Within seconds, I had confirmation that the spyware had rooted. So far, so good.
HOT, he wrote me. THIS IS WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT.
You like that? I asked. It nauseated me just to write it, but I had to string him along.
Let’s just say you earned your next question, he said.
As I watched the laptop, the screen blinked twice, repopulated, and spit out an IP address, followed quickly by an actual street location.
147 Condor Street, Boston MA 02128
I didn’t need another Q and A with him, but I did need more time. So I kept going.
Why did you take Eve? I asked. Why not me?
As he worked on his answer, I tore back onto the laptop and mapped the address I’d been given. Condor Street was over by the Chelsea River in Eastie. Only 2.9 miles from my current location. Easy striking distance.
I wanted to see what you could do on your own, he texted. You depend on Eve too much, you know that?
That’s not true, I typed back even as I was scanning the route on the laptop, committing as much as I could to memory.
Moving on, he said. I want to see more now. And I do mean MORE.
I was ready for this, too. I’d known I was going to need a big stall at some point. I also knew this guy was a horny son of a bitch.
I’m all sweaty from my ride, I told him. If we’re going to keep going, I need a nice hot shower first.
Excellent. Can I watch? he asked.
No but you can listen, I said. And you can see when I’m done.
No clothes this time. And no towel.
Give me fifteen minutes.
Hurry up, he said. I won’t wait forever.
You won’t have to, I told him. It’s like I already said. The game gets better as it goes along.
And I meant it. Just not in the way he might have thought.
It was time for me to snap this trap, once and for all.
CHAPTER 79
I CARRIED THE Android into the bathroom and set it on the sink, without a view of the shower. Then I turned on the hot tap and let the bathroom start to steam up.
I draped a towel around the showerhead so it would sound like someone was in there.
And I slipped out of the bathroom, closing the door behind me.
A few seconds later, I was back in Rena’s office. I grabbed the phone and dialed Billy’s number, but it went straight to voice mail. Dammit! It felt like forever just getting to the beep.
“Billy! It’s Angela! I don’t have time to explain, but I know where they’re holding Eve. It’s 147 Condor Street in Eastie. God, I hope you pick this up soon.”
I couldn’t call the police. If they got to that address without instruction, Eve was screwed. Someone needed to head them off or get there first. So I ran back along the hall and down the stairs to the guard station on six.
One of the guards stopped me right away with a hand out. “Hold it right there,” he said.
“I need to get hold of anyone on Agent Keats’s team,” I told him. “It’s an absolute emergency. An agent’s life is at stake.”
The other guard picked up the phone. “I’ll try Agent Keats right now,” he said.
“He’s not picking up!” I told him. “Call Audrey Gruss’s office. Call whatever emergency contact you need to, and get them over to 147 Condor. Have you got that? They need to go in carefully. Keats will know why, but if you can’t get him, I need to be there, or I need to talk to someone myself—”
“You’re not even authorized to be on this floor,” the first guard said. “Go back to your quarters. As soon as we have contact, we’ll let you know—”
“Are you even listening to me?” I yelled at him.
“Miss, you need to calm down.”
“Let me go to the fifth floor and find someone myself,” I said. “You can escort me, if you need to.”
I reached for the elevator button, but he wasn’t having it and stepped in my way.
“Please don’t make me remove you from this area,” he said. “We’re on it, okay? Now turn around and go. I’m not going to ask again.”
I felt like I was in a nightmare within a nightmare. They were only following protocol, but that wasn’t good enough. And I couldn’t waste any more time spinning my wheels with them.
So I made a decision. I went back upstairs, down the hall, and quietly into my apartment.
I could hear the shower running as I grabbed my bike and turned to leave. But then I stopped. I pulled a small paring knife out of the kitchen drawer and sheathed it in the laces of my sneakers, just in case. It was a gut move, not a rational one. But who the hell knew what might happen?
Wheeling my bike into the hall, I turned right instead of left this time. I went straight for the fire exit and used my front tire to break through the crash bar. A second later, I was humping that bike down seven flights as fast as I could, while the high-pitched wail of an alarm echoed up and down the stairwell behind me.
When I reached the ground floor, there was only one way out. I hit another crash bar with my tire and burst onto the sidewalk, like some kind of escaped convict.
I jumped on my bike, hopped the curb down to the street, pointed myself east, and started pedaling like hell.
CHAPTER 80
IN BOSTON, ANYTHING under three miles is faster on a bike than it is by car. For me, anyway. If I reached Condor Street first, I wouldn’t go rushing in like some kind of action hero, but at least I could keep whoever showed up from doing the same thing.
With any luck, I could still keep Eve alive.
I kept my eyes up for traffic and ground the pedals as fast as I could. What I needed was another phone. And when I saw the business-suited gentleman standing just off the curb with his nose buried in his screen, I made a split-second decision.
“Hey!”
I’d grabbed it out of his hand and was halfway through the next intersection before he even spotted me.
