3 Lies (24 page)

Eleven minutes.

And then footsteps. On the aft stairs. Voices. He opened the bench seat. More footsteps. Fading. He closed the bench seat. The credit card charge processed. Accepted.

Nine minutes.

He shut the website window and hit the refresh button on his email page. No mail. He tried again. An email popped into his spam folder. He checked it. The subject line was an insult to his virility. He went back to the main mailbox.

Eight minutes.

He hit refresh and a message appeared.
Subject: Order Confirmation
. He opened the email and clicked on the
Download File
button. The lights on the laptop flashed in obedience.

Seven minutes.

A salty drop fell from his nose. His blood coursed in sympathy with the hard drive. Each revolution of the drive platter brought him closer to truth. Understanding. Betrayal.

Four minutes.

Download Complete.
Amir yanked the cell phone from the cable and replaced the laptop inside the bench. He stole into their shared cabin. Noises came from the head, but he couldn’t tell if Salif still occupied the shower. The door opened without a sound, and he placed the cell phone back on the counter.

Minus one minute.

He returned to the control room and retrieved the laptop. After closing the remaining windows he deleted all entries in the internet history from the browser: cookies set, website visited, files opened, web forms accessed, passwords entered. He shut down the machine. He replaced the cable and the laptop in the case. With practiced effort, his breathing approximated normal.

The monitors in the control room showed both the men and women finishing their meals. They returned some empty paper plates to the tray. Jaman would be down to retrieve these later. Now, he waited for Salif.

The door opened at precisely seven-thirty. Salif stepped from the room with no apparent insight into the events. He saw Amir in the control room and acknowledged him in passing with a single carry-on-soldier nod. Typical.

Pent relief seeped from Amir. He took a deep pull of the slow moving air. The pained sting of a sleeping limb replaced his tension.

He waited until Jaman returned to retrieve the breakfast trays. The women, again, voiced their worry over the pretty one. The monotony of the rounds helped soothe his jagged nerves.

Information rivaled gold. Throughout history mere men ruled kingdoms by the possession of one or the other. One begat the other.

Amir no longer concerned himself with the mission controller. In time he would know. Using the tiny program that bounced undetectably within Salif’s cell phone, Amir could listen to any of Salif’s calls, read any of his messages. In this mission, he was now a tenured player.

The mission objective, whatever it was, he would find out soon enough. He did not intend to subvert it, but now matters would progress according to his advantage. Salif was a fool. Binard was a sycophant with limited capabilities. Jaman alerted him to Salif’s mismanagement from the beginning. He might have some use for Jaman. In the meantime, Amir planned to wait, watch, and listen.

Beth woke first in the cabin, remembering her last conversation with her cellmates. They speculated about the motives of their captors, but the women spoke in euphemistic phrases to keep the details above Emmy’s understanding. It was a mentally diverting game but quickly drained Beth’s waning resources, sending her dreamward.

Night. Day. Neither distinguished itself in her floating cell. Artificial light brought their sole illumination. She supposed that their consistent meal schedule coincided with the usual times for dining, but if her captors served breakfast at two in the morning, she was none the wiser.

While the food was nourishing, she placed it midway between casual dining and thinned gruel. Her appetite piqued this morning—if it was morning. Her last two meals were revoked by nausea.

Pressure from her bladder insisted. She elbowed her way upright. Gravity threatened to drop her onto the cushion, but she scooted her bottom back far enough to balance. Her right hand stung. She steadied her position and stretched out her fingers in a long grasp. Pain skittered down each swollen finger through her tender wrist.

Damn.

She balled her fists. Piercing pains riddled her tight skin, but the movement of the flesh bought a strange satisfaction. She wiggled her ankles, raining agony upon her feet. She winced, stifling her urge to scream. Her eye squeezed out a tear.

Everyone else had changed into the clean sweats left by the captors. She refused to give in to their control. Her pink jeans and thermal were at least ninety-six hours gamey. The price of defiance went up a little each day.

Beth let her feet hang over the edge of their bed while she wiped sweat from Emmy’s face. The young girl stirred on the patch of cushion beside her. She inched forward, her soles finally touching the floor. The sensation in her feet abated enough so she could stand and walk to the head.

