FIFTY-FOUR

Monk pulled himself to his feet and stepped into the road.

He looked in both directions but saw no one. He’d been lucky to hear the horns. He might have stumbled around in the woods for hours. He turned to his right. The road ran north. He didn’t know how far away from the farm he was, but the road had to run right past it. He could follow the road until he was close enough to see the golf course that he knew from his two previous flights lay south and west of the mansion.

Monk started walking. His nose ached, his whole body hurt. He hadn’t walked a quarter mile before he heard a car behind him. Turning, he stuck out his thumb. A pickup truck, Monk saw, slowing down when the young male driver saw him, then pulling over toward the ditch and stopping a dozen yards past him.

“Man,” the kid said, when Monk limped around the pickup and stood at the driver’s window. “What the hell happened to you?”

Monk tried to look sheepish. “Got a new motorcycle, one of those motocross jobbies. Had to try it out. Just about ended up killing myself.”

“Trail-biking?” He stared at the thick woods on both sides of the road. “How can you trail-bike in there? Be hard enough just to walk.”

“Tell me about it.”

The driver glanced at his feet. “No shoes? You go riding without shoes?”

“I fell. Got into some loose leaves and fell into a ditch … I thought it was a ditch, but it turned out to be a gully.” He shook his head. “I went in bike and all. Only had one shoe when I crawled out again. I looked around for it, but …”

Monk glanced back toward where he’d come out of the trees.

“Christ, I’m lucky I’ve got any clothes on at all, as hard as I went through that brush. I couldn’t walk in one shoe, so I tossed the other one back there by my bike.”

The kid stared beyond Monk, toward the woods, as though looking for the bike and the shoe. Monk reached down to massage his knee.

“Bike’s all bent up,” he said. “Front wheel collapsed on me.” He paused. “I think I marked the spot pretty good. I’ll come back later and get it … look for my shoes at the same time.”

The kid shook his head. “You do much riding?”

“First time.” Monk glanced back toward the forest. “I’m going to sell the son of a bitch the second I get back to Washington.”

“Where you staying here in Gettysburg?”

“Up the road … just this side of town. The wife and I rented a place for the weekend.” He shook his head. “Christ, she’s gonna kill me. I’m an hour late already. Can you take me?”

“Sure, but it’s gonna be a while.”

Monk stared at him.

“Franklin’s farm,” the kid said. “Thomas Franklin?” Monk nodded as the kid continued. “There’s something going on at Battle Valley Farm.” He gestured toward the road ahead. “Got a roadblock up there by the main entrance. A checkpoint. Had to come through it an hour ago, and I’ve never seen it like that.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re used to the Secret Service around here … Franklin and the president hanging out and all … but this time there were Japanese guys, too. A dozen, at least. Traffic backed up half a mile. Took me an hour to get through.”

“Japanese?”

“All over the place.”

Monk turned away from the kid to look up the road. Japanese bodyguards at Battle Valley Farm. Sung Kim at the farm. Despite the pain in his legs, Monk had to fight an urge to run after her, run her down, and kill her before she …

“Look,” the kid said. “I can take you, but we’ve gotta go right now.” He gestured toward the bed of the pickup, at the stack of lumber in the back. “My boss is waiting for this stuff at the job site.”

Monk nodded, then limped around the back of the pickup to the passenger door, pulled it open and climbed in. “Thanks,” he said. “It would have been a hell of a walk.” He bent to make a show of looking at the odometer. “How far?” he asked the kid. “How far to Gettysburg. I’ll never find my bike if I don’t keep a pretty close check.”

“I dunno, three miles, a little less maybe.”

“What about the checkpoint at the gate? Could I walk to town from there?”

“Be about a two-mile walk, but why bother? Even with the delay at the checkpoint, I’d get to Gettysburg a long time before you could walk there.”

Monk nodded. “Have you got a cell phone?”

The kid shook his head. “I’m lucky to have enough money for my lunch,” he said, before pulling back onto the road.

A few minutes later they caught up to a car, a red sedan, then another car, and another, until the traffic began to slow.

“Damn,” the kid said. “It’s even worse going this direction. Gonna take an hour just to get to the gate.”

They crept along toward the checkpoint, although the bend in the road ahead kept Monk from seeing the main gate. The golf course was on his left. He couldn’t see it through the dense forest, but he knew it was there. With this level of security at the entrances to Battle Valley Farm, getting onto the golf course was his only chance of making it all the way to the mansion.

He craned his neck in an attempt to see the checkpoint, but it was still too far away. From the elevated cab of the kid’s truck he could see many of the vehicles ahead of them, but he had no idea what he was looking for. Bethany could be in any one of those cars or trucks, but Monk had the feeling she wasn’t. He had the feeling she was far ahead of him, already inside the property.

He turned to the kid. “Sorry to abandon you,” he said, “but I can’t just sit here. I’m gonna walk up ahead. I’ll catch a ride with somebody up front.”

The kid shrugged. “That’s what I’d do if I were you. Anybody’ll give you a ride to town.”

Monk opened the door and slid out of the seat to the ground. He closed the door and gave the kid a wave, then limped toward the car ahead, then past it, limping in the direction of the checkpoint until he was around the bend in the road and out of the kid’s sight.

Monk saw the looks on the faces inside the cars and trucks as they reacted to his battered appearance, but nobody met his gaze or said a word to him. He couldn’t blame them. The worse you looked, the harder people tried to ignore you, and he was counting on their reaction. It was best if they didn’t see him at all. There were enough guards for him to get past already. He walked another hundred yards, turned to his left, and limped between two cars, crossed the road, and disappeared into the trees.