely moving, moisture seeping into her clothing, relieved that in spite of his strange surroundings Billy had fallen asleep. When he seemed to be waking, she patted him and whispered to him in her soothing go-back-to-sleep voice.

  She wondered about the men who were searching for her. And wondered just who they thought they were looking for. Some Mata Hari who was spying for enemies of the state with a baby on her hip? Unlike the men in Oklahoma City, who were surely hired killers, she realized that these men were simply doing what their superiors had told them to do, and their superiors apparently answered to Gus Hartmann or someone who answered to Gus Hartmann. Probably when these men went home to their families at night, they were just normal guys. But right now they were her enemies, and if they did their job well, her life was probably over. Not that these men would kill her. They would turn her over to others, but eventually death would be her fate. She would never see her son grow to manhood. He would grow up thinking that Amanda Hartmann was his mother and would be taught that he was God’s chosen and didn’t have to play by the same rules as everyone else.

  From time to time, she heard people talking, and then she heard a vehicle and parted the grass long enough to see a van drive up to the cabin. The next time she looked two men had dumped her trash on the ground and were meticulously going through it, even opening up Billy’s soiled diapers and peering inside.

  She tried to plan. She didn’t dare leave her hiding place until darkness fell. But then what?

  If only there were some way to contact Joe and tell him what had happened. Some way to warn him not to come back here. And together they could decide where she should go, what she should do. The man Joe planned to see in Houston was named Morgan. Mr. Morgan. She didn’t know his first name. All she knew about him was that he had an RV and his wife had been Joe’s math teacher in high school. There would be long columns of Morgans in the Houston telephone directory. Here she had been hoping that Joe would return this evening. Now she prayed that he was not on his way back and that it would be days before he returned and these men would be long gone.

  Even if it seemed as though the men had left, Jamie wouldn’t dare go back to the cabin. Some of them might continue to keep the cabin under surveillance, waiting for her to do just that. With all the discussion about what to do next, she and Joe had not designated a meeting place should they become separated.

  She waited throughout the rest of the afternoon, moving her legs and arms only enough to relieve the cramping in her muscles. Finally, when she couldn’t keep Billy asleep any longer, she nursed him again. When he finished nursing, he filled his diaper and, keeping her head low, she changed him and buried the soiled diaper in the sand. Then she dug her trench deeper and, sitting cross-legged, she played with him for a time, keeping her head down, talking softly. From time to time, she peeked through the grass. Visible activity around the cabin had ceased, and the van had gone.

  When darkness finally fell, no light came on in the cabin. But Jamie not only knew that there were people still inside waiting for her to return, she felt their invasive presence in what for the past week had become a home of sorts to her.

  It was Oklahoma City all over again. Fleeing in the night. Leaving everything behind. At least this time there had been no beloved dog for them to kill.

  Her chest began to heave with sobs. It was all too much. If she survived this night, was this to become the pattern of her life? Always hiding? Always running?

  So what was the alternative? To give up? To die?

  She cradled her baby in her arms and forced her mind away from hysteria. She had to be calm. To think. To plan.

  She tried to remember what time the moon had risen last night. She probably should leave now, taking advantage of the moonless darkness. Yes, that was what she should do. But still she waited a few minutes more, taking deep breaths, willing whatever residual courage still resided within her to come forth and fortify her. Then, clinging to her baby with one arm, she crept out of her hiding place.

  Keeping to the low spaces between the dunes, she headed away from the cabin. She walked for a long time, an hour or more she estimated, staying south of the beach road until the terrain changed, and the cover offered by the dunes and grasses diminished in favor of wide beaches. She waited out of sight by the road, watching for any sort of movement or sound, then took a deep breath and dashed to the other side, where the cover was better. Finally she took the time to put Billy in the sling and catch her breath. Then, keeping the road on her left, she kept out of sight as best she could, which was difficult in the darkness. Several times she stumbled; twice she fell, putting out her hands to protect Billy. Her hands and knees were cut and bruised, her arms and legs scratched and bleeding from brambles. If only she had pulled on sweats this morning instead of shorts. Her only spare clothing in the canvas bag was a T-shirt and a pair of underpants. She ate a handful of trail mix and drank some more water, but she was still hungry. And exhausted. Filled with self-doubt. What if she was doing the wrong thing? What if Joe was apprehended when he returned to the cabin? Maybe she would never see him again. But for lack of another plan, she kept walking. When she reached an intersection, she turned north and, still keeping well out of sight of passing motorists, followed the new road. Occasionally she would take a few more bites of trail mix and drink a little water.

  The sun was almost ready to peek over the horizon when Billy began to protest his confinement. She pulled him out of the sling and carried him over her shoulder as she headed down a country lane. He was howling with hunger by the time she found a sheltered spot in a dry creek bed where they could s
pend a few hours. The creek bed’s sandy bottom welcomed her exhausted body. When the sun rose, a nearby black willow would shade them. She drank some water while Billy nursed, then gratefully closed her eyes. Billy would just have to amuse himself for a while.

  She wondered where Joe was at this moment. Were those men still waiting for him back at the cabin? What would they do to him if they caught him?

  It was all so unreal. Things like this weren’t supposed to happen to ordinary, law-abiding people. Not here. Not in the United States of America.

  Joe muttered a curse when he saw the signs warning that there was roadwork ahead and all traffic was being funneled into the right lane. Getting stuck in traffic at this hour of the night was unanticipated, to say the least. Joe got more and more impatient as he drove at a snail’s pace behind the impossibly long line of vehicles.

  He felt like a middle-aged man driving a recreational vehicle down the highway. He would have to keep his speed under the posted limit at all times. Speed was the only thing that might attract attention to the vehicle. He was certain that the RV and its license number weren’t on any law-enforcement watch list. He and Jamie and the baby would seem like an ordinary family on vacation. Mr. Morgan had given him a nationwide listing of campgrounds. Once he had Jamie and the baby onboard, they could move around the country effortlessly. Maybe if they could stay pretty much continuously on the move for a few months or even a year, the baby thing would become a moot issue. Amanda Hartmann would have learned to love the other baby and forgotten all about Jamie’s kid.

  Of course, Joe knew that such a scenario was just wishful thinking on his part. Fear was going to be their constant companion until the business with the Hartmanns was resolved. Already his stomach was in knots because he had been away from Jamie and the baby too long.

  Joe and Mr. Morgan had spent much of the day tossing out ideas to each other and searching for information on the Internet. When the garage finally returned the RV, the two of them put away the provisions that Mr. Morgan kept carrying out from the house—canned goods, paper towels, toilet tissue, soap, beer. Then they had dinner, and Joe suggested a game of chess, not because he wanted to play but because he knew Mr. Morgan was itching to. And he had decided that he shouldn’t leave until Mr. Morgan’s neighbors had bedded down for the night and wouldn’t be out in their yards or walking their dogs and observe an unfamiliar person driving away in Harvey Morgan’s RV.