“The grass is always greener.” Blake sniffed, feeling his nose redden as it began to run. He thought he was catching a cold.
Across the street, one of the teenagers set down some speakers and what Blake could only describe as “young music” began to pound bass across the concrete. A couple of the girls were doing some kind of pre-dance stretches—one doing a handstand while splitting her legs like a fan. The other pushed down on her thighs, limbering up for something. The guys, a small group of particularly boyish teenagers, were dancing amongst themselves, flipping off each other’s backs like nimble little ninjas.
Blake watched them, fascinated, but then snapped back to the task. It was lucky he looked back at the bank when he did, as their target was crossing the lobby. “Here he comes,” he told Jackie, feeling a burst of adrenaline. “Damn dancers in the way, though.” He pushed himself off the sculpture and walked across the sidewalk a few steps, trying to get a clearer look. The man was in his line of sight now, easily recognizable from his photograph. His nose was jaunty like Caesar’s, and he had a Friar Tuck type of hairstyle—an unfortunate premature balding. Blake suddenly felt lucky to have kept all his hair at his age.
“Ready when you are,” he told Jackie, excited and nervous at the same time.
“Phew. Okay.” She’d told him she’d never done anything like this before. They’d both discussed it at length; kidnapping was not their forte, and it wasn’t something they were proud of doing. But if they wanted Rachel and Val back, not to mention the Agency on its knees, these were the necessary steps. They were in over their heads—they knew that, too—but it was either this or keep running until somebody shot them dead. And that was not a suitable life for anyone.
“Is there any chance I can hear this?” Blake asked, squinting his eyes and stepping across the road. The banker moved to the left and stood to watch the dance mob, who were now going at it with the entirety of their talents. A crowd was forming, growing larger by the second as people rushed to see what was happening.
“I can try running it through the same channel as the earpiece. Hold on.” Jackie was getting good with all the tech gear. Anything she needed, she would make a call to Mikey. Each time he would grow angrier at her for risking his safety, but she tried to pass it off as a necessity. She was his self-appointed, long-distance apprentice, as she’d joked.
Blake put a foot on the street, trying to make sure he didn’t lose sight of the man. A car sped past, and the driver beeped at him and shouted something inaudible. From the tone of voice, he figured it wouldn’t exactly be a compliment. Blake looked toward each end of the busy road and jogged across it, dodging oncoming cars. “Sounds great. Do it.”
“How’s this?” Her voice was a blur now. She sounded like a demon would sound if you were caught between a nightmare and real life. This was her first time using a voice mask—a device created to ruffle your chords and give you a deep, neutral and unrecognizable voice.
Blake grimaced at just how unlike herself she sounded. “Perfect.”
So far, so good.
“I’m making the call now,” she said
Blake stepped onto the same sidewalk as the banker, who was still absorbed by the performance of the teenagers, now flipping around at a medley of popular songs. People from the crowd broke off and joined them. They were clearly professionals, too—members of the routine who’d been waiting for their moment to join in and expand the size of the crew. Blake had seen videos like this all over the internet. Now he was worried this would be filmed, with his face plastered all over some lonely kid’s website.
“No answer.” Jackie’s voice was too quiet, buried below the throbbing bass line that emanated from the oversized speakers.
Blake resisted raising his hand to his ear, decided to just shout above the crowd. Nobody would notice anyway. “He’s watching the dance! Try again in a second!” Blake waited for a few minutes, watching while the dancers finished off, demanding a huge round of applause. One young kid ran through the crowd with his hat held upside down, and people threw their loose change into it.
The banker did not.
The kid swooped in a wide arc to collect offerings. Blake didn’t even have money to eat, much less to donate toward this boy’s college fund. The kid moved on, apparently unhurt by his lack of contribution. The crowd dispersed, save for excited children running up and asking for autographs from these people they didn’t know, in case they became famous someday. They had talent, Blake thought, but not enough.
