CHAPTER ELEVEN
The golden cornfields of central Iowa filled Eva’s vision ahead of them. “I feel numb.”
“I don't doubt it,” Madden said from behind the wheel of the black ARC security vehicle they had been given. No plates, no logo, though Eva swore it was just a souped-up Chrysler Grand Voyager, with two anonymous ARC operatives. Both wore identical suits, had comparable hairstyles, the same rectangular cut-from-granite jaws. Eva suspected if she did something erroneous, one might pull out a long silver memory-wiping device. She decided to call them Ron and Ron since they were so similar.
“Some flight,” she said, more out of the need to break the silence than to start any real discussion.
“Mmhmm. If you say so, love.”
Eva punched Madden's shoulder, his grip on the wheel not remotely a