She tried not to push on her bloated bladder nor add to the muscle tension as she waited to urinate. Every position brought her discomfort. Someone coughed. Maybe a voice. Her reluctant body relented. The noise of her body’s release drowned out any clarity beyond the walls.

The effort set her bones on edge. Her abdomen cramped in aftershock.

She waited to regroup her thoughts, emotions, and let the discomfort in her body still. She pulled herself up and opened the door. Two sets of eyes greeted her with anxiety. Beth preempted their inquiry. “I’m fine. A little swollen, but the river still flows.”

Maxine and Vonda glanced at each other for confirmation. Neither woman looked rested.

“C’mon, ladies.” She managed a thin smile for them. “Buck up. That’s a good thing.” A knock at the door halted further conversation. Beth made her way back to bed.

Blue-Mask came through the door with a large tray of bananas, individual cereal tubs, juice boxes, and lunch-sized milk cartons. He left the tray on the table and spoke to Beth. “How is your condition?”

Beth oomphed back onto the pillows, grateful to allow her muscles a chance to relax. She noticed that someone moved Emmy from her bed while she was out of the room. “I need my supplies. When will I get them?”

She met his gaze. His pupils gained in diameter.

“I do not know.”

She closed her eyes on him. She heard the door shut.

“Beth?” Maxine spoke quietly. “You need to eat. Do you think you can?”

“Is he gone?”

“None too soon, either.” Vonda said.

“Thanks for looking after me.” Beth opened her eyes. “I’m sorry to be so much trouble.”

“You’re the least of the trouble we’ve got, honey.” Maxine hovered over the food tray sorting through the cereal. She handed a banana to Emmy. “There’s shredded wheat. No. That might be too much roughage for your system. Unless it sounds good.”

“Maybe a little milk. Let me try that first.”

Maxine brought a container and opened it. “Here.”

Beth sipped as if it might scald. The creamy liquid coated her taste buds.

Vonda picked up a tub of cereal. “Raisin bran.” She put it in the palm of her hand for display. “This has been my favorite cereal since I was a little—” She crowded the tray with her torso as if she didn’t want to share.

Maxine stopped peeling a banana. “Vonda?”

Vonda tried to suppress a smile, but it spilled. She set the cereal tub on the cushion, opened the door to the head, and stepped in. “We got a letter back.”

The milk in Beth’s stomach quieted her hunger. Her strength rallied. “Read it.”

Vonda sat on the edge of the commode. All motion ceased.

“Take your time, honey.” Maxine said.

Vonda’s hands tried to steady as she opened the paper to a full eight-and-a-half by eleven sheet. She smoothed down her sweats. Her eyes trained on the paper to read.

“Okay. It says—” Vonda’s gaze hardened. “Damn.” She crumpled the note and threw it on the floor. Her head slumped to her hands. “It’s the note we wrote. The kidnappers returned it.”

The news hit Beth’s gut like a punch. She heard herself moan, but it seemed as if it came from someone else.

Maxine glanced at Emmy who was busy eating her cereal. “We’re going to be fine.” There was little conviction to her voice. “At least we’re no worse.”

Vonda reached for the back wall of the head and rap-rap-rapped. After a pause, the noise repeated in slightly slower succession. “Friend or foe?” She left the head and flopped onto a couch. “I guess we’ll never know.”

“My nephew says if trouble forces you to take a next step, all the better if it’s forward. Maybe this one wasn’t forward, but it wasn’t backward either.”

Beth knew Maxine was trying to stay positive for their benefit. She smiled in thanks. “He sounds like a wise fellow.”

Maxine’s face glowed. “He’s a wonderful young man. He comes out to my place in Wisconsin every few months with his wife and the kids. Success hasn’t spoiled that boy.”

Beth enjoyed the familial moment along with her. “What does your nephew do?”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to brag.”

“It’s not bragging if it’s true.” Vonda said, “What does he do?”

“He’s a justice on the Supreme Court.”

The state trooper stayed in his patrol car longer than seemed reasonable to Clint—three, maybe as many as five minutes. Neither Clint nor Merlin noted the time. The light bar flickered to an unsung refrain bouncing patriotic colors off the interior.