The banker stalked off, finally breaking away from the crowd.
Blake tailed closely behind him. “Try again.” He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the banker reach into his coat.
“Shh,” Jackie said, still demon-voiced.
The banker fumbled his phone, caught it, adjusted it comfortably in the palm of his hand and then answered. “Hello?”
Blake could hear the voice loud and clear in his ear, but there was a little interference. Probably from standing too close. He backed off until the man’s voice was faint in the background but no less deafening in his ear. He hated wearing these things. They quickly became uncomfortable, as could be expected from thick chunks of plastic wedged into his ear. He wondered if they were causing damage to his hearing.
“We’re watching you,” Jackie said to him in her demon voice. “And we’ve been watching your family. Do you want to see them alive again?” The truth was that they’d decided not to involve the family in any way whatsoever. They were probably at home making dinner and watching TV. Normal family things.
But the banker didn’t have to know that.
There was an elongated silence, a deathly pause while he tried to figure out if this was for real. When he finally spoke up, he seemed to believe it. “What do you want?” He stopped walking.
Blake stopped too, watching.
“They’re safe. For now.” The voice was so deep it was cringe-worthy. Terrifying, really. “And if you do exactly as we say, no harm will come to either you or them. Do you understand me?”
Blake found himself mouthing the words as he heard them. They’d practiced this routine time and time again until Jackie was entirely comfortable with what she had to say.
“Y-Yes. Okay,” the banker said, looking around for some sign of the caller. He glanced briefly at Blake but looked away when he didn’t see a phone pressed to his ear. His eyes continued to scan the crowd but found nothing.
“Stay on this side and walk to the end of the street.”
The banker seemed to have been walking that way anyway, but now he was picking up speed, desperate to obey. Protecting his family.
Blake felt an incredible amount of guilt. It was a bluff—he knew they’d never touch his family—but they had to make the appropriate threats to get what they wanted. Still, he wasn’t comfortable. It was clear this man loved his wife and kids. If all went well, he would be returning to them before long.
The banker moved on, crossing the road without looking. He was saved by the fact that all the cars were stopped at traffic lights.
Blake closed in on him, stepping back again at the crackle of the close proximity.
“Take the next right into the alley.”
“You’re n-not going to kill me, are you?” the banker asked, looking around again.
Blake fell back into the crowd, the same people who’d been watching the dancers and oncoming passersby. He was invisible, just the way he liked it.
“Not if you do exactly as I say—no surprises.”
The man moved on. Blake was about to follow before he saw something that caused him to shiver. He stopped in his tracks, a bead of sweat fighting its way onto his forehead against the cold. “No,” he whispered. But did he say the word or just mouth it? He didn’t know. For as long as Blake was looking at Greg, he was stunned.
His face wasn’t burned anymore, or maybe he was facing the wrong way, but he was staring at Blake with an utterly neutral expression on his face.
A
little girl leaped from the crowd, ran up to Greg and slung her arms around his waist. His frown transformed into a smile as he picked her up and nuzzled into her cheek. The girl giggled, and a woman joined them.
I’m seeing things.
It was obvious now that it wasn’t Greg, and Blake felt so stupid. Had that man had such an impact that now he would simply imagine him? Did he want to see him on some level, in hopes that he could get to Rachel?
Blake’s blood was boiling, but he tried to focus on the job.
“Good. At the far end of the alleyway is a van. Walk toward it.”
The banker, obedient as an old dog, disappeared from Blake’s line of vision and headed into the alley. Everything was going according to plan. Sure, there had been a slip-up or two—they could thank the dancers for that—but Team Salinger was on form, and Blake would’ve been proud of them if he wasn’t feeling like such a conniving monster.
Blake took one last look at his surroundings, reached into his jacket for the gun—which was empty so as not to cause any accidental damage—and headed after the banker. This was the part of the plan where he would creep up behind him and encourage him into the van.
But as he rounded the corner and took his first few rapid steps, their plan fell apart.
