"Two and a half days after dropping off the map in Washington,
D.C., Frank staggered off a Greyhound bus in Las Vegas, Nevada.
Though tired and dirty, he felt more energized over the task at
hand than over anything else he could recall in years. Now it was
time to get down to work! But first, he had to find his ride.
"With his knapsack slung over one shoulder, Frank scanned the
bus terminal for anyone that might be Earl Jenkins. He had
assembled a mental picture of the kind of man that would post an ad
in Millennial Survivalist and Assault Rifle Monthly, and had
assumed it would be easy to pick him out of a crowd. Problem was,
it now appeared that just about anyone that arrived in Las Vegas by
bus might have the same reading habits. Now what?
"Frank turned to find a tired looking, fortyish woman in jeans,
western shirt and hiking boots. “Yes, that’s
"“Thought it might. Pop asked me to meet you here. He
don’t get down to Vegas much, and figured he’d hit the
craps tables some before heading out again. Hope you don’t
mind too much.”
"After two and a half days without a shower or a decent meal,
Frank actually did mind too much, but it didn’t appear there
was much he could do about it. So he simply shrugged."