Saturday, June 12th 9:30 A.M.
"The way I figure it," Fred said, "We look for a blue '89 pickup with a Mallard camper on the back. Them's the only details the ad in the Kansas paper gave us. But that's a start." The two men were sitting outside Dean's recently-pitched tent in Cortez, Colorado. Dean was carefully reassembling his bicycle after it had been packed for the flight from Pennsylvania.
"No guarantee it's still blue," answered Dean, just to be argumentative. "He could have painted it-if it even happens to be the same person." He continued testing the tension on his bike chain, wiping the grease on a paper napkin. "But more importantly, whatever he was driving, we don't know if he parked it down here at the start of the tour or up in Golden, Colorado where the tour ends. He can't drive the truck and ride his bike at the same time."
"Unless he has a partner," Fred said. "But a blue truck is a start, that's all I'm saying. If you're right and he's actually in this here bike ride, we've got seven days to find him."
"We have our work cut out for us. He might have a mustache, black hair or a shaved head for all we know, and two and a half million could buy a face-job making him look like Robert Redford. He could be anywhere, maybe camping in the next tent or staying anyplace in Cortez."
Fred rubbed his chin. "If I had a couple of million bucks, I'd be staying in the swellest place I could find. We'll find him if he's here. We got his picture-even if it is a few years old-and my money says he hasn't changed much."
They had considered showing Jeffrey Byrne's picture to some of the bike tour workers, especially those volunteers manning the frequent rest stops where every biker would pass sooner or later. They decided against it, cautious about frightening off Byrne if he should get wind of the search and realize someone was this close to finding him. It wasn't worth the risk, at least this early in the week. There would be time enough to panic closer to the end of the tour. Dean was well aware that when this opportunity, as tenuous as it was, was gone, locating their elusive quarry would be next to impossible.
"What kind of physical shape do you suppose Byrne is in?" asked Fred as he eyed a gorgeous blonde in scarlet bike pants.
"I don't know but he's had six weeks since he disappeared," answered Dean. "Except for buying and selling a couple of vehicles and getting here he's had nothing to do but train."