In such a short space of time, they’d made a plan, executed it well, and everything had happened as they’d hoped. But when the gunshot cracked through the air and everyone around him screamed, Blake felt the miserable realization of it coming undone.
Whoever had fired the gun had taken their one and only chance.
Chapter Twenty
They’d been watching for some time. Almost twenty-four hours, to be precise.
Val had tried hard to think about where exactly the banker lived, but he’d skimmed over it when they’d gone through the files. He had considered getting hold of Mikey and asking for the details to be sent over, but he’d bothered that man more than he’d ever wanted to and didn’t want to further risk the man’s safety. Instead, they’d gone to the bank, parked across the street, and watched the door in shifts.
The time dragged by, with Val and Robbie side by side and giving each other three hours of sleep at a time. Through all of Robbie’s pleading—complaining that there was no need for them to be taking watch—Val had insisted that if any agents came for them, at least one of them had to be ready. It’d taken a while to explain just how dangerous the Agency was exactly, and Robbie eventually understood. At least he said he did.
The clouds were drawing over them, slowly turning day into night. Like a curtain had been pulled over the sky. The car was frosty and cold, the type that settled into your bones and made an awful pain each time you shivered. It was no easier for Val, being the age he was. But his doctor had once told him that he would “just have to learn to live with it.” Yeah, right, Val had thought. You say that now, but you wait until you’re on the wrong side of sixty.
Just on the outskirts of the parking lot, where they’d miraculously not received a ticket, Blake came into view and took a seat upon a bench, his eyes also fixed on the bank. Val wanted to run to him, scream his name and embrace him. To thank God he was safe. He was even doing well, by the looks of it. Save for the prominent earpiece protruding from his right ear. It was visible even at a distance.
“So, that’s the infamous Blake Salinger,” Robbie said, leaning forward with his eyes almost bulging from his head. “Thank God they came. I was starting to think they never would.” They’d come here on a whim. It was the only real hope they’d had of finding Blake.
Hopefully, Jackie was close by.
“Me too,” Val agreed. “At least the team is coordinated.” That last word trailed off his tongue like a pungent dollop of tar. He remembered when Rachel had been a part of the team. Where was she now? With Greg? With the Agency? Dead? Val had no idea. He’d told Blake she would be safe, but that was more of a guess than anything—a comforting word from father to son. A white lie.
Across the street, a group of teens gathered in a circle before laying out some audio gear and flipping around like a troop of monkeys. Val ignored them and kept his eyes on Blake. He couldn’t lose him now. He couldn’t interrupt the boy’s plans either. He would simply wait, follow and approach at the right time.
Then, coming through the bank’s glass front door, the banker stepped out and strode over to where the dancers were, watching them. Blake stood up straight. Val had a hand on the car door, ready to move in case he should lose his son to the crowd. He pulled open the door and heard Robbie climb out the other side. The music rang across the air, the ground below them pulsating. Throbbing.
“We heading in?” Robbie asked.
Val was pleased to hear that he was being asked permission. This man clearly had his head screwed on right. “Cautiously. Let’s split up. Anything goes wrong, no point us both going down.”
Robbie nodded and went his own way, circling around the parking lot the long way.
Val crossed the road and joined the crowd, his joints aching in the cold winter air. Blake could have easily turned round and seen him then, but he was far too distracted by the banker. But that was a good thing. At this safe distance, Val could keep an eye on his son, make sure no harm came to him.
Just then, as if to challenge his motive, the crowd parted, and a distracted Greg stood there, his face still scarred and ugly. His attention was saved only for Blake. A young boy of about five looked at his burn marks and clenched onto his dad’s trouser leg as if scurrying to safety. Val felt his heart begin to pound. There was no turning back from this. If he approached Greg, he would lose Rachel, but he couldn’t let Blake get hurt either. He reacted instinctively, weaving between the crowd toward him, praying he wouldn’t turn around.
