He landed in another paratrooper’s roll.
The backpack was caught on the jagged barbs. He left it there.
Tommy was running down the stairs from the walkway and heading for the exit road.
“The bikes!” Luke yelled.
Behind him, Mumbo was fumbling with a key at the gate.
Tommy and Luke darted around the side of the terminal to where they had put the bikes.
They jumped on and raced onto the looping road toward the exit.
Mumbo was through the gate now and running across the grassy center of the road, trying to cut them off. He was going to make it, too. They had too much distance to cover.
“Keep going!” Luke urged Tommy. “Get out of here.”
Luke changed direction and bumped up over the curb onto the hard grass circle in the center of the road, heading straight for Mumbo.
Mumbo stopped, confused. If nothing else, that would give Tommy a chance to get away.
He was a big man and solid across the chest, a wrestler or a boxer, maybe. Definitely a thug. He turned to meet Luke, who was speeding straight at him over the bumps in the grass. His big gorilla hands came up to grab the bike as Luke closed in for the head-on collision.
The world seemed to slow. Mumbo’s teeth clenched in a grimace as he braced himself for the impact, and a flock of birds rose in unison from the trees behind his head.
Then the unexpected.
Luke gave a sharp twist on the handlebars just as Mumbo got within reach. The bike was no longer upright but was dropping, sliding horizontally right at Mumbo, taking Luke with it. The rear wheel whacked into Mumbo’s leg with a crunch that would have broken the ankle of a smaller, weaker man. His legs flipped out from under him, and he fell heavily, landing face-first on the field.
Luke jumped back up and stood on his pedals. His bike shot off the grassy area and back onto the road. He glanced back to see Mumbo get to his feet and start running, only to stop as his ankle collapsed beneath him.
Mumbo reached into a pocket, brought out a cell phone, and pressed it to his ear.
Tommy looked around as Luke turned onto the highway and slowed to let him catch up. “What happened?” he asked, the words coming in gasps.
“He fell over.” Luke managed a grin, sucking in the air.
A huge truck thundered past, moving to the left to give them room. The driver glared at them through the windshield, two kids on bikes going the wrong way down a main road.
“We need to split up,” Luke yelled.
“Why?”
“We need to get to the police and tell them about Ms. Sheck. But Mumbo had a cell, so they’re going to come looking for us. If we split up, there’s a better chance that one of us will get through.”
Tommy nodded without looking around. “You take the river path, the way we came. I’ll take the back road. I know the roads around here better than you.”
“Okay.”
Tommy split off at the intersection with the main highway.
Luke didn’t wait for the traffic lights to change but just caught a break in the traffic and quickly pedaled through the intersection. He could see the McDonald’s on the river side of the road. That marked the first bridge, he remembered, and he cut across the road toward it, bouncing up onto the sidewalk as he crossed over the bridge.
His tires left black marks on the pavement as he scudded around the corner onto South Capitol Street. There was a campus police station by the Old Capitol Town Center, which was much closer than the main station at city hall. He was close now. Close to safety. The black shadow of the railroad overpass slid across him, and he pumped the pedals furiously, beads of sweat breaking from his face and flicking away behind him.
Once he got to the police station, everything would be okay. They would rescue Ms. Sheck and arrest Mueller, and life would return to normal.
He made it as far as Burlington Street.
At first he didn’t realize anything was amiss. He didn’t recognize the car, and the windows were tinted, so he couldn’t see inside. He should have been suspicious when it passed him and then slowed, even though there was no intersection looming or traffic to give way to.
The car slowed further, and Luke, still pedaling frantically, caught up just as it swerved across his path. A low concrete wall to his right gave him nowhere to go. He yelled and slammed down on his brakes, skidding, sliding, then crunching into the side of the car with a bruising thud.
He tried to get up quickly, but the ground was swaying underneath him and it was hard to balance. Then Jumbo was standing over him.
It might have been the adrenaline, but his strength and his balance came back in a rush, and he rolled away from the man. He sprang to his feet and started to run, until a rough hand on the collar of his shirt jerked him backward and sat him down hard on the sidewalk.
