Matty was so totally screwed.
He rode his bike around the block at Aiden's father's house for about the twentieth time, convinced the Camry would pull in any minute now. Every time he passed, he saw the same empty house, empty yard, empty driveway. But he couldn't give up. He wouldn't until they got home. Whenever that would be.
He'd finally broken down and called Aiden's father on Saturday afternoon, but Mr. Kopp wouldn't put Aiden on the phone. Said he was sleeping. Jonesing for some oxy, more like. Aiden had been using it every day. Too much, and Matty'd told him that. That's why he didn't use the stuff himself. He had no desire to get addicted. There was nothing impressive about a person who couldn't survive without his next fix.
When Dad had called, Matty explained what happened, explained that the cops had searched him and that if he hadn't stowed the package, it would have been confiscated.
"Really?" Dad's voice had sounded...tolerant. Barely. "You couldn't have told them it was a gift for someone? And why would you have been searched? Did they search everybody?"
"They did." Most everybody. Matty'd gotten a quick pat-down. "Didn't seem smart to take the chance."
"I see."
The pause that followed had Matty's stomach churning. "I was trying to be smart, to stow the package where nobody would find it."
"So where is it now?"
"I don't know exactly. Aiden isn't answering his phone, and Mr. Kopp—"
"This is your friend's father? The fed?"
Right. He'd told Dad about Mr. Kopp.
"Not anymore. Now he's a forensic accountant. He quit—"
"I know who he is and what he does. I keep tabs on what you're doing, who you're spending time with."
Matty felt a little surge of joy at the words. His father did care.
"So how do you intend to get the package back before tomorrow?"
"They have to come home soon."
"No. In fact, they don't have to do anything."
"There's no way I could've known—"
"I understand. Do your best to get the package back right away. I'll call you in the morning."
Then the phone had gone dead.
As promised, his father had called that morning, but Matty hadn't answered. Aiden was gone, Mr. Kopp wasn't saying when they'd be back, and Matty had no idea what to do.
His phone rang. Dad. Again. He rejected the call and texted.
Working on it.
Dad's reply had been short. No more excuses.
Matty'd been calling Aiden's cell phone. It went straight to voicemail every time. Mr. Kopp had only told him they were out of town. Totally vague.
He read Dad's text again. Dad was right—no excuses. All he needed was a hint of where Aiden was, and he'd get there. His car was still stranded, but he'd borrow his mother's. She wouldn't give him permission, but she wouldn't report the car stolen, either. She didn't have the money to bail him out of jail. He'd find Aiden, get the package, and get back.
A hot, humid breeze blasted him in the face as he rounded the corner and passed the Kopps' house again. Still empty.
He was so totally screwed.
And hungry.
Stomach growling, he turned his bike toward home. He'd grab lunch and then come back and wait.
He was nearly home, lost in thought, wondering if his father would cut him out of his life completely after this. That's why he didn't notice the man until he stepped right in front of Matty's bike.
Matty yanked his handlebar to the left and squeezed the brakes. His tire slid on the street, and he tried to plant his foot, but his ankle twisted. He and the bike wiped out. Pain shot up his leg.
The pain was nothing compared to his anger. Hands fisted, he twisted, his butt scraping on the gravely street, and turned to confront the jerk.
The black man Matty had seen at the airport reached out to help Matty stand. "Forgive me. I did not mean to frighten you."
Matty's anger turned to fear, and for one stupid moment, he thought about running. But the ache in his ankle and the fact that he was on his butt squelched that thought. And anyway, where would he go? This guy obviously knew where he lived. They were two doors down from his house.
The man stood with his hand outstretched, silent. No smile.
Matty took the hand and stood, then backed away, nearly tripping over his bicycle. "Uh, it's—"
"I would like to speak with you." His voice was deep, and he spoke with an accent. Sounded French. The tone was polite when he added, "Please, get in the car." The man opened the back door of a smallish silver SUV and waited. His skin was a dark as night, his eyes bright. A scar cut across his neck from just below his ear almost to his Adam's apple. He was well over six feet and slender, like a basketball player. But too old for that, maybe forties. His skin was pockmarked. He wore a white shirt buttoned up to the top and black slacks.