Thankfully, he didn’t.
Val craned his neck, desperately searching for Robbie and hoping he was nearby. He was nowhere in sight, though. Val trusted that he wouldn’t break away and run back to his family. He’d seemed like a decent man, and Val usually considered himself a good judge of character.
The music stopped, and the crowd dispersed. The banker moved on with Blake on his trail, and Greg stepped out of the crowd. His arm was outstretched and clawing at Blake’s collar. Blake was oblivious to this—his first target in front of him, his biggest danger reaching out behind his back like the looming scythe of the Grim Reaper.
Val grabbed Greg and pulled him back.
Greg turned, his eyes widening at the sight of Val. He stumbled, regained his balance and rocketed a fist into Val’s stomach.
Val almost dropped, holding his gut, the wind knocked from him. But he couldn’t hit the ground now. He couldn’t let this man go. He shot straight out and grabbed Greg’s arm, putting it into a lock that restricted his movements. Nearby citizens were gasping, stepping aside, drawing more attention than he wanted.
If they made too much noise, the banker would turn, and it would all be over. They’d had too many chances as it was, and they were lucky enough to be here right now. Val couldn’t foresee any more handouts from the man upstairs.
Greg came falling back again, Val’s fist clenched onto his belt.
Val wrapped a firm arm around his throat. He could feel something in the man’s struggle, the experiences that they’d shared through their shady careers with the Agency. He had once considered this man a friend. A good one, too. The amount of times he’d been over for dinner were beyond count. And when Val thought of Marcy, he could feel the rage surging through him like a venom. His grip tightened. He could feel his neck close to snapping. He wanted it to. He wanted Greg dead.
Greg contorted his body, dropped to a knee and withdrew a knife. He spun around, slashing at the air in a fury. Whish.
Quick—but not as quick as he used to be—Val leapt back. The blade swept his shin, drawing blood. It was nothing serious. He would live with it. He kicked the knife from Greg’s hand, shot a quick glance toward Blake; he and the banker were leaving now, totally unaware of the dram
a behind them.
Greg scrambled to his feet and sprinted in Blake’s direction, and Val took off after him. He hadn’t run like this in years. Hadn’t been in a real fight in years. He hated it, too. Fighting had always terrified him, in spite of how good he was at it. Only now it wasn’t about his fears. It was about doing what needed to be done. And if he got hurt himself… Well, he was getting old anyway. The more he thought about it, the more his dreams of retirement drifted from him, farther and farther from his grasp.
He was slowing down.
Greg was faster—much faster. He was twenty feet from Blake. Fifteen. Ten.
As if from nowhere, Robbie exploded into Greg, slamming him into the nearby wall. Val could almost hear the crunch of his bones. He slowed to a stop, wheezing. He rested his palms on his knees, bent over and attempted to recover his breath. “Nice going, Detective," he praised Robbie and felt a kinship that had been absent from his relationship with Blake.
“Thanks,” Robbie said, looking over at where Blake stood at the mouth of an alley.
In the blink of an eye, Greg shot up and drove a fist into Robbie’s stomach.
Val heard the whoomph. He lunged forward. A second wind. But he was careless. He saw Greg’s arm reaching into his jacket. And then he saw the gun.
It was as if he’d been saving it for a better moment. A last resort. Concealed it until they all thought it was going well, so he could pull it out and say, hey, presto! Now you’re fucked!
Greg’s lips curved into a smile as he raised the gun and aimed it at Val.
Val froze like a deer in headlights.
But the gun kept going up until it was aimed at the sky.
“No!” Val screamed, realizing the shot would alert the banker.
But it was too late. The bullet exploded from the barrel, and everyone screamed.
Chapter Twenty-One
All around them people ducked, covering their heads as if being attacked by birds. It must have been the way the gunshot echoed up the buildings. Women screamed, loud and shrill. The ear-piercing shriek of terrified children was loud among the frantic and directionless running of pedestrians.
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