Luke leaped back up and spun around, hands raised, but a huge fist was already coming toward his face. It connected. His head rocked back, and he fell to the ground. He sat up and saw that sledgehammer fist drawing back again. He shut his eyes.
“Hey!” A voice cut through the pain in his face. A voice he recognized, although through the fog in his head he could not place it. “Hey, what are you doing? Leave that boy alone.”
The hand on his collar came loose, and the fog over him lifted as his attacker faced the new threat. Luke turned his head to see his savior and his heart sank.
Mr. Kerr, the jelly-doughnut vice principal of his school, was advancing on Jumbo, a set of car keys in one hand and a Taco Bell bag in the other. He caught a glimpse of Luke’s face. “Luke? What the hell is go—”
Mr. Kerr didn’t get a chance to say another word as he came within range of Jumbo’s massive reach.
Jumbo spun up at him, his fist swinging around in a blow that would surely knock Mr. Kerr’s fat head clean off his shoulders.
Except that Mr. Kerr’s right hand, the one holding the car keys, jerked upward in a block, forcing the punch to the side. In what looked like a reflex action, his other hand shot out in a hard left jab that connected with Jumbo’s nose, snapping his head back.
Once upon a time, in some former life, Mr. Kerr had known karate.
The jab alone would hardly have been more than a bee sting to a thickheaded thug like Jumbo, except the hand doing the jabbing was the hand holding the Taco Bell bag, which split, and a container of volcanic chili sauce exploded over Jumbo’s face.
Jumbo yelled and wiped at his eyes. He thrust out with a low, double-fisted punch, most of which got absorbed by the rolls of fat on Mr. Kerr’s chest, but there was still enough force in it to knock Mr. Kerr over.
Jumbo yelled again, in agony, still pawing at his eyes. Luke jumped up and began to run, straight past the stunned Mr. Kerr, toward the town center, screaming at the top of his lungs. He glanced back to see Jumbo, back in the car, careering off down Madison Street, swerving from side to side, nearly smashing into a power pole before correcting and driving around the far corner.
Luke’s legs gave out and dumped him back on the ground as blue and red lights swept over him. In confusion, he watched the colors paint the sidewalk around him for a moment; then he looked up to see a Johnson County sheriff’s car. An immense weight lifted off his shoulders. It was the county sheriffs’ department. They were the serious police. The Iowa City police were really just there to keep order on the campus. But the Johnson County sheriffs were the real deal.
Now they’d have to listen.
Luke managed to stand and moved toward the car, but the officer got out and motioned with a hand for him to stay where he was on the sidewalk.
The officer approached. Luke started to talk, but the officer cut him off. “Are you Luke McKay?” he asked.
Luke nodded, wondering how the officer knew his name. He glanced down the road at Mr. Kerr, who was slowly getting to his feet.
Of all the unlikely rescuers.
“Are you Luke McKay?” the officer repeated, and stated Luke’s addres
s.
“Yes,” Luke said, looking back and nodding urgently, “and I know where Ms. Sheck is being—”
He cut Luke off again. “Luke McKay, you have been implicated in the looting of the Iowa University Library, and I am hereby taking you into custody as a juvenile suspect.”
“I know,” Luke said. “But that’s not important anymore—”
“Sir, I am going to have to ask you to go ahead and be quiet while I inform you of the rights that you have as a juvenile suspect in a crime,” the officer said.
“Listen to me!” Luke cried. “My teacher was kidnapped and—”
“Sir, I am going to ask you again to remain silent while I inform you of your rights. If you do not comply with this request, I will be forced to restrain you.”
“You’re going to cuff me?” Luke shouted. “But—”
“Last chance, kid,” he said, pulling the handcuffs from his belt.
24. THE GOOD/BAD COP
His name was Detective Dinning, but he told Luke that he could call him Glenn.
He was the good cop and the bad cop.
He’d talk kindly and gently, gaining Luke’s trust, and the next second, without warning, he’d slam his fist onto the table and his voice would go from a chatty tone to a shout.
