But a new and exhilarating independence had sprung up in Lee Hayden. He realized he was not the same man Clifford had rescued and drugged in New York.
"You really get around," Lee said.
"Oh, yes. I have a lot to do."
Lee turned away.
"See you again sometime."
"I hope so—and by the way, there's a man you might like to talk to. I think you'd feel free to ask him questions. Perhaps he'd feel free to answer."
"Good—where can I find him?"
Mr. Clifford considered for a moment, then said, "I'm going in that direction. Jump in."
Lee obeyed, throwing his rucksack in the back seat—the rucksack he'd acquired, along with cash, for his expensive pigskin two-suiter.
Mr. Clifford tooled the Ford carefully through the streets and out onto the dusty, country road leading northeast. No word was spoken for many miles; until Lee extended a hand toward the horizon. "Beautiful mountains."