Where was that man?
Rasalom could understand Gilda being incommunicado with the baby. But Georges ... no. Possibilities, none of them good, cascaded through his mind: accident, arrest, death, something catastrophic with the child. While devastating to contemplate in relation to his plans, the last should not be a factor in Georges's absence.
He made up his mind. The snow continued and road conditions were no doubt deteriorating. If he was to entertain any hope of returning to Nuckateague tonight - and he did not wish to stay in one of these dreary airport hotels - he would have to act now.
He signaled to one of the loitering skycaps to remove his bag from the carousel. The man found him one of the limousines that cruised the arrival areas like sharks, and stowed the bag in the trunk while Rasalom seated himself on the leather upholstery.
"Good evening, sir," the driver said, putting the car in gear and beginning to roll. "Where to?"
"Nuckateague."
The driver braked. "Out past the Hamptons?"
"Correct. Is there a problem?"
"I'm afraid that's too far, sir. Especially in this weather. It's a long ride out and probably even longer back with no fare."
Rasalom had kept his wallet out after tipping the skycap. He'd anticipated this. The driver had probably expected to hear a Midtown or Westchester address. He pulled out five hundred-dollar bills and tossed them over the backrest onto the front seat.
"Sufficient?"
The man's eyes lit. "Yes, sir!"
He was certain he could have bought him off with less, but didn't care to bargain with his sort. Over what? These pieces of paper that people chased after with such unseemly fervor? He had access to a virtually limitless supply, but so what? They lacked even the slightest intrinsic value and were leaking what little fiat value they still retained. After the Change they might be useful as toilet paper, but little else.
"Proceed," he said. "But with caution."
