JК
The Colorado Kid :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 58 из 81“Now it’s getting close to one in the afternoon on the east coast,” he said, “but at least our friend Cogan doesn’t have to worry about a lotof security rigamarole, not back in 1980 and especially not flyin private. And we have to assume—again—that he doesn’t have to wait in line with a lot of other planes for an active runway, because it screws up the timetable if he does, and all the while on the other end—” He touched her right finger. “—that ferry’s waitin. Last one of the day.
“So, the flight lasts three hours. We’ll say that, anyway. My colleague here got on the Internet, he loves that sucker with a passion, and he says the weather was good for flying that day and the maps show that the jetstream was in approximately the right place—”
“But as to howstrong it was, that’s information I’ve never been able to pin down,” Dave said. He glanced at Vince. “Given the tenuousness of your case, partner, that’s probably not a real bad thing.”
“We’ll say three hours,” Vince repeated, and moved Stephanie’s left finger (the one she was coming to think of as her Colorado Kid finger) until it was less than two inches from her right one (which she now thought of as her James CoganAlmost Dead finger). “It can’t have been much longer than that.”
“Because the facts won’t let it,” she murmured, fascinated (and, in truth, a little frightened) by the idea. Once, while in high school, she had read a science fiction novel calledThe Moon Is A Harsh Mistress. She didn’t know about the moon, but she was coming to believe that was certainly true of time.
“No, ma’am, they won’t,” he agreed. “At four o’clock or maybe fourohfive—we’ll say fourohfive—Cogan lands and disembarks at Twin City Civil Air, that was the only FBO at Bangor International Airport back then—”
“Any records of his arrival?” she asked. “Did you check?” Knowing he had, of course he had, also knowing it hadn’t done any good, one way or another. It was that kind of story. The kind that’s like a sneeze which threatens but never quite arrives.
Vince smiled. “Sure did, but in the carefree days before Homeland Security, all Twin City kept any length of time were their account books. They had a good many cash payments that day, includin some pretty goodsized refueling tabs late in the afternoon, but even those might mean nothing. For all we know, whoever flew the Kid in might have spent the night in a Bangor hotel and flown out the next morning—”
“Or spent the weekend,” Dave said. “Then again, the pilot might have left right away, and without refueling at all.”
“How could he do that, after coming all the way from Denver?” Stephanie asked.
“So, the flight lasts three hours. We’ll say that, anyway. My colleague here got on the Internet, he loves that sucker with a passion, and he says the weather was good for flying that day and the maps show that the jetstream was in approximately the right place—”
“But as to howstrong it was, that’s information I’ve never been able to pin down,” Dave said. He glanced at Vince. “Given the tenuousness of your case, partner, that’s probably not a real bad thing.”
“We’ll say three hours,” Vince repeated, and moved Stephanie’s left finger (the one she was coming to think of as her Colorado Kid finger) until it was less than two inches from her right one (which she now thought of as her James CoganAlmost Dead finger). “It can’t have been much longer than that.”
“Because the facts won’t let it,” she murmured, fascinated (and, in truth, a little frightened) by the idea. Once, while in high school, she had read a science fiction novel calledThe Moon Is A Harsh Mistress. She didn’t know about the moon, but she was coming to believe that was certainly true of time.
“No, ma’am, they won’t,” he agreed. “At four o’clock or maybe fourohfive—we’ll say fourohfive—Cogan lands and disembarks at Twin City Civil Air, that was the only FBO at Bangor International Airport back then—”
“Any records of his arrival?” she asked. “Did you check?” Knowing he had, of course he had, also knowing it hadn’t done any good, one way or another. It was that kind of story. The kind that’s like a sneeze which threatens but never quite arrives.
Vince smiled. “Sure did, but in the carefree days before Homeland Security, all Twin City kept any length of time were their account books. They had a good many cash payments that day, includin some pretty goodsized refueling tabs late in the afternoon, but even those might mean nothing. For all we know, whoever flew the Kid in might have spent the night in a Bangor hotel and flown out the next morning—”
“Or spent the weekend,” Dave said. “Then again, the pilot might have left right away, and without refueling at all.”
“How could he do that, after coming all the way from Denver?” Stephanie asked.