Part 7 (1/2)

As they exited the highway heading for the hangar, Suter said, ”Let's take the rest of the weekend off, recharge our batteries. Maybe you'll have a fresh perspective on Monday.”

He closed his eyes, rubbed his neck, licked the perspiration from his upper lip several times. ”I'm feeling a little under the weather anyway. Why don't you drop me off? I'll call Pirelli and tell him that we'll see him Monday.”

Bohannon glanced over to the pa.s.senger seat and blanched, shocked at how quickly Suter had deteriorated. The FBI agent sat hunched over with his arms wrapped around his midsection. His collar was soaked, his hair matted to his skull.

He noticed Bohannon looking at him. ”What? You never seen a sick man before?”

Bohannon stared ahead. ”Hold on, we're just a few minutes from the hotel.”

CHAPTER 11.

ABBY LAUGHED AS Mara leaned over the white plastic picnic table, hoping the Sloppy Joe dripping down her cheek would land on her paper plate instead of her T-s.h.i.+rt or shorts. Bruce extended a lanky arm across the table, handing her a paper napkin. She waved him away and retrieved one from her lap. He leaned back and used it to mop his brow, pus.h.i.+ng back his damp sandy-colored hair.

He had ridden from his grandfather's gadget repair shop to meet them at a cl.u.s.ter of food carts situated on an old asphalt lot, located just off the Springwater Trail in southeast Portland. They sat at a white resin picnic table under a green umbrella in front of a bright orange van. Dozens of cyclists and hikers, many with dogs, milled around the twenty or so colorful hand-painted food carts that hawked everything from Thai food to chicken and waffles.

”I've driven by this place a dozen times. I had no idea it was such a mecca for bicyclists. It feels like a little circus,” Abby said, looking at the beer garden, a large white tent across from the carts.

”I don't think this place would be here without the trail and the riders,” Bruce said. ”But I think it is starting to grow popular with locals who don't use the trail as well.”

”It's a great place to meet and get fueled up for the ride. Where are you going to take us?” Mara asked.

”I would suggest we run up to Powell b.u.t.te, off-road it for a bit on the trails there. Then we can double back and connect up with the I-205 trail and head down toward Oregon City. That should be a good ride and show you how to get around a little between here and down south.”

”Would that be a typical ride for you?” Abby said.

”I pretty much go everywhere by bike, so there isn't a typical ride for me. For people who don't ride all the time, this will be a good ride without overdoing it,” he said.

”My mom got to you, didn't she?” Mara asked. ”I wondered where she went while we were unloading our bikes.”

”Yeah, she asked me to take it easy and to keep an eye on you. Don't worry, I haven't changed the plan at all. You guys will get plenty of riding done today. You'll be tired when you get home.”

”Like I need a babysitter. You are what? Three years older than me?”

”Mellow out,” Abby said. ”Your mom's not being completely unreasonable. I mean, you were in a plane crash and just got out of the hospital. You can still see the b.u.mp on your head. Most mothers would have slashed your tires and told you to stay home.”

”She got to you too.”

Abby rolled her eyes and looked at Bruce. ”Do you like younger women?”

”Ah, maybe we should hit the trail,” he said, blus.h.i.+ng. He stood up, gathered their paper plates and took them to a trash bin next to the orange van. ”I'm going to run to the restroom. I'll meet you girls over by the bikes.”

”Why do you always do that?” Mara asked.

”What?”

”Say something to rattle people just to change the subject.”

”Works, doesn't it?” She watched Bruce as he walked away. ”He has nice legs. Those bike shorts really show them off.”

”You're not looking at his legs.”

A couple hours later, they sat on a log nestled against a wall of ferns and brush just off the trail in Powell b.u.t.te Nature Park. Leaves rustled in the breeze, and light dappled the ground around them, moving to the sway of the branches.

”I didn't sign up for mountain biking. I thought we were going to do a little pedaling around the city. You know, urban cycling. Look at us. We're in the middle of the woods climbing a mountain. There's not a Starbucks in sight. I can hardly breathe,” Abby said.

”Technically, it's an extinct volcano,” Bruce said. ”It's a fairly short trail and not that challenging of an incline. Besides, the fun part is coming soon.”

”Fun part? This wasn't the fun part?”

”Going down is much more fun than climbing. Just make sure you keep control of your bike. You don't want to get going too fast and slam into a tree.”

”Great. I'm going to die with bark between my teeth,” Abby said and turned to Mara. ”How you doing? You're not having a brain hemorrhage or anything, are you?”

”No. This is perfect,” Mara said looking up at the forest surrounding them. ”After airports and hospitals and doting mothers, I'd take this anytime. This is exactly what I needed to unwind.”

”So you never talked about what it was like, you know, on the plane,” Abby said.

”I have to admit it was the most surreal experience of my life.”

”Were you scared?”

”To be honest, it all happened so fast there wasn't time to be afraid. I think I was more disoriented than anything. There were these strange flas.h.i.+ng lights, and I thought I saw-”

”Saw what?” Abby asked.

”Nothing. Just a plane full of people freaked out and screaming. Completely normal considering we were plunging to our deaths.”

”It's hard to believe no one was killed in the crash. I saw them pull the plane out of the river on the news, and it was a wreck,” Bruce said. ”Makes you wonder what could have caused it.”

”Yeah, it makes you wonder,” Mara said.

”We probably should get going. If I don't get you guys home before dark, your mother will skin me alive,” Bruce said.

Mara followed Bruce and Abby as they took a right off the Interstate 205 bike path onto Eighty-Second Street heading into Gladstone, the exit just before Oregon City. At various junctures along the way south, they had been required to veer away from the highway, follow roundabouts or use surface streets, so Mara didn't think much of it as they made the course correction. She had pretty much zoned out after several miles of pavement and concrete, and blindly followed Bruce's lead.

They gained speed on the inclined road, sped past several blocks of gas stations and office buildings, and swung to the left when they came to the yellow and orange Department of Motor Vehicles building. The road ended at a set of pylons sticking out of the pavement in front of a tall knot of chain-link fencing.

Without slowing down, Bruce maneuvered between the pylons and continued on a path through the fencing under a large orange warning sign suspended from iron scaffolding above. It read Danger: Jumping from Structure Prohibited.