Merlin massaged the steering wheel. “What the blazes is he doing back there?”

“The cop can’t know I’m here. You rented the car. When did he get behind us?”

“I can’t afford a ticket, mate.”

“You didn’t do anything.”

“I’ve been driving like a big girl’s blouse. Except when I picked it up.”

“We’re fine. Unless he recognizes me.”

They watched in the mirrors while the officer spoke to someone on the radio. The officer shifted in his seat as if settling an unknown question. Finally, he opened his car door and stepped their direction.

She.

A sturdy woman of unusual height strode up to them. Plain featured, but not homely, with ultra short hair, she made no effort to enhance her appearance at least not while she was on the job. And she wasn’t smiling.

She leaned toward Merlin at the window and looked in at them both. “License, please.” She greeted them with no affectation.

Merlin apparently never thought to retrieve his wallet and fumbled to find it. He slid his license out and handed it to the officer. “I don’t recall violating any traffic rules, ma’am.”

Clint had never heard Merlin speak so politely. The officer poked her head in the window again.

“Are you Clint Masters?”

He considered lying. So far, his only offense was crossing canes with a powerful old man. “I am.”

She nodded to them both, walked back to her car, and got on the radio again.

“Now what?” Merlin’s shaven face petrified into a pallid mask.

Clint’s diaphragm inflated. The pressure thudded in his head like a distant drummer marching ever closer.

If he got arrested, he couldn’t help Beth. If he ran, he could make it to the tree line. And hide. Catch a ride to town.

It might work. But he had to go. Or stay.

Now.

He glanced at the officer, over to the trees. He slid his palms on his thighs and wondered if Beth could love a fugitive.

Merlin flicked his hand toward Clint like he had something stuck to his paw. “Here she comes.”

Too late.

“She’s not smiling.”

The officer bent down to the window. “Mr. Merlin. Sorry for the delay. The vehicle registration is valid, but the sticker is missing.” She handed his license to him. “Are you all right, sir?”

He swallowed. “Yes. Quite.” He gripped the wheel at two and ten.

“I know this is a rental, but you still need a sticker.” She handed him a fix-it ticket. “Your rear tire looks low. You should get that inflated for safety. Mr. Masters—” She stooped down to look in at him. “You keep up the great work. My son is studying computer science. He wants to be Clint Masters when he grows up. May I get your autograph for him?”

Merlin and Clint swapped a stunned glare.

“Certainly.” He took a pen and pad from the officer. “What’s your son’s name?”

“Andy.”

Clint wrote as smoothly as he could with a shaking hand and passed the pad and pen back to the officer.

“Thank you. He’ll be so excited.” She still wasn’t smiling.

Clint’s anxiety dropped like a kidney stone. Maybe there was no warrant. Maybe she only looked at Merlin’s file. “Oh. Uh—” He groped for a complete sentence. “You’re welcome.”

She saluted civilian-style and returned to her patrol car.

Merlin slumped in the seat, his public-school posture overwhelmed by relief.

“Start the car, man.” Clint backhanded his shoulder. “Start the car.”

The police car followed them onto the roadway and changed lanes, the lady officer finally smiling as she passed. Tension rolled off them like sweat.

“So, Mr. Merlin, what’s your first name?”

“Promise never to tell?”

“That bad?”

“Mycroft.”

Clint sputtered.

“Dreadful isn’t it? My mother, bless her cotton socks, was a Sherlock Holmes fanatic. That and Pompey football.”

“Step on it, Mycroft, to Petrol Station. The game is afoot.”

They drove to the first gas station they found. Merlin filled the tire with air while Clint ran in the C-store to check the newspaper headlines. If the Chief Justice had died of a heart attack, there should be headlines. He bought two large coffees and a copy of every daily newspaper on the stand.

Merlin had moved the car to the pumps to top off the tank. Clint slid in the front seat. None of the newspapers made any mention of Chief Justice Abe’s health. No funeral announcements. Just that the Supreme Court released a record number of decisions. No news was good news. Clint finally found a kernel of truth in that old chestnut. Within eleven minutes they hit the highway toward the library.

~