Boston, MA
“Yeah,” Samuel said. “My name’s Michael. Common name.”
“That description on the news sounds just like you.”
“Kinda sounds just like half the guys at the airport. Dark hair and jeans. Wait, are you saying you think I’m that guy they’re looking for? Are you serious?”
“Should I be serious?”
You had to choose now to stop being trusting, didn’t you, Jimmy? “We’ve been talking for how long? Do I strike you as dangerous? Hey, if you’re worried, just drop me off on the side of the road. I’ll walk from here.”
“We’re nowhere near Foxborough.”
“I’m not about to ride with someone who’s upset by my presence. You’re a nice guy, Jimmy. I wouldn’t do that to you.” Samuel put his hand on the door handle, ready for Jimmy to stop.
Jimmy focused out the windshield and kept driving.
Finally, Samuel asked, “Do you believe me?”
Jimmy paused. “Did the airline really lose your luggage?”
“Yeah. Why else wouldn’t I have any?”
“Which airline did you fly on?”
“Delta.”
“Where’s the lost baggage counter for Delta?”
Samuel tried to remember if he’d seen it and where.
“At least tell me what it looks like,” Jimmy said.
“Has the Delta logo all over it. Lots of red and blue accents.”
Jimmy smirked, obviously seeing right through Samuel.
Samuel couldn’t help but smile a little. “You’re a smart guy, Jimmy.”
“Are you Michael Casey?”
“No.”
Jimmy glanced over at him.
“Michael Casey is an alias.”
“Why do you have an alias?”
“You don’t seem freaked out.”
“I don’t tend to get freaked out until there’s a reason.” He rolled his eyes. “Unless the woman is about five-ten, with long, dark hair, figure like Jessica Rabbit, and has a French accent.”
“Sounds like reason enough to freak out to me.”
Jimmy laughed a little under his breath.
“I have several aliases,” Samuel said. “Most of them are backstopped by the CIA, but Michael Casey was special—I put that one together myself and didn’t share it with anyone.”
“Are you an agent?”
“I really can’t give you much information. It’s for your safety. That’s part of why I lied to you.”
“You know how that answer sounds, right?”
“I get that, and you’re right. Doesn’t change the truth of it.” Samuel paid attention to where Jimmy drove to be sure he stayed on route.
“You want me to keep my mouth shut, you need to give me something.”
Samuel sighed. “Fair enough.” He paused to think. “I am an agent. I work primarily in the Middle East. I’ve made a nasty enemy over there, and it’s followed me over here.”
“If an extremist group is after you, why is airport security looking for you?”
“Complicated. My theory is that they got to one of the young security officers and convinced him I’m the terrorist and to do whatever was needed to get me detained.”
“And you just happened to wander into his hands? Lots of security in an airport that big.”
“I messed up and got myself noticed.”
“That is pretty complicated.”
“Welcome to my life.”
“So, why were you in the airport in the first place?”
“Are you saying you believe me?”
“I’m listening is all I’m saying at the moment.”
“I think I had you pegged wrong.”
Jimmy turned off the radio, which meant he didn’t care to hear any more updates about the fugitive at large. Interesting. “How’d you have me pegged?”
“Nice guy, too nice for his own good.”
Jimmy shrugged. “Probably right. You think nice guys can’t be perceptive?”
“Maybe not if Nee-coal is in the room.”
“Guilty.”
“Can I ask what you do for a living?” Samuel asked.
“Let’s just keep the topic on you for now.”
Samuel sighed. “Why was I in the airport in the first place?” For some ridiculous reason, he decided to keep telling the truth. It was a gut thing, and he’d learned to listen to his gut. “My best friend is in trouble. Trouble that I got her into.”
“Her? Is her name Nee-coal too?”
“My version of Nee-coal.”
“But only a friend.”
“Because I royally messed up several years ago. But she’s decided to be my friend again. I take what I can get.”
“What kind of trouble is she in?”
“She’s trying to save someone who’s in deep with the Boston mob.”
“Boston mob and Middle-Eastern extremists? Busy guy.”
“Yeah, I kinda chose to stir the pot with the Boston mob. This guy has information that I need.”
“All this ties together somehow, huh?”
“Crazily enough, it does.”
“You know, you’re really good at coming off as trustworthy.”
“Kind of important in my line of work.”
“And yet your Nee-coal saw through you.”
“Yeah.”
Quiet. Jimmy continued driving down I-95.
Finally, Jimmy asked, “Where are you actually trying to go? Did you land in Boston, or were you trying to catch a flight?”
“Trying to get down to Georgia.”
“How’re you planning on doing that now?”
“No idea. Hitchhike, I guess.” Then Samuel added, “As long as you don’t turn me in.”
Jimmy paused. “I’m not going to turn you in.”
Samuel cocked his head curiously. “You’re an interesting person, Jimmy. You gonna tell me anything about you, other than your taste in women?”
“Trying to decide if I’m really not going to turn you in?”
“I’m just your average twentysomething.”
“In some respects, yes.” His taste in music, his tendency to trust beautiful women too easily, how he dressed, how he complained about his nosy mother. “But there’s something more.”