If this didn’t work, and maybe even if it did, I was going to end up in jail. Meanwhile, I should have stopped riding long enough to call this in, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. No stopping now. No turning back. No nothing. I kept on pedaling as I checked the road ahead, looked down long enough to dial 911 for the second time in three days, and kept heading east.
“Nine one one. What is your emergency?”
“My name is Angela Hoot and I’m with the FBI,” I shouted into the phone. I was shooting up the narrow space between the slow-moving traffic on my left and the sidewalk on my right, just hoping nobody threw open a car door without looking. “I need emergency responders to 147 Condor Street immediately. Tell them to call Agent William Keats at the FBI for instruction. They have to proceed with extreme caution. Do you understand?”
“I’ll do what I can, ma’am,” she said. “Please hold.”
But I couldn’t even do that. My quickest route was through the Callahan Tunnel, which doesn’t allow bikes, much less have a bike lane. I needed both hands for this, and it was coming up fast. The dispatcher was going to have to get this done without any more input from me, I thought, and shoved the phone back into my pocket.
I hung a right onto New Chardon Street, then right again, down toward the tunnel entrance. It was like a cattle chute at this point. The tunnel itself was a mile long, which meant three minutes at the speed I was going, and I’d already lost any wiggle room on the shoulder.
Bring it, I thought. If I could ride six-inch-wide trails in the woods, I could thread this needle, too.
As I passed inside, daylight gave way to a sickly green glow from the electric fixtures, mixed with a red blur of taillights ahead. I mostly kept my eyes on the cars, checking to the right every few seconds to keep from crashing into the side wall. There was a raised walkway above me, but I couldn’t get to it.
Drivers kept edging past my bike. A few yelled, and several of them blared their horns, which were amplified by the tunnel’s acoustics. It was an all-out war on my senses. I had no choice b
ut to gut it out.
Eventually, the road curved right, and I could see a tiny square of daylight several hundred yards ahead. I focused on my breathing, in and out with the rhythm of the pedals, counting as I went.
On the twenty-fourth breath, I broke free, into the daylight again. Thank God. Not that I could feel relieved for long. I was getting close now.
The traffic only got hairier outside of the tunnel, with everyone suddenly changing lanes. I swerved right onto Porter Street to avoid getting shunted up to the expressway, where I would have really been screwed.
Then a quick left onto Chelsea for a couple of blocks, and another left, onto Brooks, for one last stretch before I reached the river.
The closer I got, the more my thoughts turned to what might happen next. The police were on their way. Hopefully word had filtered over to someone at the Bureau as well.
I pulled the phone back out of my pocket to try Billy again, but it had locked up in the meantime. The only thing I could manage from the lock screen would be another emergency call, which was better than nothing—
But I never got that far. I didn’t even see the car coming until it was too late.
He’d pulled out from between two buildings, both of us moving too fast. I swerved into the middle of the road to try to avoid him, but it didn’t do me any good. His bumper caught me from the side, full on.
An explosion of pain shot up my leg. I flew sideways, leaving the bike behind. My body was airborne just long enough for me to register that fact, before I came down hard on the cement. Ears ringing. Head spinning. Vision blurred.
Game over.
CHAPTER 81
I HEARD VOICES before anything else.
“Oh, my God!”
“I’ll call 911.”
“Is she okay?”
Someone came around the front of the car. I saw a pair of feet, then felt a hand on my shoulder.
“Can you stand?” he asked.
“I … I think so,” I said. I needed to get back on my bike. Some part of me knew that wasn’t going to happen, but I wasn’t letting go of it yet.
“Go slow. Let me help you.”
He put an arm around me and got me onto my feet. As soon as I put any weight on my right leg, the pain came screaming back, and doubled down on itself. Jesus, what had I done? My leg buckled, and he boosted me up again, all but carrying me toward his car. I felt like I was going to puke.
“I need to call someone,” I slurred.
“My phone’s in the car,” he said. “I’m taking you to the hospital right now.”
“Ambulance is on the way,” someone else said from a distance.
“I’ve got her,” the guy said. “Can you open that passenger-side door for me? I think she’s going to pass out.”
“Got it.”
“Thanks.”
It was all happening without me. I couldn’t think straight. I vaguely caught sight of my bent and twisted bike in the middle of the street.
“Eve …” I croaked out.
“Yes, we’re leaving now.”
“No. Eve … ”
“I’ve got you,” he said. And then from in close, right next to my ear, “Poor Angela. Did you really think you were going to pull this off?”
That’s when I looked up and saw his face clearly for the first time. It was the Brit. Or whoever he was. Strong nose, sandy-brown buzz cut, cleft chin. The one from the coffee shop, but there was no accent now.
Before I could even speak, I felt a sharp stab under the arm. My scream didn’t even form. All I heard was a rasping sound from my throat, like air escaping a ruined tire.
I felt weak. And then weaker again.
“She’s losing consciousness,” he said.
“No,” I said. “Help …”
“Yes, we’re getting you help.”
“No.”
