The Gambit (27 page)

I typed in the username,
anonymoususer159753258.

The password was a lengthy thirty characters. I nervously pressed the button to log in. It took a moment to load, but when it did, I was looking at an extremely rudimentary email inbox. No fancy colors or designs, just two tabs to click on.
Inbox
and
Sent
. There was no trash. I assumed that with Bitmessage, if you were to delete a message, it was gone permanently.

I noticed there was the number one next to my inbox. I had a message. The received date was two days prior when I was last at Grey’s.

From: intheshadows842679513

Body:
Respond to this message to reach me.

I smiled. Typical Grey—vague, cautious, but yet the message was enough.

I hit reply and began to type.

My phone beeped. I pulled it out of my pocket, and my eyes lit up from what I saw. It was a notification from Bitmessage. Owen finally messaged me.

That fucker is still safe. What a lucky dog
.

I glanced over at my friend. He was still asleep on the futon. Daylight spilled through the cracks in the blinds. He had one too many shots at the bar last night, and it would be hours before he woke up.

I stood up, went to the desktop in the corner of the living room, and logged into Bitmessage.

There it was. A message in my inbox from
anonymoususer
.

I laughed at the simplicity of the name. I opened the message and began reading.

Come to 2700 Conway Gardens Road Apt 1A. Orlando, FL 32806.

We have a plan.

Damn. I was proud Owen didn’t use my name or wasn’t outspoken with any other details. He wrote,
we have a plan.
Who was
we?
I recalled the newscast from yesterday. Perhaps it was the hot brunette he hitched a ride with. I was still surprised they survived the crash on the bridge. I stood up, walked to the kitchen, and grabbed a pen that was sitting on the counter. I began to write a note to my friend who was sleeping on the couch, expressing my thanks to him for letting me crash here for the past couple nights.

He had no idea that I was involved in the bank robbery. I just showed up, bought a few rounds of drinks every night, and treated him to dinner. It was money well-spent for a safe place I could pass the time in. Logically speaking, I knew the chances of Owen ever contacting me were slim—almost nil. The government’s arsenal of technology was nothing to sneeze at. Advanced facial recognition, phone taps, access to security cameras—the list was endless. By some miracle, he had yet to be captured. I hoped this plan was a solid one.

I unplugged my charger from the living room wall and grabbed my belongings. I walked back to the desktop and typed a quick message before removing my jump drive.

Body:

Leaving now
.

The bloodcurdling scream of a younger Jamie Lee Curtis filled the living room. We were watching the original
Halloween
on Briana’s Netflix. Rachel shifted her feet and they dug into my hamstring. I flinched in reaction.

“My bad,” she said and pulled her feet back a little.

“You’re good,” I replied, smiling and gave her a wink.

She rolled her eyes, but still revealed a half-smile.

Rachel and I were sitting at opposite ends of Briana’s couch. Each of us with our backs against the armrests and our legs interlaced. We had two separate blankets, but after hours of lying here they had merged into one messy bundle. Briana had made us lunch. It included rice, tortillas, and heavily-seasoned flank steak…and although I couldn’t pronounce it, it was still delicious. She brought us Chinese take-out for dinner, and was still noshing on the remainder of hers, sitting in a large, puffy recliner.

Eating only temporarily suppressed the anxiety I felt from waiting. Grey’s response was in and out of my mind every few minutes. ‘
Leaving now
’, he said. I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost midnight. I vaguely remembered the last time I spoke with Grey. He had mentioned something about a friend in Virginia Beach. If that
was
where he went, it would be a little over an eleven and a half hour drive. I used Google Maps to plot his route. He should have been here by now. Maybe there was traffic, or he stopped and ate dinner. The possibilities in my mind couldn’t be silenced. They worried me because with Rachel’s plan, Grey was an indispensable player. We
needed
him.

Another yelp from Jamie Lee Curtis on the screen. She had tripped and was shimmying backward down a wood-floor hallway. Michael Myers lumbered towards her slowly, step by step.

