Lee’s iPad pinged. He was on the passenger side, working Google as Webb drove. They were on Highway 301, heading north to Jacksonville. Webb liked all the moving. Different landscapes, different towns. The hum of highway, flashing of power poles on the side of the car.
And silence.
Lee didn’t need to listen to the radio or a CD, and he didn’t talk unless something needed discussing. Webb was fine with that. It didn’t hurt that he was driving a black Camaro with tinted windows. Except for the gnawing worry about his grandfather’s past, Webb loved the sense of adventure that came with moving, moving, moving. Maybe that was something he had to learn about himself, that he wasn’t going to be the kind of guy who wanted a nine-to-five job and a house with a picket fence. His grandfather hadn’t wanted that either. His grandfather had always been…moving. This shared restlessness gave Webb a sudden new appreciation for his grandfather.
For a second, he didn’t realize Lee had been talking to him, and Webb swam upward from his deep pool of thought and broke surface, returning to the moment.
“Next stop, Derek Irvine,” Lee said. “Lives in Charleston. How’s your American geography?”
“Saskatoon, Saskatchewan,” Webb said, hiding in a grin.
“What kind of foreign language is that?” Lee asked, not joking. “Or did you just sneeze?”
“Name of a city and province in Canada,” Webb said. “If you’re going to test me on American geography, I’ll do the same for you. What’s the name of our president?”
“Nice try. Prime minister.”
“Points to you,” Webb answered. “Charleston. South Carolina, right? Civil War started there.”
“Good job. Fort Sumter. Cannon fired there started it all. But freeing the slaves wasn’t enough. A hundred years later—” Lee stopped himself. “Sorry, Grasshopper.”
“Look,” Webb said, “now that you’re giving me a choice, I’m cool talking about what matters to you. Just not cool about watching Sinatra again. I don’t get why people liked him in movies.”
“Dang,” Lee said. “I knew there was a reason I was beginning to like you.”
“Those movies were a test?”
“Yup,” Lee said.
Webb waited for more of an explanation, but it didn’t come. Instead, Lee tapped his phone.
“We’re headed to DC,” Lee said. “From here, it’s maybe eleven hours up Interstate 95.”
Webb nodded. They were going to DC to visit the next person up the chain with information on Jesse Lockewood and Benjamin Moody, hoping it would lead them to the Bogeyman who’d burned down Lee’s house.
Lee continued, “I’ve been googling Lockewood’s platoon, trying to locate a soldier in his squad.”
Again, Webb nodded. Lee had explained that there were four platoons to a company, thirty-six soldiers to a platoon and three twelve-soldier squads per platoon. That broke down further to three four-soldier fire teams. Lee and Roy had been on the same fire team.
“Found two of them,” Lee said. “One in Wyoming, one in Charleston, South Carolina. Going to Wyoming takes us thirty-six hours west, and then another thirty-six hours east to DC. Or if you want, we can head for Charleston and Derek Irvine, which is only a small detour off Interstate 95 on the way north.”
“Wow. Another seventy-two hours in a car with you if we chose Wyoming?”
“Not that you’re the princess of fun,” Lee said. He set the iPad in his lap and leaned back in the passenger seat. He rested his hands behind his head and stretched out his elbows, the picture of a man satisfied with a job well done. “My travel app shows we should get to Charleston about 6 PM. Hopefully, we can see Lockewood’s squad mate tonight. ”
Webb said, “Before or after the steak and lobster you owe me?”
“Your choice,” Lee said. He was looking at the iPad. “What the—?”
“What the what?”
“The Facebook account for Matt Lockewood’s daughter? It’s disappeared.”
The Bogeyman, Webb thought, is everywhere. And he didn’t feel like making a joke about it.