I have been told, and I’m sorry but I can’t share this source, that Homeland Secretary Penceal did some checking and found that two of his agents already were tracking me. Agents Corbin and Russell reported that while on their way to pick me up they both had sustained minor injuries when their car was hit from behind at a traffic signal. They were informed that locating and apprehending me was no longer their primary assignment, it was their only assignment. Penceal told them, and this too comes from a trusted source, “I don’t want to hear you stopped to take a piss until this guy is in your custody.”

Somehow, I don’t think Dickie was really looking forward to taking that piss anyway.

Although I was not aware of it at that time, within several hours I had become the most wanted man in America. After allowing sufficient time to pass, agents Corbin and Russell had informed headquarters that I was on the run. (I’m positive the usual jokes were made at Homeland Security headquarters: Actually, he’s on the wheels! Ho-ho. He can’t run, but he can’t hide either! Ha-ha.) As a result, a BOLO, a be on the lookout for, was forwarded to all law enforcement agencies, which now officially included enrolled militia.

I knew how all this worked. I’d been on the inside of a coordinated search several times for stories. This notice would include my credit card numbers, known phone numbers, type of vehicle and license plate number, maybe even the manufacturer of the stripped-down Mighty Chair. My driver’s license photograph and all pertinent information would be sent as a BEAT to the 700,000 police officers on the LET NET, the restricted access Law Enforcement Twitter Network. The U.S. Marshals Service definitely would be brought into the search. The popular TV show The New America’s Most Wanted quickly prepared and began broadcasting a two-minute segment. I know for certain that Dickie and Frannie visited Howie in detention and offered inducements peppered with subtle threats in an unsuccessful effort to convince him to help them find me. Knowing Howie, he’d tucked his thumb under his palm, surrounded it with his fingers, and suggested, “Talk to the hand.”

While all this was shifting into full gear, Laura and I were two hours into a thus-far-uneventful drive. “Don’t we even have a secret handshake?” I’d asked as she settled into the passenger seat, a line I considered a nifty icebreaker considering our circumstances. But then I added quickly, “I’m Rollie. Thank you for doing this.”

“I remember,” she said pleasantly. “I’m just going to take you the first leg. Somebody else’ll take you from there.” She glanced over her shoulder at the makeshift bedroom. “Nice.” She flashed a smile. “Love the cat!”

“There’s a refrigerator if you’d like something to drink. Energy drinks and water.”

“Maybe later.” She removed a tablet from her backpack and propped it up on the dashboard. It opened to an illustration of Julie Andrews singing happily as she led the von Trapp family to safety through a field of sunflowers. Quite a whimsical choice, I thought. She clicked to Google Maps and typed in an address. “We’ll get whatever notifications we need from here.” She put out her hand. As I started to respond, she said, “Give me your credit cards and your phone, please.”