by Allen Zadoff
“I’ve never looked for a cover story,” I say.
“Why not?”
“I’m trained never to question my superiors. They told me what happened, and there was no reason for me to investigate further. In fact, I was forbidden to do so.”
“But it’s not forbidden for me. I could look it up online, couldn’t I?” Howard says.
It’s so simple. I can’t help but laugh. “I suppose you could.”
Tanya climbs into the backseat and returns my phone.
“Is everything okay with your grandmother?” I ask.
“She assumed I was with my friend, so she wasn’t worried. And The Program made me call my friend to tell her I was back with my grandmother. So nobody knows where I really am. As long as the two of them don’t run into each other, we’re fine until the day after tomorrow.”
“The day after tomorrow?” Howard says.
“Zach promised I’d be home by then,” Tanya says.
I nod, troubled by my lie. It’s not that I wouldn’t like to get her home. But I don’t know what’s going to happen in forty-eight hours—assuming we survive that long.
“Two days?” Howard says. “Then we’d better get going.”
“Get going with what?” Tanya says.
“Finding out how Zach’s father died,” Howard says. “I need your phone, Zach.”
I hesitate before giving it to him, recognizing that I’m again asking him to do what got him into trouble in the first place. But what option do I have?
The moment I freed Howard and Tanya from the house, I made my choice. There’s no going back now.
I pass Howard the phone.
Then I start the car and pull away from the station. A sidelong glance shows Howard handling the phone deftly, flipping screens at a breakneck speed.
“You’re anonymized in a Tor browser,” Howard says.
“That’s right. The searches are secure.”
“What about the phone itself? It has GPS, just like those beacons.”
“I have an app that broadcasts false GPS coordinates.”
Howard whistles. “Sexy. No wonder we’re friends.”
He presses a few more buttons on the phone.
“What’s your father’s name?” he says.
“Dr. Joseph Abram.”
He types in the name, and the evening takes a very different turn.
A CAR ACCIDENT.
Howard finds the story in less than two minutes. It’s a small article from five years ago in the Star-Gazette, a local paper that covers several towns in the area.
Two Found Dead After Car Plunges into Chemung River
Howard reads the story out loud.
“A couple from Rochester, a professor and his wife, unfamiliar with the area, were speeding across Fitch’s Bridge in Elmira last night when they lost control and went over the side of the bridge.”
Howard passes me the phone so I can glance at the accompanying photo.
A group of townspeople stands on the bridge, pointing to a break in the railing. A police vehicle is parked behind them. There are children in the crowd along with a cross section of people who came out to see what all the excitement was about.
The article had been there all along, waiting for me to discover it if I had dared to look.
Hide in plain sight. That’s a Program technique. It’s always the best defense.
Hide in plain sight. My face burns as I think how well the technique worked on me.
A hand touches my shoulder. It’s Tanya, reaching over the back of my seat. She leans forward until her mouth is close to my ear.
“Are you okay?” she says gently.
“Don’t do that,” I say.
“Do what?”
“Talk down to me like that. I’m not a kid.”
“I was just trying—”
“Don’t try,” I say.
“Right,” she says, and she lets go and sits back in her seat.
Howard is staring at me.
“You guys don’t have to worry about me,” I say. “I’m a soldier. I’ve been through a lot of things.”
“But it’s your parents,” Howard says.
I feel my jaw tighten.
“I’m trained to deal with all scenarios,” I say.
Neither of them says anything after that.
We drive for a while in silence.
My mind is sorting through the details of the article. While I know it’s only a cover story, it could potentially help me prove or disprove my parents’ death. If there was an accident, there had to be bodies. If there are bodies, there will be DNA evidence.
I turn to Howard. “The article mentioned Elmira. That’s near Corning, right?”
“We’re not too far from there,” he says.
“I want to see where the accident happened,” I say.
“Sounds like a plan,” Howard says.
THE ARTICLE CALLED IT FITCH’S BRIDGE.
According to an online wiki, it’s the largest bridge in the area, which isn’t saying much. If you were driving this stretch of road at night, you could easily pass over it without knowing you had been on a bridge at all. It’s a well-paved, two-lane structure with strong side rails. An accident here would be a tough sell.
I stop our car on the road leading to the bridge.
“Read the end of that article again,” I tell Howard.
He scrolls on my phone.
Howard reads: “‘Rain earlier this week had swollen the river,’ said Sergeant Edward Manning of the state police. ‘The current is two or three times normal, so that water was gushing all over. Those poor people didn’t have much of a chance.’”
A swollen river, a car that loses control at night.
The perfect elements for a tragedy, stage-managed by The Program.
Tanya says, “Do you really think they died in a car accident?”
“I’m sure they didn’t,” I say. “But if the accident was staged here, there may be proof of their deaths here as well.”
“Proof?” Howard says.
“The bodies,” Tanya says.
“Oh,” Howard says.