“There she goes,” I heard him say. I knew he’d injected me with something, but it was the last thought I had before everything slid sideways again. Daylight turned to a wash of gray, followed quickly by a descending blackness.
And then there was nothing at all.
CHAPTER 82
I WOKE UP in the dark. There wasn’t anything to see, and I didn’t know where I was.
Then a bump. And another. Each one jolted my body, bringing me wide awake with a pain that seemed to be everywhere.
We were moving. I was in the back of a van of some kind.
And I wasn’t alone. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I realized someone else was there, sitting across from me.
Jesus! My panic turned on like a switch. When I screamed, I realized my mouth had been taped. My wrists were taped, too, crisscrossed behind my back. I couldn’t stop myself from speaking, even though the words never made it past my gag.
“Eve? Eve!”
It was her, I could tell. I recognized the shape of her, filling in what I couldn’t see with what I knew from my gut.
She wasn’t stirring, and I realized all at once that she might be dead. The possibility grabbed hold of me like an icy hand. I couldn’t reach her. I was lashed to some kind of brace or upright, holding me against the side wall of the van. I kicked with my two bound feet, trying to nudge her awake, desperate to see her move.
And then she did, barely. I saw the rise and fall of a breath. Thank God. She was unconscious, but she was alive. That was all that really mattered. Still, it opened up a whole cascade of other questions.
Where were we headed? How long had I been out? How many miles had we covered?
I remembered the Brit then. Or whatever he was. He hadn’t been driving a van when he hit me. That meant I’d been out long enough for him to change vehicles.
My bike was long gone. My stolen cell phone, too. I’d left both of them lying broken in the street.
But the knife! It might still be there, I realized, tucked into the laces of my shoe.
I twisted around, pulling against the tape and the mesh straps that had me stuck in one position. I couldn’t lean forward enough to reach my feet, but with some effort, I bent at the knees and brought my feet toward my hands instead. It was just enough for me to feel around the laces, where my fingers closed on the plastic hilt I was looking for. Thank God. The blade was bent but still usable.
With some more maneuvering, I got the knife wedged between the floor and the tape around my wrists. I had to rock back and forth to create a sawing motion. Each stroke sent up a throb from my leg, watering my eyes with the pain. I had no idea how mobile I was going to be even if I could get out of these bonds. The pain was nearly overwhelming, but the adrenaline was doing its own bit to keep me conscious and focused. I’d drag myself through this if I had to, but there was no use even thinking about that until I’d gotten through the tape.
After a little more sawing, I heard a welcome ripping sound. It was just enough. I pulled with both hands, and the rest of the tape gave way.
I tore the gag off my mouth and sucked in a desperate lungful of air like I’d been drowning. Then I started sawing away at the mesh straps that still kept me lashed to the wall.
“Eve!” I tried again, in a hoarse whisper. She didn’t respond. Whatever they’d knocked her out with had clearly been more than I’d gotten.
The van was sealed. I could see some kind of molded industrial plastic wall at the front. I had no idea if anyone could hear us or not, but it made sense to be careful. The one thing I might have left on my side was some element of surprise.
That, and the knife.
I sawed even harder at the straps around my torso now. They were far tougher than the tape, but with my hands unbound, I was making decent headway. I’d be free of them soon. I didn’t know how much longer this drive was going to be, or where we were going, but whenever we got there, I intended to be ready.
CHAPTER 83
THE RIDE WENT on for at least another hour. It’s hard to say how long. I lost track of time, but I eventually felt a change as the van went from the highway to some kind of lower-spe
ed roads with several turns. After that, the hum of concrete disappeared completely and the bumps came harder and faster.
It was all the worst possible news. We had to be well outside the city by then. I had no idea what kind of weapons they might be carrying, or even how many people were in the front of that van.
Finally, we came to a stop. I heard movement on the other side of the front wall for the first time. One door opened, then the other, followed by two slams. Then voices, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying.
Eve was still out. I’d left her bound up, since the alternative had been to have her rolling around unconscious inside that moving van. It had been hard enough for me to manage myself, holding on and gritting my teeth against the nonstop throbbing in my leg.
This was all on me. I had to do whatever I could. The knife in my hand was my life now. Eve’s life. Marlena’s future. I tried to breathe slowly as I waited to see what would happen next.
More footsteps told me that one of them had come around the back. I heard a jingle of keys. Then the sound of one key snugging into a lock.
One chance. That’s all I’d have. I positioned myself against the side wall of the van where they’d left me and arranged the straps as best I could to keep up some appearance that I was still tied. The knife was in my right hand, tucked behind my back, out of sight but ready to swing.
As the door opened, I dropped my chin and rested it against my chest, my eyes closed. I felt a flashlight play over my face.
“She still out?” a voice said.
“Looks that way,” said another.
The second voice was the familiar one. I recognized it from our run-in at the coffee shop. It was the Brit—or whoever he was. The voice was the same, but the accent was gone. The whole thing had been some kind of charade within a charade.
I heard one of them climb into the van. It was almost impossible to keep my eyes closed. I had to work by sense here. And pray for luck.
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