Truant

Colter stood by the abandoned canoe and scanned the river banks.

He saw nothing. Wearily he climbed the embankment to the field above. Brewer was standing on the far side of the field. Colter waved. Brewer waved back but did not move. Colter trudged across the field, his dread of what he must tell Brewer increasing with every step.

'I've lost him,' Colter blurted out as soon as he was beside Brewer.

Brewer stepped back; no one wants to be too close to failure.

'What do you mean, "Lost himʹ?'

'He took off in the damn canoe. I didn't know those things could go so fast. I followed but when I found the canoe he'd gone.'

'He fell out of the canoe?'

'I doubt it. It's hauled up on the bank over there.' Colter jerked his thumb to point behind him. 'It’s not damaged. Anyway the boys downstream at the bridge would have seen him if he got swept away. I haven't heard anything on the radio net.'

'Did you call this in?'

'Hell no. Not yet. I thought maybe you'd have him. I didn't want to make waves.'

'Make waves? Waves for who, you or him?'

'You, Brewer. You're the senior guy.'

'You’re kidding me, right? You don't seriously think you can hand this off to me?'

'Of course I don't. We're partners; we look out for each other. I didn't want you finding out about this through me squawking on the net to Ableman. I thought if he showed up here you'd nab him and no one need know anything about it.'

'Well you'd better tell Ableman now.' Brewer saw Colter's hesitation. 'Get to it; now.'

Colter activated his hand set. He identified himself, then, 'We lost the man,' he said.

Brewer guessed that Ableman was as taken aback at the news as he had been because the next think he heard was Colter repeat, 'We lost the man.'

Then Colter said, 'Yes' and held the handset out to Brewer.' He wants to talk to you.'

*
The Pancake House on county road 72 stayed open 24/7. 72 lay near the intersection of two interstates and was a major truck route in its own right.

The owner, Zane Griswold, liked to think he had seen most things in his life. Even he was taken aback to see a man in a dry suit jog across the forecourt of the neighbouring Texaco station at seven-fifteen on a weekday morning. Then the man pushed open the door of the Pancake House.

‘Good morning,’ the man said. He paused, looked around then said, ‘Excuse me,’ and walked into the men’s room.

Zane leaned on his broom and scratched his balding head. He kept his eyes on the restroom door.

When the man emerged he had removed the dry suit. He wore jeans and a t-shirt with the legend “Stolen from the Oval Office” across the chest.’

He caught Zane’s eye. ‘I hung my suit behind the door. Don’t let me forget it when I go,’ he said, and headed for the counter.

He studied the menu. ‘I’ll take an orange juice, a stack of buttermilk pancakes with bacon and cream, a black coffee, large,’ he told Pedro behind the counter. At the register he drew out a fresh twenty dollar bill for Suzette, the waitress. She made change.

‘Thank you ma’am,’ the man said.

‘Take a table,’ I’ll bring it over,’ Suzette told him.

Zane walked to the counter.

‘He reminds me of someone. I just can’t call to mind who,’ he said in a low voice.

Pedro shrugged and carried on turning pancakes. Suzette looked blank; she’d been on nearly twelve hours straight and it was starting to look as if her replacement wasn’t coming in.

*
Milton Harmon sat at his table in the empty Pancake House. It felt good just to sit and do nothing.

Milton was pleased with himself. He had engineered the whole of this escape. As soon as he knew they would be visiting this part of the country he had come up with the idea of an early morning canoe trip. He had guessed that none of his guards would be canoeists and he proved to right. He had persuaded them that no one need be out on the water with him.

He felt small twinge of guilt about Colter. He’d catch hell from Ableman. But then someone was going to catch hell, it came with the territory. Milton smiled, remembering the look on Colter’s face when he saw the speed with which the canoe drew away when it caught the current on the little creek.

The girl from the register brought over his tray. He grinned and thanked her.

As she walked away he looked over the tray with undisguised pleasure. This was freedom; to order a breakfast without caring what anyone else thought about it and then to eat it without having to think up the answer to some question someone thought couldn’t wait even a quarter of an hour. Milton reached for the maple syrup.

As he ate the Pancake House began to fill up. He checked his watch. It was getting towards eight. He would have to be going.

He waved at the girl for a refill of his coffee cup. She offered him a slice of Dutch apple pie a la mode. He hesitated, thought better of it and declined. His holiday was coming to an end.

He sipped the scalding coffee, well pleased with himself. The toughest thing though had been getting hold of cash. He’d had to lift it from a carelessly placed wallet. He had another twinge of conscience about that. At the time he had thought that he would replace it when the adventure was over. Now he thought he probably would not. Chances were slim he would be able to pull a stunt like this again but it made no sense to give away his methods.

He tucked two dollars from his change under his empty cup, collected his dry suit, waved to Zane and Pedro and walked out.

He called Ableman from the pay-phone in the Texaco station.

‘I’m on county 72, headed south.’

‘There’s a car on its way Mr President. Just stay where you are.’

(1044 words)