“I’ve had to learn to be perceptive and also to be tough in certain situations. People try to take advantage of twenty-eight-year-old CEOs.”
“Are we talking CEO of a video game store? Or something a bit more involved?” Samuel had had a hunch about Jimmy—now to see if following that hunch would pay off.
“My dad passed several years ago and left me a Beechcraft King Air. He’d made me get my pilot’s license. I took the little money I had and started an air taxi service. We have ten planes now and two jets.”
Samuel resisted the urge to grin. “Explains why you know your way around the airport.”
“I prefer regional airports. It’s easier on our customers, but we’ll use Logan International if requested.”
“So . . .” Samuel said. “Would it be crazy if I asked for a ride?”
Jimmy smiled. “Saw that one coming.”
“I really hate to ask, but I’m in a major bind.”
Jimmy fished a cell phone out of his jacket pocket and dialed. Samuel could faintly hear the phone ringing.
“Hey,” Jimmy said. “My old Beechcraft King Air is still at Mansfield Municipal, right?”
Samuel could barely hear the voice on the other end of the line. “Yeah.”
“Have it fueled up for me.”
“Joy ride?”
“Something like that.”
“Okay. On it. Gimme about half an hour.”
“Thanks.” Jimmy ended the call and glanced over at Samuel. “You’ve got yourself a ride.”
Jimmy drove them to Mansfield Municipal Airport, which was nothing but a bunch of grass half-covered in melting snow, a single runway, a few buildings, and a tower. Jimmy’s employee had everything ready for him. They boarded the plane. It had several round windows on each side and propellers attached to the fronts of the wings. Inside, Samuel had to duck so he didn’t hit his head on the low ceiling.
Jimmy slid into the pilot’s seat. “Sit wherever you like.”
Samuel took the seat in the first row and across from Jimmy on the right side of the plane so he could see Jimmy. “How long will the flight take?”
Jimmy was checking gauges. “Once we’re in the air, about three hours.”
“So, did I ruin any of your plans with this last-second trip?”
Jimmy continued to check gauges and controls. “Actually, this is a pretty good distraction from being stood up.”
“Maybe that’s why you decided to believe me with very little evidence.”
“Probably. But maybe it’ll be a good story to tell my kids someday.”
“Will those kids speak French?”
“Probably not.”
“Good,” Samuel said. “You deserve better than her.”
Jimmy got clearance from the tower and started his taxi out to the runway.
The three hours passed slowly. Samuel had never been fond of waiting, and the closer he got to Atlanta, the more anxious he was to get to Trudi.
They landed at a regional airport up near Chamblee. It was more substantial than Mansfield Municipal but nothing like the international airports. Samuel and Jimmy stepped out onto the tarmac in the darkness and shook hands.
“I cannot thank you enough,” Samuel said.
Jimmy slipped Samuel some cash and his business card. “You gotta tell me the full story. You know, someday, when all this is declassified.” He grinned.
Samuel flicked the card with his index finger. “Definitely.”
Samuel headed toward the terminal and considered his next move. He needed a phone and transportation.
He found his way to what appeared to be the main drag, a four-lane road separated by a narrow, grassy median with trees popping out of it every so often. That road dead-ended into Flightway Drive. He heard traffic coming from straight ahead on the other side of a hill, so instead of turning onto Flightway Drive, he crossed it, found a spot where the brush on the hill wasn’t too thick, climbed the hill and then a fence, and jumped down onto a guardrail. Then he recognized Chamblee Tucker Road, a four-lane highway. He didn’t see much, except for a small, dumpy shopping center with several cars in the parking lot. It was brick with black box signs with white letters on what looked like an ugly gray stucco canopy. The tenants included a fish store, a family support center, a CrossFit place, and at the end . . . an electronics store. It was too late at night for anything to be open, but he walked up the steps to the door anyway. He looked through the glass door and saw light from somewhere in the back, and he could also see a display of cell phones.
He knocked loudly on the door.
No response or movement from inside.
He knocked again, louder. The glass quivered under his fist.
He kept knocking.
Finally, someone came walking out of the back: a middle-aged, balding man. He came up to the door and spoke through the glass. “We’re closed.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” Samuel said. “My old lady kicked me out and didn’t give me my cell. I gotta call my boy to come get me.”
“We’re closed.”
“Come on, man. I got money.” Samuel held up a few of the bills Jimmy had given him. “I just need a quick burner cell. Ain’t no pay phones around anymore. It’s either get a phone or spend the night sleeping in front of your door.”
The man sighed with an annoyed expression.
Samuel waved the money.
“Whatever.” The man turned the bolt and opened the door. “Make it quick.”
“No problem. Just give me the cheapest prepaid cell you got, and I’ll be outta your hair.”
The man grabbed a packaged flip phone and rang it up.
“You install car stereos here?” Samuel asked. There was a set of keys sitting on top of an invoice on the glass countertop.
“Yeah.”
“I’ve been thinking about changing mine out.”
“If you have a car, why can’t you drive to your friend’s place?” The man took Samuel’s money and opened the cash drawer.
“She took my keys. You believe that?”
“You must have done something pretty bad.”