I think about my parents’ bodies, buried somewhere in central New York, never visited, never honored. A sensation comes over me, tightening my shoulders and chest, causing my jaw to clench.
Rage.
Against The Program. Against Mike.
“I want to see the accident report,” I say.
“Way ahead of you,” Howard says, and he passes me the phone.
I’m looking at a PDF of a state police report about the accident. I flip through diagrams of the accident scene, measurements of the skid marks on the bridge, a description of the rusted screws on the side railing that failed from the impact of a two-and-a-half-ton vehicle.
“How did you get this?” I say.
“I infiltrated the state police server. It’s got a firewall, but nothing I couldn’t defeat.”
I scroll to the last page of the PDF. It was signed by Sergeant Edward Manning, the same trooper quoted in the article.
I pass the phone back to Howard.
“This guy Manning. Can you find out where he’s assigned now?”
Howard goes to work.
“Troop E, Zone 3,” he says. “It’s a couple of miles north of here in a place called Horseheads.”
“That’s ominous,” Tanya says.
I start the car and turn us in the direction of Horseheads.
“Are we going there?” Howard asks.
“You bet,” I say. “I want to talk to Sergeant Manning and hear what he has to say.”
Howard spins the phone on his palm and passes it back to me with a flourish.
“You’re crazy good on that thing,” Tanya tells him.
“This is just a mobile,” Howard says. “You should see me on a laptop.”
THE STATE POLICE BARRACKS ARE IN A SMALL, BROWN-BRICK BUILDING OFF WATKINS ROAD.
There is no security and no gate. Not in Horseheads. Not in the
middle of nowhere.
There’s a simple sign that reads STATE POLICE on the roadside, and the front door is framed by two flagpoles, one an American flag and the other a New York state flag.
Both are flying at half-staff.
“Did someone die?” Howard says.
“Looks that way,” I say.
I notice a supply area across the road from the main station. I pull in there and back the Accord into a space.
“Keep it running and keep the headlights off,” I say to Tanya and Howard. “We might have to leave quickly.”
“There are cops everywhere,” Howard says, looking across the road at the barracks.
“Not cops,” I say. “Troopers. And it’s just their vehicles. Most of the troops are out until the shift changes, and that won’t happen for a few hours. So sit tight.”
“Got it,” Howard says. “I’ll keep Tanya safe.”
Tanya rolls her eyes.
“Watch the front door across the street. If I’m not back in ten minutes, or if you see anything strange, I want you to get out of here. If you can, drive two miles down the road in that direction and give me ten minutes to catch up to you. But if you think you’re being chased, don’t stop. Get back to Elmira, pick a diner where there are people, and wait for me there.”
“Got it,” Tanya says.
“How will you find us if we’re in some random diner?” Howard says.
“Once you remember who I really am, Howard, you won’t need to ask questions like that anymore.”
I get out of the car and head across the street to the police barracks.
The door is locked, but through the window I see a female trooper with thick black hair spilling over the collar of her uniform. She’s sitting at a desk, chewing hard on what looks to be a whole pack of gum. I knock at the door and she looks up in midchew, startled.
I smile and give a half wave. She doesn’t hesitate to reach under her desk and buzz open the door. The lock clicks and I go inside.
“Is there an emergency?” she says, rising from her desk and meeting me in the middle of the room.
“No emergency,” I say. “But I’d like to speak to someone.”
“I’m someone.”
“It’s about Sergeant Manning.”
Her face drops.
“Oh no,” she says. “Are you David?”
“David?”
“They told me he had a son from a previous marriage. They were estranged.”
I don’t know exactly what she’s talking about, but between the look on her face and the flag at half-staff outside, I’m getting the idea.
“I’m Tom,” I say. “I’m a friend of David’s.”
“Does David know?” she asks. “We’ve been trying to reach him.”
“He’s coming from out of town,” I say. “But he asked me to stop by since I live in the area. It’s an awkward situation with the family. You understand.”
“Of course.”
“What happened exactly?”
She sighs heavily. “It was one of those freak things. They found him slumped over the wheel of his patrol car. Sometimes even healthy people have heart attacks. That’s what the doctor said.”
This is why the flags are at half-staff. Sergeant Manning is dead.
“When did it happen exactly?”
“Two days ago,” she says. “At least he passed on duty, doing what he loved. If that’s any consolation.”
I hear a single horn blast outside. A warning from Howard?
The trooper looks up. She heard it, too.
“I’ll pass that on to David. And I’ll be sure to stop by the house to offer my condolences,” I say. I head for the exit.
“What did you say your name was again?” she asks, but I’m already out the door.
I see headlights coming around a bend in the road, approaching fast.
I dart across to the supply area and jump into the driver’s seat of the Accord. It’s running, just as I instructed.
Howard says, “A truck passed by, then came back a minute later. I beeped to warn you.”
“Buckle your seat belts,” I say.
The headlights approach the barracks, slowing down as they do. A moment later a black SUV passes by, moving slowly. I wait until it’s out of sight, then slip the car into gear and pull out of the lot without turning on my lights, turning in the opposite direction.