No way was Matty getting in that car. He knew how this stuff worked. He'd get in, and nobody'd ever hear from him again.
The man reached into his pocket, and Matty stepped back on his sore ankle, hit the bike, and stumbled over it. He nearly fell, righted himself, and was about to bolt when the man held a cell phone out so he could see the screen.
"This is your father, no?"
Matty took in the image. The picture had been taken from a distance. Dad wore the business suit and blue tie Matty had seen Friday night. He was standing beside a baggage carousel.
Should he deny it? Should he run?
"Please," the man said. "I do not want to hurt you. And I'd rather not have to meet your mother." He turned his phone back to himself, swiped across it, and showed the image to Matty.
He could make out his mother's face in the front seat of her car. Jimmy sat beside her eating a taco. Taco Bell—their after-church ritual. Matty used to go to church with them, before...all this. The picture had to have been taken that morning.
"That is your mother, yes? Allison O'Brien?"
He gazed at her face, at Jimmy's. What had he done? What had his father done to put them all in this situation? "Yes."
"I will not hurt you. I would only like to talk."
Whether the man would hurt him or not didn't matter. He wouldn't pull his mother or his brother into this mess. With trembling hands, Matty moved his bicycle to the sidewalk and climbed into the backseat of the SUV.
Another man, also black, but not as dark, sat in the driver's seat. He didn't turn to look as Matty slid to the far side.
The man sat beside him. He put his phone in his pocket and shifted to face Matty. "I am Robert. I work for my government in the Democratic Republic of Congo. You have heard of it, no?"
"Uh...it's in Africa, right?"
The man's lips twitched, his dark eyes twinkled. "That's a very good guess. What gave it away?"
"Your accent."
Robert smiled, and his white teeth seemed to shine against the black of his skin. "You're funny, Matthew. Yes, the DRC is in Africa. It is the largest nation on the continent, about three times larger than your Texas. It is a nation rich in resources, and it's my job to make sure those resources work for my people and are not stolen away."
Matty thought of the tiny package his father had given him. What had Dad taken, a couple grains of corn or something?
"Your father gave you a package Friday at the airport."
"No." Matty scrambled for a story. "He didn't. He just decided to get a different ride home. Because there was this party I wanted to go to and if I'd taken him home, I wouldn't have gotten back in time. So he said he'd take an Uber."
"Uber. The car service, yes?" Robert tapped his temple as if he was considering that. "Except he didn't get in a car. He boarded a flight."
No. All this time, Matty had assumed his dad was back in the city.
"He flew to the Bahamas Friday night."
"Oh." He swallowed, scrambled again. "Well, then, that explains why he didn't need a ride home."
"I am surprised," Robert said.
"Well, that's what happened."
"No," the man said. "Not at your story, which is rubbish, we both know. I'm surprised that you're not a more skillful liar. I thought you would be more like your father."
"Don't talk about my—" He pinched off his words before he could finish. What did he know about his father, anyway? Obviously not nearly enough. But whatever he was, the man was still his father. And Matty had to keep his promise to him.
"If we can't talk about your father, then let's talk about the package. Do you know what's inside it?"
"No." He caught himself too late. "What package? I told you—"
"Have you delivered it yet?"
Matty kept his mouth shut this time.
"You are not talking now. I understand that. Your father has put you in quite a position, hasn't he? You can either keep your word, or you can do the right thing. Doing the right thing, that is to betray your father. But doing the wrong thing—that is always to betray yourself."
Betray himself? That didn't even make sense. "For all I know, you're like some sort of warlord or terrorist or something. How do I know you are who you say you are? And anyway, this has nothing to do with me."
"I am neither a warlord nor a terrorist, and unfortunately, young Matthew, this has everything to do with you. All the power is in your hands. If you deliver the package to your father's friend, you will cause many people great trouble."
"How? My father wouldn't hurt anybody."
