by Bower Lewis
The agent’s eye twitched. “Mason’s not available to you right now, and I couldn’t be more serious.” He glanced at his driver as his window rose again. “Let’s go.”
Zane yelled his name into the glass and nothing happened for a moment. Then it lowered once more and Ed looked back out with paternal indulgence.
“How did you know where to find me?”
The chief of security removed his sunglasses and smiled for the first time since arriving on the Hill. “You don’t really think your father had a two million dollar car built for you without installing a GPS in it, do you, Zane? Rutherford may not be the most hands-on father in the world, but he does like to keep tabs on where his children are.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The battalion of armored SUVs was gone as quickly as it’d appeared. Five cars sped off, each in a different direction, on the hunt for Rockwell and his precious hostage, as the sixth idled on the sidewalk behind the Bugatti. The Hummer lurched up onto the bricks next to Zane and Patience leaned out to pass him her phone.
He lifted a hand as she started to speak and gestured back to his agents.
“Go home, Patience. I don’t have much time to explain, but this has just become a whole other thing. These guys get paid a lot of money to do what they do, and they’re extremely serious about it. They have to protect me, no matter what happens, and that’s exactly what they’ll do—but the opposite can be said for you and your crazy ass of an uncle. If they think for one second that you’re interfering with their efforts to recover my father, forget about protecting you, they will shoot you themselves. Rutherford is their only objective now. Nothing I can do or say will stop them from doing whatever it takes to get him back.”
She folded her arms across the window. “The feeling’s pretty mutual at this point. If I think they’re interfering with our efforts to recover your father, Zane, or preventing us from stopping Rockwell, I’ll just loosen John’s ties. He’s stopped them once today. He can do it again if need be.”
“Damn it, Patience! This isn’t a joke.”
“I couldn’t be more serious.”
She held the phone out and refused to pull it back until he’d taken it. The screen was illuminated with a map of central Massachusetts. A route to a small town outside Worcester was highlighted, which ended at a big red arrow pointing to an annex of the FORSYTH FOR U.S. SENATE campaign headquarters.
“I think the décor’s probably a little WB Mason for your father’s tastes, and the building looks pretty rustic. We should probably get up there. Would you pass me your phone, please?”
He stared back, uncomprehending. She reached across and tapped him on the shoulder.
“What?”
“I need your phone.”
He passed it over and she rolled her window up halfway.
“Avoid getting wrapped up in the emoticons thing if you can help it. If you do get stuck, though, just remember that He usually caves after a few tries and tells you what it is, so it’s quickest and least labor intensive to just toss out random thoughts and keep moving. I’d also be careful about bringing up religious figures, regardless of their persuasion. It’ll end the game fast enough, but you’ll find yourself stuck in a history lesson that probably won’t be what you’re expecting. Of course, I don’t have degrees in religion and philosophy from Harvard, so maybe that one’s a judgment call.”
“Damn it, Patience!” He thrust the phone through the window. “Take this back. I realize that you’re not going to honor my request that you go home, so there’s no way I’m letting you be separated from It.”
“Oh, for crying out loud!” She leaned back slightly, confident that a guy as nice as Zane would never hurl the Lord’s iPhone at her. “I thought you understood that it’s never been the phone that’s communicating with me. That one does seem to get better reception, though.” She reached for the gearshift, and then paused and looked back again. “There’s one last thing, Zane, and it’s kind of a biggie. He hates call waiting. If you take a call while He’s trying to tell you something, be prepared for some serious attitude when you click back.”
“Patience!”
She threw the Hummer into gear. “Go with God, Zane.”
She flipped a wide U-turn around him onto Beacon as the Bugatti remained on the bricks. Then it boomed and shot past her with the BMW in pursuit. Patience smiled as she watched them round onto Park. The driver Ed put on Zane was clearly no slouch behind the wheel. Character-building exercises of this nature were probably rare occurrences for him. It felt almost as though she was moving backwards as she turned in their wake and started toward the highway.
Zane’s phone rang a few minutes after she’d made it onto the Pike and she grabbed it from John’s hand.
“That was dirty pool, what you did back there.” His voice cut in. “I didn’t think we played that way.”
“Sometimes we do.” She smiled. “But never unless it’s absolutely necessary. Where are you now? What’s happening?”
He sighed aloud, and Patience realized that she knew exactly what the expression on his face was at that moment. It wasn’t a happy expression, but it made her feel good to know that she could do that.
“I’m about three miles past the ABC tolls,” he said. “There’s some construction past Framingham, from what I understand. I’ll work around it, but you may be slowed up for a bit. In other news, Alex has been playing his Tom Jones boxed set for my father, in an attempt to make some sort of peace, and that’s not going very well. Precisely who is most in danger of being shot right now is anybody’s guess. If Rutherford manages to get his hands on a weapon, we may have to find something else to do tonight.”
She set the phone back down in her uncle’s hand. “Where’s your detail?”
“They’ve just cleared the tolls. They’re doing pretty well, considering. Collins is a good driver.” He paused for a moment, and then his voice lowered an octave. “Listen, Patience, I’ve called Ed with Rutherford’s location, so please be ready.”
