Jefferson and I climb into the car and ride a two-lane road a short distance until it intersects I-36. We take the East-bound ramp and pick up speed.

For the record, I don’t believe we’re on our way to pick up a million dollars in cash. At the same time, I’m not beyond considering the possibility, since in the past hour I’ve secured a twenty million dollar loan app and taken my first limo and private jet rides. I’m not sure what’s going on, but I’m beyond thinking this is some sort of joke. I mean, why would anyone go to this much trouble for a joke? And if it is a joke, it’s a helluva nice one! If this is someone’s idea of funny, they can prank me every week!

“You’re skeptical,” Jefferson says.

“How could I not be?”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

“The golf game.”

“I lied to Oglethorpe about the golf game. Not you.”

I think he’s splitting hairs, but I’m more interested in the money. “So you’re saying I’m about to be a millionaire.”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“What’s the catch?”

He seems surprised. “What makes you think there’s a catch?”

“Well, according to the sign, we’re already in Hannibal. You said we’ll be here at least two hours. It shouldn’t take that long to pick up a million dollars.”

He studies me a moment, and says, “That’s actually very perceptive. I may have underestimated you.”

“So there is a catch.”

“There is.”

“I have to do something to get the money.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Something that’s going to take me two hours.”

A cloud passes over his face. I wonder if he’s angry, or just sick of all my questions.

“That’s up to you,” he says.

“How long would it take you to do it?”

The look that may have been anger turns to sadness.

“A lifetime,” he says.

We pass some farm houses, an antique barn, and a flea market whose sign says they’re open weekends from April through September. I see billboards advertising Mark Twain’s Riverboat Tour, and Cameron Cave, and a sign that shows which fast food restaurants are available at the next exit.

“This thing I have to do,” I say.

“What about it?”

“Where is it going to take place?”

“Riverview Park.”

“How far is that from here?”

“Couple minutes.”

I feel a strong sense of foreboding. My stomach is poised to lurch. The only thing keeping me from vomiting is remembering Jefferson’s comments: we’re picking up the money, and we’ll be back in Louisville by five. So whatever it is, it has to be something he feels I’m capable of doing. I ask myself, what would I do for a million dollars?

Would I do anything?

“I’m not going to kill anyone,” I say.

“Darn!” he says, sarcastically.

We enter the park and immediately come to a guard station. Outside my window it looks like a police parking lot, with two dozen state and local cop cars, two sheriff’s cars, and a dozen police motorcycles. None of the cops are with their vehicles, and all the lights are off. The driver shows his ID to the gate guy and we start moving slowly through the park, past an enormous yellow fire truck, two white ambulances, a red one, and three news vans with various station logos. There are taxis and tow trucks and cars of every style and color.

We’re rolling purposefully through the park now, a park littered with tractor trailers, and sound and lighting systems. Two dark gray vans with Department of Defense emblems catch my eye, and then I see the people. Hundreds of them, clustered in groups. Some are having animated discussions, with cold air smoke billowing from their mouths. Others are milling around. We drive slowly through the mass of people, toward a line of giant trailers.

Standing before these five trailers, guarding them, are ten of the most formidable men I’ve ever seen. There are two such men in front of each trailer. They’re wearing sunglasses and dark business suits and have electronic communication devices that extend from their ears to their mouths.

The limo pulls to a stop twenty feet in front of the largest trailer.

“What’s in there?” I ask.

“Your money.”

I look at the two guards standing between me and the trailer. Their dull-eyed expressions suggest they could kill me faster than I could crush a grape.

I turn back to Jefferson.

“You’re telling me there’s a million dollars in that trailer?”

“That’s what I’m telling you.”

I focus on the trailer. It’s about forty feet long, twelve high, with windowed sections pulled out on either side of the front door.