"Not directly, perhaps. But hurt them he will."
"What people?"
"Besides yourself and your family?"
A threat, a direct threat. Against himself, Mom, and Jimmy. "My family has nothing to do with this."
"Your father—"
"He has nothing to do with us. With my mother and my brother. He barely has anything to do with me. You need to leave my family out of this."
"Nobody will be in any danger if you just give me the package."
"I don't have it."
"Ah. You have delivered it already. That is unfortunate. Very bad for you, but perhaps, if you tell me where you took it, we can recover it, and then you and Allison and Jimmy will be safe."
No mention of his father being safe, but Matty could only do so much. His mind churned. He could tell this guy the address his father had given him. That might solve his first problem. Maybe Robert, or whatever his real name was, would let him go. But then what? Robert would find out Matty had never delivered the package and be right back at his doorstep. And Matty's father would find out Matty had betrayed him.
He had to talk to his father, find out what to do. So, all he could do was stall.
"I haven't delivered it yet, but I don't have it, either. I have to get it. When I do, then I'll give it to you."
The man's eyebrows rose. "Will you?"
"I..." He swallowed. Would he deliver it to this guy? Protect his mother, but betray his father? There was no way out of this, no way to keep all the people he loved safe. But this was his father's doing. Right now, Matty just had to get out of the SUV. Then he'd figure out what to do. Dad would figure a way out. "Yes. I'll deliver it to you, as soon as I get it."
"And where is it now?"
"That's a long story. I'm not exactly sure."
"You have lost it?"
"No. Not exactly. It's just...I know where it is, so—"
"Tell me where it is, and this will all be over."
Over. He'd take that—if only he could. "I can't."
Robert sighed, looked at the man in the front seat, who continued to stare straight ahead. Finally, Robert turned back to him. "I am frustrated that you will not tell me where it is. You say you'll hand it over, but yet you stall. Why?"
"I'm telling you the truth. As soon as I get it, I'll hand it over." Unless Dad had a better idea for him.
"And what assurances can you give me?"
"You know who I am. You know where I live. It's not like I'm going to make my family relocate to...to Canada or whatever."
"Ah, yes. I would find you in Canada."
Matty swallowed. "Well anyway, I'm like, seventeen. So I don't have that kind of power over my mom."
"In my country, you would be a man, and you would have the power."
"I am..." He let the words trail off. He didn't feel like a man. He felt like a little boy, and all he wanted was to crawl into his mother's lap. Except she wouldn't have a solution to this, either.
"I'll get you the package as soon as I have it."
"Give me your phone."
Matty considered refusing, but in the end, he unlocked it and handed it over. Maybe this guy wouldn't hurt him. Maybe he would. Matty didn't feel like finding out.
The man pressed the screen. Matty couldn't see what he was doing, but it took a minute, maybe two. "Ah, yes..." he said. "Your phone is different from mine. Here we are." Another phone rang, and Robert pulled it out and silenced it. When he handed it back, he said, "I have saved my number as Robert Jones. If I call you, I expect you to answer me. I will need updates. You understand?"
Great. One more person riding him. "Yes."
"If you need assistance in retrieving the package, you would be wise to call me. Do not contact your father's friends. They are unsavory people. Can you agree to that?"
He didn't even know those people, didn't have a phone number or a name. Seemed a no-brainer. "Yes."
"Do not contact the authorities. That will only complicate matters for all of us, and I'm sure you don't want your father to go to prison because of his activities."
Prison. Matty didn't want to think about it.
"Contact me and me only as soon as you have the package. And do it quickly. We need to have it by tomorrow at noon."
Matty swallowed. Tomorrow was Monday. Surely Aiden and his father would be home by then. "Okay. Robert Jones. Is that your real name?"
The man smiled, showing those white teeth again. "It is not." He climbed out of the SUV and held the door open. "Have a nice day, Matthew."
Matty stepped out, grabbed his bike, and pushed it toward his driveway, wondering why Robert hadn't told him not to contact his father. For some reason, the thought brought no comfort.