The smile set in her face and she looked over at John. He seemed more interested in arguing with the headlights of oncoming cars than worrying about Zane or his agents just then.
“I guess you really meant it when you said that you trust this guy.”
“He taught me how to ride a bike.”
“Okay.”
“He also taught me how to drive. Ed taught me how to shoot a gun and how to throw a punch. He’s the only person my father’s ever considered competent enough to teach me anything substantial, and the only person Rutherford’s ever approved of who I could stand to have around. I don’t recall him ever admitting to being off duty when I’ve needed anything, either, no matter what the hour. I can’t keep him in the dark about this, not now that he’s involved. Anyway, he’d already picked me up on the GPS and was doubling back to the Pike when I called, so it wouldn’t have done much good to try. His driver knows what to do with an M-class X5. He won’t catch me, but he won’t stay too far behind.”
“Was he angry?”
Zane paused again. “Ed doesn’t get angry. Ed solves problems. He did want to know where I was getting my information from, though, and it’s safe to say that he was less than impressed with my response.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That you’re psychic. It didn’t go over very well. I’m confident, however, that telling him God’s been sending Intel to your iPhone would have just pained him more.”
Patience glanced over at her uncle. He appeared to be sleeping off some of the Johnny Walker Blue at last.
“How is that going…between you and my phone?”
Zane paused.
“It’s a little awkward, to be honest with you. He seems particularly hot to hear about a shoplifting incident from when I was twelve. I didn’t even steal anything, Patience. It was my brother, Steve, and his crew. I was just the wheelman. I’m trying to focus on the road here, and I swear to you, His memory is longer than Rutherford’s
. Is this what it’s like for you all the time?”
“No,” she said. “He’s easing you into it. The real fun comes later.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I’m starting not to mind it so much. Just drive and keep the phone close, okay?”
There was a pause at the other end. “But do you really think He cares about some minor incident from the summer before eighth grade? Because that’s a lot of pressure, considering the magnitude of the fuck-up I could be driving into as we speak, not to mention the colossal potential of the fuck-ups still to come.”
She shot a stern look at the sky. “He’s screwing with you, Zane. Honestly, I’m a little embarrassed for the both of you if this is the best He could come up with. I thought you said you were a hellraiser.”
“I said I was rebellious,” he replied, “and a blight on my father’s peace of mind. Those things are easy enough to accomplish without breaking any laws or risking anyone’s safety. I was difficult, Patience. I wasn’t destructive.”
She sighed and shook her head at the phone. “He’s definitely screwing with you. Don’t worry about it.”
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll see you in Rutland.”
“See you in Rutland.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Patience lay on the horn, startling her uncle awake as the Toyota in front of them fled the Hummer’s path. It wasn’t enough. None of it was enough, and the fact that there didn’t seem to be anything more she could do certainly didn’t guide her thoughts toward more productive trains of thought. Even if they did everything right—if Rutherford was home safe again and the world was relieved of SolarTech and Rockwell’s political aspirations forever—it still wouldn’t get Zane off the hook. After everything they’d been through and all that had happened, they still had no proof that it had been Rockwell, and not Zane, who’d killed Joey Forsyth.
She shoved her hair back and flashed her headlights at a Mercedes. John stretched a finger from his ties to touch her on the arm.
“I’m real sorry, kid. It was a nasty bit of luck about those cameras on that bus. A paranoid mind is a tough thing to keep ahead of, but if you feel inclined to make a quick stop over to Wellesley on our way past, I could help you torch the corpse’s house. Maybe those disks would be burned up in the—”
Patience looked back at her uncle. “What did you say?”
“Oh, come on now, Pax. He’s not even at home.”
“Not that.” She pulled left and flipped a U-turn through an emergency access break in the highway. A couple of cars flew past and she pressed hard on the accelerator. “We have to get back to Brookline.”
“Brookline? That’s a ways out of our way.”
“I know that.”
She felt like Zane as she came off at their exit, gunning it around parked cars and running lights at speeds she had no business driving, except that, unlike Zane, she spent the entire drive crouched low in her seat, wincing and apologizing to the cars she cut off and the horn blasts that greeted her at every intersection. John sat back and watched with interest as the world whizzed past them. Finally, they raced up Forsyth’s gold-lined driveway and jolted to a stop. He smiled at her with a nod.
“Never been so glad to be drunk in my life.”
She threw the truck into neutral and stomped on the emergency brake.
“It’s a Hummer, Uncle John. I’m required to drive like an asshole.”
“Touché, kid.”
She turned to him then, and her face was serious.
“I can’t untie you. I realize that this could get sticky if anyone happens along while I’m inside, but I’ll just have to work as quickly as I can. I’m sorry.”
He shrugged back at her as best he could in his tethered condition. “You worry too much, Pax. If your conscience really is giving you the business, though, you could make amends by bringing back something interesting from the senator’s bar.”
She just shook her head and jumped down from the truck. Zane’s phone chimed halfway up the walk and she froze.