Maybe they can’t afford the good cop, Luke thought. Budgets must have been a bit tight at the Johnson County sheriff’s office.
Glenn looked at the blurred image on Luke’s cell phone and turned it back to him. “And this is Laetitia Sheck, you say?” (Good cop.)
Luke didn’t know her name was Laetitia but nodded anyway.
It could have been anyone. It might not even have been a person. The image was so blurred that it was useless. Luke had taken three photos, but they were all the same. Blurred. Unrecognizable.
“It doesn’t matter if you believe me or not. How long would it take you to send a car out to the airport and check in the windows of the jet?” Luke asked.
Glenn made a small movement with his head as he shrugged. “Not long. But it’s private property, so technically we’d need a search warrant.”
Luke sucked in a deep breath. He wanted to scream at this man but knew that would only make matters worse. Why wouldn’t he listen to reason?
“Glenn, if you waste time on a search warrant and Mueller takes off in his plane with Ms. Sheck, you might never find her. Send out a car. Just have a quick look. It’ll prove that everything I am saying is true.”
“You’re telling me to send a car?” (Bad cop.) “You don’t tell me what to do. You’re in a lot of trouble, kid. You do what you’re told to do!”
Luke began to feel removed from his body, as if he were watching the scene being played out by actors, instead of being part of it. Stay calm, he thought.
“Why are you avoiding my eyes?” Glenn pointed a finger at his own right eye to illustrate his point. “Are you lying to me?”
Luke forced himself to focus on the man’s face, but the feeling of detachment remained. His voice said, “If I’m lying, you’ll find out real fast.”
“You’ll never die of a heart attack, will you?” Glenn said.
“What?”
“You’re telling me your teacher has been kidnapped, you’ve been chased by thugs with guns, arrested by the police, and you’re as calm as a Hindu cow. You’re not even sweating.”
Luke watched the drama unfolding in front of him with interest and heard himself ask, “What would sweating accomplish?”
“Might help me believe you, you lying little ratbag.” (Bad cop still.)
“But if I’m not lying and you do nothing, you’ll look like a real moron.” Luke expected an explosion from the bad cop for that remark, but the good cop appeared instead.
Glenn smiled. “Wouldn’t be the first time and it won’t be the last. But you say that this Mullins, Mueller, whatever, is really after this book. So he won’t be in a hurry to leave if he hasn’t got it.”
“He knows I saw Ms. Sheck,” Luke said, “so right now he could do anything.”
Glenn put his hands flat on the desk and leaned back in his chair. Luke tensed, wondering which cop he was getting next.
The interview (interrogation?) room was a small paneled office at the rear of the police station in city hall. There was no mirrored window like on TV shows, but two cameras mounted high on the ceiling recorded everything.
Luke’s mother was in a brightly lit waiting room by the main entrance, and he couldn’t imagine what she was thinking or feeling.
Bad Cop Glenn said, “Come on, kid, admit it. You’re making up the whole thing to try and get yourself out of trouble.”
“Send a car to the airport,” Luke said. Stop being an idiot!
“Your fingerprints were found at the library, and one of the news crews caught you on tape climbing over the wall of the ramp. You’re up the creek and your paddle ain’t working.”
“Hangar two.” Just listen instead of talking for once!
“And all this crap about a rich book collector trying to steal a book that he could simply buy just doesn’t make sense. Why not make up something simpler?”
“Because I didn’t make it up,” Luke said. “Send a car to the airport.” How hard could that be?
“That’s the only thing that’s got me wondering.” The good cop was back again. “Why would an intelligent kid like you make up a story that’s so preposterous that you’d be caught out in a second?”
Luke said nothing.
“Where is this book?” Glenn asked.
“At home,” Luke replied. “It’s well hidden.”
“Tell me where,” Glenn said, picking up his pen.
“Send a car to the airport,” Luke said, “and I’ll show you where.”
“I don’t negotiate,” Bad Cop thundered, slamming his hand down on the table, but the sunshine came out immediately: “But we’ll go to your house. If this book really exists, then I’ll think about it.”
