They commandeered a car from the airport parking lot. Stole it, really. An unsavory act no matter what you called it, but it had to be done. Renting a car was out of the question. It would require a credit card, which was a monumental risk. Sam couldn’t fetch her own car, because the feds undoubtedly had its GPS tagged and remotely monitored. She and Hayward briefly considered calling a cab, but it was too easy to fall prey to a man-in-the-middle scheme. There was the subway option, but it was also a non-starter. There were video cameras covering just about every nook and cranny in the city’s subway system, and it would have been impossible to keep their faces hidden from all of them. The District’s facial-recognition system would make George Orwell blush, and Sam hadn’t flown all the way back to the States just to wind up in jail.
So, once again, crime ended up being the answer, and Sam plied her lock-picking skills—byproduct of a misspent youth, reinforced by her field training—to get inside an old land barge undoubtedly owned by an elderly couple. The backseat was outfitted with a clothes rod supporting hangers full of garments that had been in and out of fashion at least twice, some of them maybe three times.
“Nice ride,” Hayward said as Sam connected the ignition leads and pumped the gas a bit. The oversized engine cranked right up, and the radio came to life at volumes suitable to entertain deaf and dead alike. Easy listening. Sam wouldn’t have bet there was still an easy listening station left on the planet, but Neil Diamond’s dulcet tones provided the existence proof. She found the power button and pressed it with prejudice.
She took the parking lot stub from its position on the dash and checked the date. The car had been in the lot for four days. She hoped the elderly jetsetters were on an extended journey. She wondered whether she’d be able to return the car to the lot before the couple returned from their trip.
She waved her federal ID at the parking attendant. He waved her through without so much as a nod.
“Now is as good a time as any,” Sam said to Hayward.
Hayward nodded. “Probably best to do it while we’re on the move.” She saw him reach into his pocket, power up his burner phone, and dial a number from memory. He put the phone on speaker.
Sam listened as she drove the sedan. It rang four times, then there was a heavy clunk, then an unnerving silence that lasted only a second or two but felt much longer, followed by five more rings. Then a click.
“I wondered when you would call,” a voice said. It sounded like liquid malevolence and made Sam’s skin crawl.
“You violated our agreement, Grange,” Hayward said.
Artemis Grange, Sam thought. He sounded just as creepy as his reputation.
“The situation evolved,” Grange said. “I made adjustments.” Sam heard openness and outdoor sounds in the background. Wind, traffic, footfalls, and heavy breathing suggested the man was walking quickly.
“You could have called,” Hayward said.
“I chose not to.”
“What you’re doing is unconscionable, Grange,” Hayward said. “I want Katrin and Joao set free. They’ve done nothing to deserve what you’ve done to them.”
Sam heard a cold chuckle through the tinny speakers. “How quaint, and how very ironic,” Grange said. “A lecture about justice from a traitor and a murderer.”
Hayward’s jaw clenched and she feared he would say something rash, but he held his tongue. He took a deep breath and said, “I have what you want. You have what I want. There’s no reason we can’t work this out.”
“What makes you believe that we haven’t achieved an important breakthrough with our Spanish guests?” Grange said.
Sam glanced at Hayward. His chest heaved and his hands trembled. He was undoubtedly imagining what a breakthrough with Joao and Katrin might have entailed. She knew what the Agency was capable of, and she shuddered at the thought.
Hayward regained his composure. “You haven’t achieved a breakthrough, Grange. You’re still at square one,” he said, but he didn’t sound convinced himself.
“Ah, but you’re wrong,” Grange said. “As you well know, every man has a limit to the pain he can bear. Every young woman, too.”
Hayward said nothing. Sam looked over and saw the color drain from his face. She reached over and grabbed his hand.
A long silence passed. “Prove it,” Hayward finally said, a glimmer of resolve in his voice. “Prove you have the ChemEspaña data.”
Sam heard no more footsteps in the background. Grange had stopped walking and his breathing had slowed.
“Tell me the title and revision number of the computer file,” Hayward pressed.
Grange didn’t answer.
“You don’t have the data,” Hayward said. “You sliced Maria’s wrist and bled her to death and all along she had the goddamn formula buried in her leg, but you weren’t smart enough to figure it out.”
Grange was silent.
“And you’re not smart enough to figure out that Joao and Katrin are stronger than you are,” Hayward said. “They knew what they were doing when they sent me to Singapore to break into an empty safe, and they knew what it would cost them. They believe in something bigger than themselves, and they will go to the grave with their secret. You’re not going to get a damned thing from them.”
Grange said nothing and the silence grew heavy.
“Listen, Grange. I’ll give you something else,” Hayward said. “Something you want and need.”
“I’m listening.”
Hayward took a breath. “I will come in, Grange.”
Sam’s eyes snapped to Hayward’s face. It looked tired and resigned. She squeezed his hand, shook her head. Don’t do this, she mouthed, but he waved her off. She pulled the big car over to the side of the road and stopped.
“I’ll come in,” Hayward said again. “I’ll give you the data, and you can do whatever you want with me. Just let them go, Grange. Don’t kill them. You don’t fucking need to kill them.”
Seconds passed. Sam heard static on the line and watched Hayward’s face. It was pained and determined and exhausted and resigned and hopeful all at once. If it was an act for her benefit, she decided, it was the best acting she’d ever seen.
Grange broke the silence. “I accept your offer,” he said. “You and the data in exchange for the chemist and the girl.”
Sam squeezed Hayward’s hand again, shaking her head, but Hayward ignored her.
“I need proof of life,” Hayward said.
“Of course.”
“Use the same email address,” Hayward said. “And tell me where to find them.”
“I will send instructions,” Grange replied. Then the line went dead.