The Servants of Twilight

He picked up a green malachite compact from the pile of stuff that had been in Christine's purse, opened it, lifted out the powder puff, took out the cake of powder, dropped them both in the litter bag that hung on the dashboard. He quickly examined the compact, but he couldn't see anything unusual about it. He hammered it against the steering wheel a couple of times, smashed it, examined the pieces, saw nothing suspicious.

Christine said, "If we have been carrying a transmitter, something they've been able to home in on, itd need a strong power source, wouldn't it?"

"A battery," he said, taking apart her tube of lipstick.

"But surely it couldn't operate off a battery that small."

"You'd be surprised what modern technology has made possible.

Microminiaturization. You'd be surprised."

Although all four of the windows were down an inch or two, letting in a bit of fresh air, the glass was steaming up. He couldn't see the parking lot, and that made him uneasy, so he started the engine again and switched on the defroster, in spite of the exhaust fumes that seeped in from the damaged muffler and tailpipe.

The purse contained a gold fountain pen and a Cross ballpoint. He took them both apart.

"But how far would something like that broadcast?" Christine asked.

"Depends on its sophistication."

"More specifically?"

"A couple of miles."

"That's all?"

"Maybe five miles if it was really good."

"Not all the way to L.A.?"

"No."

Neither of the pens was a transmitter.

Christine said, "Then howd they find us all the way up here in Santa Barbara?" While he carefully examined her wallet, a penlight, a small bottle of Excedrin, and several other items, he said, "Maybe they have contacts in various police agencies, and maybe they learned about the stolen Caddy turning up in Ventura. Maybe they figured we were headed toward Santa Barbara, so they came up here and started cruising around, just hoping to strike it lucky, just driving from street to street in their vans, monitoring their receivers, until they got close enough to pick up the signal from the transmitter."

"But we could have gone a hundred other places," Christine said." I just don't see why they would've zeroed in on Santa Barbara so quickly."

"Maybe they weren't just looking for us here. Maybe they had search teams working in Ventura and Ojai and a dozen other towns."

"What are the odds of their finding us just by cruising around in a city this size, waiting to pick up our transmitter's signal?"

"Not good. But it could happen. It must have happened that way. How else would they find us?"

"The witch," Joey said from the back seat." She has.

magic powers. witch powers. stuff like that." Then he lapsed into moody silence again, staring out at the rain.

Charlie was almost ready to accept Joey's childish explanation.

The old woman was inhumanly relentless and seemed to possess an uncanny gift for tracking down her prey.

But of course it wasn't magic. There was a logical explanation. A hidden, miniaturized transmitter made the most sense.

But whether it was a transmitter or something else, they must figure it out, apply reason and common sense until they found the answer, or they were never going to lose the old bitch and her crazies.

The windows had unsteamed.

As far as Charlie could see, there were still no white vans in the parking lot.

He had looked through everything in the purse without finding the electronic device that he had been sure would be there. He began to examine the purse itself, seeking lumps in the lining.

"I think we should get moving again," Christine said nervously.

"In a minute," Charlie said, using her nail file to rip out the well-stitched seams in the handles of her purse.

"The exhaust fumes are making me sick," she said.

"Open your window a little more."

He found nothing but cotton padding inside the handles of the purse.

"No transmitter," she said.

"It's still got to be the answer."

"But if not in my purse. where?

"Somewhere," he said, frowning.

"You said yourself that it had to be in the purse."

"I was wrong. Somewhere else. " He tried to think. But he was too worried about the white vans to think clearly.

"We've got to get moving," Christine said.

"I know," he said.

He released the emergency brake, put the car in gear, and drove away from the shopping center, splashing through large puddles.

"Where now?" Christine asked.

"I don't know."

46

For a while they drove aimlessly through Santa Barbara and neighboring Montecito, mostly staying away from main thoroughfares, wandering from one residential area to another, just keeping on the move.

Here and there, at an intersection, a confluence of overflowing gutters formed a lake that made passage difficult or impossible.

The dripping trees looked limp, soggy. In the rain and mist, all the houses, regardless of color or style, seemed gray, drab.

Christine was afraid that Charlie had run out of ideas. Worse, she was afraid he had run out of hope. He didn't want to talk.

He drove in silence, staring morosely at the storm-swept streets.