“I’m not moving until you send a car,” Luke said. “Mueller has a nuclear bomb, and you’re sitting here doing nothing.”
“Ah, yes, the nuclear bomb.” Glenn sighed.
He checked some of his notes and said, “You saw the nuclear bomb plans for just a minute or so, yet you were able to reproduce them from memory. That’s some amazing memory you have.”
“Thank you.” Luke ignored the sarcasm.
“With a memory like that, you’d be able to tell me the badge number of the cop who picked you up,” Glenn said.
The feeling of dislocation slipped away, and Luke found himself back in his own body—part of the play, no longer sitting in the audience.
“His name was Officer Aaron Fayers,” Luke said.
“I didn’t ask you his name.” Glenn leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “Again, it seems that someone with a memory like yours would have no trouble with a badge number.”
“I hadn’t finished,” Luke said. “His badge number was 488015. Would you like to know the license plate of his car?”
Glenn nodded, so Luke told him, then said, “When we arrived at the police station, there were six other vehicles in the yard.” He listed the license plates of those vehicles, then added the security code Glenn had punched into the lock on the rear door of the station.
Glenn unfolded his arms and stared at him for a moment. Luke struggled with the urge to look at the floor, or the ceiling, or the desk, or his hands.
“Send a car to the airport,” Luke said. “What harm can it do?”
Glenn made that funny half shrug again and picked up a telephone off the desk. “Janice, it’s Glenn.… No, we’re in the middle of it now. Tell her I’ll see her as soon as I can. Can you do me a favor and ask Matt to swing past the municipal airport? Hangar two. See if there is a private jet in there with call sign …”
Luke recited the registration number, and Glenn repeated it into the phone. “If there is, see if he can have a quiet look in one of the windows. Unofficial. Check if ther
e’s anyone inside.” He looked at Luke and listened for a moment, then said, “I’m not sure, but if so, call me straightaway.”
He hung up the phone with a quick thanks and a goodbye.
“The trouble you’re in is going to get worse if you’ve made all that up,” he said.
“I just hope you’re not too late,” Luke replied.
They left through the rear entrance. No handcuffs. No point, really. Glenn knew who Luke was and where he lived. Where could a fifteen-year-old kid run to anyway?
Luke thought of his mother still waiting at the front of the police station and felt bad.
Glenn’s car was unmarked, a big Ford wagon that made a throaty noise when he started it. It was only ten or twelve blocks from the police station to his house, and they were there within minutes.
“Don’t go running off anywhere,” Glenn said, “or I’ll hunt you down.” He smiled to let Luke know that he was joking.
Maybe.
Luke led him down the side path of the house to the ash dump. “Here,” he said, opening the heavy, rusted metal cover and reaching down inside. He brushed away the top layer of ash and felt around for the plastic covering. But he couldn’t find it. He dug deeper into the ash. His fingers scraped concrete, and he looked at Glenn in a panic.
“It’s not there!” he said.
To give Glenn credit, he actually looked a little disappointed. Luke thought he was really a good cop at heart.
“Anywhere else you want to look?” Glenn asked.
“No, it was here,” Luke said in desperation. “Right here. And nobody knew except Tommy, me, and Godzilla!”
“Godzilla?” Glenn sighed. “Tell me all about it back at the station. Or will you have a different story by then?”
“It was here.” Luke almost screamed it.
Mueller had it. That was the only thing that made any sense. Someone must have told him where it was.
“He’s got Tommy!” Luke said with a sudden horrible certainty.
“Come on,” Glenn said, and led the way back up the path to his car.
As Glenn reached the corner of the house, he coughed and his hands shot up in the air. He bent over and began to sag, and Luke couldn’t comprehend what was going on until he saw the big man in the black ski mask, the aerosol can, and every fine droplet of spray that was drifting toward his face. Luke tried not to breathe in, but it was already too late. The last thing he saw was Godzilla, the giant squirrel, halfway up the tree outside their house, an acorn clutched in his paws. He was looking at Luke and seemed to be shaking his head disapprovingly, and then everything started to fade.
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