UR PROBLY GONNA WNT THE CODE 2 THE ALARM
UNLESS A VISIT FROM BROOKLINES FINEST IS PART OF THE MASTR PLAN?
She stared at the text for a moment.
“You’re here?”
I M EVRYWHER
“Yes, I understand that. It’s just that You’ve been pretty persnickety about Your phones until now, and I was under the impression that You were with Zane tonight.”
HELLO? OMNISCIENT!
“I understand that, too. But, You’ve been so… You know what? You’re right, it’s my mistake. And, yes, that code would be very helpful. Thank You.”
He texted her a sigh, and then He texted her the code.
69 0-0-0 69
Patience closed her eyes and sighed right back at Him. “I have got to stop these people.” Then she ran up to the mansion and punched the code into the keypad. The light blinked once and then it changed from red to green.
Then she kicked in the door.
• • •
Locating the concealed control room was a challenge, but she found the right mirror at last with a little help from The Biz. She stepped inside as the door swung forward, praying that Rockwell hadn’t discovered the senator’s secret first.
The screens were still alight with the eerie stillness of the rooms they watched over. Patience touched a button below the lifeless living room and held her breath as the tray slid open to reveal a disc. She closed it again and hit play. She skipped forward through the first few hours and then she hit pause.
“Oh, my God.”
She pressed button after button, her eyes darting between the monitors as she took in as much as she could in what little time she could spare. The footage from the kitchen was particularly fascinating. She stepped closer to the monitors, transfixed by the scenes from the very last hours the discs captured before they’d run out of space—not so very long after their owner had run out of space—and then she hit the eject buttons and nodded to the ceiling.
She slipped from the room and ran back to the truck without missing a single turn.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Patience helped herself to a Glock from the back of the Hummer and looked up at her uncle before locking him inside. Then she turned down the alley toward the entrance of the makeshift campaign headquarters and slipped behind one of the parked BMWs to shield herself from view of the office. The windows were papered over with posters of the wide-smiling senator, occluding her view of what was happening inside. She tucked the gun into her coat pocket and turned toward the door, but Zane’s phone stopped her from stepping out from behind the vehicle.
NO GUD! TRY THE PZZA PLCE NXT DOOR
THRU THE BCK
She steadied herself against the bumper and nodded, then slipped back up the alley toward the adjacent pizzeria. The rear door was propped open by a large tin of tomato paste, presumably by the delivery man who was now arguing into his cell phone beside the dumpsters. Patience ducked into the shadows and glanced down at the phone. She felt some trepidation about her next request.
“I can’t call inside, Biz. It’s too risky. I might escalate a situation already in progress, and maybe wind up getting Zane or Rutherford hurt. I was wondering if You could keep an eye on that situation for me, and get word to Zane about what I found at Forsyth’s, should an opportune moment arise?”
He kept her waiting a beat before He chimed back.
R U ASKNG 4 MY HELP?
She tightened her grip and fixed her eyes on the deliveryman’s back.
“Yes.” She nodded. “I am asking for Your help.”
WULD I HAVE 2 CHNGE OUT OF MY SCKS & SNDLES FRST?
She smiled tightly and let her eyes fall closed a moment. “I’m sure whatever You’re wearing will be fine.”
She slid the phone into her pocket before He could respond further and crept behind the driver. She slipped through the door and turned onto the dilapidated basement staircase just inside, hurrying down past the
canned goods and fifty-pound bags of flour. She worked her way through the dim light from the open door above, heading straight for the trap door in the floor by the furnace. As she reached down for the handle of her target, the lights flickered overhead. They came on with a buzz, and the staircase shuddered beneath the weight of a heavy footstep.
Patience dove beneath some shelves behind the furnace, knocking her boot into its rear panel as she pulled into a ball. The creaking stopped and the basement turned silent. She could feel him listening in the hairs of her skin. She tried to quiet her breathing as he restarted his descent, moving more slowly this time, and he paused again at the bottom.
“Hello?”
The voice was deep and wary.
“Freddie! You down here?”
She pressed her face to her knees as he wandered the basement, checking the office space and opening the walk-in refrigerator’s door. Then he turned back and started toward the furnace. He paused so close to her that Patience could smell the flour and cooking oil on his clothes.
“Son of a bitch.”
She opened her eyes as a meaty arm in a white chef’s coat stretched above her.
“Hey, Freddie!” he hollered. “The rats are back!”
He pulled a tin of olives and a plastic tub of oregano from a shelf and turned away. She lay still and silent until the basement was dark again and his footsteps shook the floor overhead. She heard him discussing the rats with someone she presumed to be Freddie and sat up at last. She wiped the sweat back from her temple and felt around on the floor for the handle of the door. She pulled it back on its hinges and stepped down onto a second staircase. She wasn’t eager to find out how Freddie dealt with a rat.
The building’s shared sub-basement housed a tangle of pipes running overhead and underfoot, carrying the sewage and drainage systems for all the adjoined businesses. Patience worked her way across with the aid of the light from the phone’s display, and an occasional prompt from The Biz. She smacked her forehead once against a low-hanging pipe and swallowed back a curse as she fell onto a stretch of the sewage system. The phone chimed softly.