Samuel rolled his eyes, then grinned slyly.
The man laughed a little and handed Samuel back his change.
“Hey,” Samuel said. “Can I take a look at those headphones? Do they work with this phone?”
The man’s smile faded quickly, but he turned and grabbed a pair of packaged headphones off the back wall.
Samuel pocketed the keys on the counter.
The man took a closer look at the package. “No, these don’t work with that phone. Bluetooth only.”
“All right. No problem. Thanks, man.”
“Yup.” The man put the headphones back on the shelf.
“See ya.” Samuel walked out of the store and waited around the side of the building for a few minutes for the man to head back to whatever he’d been busy with before Samuel had interrupted. Samuel surveyed the parking lot, trying to match the car key in his hand to a car in the lot. He spotted a silver 2008 Chrysler 300 with chrome wheels. That’s got to be it, he thought.
He walked back around to the front of the building and glanced in the shop. There was no movement from inside. He headed toward the Chrysler, unlocked the door, got in, started it, and drove out of the lot and onto Chamblee Tucker Road.
He held the wheel steady with his knee and tore open the phone packaging. Luckily, the phone came with a partial charge. Because he couldn’t remember Trudi’s throwaway cell number, he dialed the office line so he could get the number from Eula.
After the rings stopped, it went to a generic voicemail. He called again, and this time a man answered the phone. “With whom am I speaking?”
Samuel knew that tone of voice, that sound of authority. He ended the call. What happened? Had Homeland Security picked up Eula—and surely Trudi too—because of their connection to him?
His next call was to the Zone 6 Police Department. With all that was going on, Stepp could very well still be at the precinct. Sure enough, he asked for Stepp and was connected immediately.
“Samuel?” Stepp answered.
“Do you know where Trudi is?”
“Where’re you calling from?”
“Please tell me where Trudi is. Did Homeland Security pick her up?”
“They did, but she escaped from custody. I don’t need to tell you what a serious infraction that is. Both of you have committed crimes today. I cannot support this, Samuel. You need to turn yourself in.”
“I didn’t do what they’re accusing me of.”
“Then they’ll sort it out. You need to trust the system.”
“Saving lives is more important.” He let that sit for a moment. Stepp was famous for telling his officers that saving lives trumped everything else. He would say no matter what was in the way—a perp or policy—save the life.
Stepp didn’t respond.
“Please tell me where that black Escalade went.”
“Are you in Atlanta?”
“Please.”
“How in the world did you get to Atlanta? There’s no way you got on a flight after Homeland Security flagged you.”
“Please help me. I need to know where that Escalade went.”
“Answer the question.”
“Sometimes things have a way of working out when your motivations are good. My motivations are good. I just want to protect Trudi and save an innocent life.” He knew in his gut that Dream was innocent. “I need your help.”
“Traffic cameras lost the Escalade. I’ve already sent a team to the last known location. They didn’t find anything.”
“I still need to try.”
“You think you can do what a SWAT team couldn’t?”
“SWAT is trained to go in and take care of it when things go sideways. I have a different skill set. I find the trouble and stop it before it turns sideways.”
“Confident, aren’t we?”
“Yes. And what could it hurt to tell me if you’ve already checked it out? And this way, you’ll know where I am. If I’m not successful, you’ll likely be able to find me and bring me in, right?”
There was a pause, surely while Stepp thought about that.
“They turned off Lower Roswell Road, toward the Chattahoochee River. But that’s where we lost them. We scanned the neighborhoods. No sign of a black Escalade. There are a lot of houses back there. Unless you do a house-to-house search, good luck.”
“Thank you. I’ll call you when I find them.” If I find them. Samuel ended the call.
Samuel headed west, avoiding main roads wherever possible. Thankfully, the Chrysler 300 had darkly tinted windows, making it difficult for anyone to recognize him.
Finally, he came to Lower Roswell Road. He glanced around at each side street and skipped anything that looked like standard, tightly packed subdivisions. He came to a road with larger houses spread farther apart and drove toward the river. More trees crowded the houses. He skipped by any houses with cars sitting out front. The kidnappers would’ve pulled any cars they had into a garage or hidden them somewhere on the property.
He continued circling the neighborhoods of large homes.
After about half an hour, he came across a home in the middle of a thick pocket of trees at the end of a winding drive. He couldn’t even see the place from the road. He pulled slowly into the drive, watching for security cameras mounted in the trees. At a bend in the drive, he spotted something shiny under a huge pine tree. It was a very small glimmer. He’d have never seen it if he hadn’t been looking so hard at his surroundings. He pulled the car into an area of low brush and got out. He tugged a low-hanging branch back. Yup, this is the place.
He crept through the dark woods toward the house he could faintly see through the mostly bare branches. It was all brick with four closed garage bays. A wooden porch wrapped around the house like a hug.
Hidden by some brush, he crouched down and observed the house, analyzing entry points, planning his approach. The front door was too exposed. He couldn’t see the back, but the trees looked thinner behind the house, which would make his approach easier to see. The garage possibly had a side door. That area was crowded by thick magnolias. He could creep through the woods around the house and get a better view—
The sound of a gunshot from within the house rang out through the trees.