I drive away from the barracks. When I think we’re clear, I glance in the rearview mirror. Brake lights flash behind us.
We’re not clear. We’re in trouble.
I jam the gas hard, and all six cylinders of the Accord respond, the sedan accelerating hard.
“Holy crap,” Howard says. “What’s going on?”
I don’t respond, all of my focus on the road as we barrel forward with lights off.
“How can you see?” Tanya says.
I can’t see. It’s pitch-black outside, streetlights set at long, irregular intervals on this country road. I’m driving blind, using my other senses to navigate. It’s a skill I learned as part of my training. Scary enough for the driver, but terrifying for the passengers.
“You can slow down,” Howard says. “There’s nobody behind us.”
“You’re wrong about that,” I say.
A moment later headlights appear, rapidly getting closer. They light up the inside of our car.
“How did you know someone was back there?” Tanya asks.
I don’t answer. I’m doing everything I can to keep us on the road. The speedometer climbs from seventy to eighty. The headlights are still coming up fast.
“They’re catching up to us!” Howard says.
I push the Accord harder. Ninety becomes a hundred. At this speed on a country road, the tiniest twitch of the wheel could send us into an uncontrolled spin and flip us.
I think about the irony of dying in a car accident just miles from where my parents supposedly died.
That’s not going to happen.
The Accord groans at a hundred and ten. The headlights behind us are close enough that they light up the road in front of me, making it easier to navigate. I sense a sharp curve ahead of us, and I slam the brakes and yank the wheel as we skid around the turn.
I hear the engine revving, the sounds of the tires at the maximum of their functional limits, and the ever-present roar of the SUV behind us.
The SUV’s headlights get brighter and brighter, so close they’re practically touching our bumper.
And then, suddenly, the lights go out.
It’s pitch-black on the road in front of us.
One wrong move and we are dead.
I sense another corner coming up ahead. I’m a few yards in front of the SUV, which gives me the slightest advantage.
I should begin adjusting for the curve, but I don’t. I stay at maximum speed, as if I would continue on a straightaway.
I wait for the last possible moment, and then I jerk the wheel and slam the brakes hard, throwing the car into a nearly out-of-control spin.
We lose our grip on the asphalt, the car sliding under me for several seconds before I press down on the accelerator again and pull out of the spin.
Behind us I hear a squeal of brakes, followed by the ugly crunch of metal as the SUV misses the turn, flips, and rolls over several times.
“They wiped out!” Tanya says, excited.
I slow down, the car bleeding off speed until we are below forty-five miles per hour.
I hit a button and my window slides down. Wind buffets the inside of the car.
I listen for engine noise behind us, but I hear nothing.
We are alone on the road.
I turn on the headlights.
“Who the hell was that?” Howard says.
“It was Mike,” I say.
“Did you see him?” Tanya says.
“I didn’t have to. I know how he drives.”
“Not as good as you do,” Tanya says.
“I hope he has Triple A,” Howard says. �
��But wait a minute. We got rid of the tracking devices. How did he find us?”
“He knows I’m looking for my father. He must have guessed it would eventually lead me to Sergeant Manning. Hence his untimely death. When we downloaded the police report, it might have triggered something on the computer, so he knew we were heading to the police barracks.”
“The report could have had a trip wire,” Howard says. “I didn’t think of that.”
“Do you think Mike’s dead?” Tanya says.
At that speed, with that violent of a crash, a normal person would be dead or gravely injured.
Mike is not a normal person.
“I’d guess not,” I tell Tanya. “But we’ll know soon enough.”
I hear Howard yawn in the seat next to me. The adrenaline of the chase is wearing off, and the exhaustion is hitting him hard. Tanya looks even worse.
They’re not trained to handle crises as I am. They need sleep and a chance to recuperate.
“Howard, pull up a map on my phone. We need to find a lake.”
“Not a great time for a swim,” Howard says.
“There won’t be any swimming,” I say. “Only sleep.”
THE WATER IS BORDERED BY THICK PINES ON ALL SIDES.
There’s an unmarked forest service access trail barely visible from the main road. I carefully navigate the Accord up the trail and park it out of view of the road.
“It’s deserted,” Howard says.
“I think that’s the idea,” Tanya replies.
“But what if there’s trouble?” he asks.
“You think we can call the cops for help?” she says.
“We’re safe for now,” I say, trying to set them at ease. “It’s been a long day, and you both need to rest. Howard, it takes time for those drugs to work their way out of your system.”
I crack the windows and turn off the Accord. I let the smell of the night air clear my head.
I need to rest, too. It’s been a confusing day. Being back in Rochester, meeting Mike again, seeing my father’s old research associate…
I reach into my pocket and trace the outline of the security pass I found in the professor’s jacket. It’s completely unmarked, which means it’s unlikely to be a standard University of Rochester pass. I’m guessing it’s from another facility where the professor is affiliated.