Chapter 7

Discovered

Nightfall found Nicholas LaRue and Craig Van Patten nearing the end of a long, tedious drive on Interstate 10. They had gotten a late start. In typical Cajun-country style, LaRue’s uncle, Jean Savoy, had not only met them at New Orleans International, but had also insisted on treating them to an impromptu feast before sending them off. Traveling in Uncle Jean’s old Cadillac, they had stopped only for gas. LaRue was vaguely familiar with the route from family outings as a child. The area was new to his passenger though, and LaRue became slightly chagrined at Van Patten’s silence in the face of such beautiful landscape.        "Wake up, Van Patten," LaRue ventured, giving his partner’s shoulder a shove. "Remember this outing was your call, my friend. Least you can do is contribute to some interesting conversation."        "Sorry, I’m beat," mumbled Van Patten, lifting his head up only momentarily before drowsing once again.        "I can see the situation calls for something better than our everyday chit chat," laughed LaRue. "I’m gonna tell you a story. Listen up, now."        Craig Van Patten shifted in his seat and held his eyes open with an effort.        "Once there was this city fellow," began Larue. "He bought himself a brand new sports car, a Corvette, I think it was. He took it out on country roads where he could let loose and see what his new machine could really do. Well, that car moved along at a real impressive speed, took the curves without a hitch. That city fellow was feeling mighty pleased until he checked his rear view mirror. He noticed a chicken was running up behind him. So, he downshifted and laid on the gas, but that chicken was still gaining on him. As a matter of fact, the chicken passed him right up! The city fellow stopped at a farmer’s gate and asked the farmer if he’d seen that chicken. ‘What sort of chicken was that?" he asked the farmer. The farmer told him it was one of those new, three-legged chickens. The city fellow asked, ‘They sure are fast. Do they taste good?’ And the farmer answered, ‘I dunno. We haven’t been able to catch one yet!"        "Nick, stop!" winced Van Patten, turning away to lean his forehead against the window.        "Well come on, Van Patten," laughed LaRue. "It wasn’t that bad."        "No, it’s not your off-beat humor," panted Van Patten, turning pale. "It’s your uncle’s down-home, country cooking. Pull over."        "What’s this?" LaRue shot a quick look toward his passenger before searching the road ahead for a likely rest stop. "Don’t tell me them spicy crawdads didn’t sit right. You just gotta toughen up that citified tummy of yours."        Receiving only a groan from Van Patten, Larue pulled into a bayside park and drove directly to the public facilities. "Ok, Craig, we’re only a mile from the motel, but I ain’t taking any chances with the car’s upholstery. Especially since it’s not mine."        Forced to economize, the two recently unemployed agents had been happy to accept the loan of a car for their trip to the Okaloosa Bay region. LaRue had felt silly following Van Patten’s hunch. There was no reason to suspect that this lead was any more valid than the other four records of people named A. MacArthur who had contacted government facilities. The fact that Nicholas LaRue had an uncle living in a rural area near New Orleans settled the matter for him. At least the two men had a ready-made excuse for the trip to give their wives.        "You need any help?" Larue asked, noting how Van Patten’s face had turned from pale white to green in the dim park lights.        "No, thanks," panted Van Patten, tumbling out of the car. "I’ll be right back."        Van Patten would barely have noticed the boy and the tall man bent over the restroom sink, except that the man was barefoot and his shirt and pants clung to him, soaking wet, with an ever-widening puddle spreading out on the floor.        "What happened? Did you jump in the lake?" Van Patten commented as he passed by.        "It’s a bay, but... yeah, as a matter of fact, I did," answered MacArthur. The two men stood face to face.        "MacArthur! You’re Adam MacArthur!" stuttered Van Patten, not certain whether shock or nausea would win the battle for his current state.        MacArthur sighed and smiled. "Some days, it doesn’t hurt to be reminded of that, I guess."        "You’re the person we’ve been looking for, the whole reason for coming down here!" Van Patten struggled to collect his composure. "So you didn’t leave for good. Wait right there. My partner’s just outside and we have some questions for you."        "Craig, I’m not the person you should be looking for. I’ll talk to you, but I’m a little busy right now," MacArthur replied calmly. He looked Craig Van Patten directly in the eyes and rested a hand on his shoulder, "Are you feeling OK?"        "It’s nothing, probably indigestion," Van Patten replied, trying to decide if a dash out to the parking lot to get LaRue were possible. Craig gradually became more aware of MacArthur’s steady gaze and the weight of MacArthur’s hand resting on his shoulder.        "Where can I find you, Craig?" MacArthur asked, finally looking away to attend to Joshua who had begun to pull against his other hand, impatiently.        "We’re staying down the road from here, the Marina Motel, I think... ...But you wait here, MacArthur," directed Van Patten, using the most authoritative voice he could summon.        "I promise I’ll talk with you, Craig," the Visitor replied.        When Craig Van Patten was finally able to leave the privacy of the stall several minutes later, there was no sign of the man or the boy.        "Unlawful flight to avoid prosecution, hijacking, domestic terrorism," Nicholas LaRue enumerated the charges against the fugitive known as Adam MacArthur. "Sound familiar, Van Patten? And you think we should just ignore all of this and invite the man to dinner or something? I’d say that’s taking Southern hospitality a might too far."        "All I’m saying is, alerting Colonel Vise and the NSA has never helped before," insisted Van Patten. "Don’t forget, we had MacArthur in custody and, even then, Vise managed to show up and disrupt the investigation, not to mention having a hand in his escape. It sort of makes you wonder what Vise was really up to."        "Look, assuming this fellow is just who he says he is, a military pilot from the 1940s," LaRue paused and slowly shook his head in incredulity, "isn’t he bound to at least return to his base and give a report or something? Any way you slice it, we’ve got to alert law enforcement. And Colonel Vise, it seems, is the only one we know who won’t throw us in the loony bin for reporting this sort of information."        The two men had searched the park in vain for signs of MacArthur and his young friend. Van Patten, feeling only slightly recovered from his nausea, began to wonder if the whole incident in the restroom was simply a bizarre hallucination from being ill and very tired. "Get a grip," he told himself, silently. Van Patten couldn’t help feeling that he was somehow looking at the world from a slightly new vantage point. The sensation was unsettling, to say the least.        Arriving at the Marina Motel, LaRue wasted no time in retrieving that slip of paper Colonel Vise had given them and placing a phone call. Van Patten paced nervously around the room, examined the overly thin white towels in the bathroom and made a pretense of searching through his bag for some misplaced item. When LaRue hung up the telephone only minutes later and announced that he’d had to leave a message on voice mail, Van Patten sighed, silently, with relief. In spite of the cheap accommodations, he welcomed the chance to sleep and put all thoughts of Adam MacArthur on hold for the night.