Road Rules Online

The pay phone rang, and Mike snatched it on the first ring.  “Hello?”

“This Blake?” said the man from the bishop’s office.

“This is he.”

“Are you alone?”

“I’m with a young lady,” said Blake.  “We were going to Miami in hopes of setting up a buy with the police.”

“Didn’t work out, did it?”

“No, sir.  It didn’t.”

“Why don’t you go to the police?”

“The police believe I’m one of the thieves.  I just want to get the Chest back to the Church where it belongs.”

“Noon Mass at St. John the Baptist ends at one.  It takes half an hour to clear the parking lot.  Be there at one-thirty.  Someone will meet you there.  And Blake?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t go to the police.  We’ll bring them in when we’re ready.”

“What I want to know,” said Estevez, “is where the hell you’ve been since yesterday morning.  Why weren’t you up in the city helping us track down Koradovich?”

Mason gave a weak smile, unfortunately, the best he could manage at the moment.  “I was following up a lead.  Really.”

“What lead?  I didn’t hear about any mysterious lead.  I talked to your boss, and he didn’t know what your lead was.  What the fuck were you doing down in Parkersburg, West Virginia?”

“I heard where Stan Yarazelski went and thought I could intercept him.”

“Bullshit.”

“In the past,” said Jordan, “insurance companies have deferred to the police in chasing down suspects in thefts they investigate.  The West Virginia and Virginia forces are better equipped and better manned than a claims manager in his company Lexus.”

Mason narrowed his eyes at Jordan.  “Still trying to dig your way out of a lawsuit, Jordan?  I’ll have you know…”

“I’ll have you know I’ve been reinstated as a police officer.  Because of you.”

Mason leaned forward and rubbed his fingers through his hair.  “Look, I was carjacked in North Carolina.  Two thugs took me hostage, thinking I had the Chest.  When they heard Stan had been arrested, they thought I could help spring him so they could get the Chest’s whereabouts out of him.  And why don’t you hunt down Myron Blake?  He’s the mastermind behind this.”

A deputy walked in and whispered something in Jordan’s ear.  Some of the color in the man’s face drained.

“Would that have something to do,” said Jordan, “with my niece’s car being found abandoned in Charleston, West Virginia?”

Mason suddenly couldn’t speak.

Estevez added, “We also found your car sitting at the Charlotte Airport in long term parking.  They say the ignition was jacked, but car thieves will strike in front of the fucking Pentagon if there’s a buck to be made in it.  Know anything about that?”

“Blake did it.”

“Maybe he did.  We haven’t got the proper warrants to track Blake’s whereabouts  yet, but we will soon.”

“I want to see my lawyer.”

“What about Mr. Fernandez?”

“I want a real lawyer.”

Gallagher had started to put on his headgear when Father Petrelli barged in.

“A minute alone, Eminence?” he said.  He gave a look to the lector and altar boys that brooked no discussion on the subject.

Gallagher caught the look and said, “Georgette, go signal the choir there will be a delay.”

“How long, Father Daniel?” said Georgette.

“No more than a minute or two.”  He led Petrelli into the breezeway that led back to the Priory.  “What?”

“Father Daniel?” asked Petrelli.

“To my flock, I’m still just a priest.  And I like it that way.  Now, what’s so important you have to keep my flock waiting?”

“We got a call from Bishop Hewson’s office, down in Savannah.  Someone claiming to be Myron Blake says he wants to turn over the Chest to the bishop there.  He called from a pay phone.”

Gallagher laughed.  “Finally.  Go.  I’ll take care of it.”

Petrelli left.

Gallagher reached under his vestments and pulled out a cellphone.  Once it powered up, Gallagher hit a speed dial number he’d put in the day before.

“Miguel, it’s Bishop Gallagher.  We have a lead.”

Chapter 25

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” said Mike into the pay phone.  “My name is Myron Blake.  My friend and I have been driving around with the Chest of St. Jakob since yesterday morning.”

“Do you know how many calls we’ve received since last night?” said the man on the other end.  “I can’t just interrupt Bishop Hewson in the middle of a Mass for every crank caller.”

Sharon tugged on Mike’s arm.  “Give him Mason.”

“The car we were in was hijacked by a man named Tim Mason,” said Mike.  “He thought the Chest was still in the trunk, but we took out the crate when we changed a tire.”

The sound of shuffling paper came across the connection.  “What kind of car was hijacked?”

“A 1962 Cadillac DeVille.”

“Where are you?  What’s your number?”

Mike read off the pay phone number.

“Someone will call you back.”  The man at the Diocese of Savannah hung up.

“Well?” said Sharon.

“Wants us to wait here,” said Mike.  “Can pay phones even receive calls anymore?”

“If the cops come,” said Sharon, “we surrender.  Peacefully.”

“If not?”

“Keep trying to get the bishop on the line.  Or at least have someone meet us at the Cathedral.”