The laptop screen glowed in the dark. Kaitlin hunched over it, her fingers tapping impatiently on her thigh, tense with anticipation. She’d lost track of the time, but Amelia had fallen asleep hours ago, her breathing steady, and a peaceful silence lay over the dorm.
Dylan’s phone message had been terse. Nothing in the words set him apart from the scores of other timewasters who had contacted her, but she’d felt there was something new here. Instinct, she told herself. Or perhaps, today, the day of Conor’s memorial service, she’d simply wanted some hope.
The mysterious caller had directed her to the Facebook group she’d set up alongside the hotline for anyone who might have information about Flight 702. For the most part, it was clogged with more useless theories and messages from trolls. Dylan had told her to await a direct message from him there.
So, she waited.
Just when she’d started to reach the conclusion that she’d allowed herself to be led up another dead end, the laptop dinged.
Dylan’s message contained a link and said simply:
This will take you to an encrypted app. Download it, then we can talk.
After years of lecturing from Conor about how easy it was to hack into a computer, Kaitlin knew better than to simply click on a link from an unknown sender. She checked the account he was using to message her, but there was nothing; only the anonymous grey outline for a profile picture. No personal details, no photographs. Her fingers fluttered over the keys.
You think I’m crazy? Downloading something that could be spyware or malware?
The response flashed back:
You don’t have a choice.
How do I know I can trust you?
You don’t.
Kaitlin leaned back. This felt dangerous. Dylan was luring her in. He clearly understood psychology well, knew how much she needed this; how little effort it would take to push her in whatever direction he wanted her to go in. The sensible option would have been to back off.
But Dylan was right. She didn’t have a choice.
Kaitlin clicked on the link and downloaded the app.
A few moments later, Dylan’s first message flashed:
You made the right decision.
So, tell me who you are.
The less you know about me, the better for both of us.
You sound paranoid.
Just pragmatic.
Kaitlin winced. She still wasn’t wholly sure she could trust this contact. Hints of shadowy threats could just be another way to control her.
‘Why are you helping me?’ she typed.
I want to know the truth as much as you do.
Then why aren’t you following these leads yourself?
I’m being watched.
Kaitlin felt her chest tighten as she stared at those words.
OK. Now you’re freaking me out.
Good. You should be. Here.
A phone number flashed up in a message bubble.
That’s for emergencies only. Get a burner, then send me the number. I’ll contact you if anything comes up out of the blue and we need a rapid response.
OK.
Now, I’m going to send you some files. The passenger manifest. Some basic intel.
Kaitlin felt a shiver of glee. She’d been trying to get hold of the passenger manifest from day one. If Dylan had it, he must be legit. Maybe.
The main lead I have right now is a kid abandoned at Heathrow. A Bulgarian. His mother flew from JFK with him, was supposed to get a connecting flight to Sofia, but she left the kid and flew back to New York alone.
Weird.
Exactly. There’s got to be something in that. One of those files names the mother’s sister in NYC. You should check it out.
Kaitlin sprawled on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Sleep wasn’t going to come easily, she knew that. Dylan’s information was good, but was it too good to be true? Her father would call her naive. Her mother would give her that look that sat somewhere between sad, stern and disappointed.
Was she being stupid?
Slipping in her AirPods, she scrolled through her playlists until she found one that was calm enough to keep the world at bay but wouldn’t disrupt her thoughts. In the dark, she conjured up images of Conor, happier times, kicking sand at each other at Delray Beach in Florida, sitting beside the firepit watching the stars and telling ghost stories at Halloween. Singing stupid songs in harmony. Sharing a stolen beer.
She felt her heart ache for what she’d lost. She’d do anything to put that right. That was the danger.
Kaitlin tapped her foot in frustration as she waited in the annexe to the dean’s office. A full half an hour had passed before she was summoned to the desk of the student well-being officer, an elegant woman in her late fifties with a soothing voice.
‘How are you doing, Kaitlin?’ she asked in a tone that suggested she already knew the answer.
‘I just wanted to let you know I’ve been going to my therapy sessions. As requested.’ Kaitlin slid the form across the desk that Jack had signed.There was no need to mention she wouldn’t be going again.
‘The request was for your benefit, Kaitlin.’ The woman scanned the form. ‘OK. That all looks good to me. I’m glad you’re finally getting some support after your loss.’
‘Does this mean you’re not going to kick me out?’
‘We’re not hard-hearted. We take the well-being of our students very seriously and we’ll do everything we can to support you.’
No matter what she said, though, the fact was that there were minimum class attendance requirements and Kaitlin had long been failing to meet them. She wondered how long she could skate the edges of the rules before things got serious again.
On the way back to the dorm, she braced herself and checked her bank balance on her phone. How was she going to fund following Dylan’s leads? The numbers on the screen weren’t much of a surprise, but she still felt the familiar sinking dread she always felt when it came to money.
She stressed about it all the way back to her room, but after running numerous calculations through her head and factoring in as few meals as possible, she decided she could probably eke out what little she had. So long as this didn’t turn into a never-ending wild goose chase, she should be able to survive.
‘If this Dylan guy asks to meet up, don’t go alone,’ Amelia cautioned. Still in her pyjamas, she eyed Kaitlin over the rim of her coffee mug.
‘I’m not an idiot, Amelia.’
‘Well, you did download an app sent to you by someone you don’t know.’
‘This is true,’ Kaitlin conceded, shoving underwear into one of the pockets of her backpack.
The rosy dawn light gleamed at the window. She’d been up all night, reading the material Dylan had sent, but she didn’t feel remotely tired. In fact, she was buzzing with the possibilities of what could lie ahead.
‘You need to text me every day. Twice a …’
Kaitlin glanced up from her packing at Amelia’s pause. ‘What?’
Amelia slammed down her mug and ransacked a drawer, eventually pulling out a key, which she tossed onto Kaitlin’s bed.
‘What’s that?’
‘You know my dad’s got an apartment in NYC that he uses when he’s over here on business?’
‘The one he said you could stay at if you were ever out in the city and it was too late to get back here?’
‘That’s the one. You can stay there.’
Kaitlin frowned. ‘I couldn’t—’
‘You can. And you will. You’re going to be there a while, on and off, if you’re following all those leads. And, bluntly, you have zero funds to spend on hotels right now. Unless you’re planning to sleep rough, which I couldn’t possibly allow.’
‘Thank you.’ Kaitlin felt another wave of warmth for her best friend.
‘Don’t get me wrong; it’s not a penthouse on the Upper East Side or anything, just some basic rooms in the East Village. But there’s a bed and a kitchen. I’ll text you the address.’
Amelia turned away. Kaitlin knew she was trying to hide the worry she was feeling.
‘I’ll let you know how I’m getting on.’ As much as she could, anyway. After all the warnings Dylan had given, she wasn’t about to tell Amelia anything that might put her in danger, too.
‘I really hope this works out for you, hun.’ Amelia strode over and hugged her. ‘I know how much Conor meant … means … meant …’
‘It’s OK.’ Kaitlin squeezed her friend back briefly before easing herself free from the embrace. ‘I never know which tense to use, either. Which is right at the bottom of the list of things I don’t know.’