“Please! Please!” she begged and trembled as she cried. “Leave me alone!”

She stood up and pounded on the windows. “Somebody help! Help me!”

Michael moved closer with every step.

Suddenly, my mind drew a parallel from the movie. Would
that
be what it was like if I had nowhere to go? If I was cornered, would I beg them to leave me alone? Would I sob in defeat?

I got chills just thinking about it. I prayed that moment would never come.

The doorbell rang.

My heart sped up drastically and my stomach quivered. Rachel and Briana stared at me with wide eyes.

“Is it him?” Rachel whispered.

I shrugged, clueless. It
had
to be him. We were watching a scary movie…but in our situation, it wouldn’t be Michael Myers at the door—it would be the FBI.

And the FBI
doesn’t
ring the doorbell.

“It’s your house. Answer it,” I said to Briana.

She cautiously stood up and set her take-out box on the cocktail table. She tip-toed to the door and glanced through the peephole. The doorbell rang a second time.

“What does he look like?” she asked just above a whisper.

“Black hair, and a big, scraggly beard.”

“I think it’s him.”

“Open it then.”

I heard the door creak open and then shut. I couldn’t see anyone yet. They were still in the foyer.

“Uh…hello, um. Well, this is awkward. My name is Grey.”

I felt the biggest wave of relief I’ve had in days.

“Briana,” she introduced herself.

Grey came around the corner into the living room, looking just as he had when I saw him last. Except now he appeared well-rested. He grinned as he saw me on the couch.

“I never thought I would see you again,” he motioned for a hug as I stood up.

I patted him on his back roughly.

“I understand why,” I laughed.

“No shit,” he slapped my shoulder, roughhousing me. “You two have some incredible luck.”

“I guess that’s what you can call it,” Rachel answered with a small smile.

“Owen, how rude of you not to introduce me,” he winked at me.

“Rachel Flores, this is Grey Maxwell.”

He leaned over the cocktail table, and she delicately placed her hand in his.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Grey,” she announced. Her expression was somewhat flirty.

“Oh really?” he turned to me. “What kind of things have you been telling this beautiful lady? Let me guess. That I’m dashingly handsome, intelligent, and can grow a
real
beard.”

“Something like that,” I played along.

“Actually,” Rachel began, “he informed me that you assisted him in the bank robbery…and you stole 1.4 million dollars from the VP, who is apparently a thief.”

“Indeed he is,” Grey nodded.

“That’s quite a feat,” she complimented. “Owen says you are an IT genius.”

He shrugged, cockily.

“Something like that,” he winked at me.

Briana stood beside Grey, glancing around at all of us. She pressed her lips together. She seemed annoyed she had been overlooked.

“So,” Grey split the silence. “What is this plan?”

“On that note,” Rachel raised her hand. “Grey, this is Briana Pittman. My childhood friend. She is the first piece of the plan.”

They shook hands and introduced themselves.

“Enlighten me,” he said, and sat down on the ottoman.

I didn’t say anything. It
was
Rachel’s idea.

“Grey. We need to get Owen out of the country.”

Grey’s face was deadpan. He didn’t even blink, just let out a loud laugh.

“You’ve got to be joking.”

Rachel opened her mouth and tried to form words.

“No, I’m not,” she replied flatly.

Grey’s eyes darted to each of us. His expression indicated that he thought we were all crazy.

“Okay, so let me get this straight. You want to get Owen, the most wanted fugitive in the United States, on a
plane
leaving the country?”

Rachel pursed her lips. Her face flushed. She wasn’t enjoying Grey’s mockery of her plan.

“
Yes
,” she forced the word out.

“Well, first off, let me make something apparent to you. Bringing Owen into
any
international airport is a deathtrap. I don’t even know where to begin. There are hundreds of cameras, not to mention getting through security. If the CIA were watching, they would have ample opportunity for facial recognition. It would be a shit-storm in minutes—complete chaos.”