by Tim Kehoe
“Anything for you?” she asked, turning toward Douglas.
“No, I’m fine, thank you.”
Kristyn left the room and Douglas turned toward me.
“What brings you here today, Furious?” Douglas asked as he sat down across from me.
“I was just coming to see Sloan.”
“What for?”
“Just to talk, I guess.”
“Do you two talk a lot? Were you close?” Douglas asked.
“Sort of,” I lied. He was my godfather, but we weren’t particularly close.
“Oh,” Douglas dropped his voice to a whisper. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know that.”
It was strange. This didn’t seem like the same guy who’d stood in my grandpa’s kitchen yesterday yelling. He seemed kind. Trusting. I wondered if that was all part of the plan. Kind of a good cop, bad cop thing.
“You know I was friends with your mother?”
His voice went up an octave at the end of the sentence. Like it was more of a question than a statement. I didn’t respond.
“Did your grandpa tell you about me?”
“No,” I lied.
“Were you at your dad’s talk the other night? The night he was killed?”
“Yes.”
“So you’re not going to lie to me about everything, then?” Douglas said, leaning back in his chair.
How did he know I lied about my grandpa telling me who he was? Was my grandpa’s house bugged?
“Did you sit with Attorney General Como at the event?”
“Yes,” I said.
“How well do you know Joe Como?” Douglas asked.
“Not at all. I just met him that night.”
“Did he approach you? How did you end up sitting together?”
“We kind of bumped into each other,” I said.
“What did you talk about?”
“Not much,” I said.
Douglas didn’t respond. He just stared at me for several long seconds.
“Believe it or not, Furious, I cared about your mother, and I care about you.”
I said nothing.
“I have reason to believe you’re in serious danger,” Douglas said.
“You think?” I asked. “My mom, dad, and grandpa have all been murdered. I’d say it’s fair to assume I’m in a little danger.”
“Your grandpa?” Douglas sat up. “What are you talking about?”
I suddenly remembered I needed to be careful. My grandpa didn’t trust Douglas. And he seemed to think he might have even had a hand in my parents’ deaths. I couldn’t trust him. I couldn’t trust anyone.
“What happened to your grandpa?” Douglas asked again.
I could feel my eyes watering as I sat looking across the table. God, I had no one.
Douglas pulled out his cell phone and, without saying a word, walked out of the room. This was my chance. If I was going to get away, I had to go now.
CHAPTER TWELVE
* * *
I couldn’t sit around here and wait to see if my grandpa was right or not about not trusting Douglas. Clearly Douglas had been unable to save my mom from whatever had happened in Galena, so how would he save me? No, I needed to go. I needed to find some facts and figure out what was going on.
I stuck my head out into the hallway and Douglas was standing about five feet from the conference room door. He was on his phone and facing away from me. I looked at the exit next to me. It was two feet away, but Douglas would surely hear the door. I needed a distraction. I needed Douglas to move.
I had absolutely nothing left to lose, so I pulled out my phone and tapped the Internet icon. My browser was still on my dad’s contact page. I clicked on Sloan’s phone number and stepped back into the conference room. A woman answered.
“Harrison, Smythe, and Moore, how may I direct your call?” the woman asked.
I spoke softly into the phone, “Director Douglas, please.”
There was a short pause and then she put me on hold. I lowered the phone to my side and stood near the door. A minute later I heard a woman’s voice in the hallway. And then the deep rumble of Douglas’s voice. Then silence. Seconds later I heard Douglas’s voice coming from my phone.
“Hello. Hello? Who’s there?”
I clicked cancel, shoved the phone into my pocket, and opened the door.
“Oh, hello.” A tall brunette was standing directly in front of me. She was probably the woman who had answered the phone. “Agent Douglas will be right back.”
“Tell him I’ll meet him in the lobby,” I said as I pushed the exit door open.
“Ah, no! Wait, I—”
I didn’t bother with the rest of her protest. I stepped into the stairwell, grabbed the metal railing, and started moving quickly down the stairs.
This was crazy. There was no way this would work.
I started taking two steps at a time. Then I started jumping the last several stairs at each landing. There was a landing at each floor and halfway between each floor. That meant I had to clear thirty landings to get to the bottom. To get free.
How many had I passed so far? Three? Maybe four? I tried to move faster. The entire staircase was made of metal. Like one big metal structure sitting inside a giant concrete shaft. It was loud. The noise from my jumping echoed in the shaft. I’d never hear Douglas coming after me. He was sure to have hung up by now. Was he already on the stairs?
Go! Go! Move! Move!
I was flying down the stairs. I was in a rhythm. My breathing was getting loud. I was sure the entire building could hear me now. My legs were burning. My right thigh felt odd. Like it was pulsing. Or twitching. I stopped to catch my breath. I was breathing hard. I bent over the railing and looked up toward the fifteenth floor. Then I felt the twitch again. It was my phone. It was vibrating in my pocket. I pulled it out. The screen said I had an incoming call from the Harrison, Smythe, and Moore agency.
Shoot! Caller ID. I really hadn’t thought this through. Could he track me? Could he track my phone? Isn’t that what the CIA did? I hit ignore, shoved the phone back in my pocket, and continued down the stairs. I gripped the railing hard at each landing and flung myself around the corners. The eleven floor. Tenth floor. Ninth. I kept going. I hit the sixth-floor landing and thought I heard someone enter the stairwell. I stopped and tried to listen. My heart was throbbing in my ears. I breathed in deep and held my breath. Someone was definitely coming down the stairs. I started moving fast. A head start was all I had. I was jumping three stairs with every move now. I imagined Douglas was too.
Five. Four. Three. I kept moving. Kept jumping. Two. One. I stopped and took a couple of deep breaths before opening the first-floor door. Someone was definitely moving quickly down the stairs. There was no doubt about it—Douglas was close.
I pushed the door open and walked out into the corridor near the bank of elevators. I wiped the sweat from my forehead and walked toward the main set of doors. I walked past the security guard and gave him a nod. I was twenty feet from the door. Fifteen feet. Ten. Five. Then I heard my name.
“Furious?”
I kept walking.
“Furious?”
It sounded more like a question than a statement. I recognized the voice. It was Kristyn. I didn’t look back. I just kept walking. I pushed myself into the revolving door and looked over my shoulder as it turned. Kristyn was standing in the lobby, holding a bag of pastries. My scones.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
* * *
I thought about heading to the subway, but where would I go? I couldn’t go back to my grandpa’s house. Obviously it wasn’t safe and, judging from the number of fire trucks that had rolled through the streets of New Canaan, my grandpa’s house must have burned to the ground.
I needed to know what was going on. Why was the Salvatore crime syndicate killing my family? I needed to know what was in my dad’s new book. What had my mom discovered in Galena? I thought of my mom as Carson Kidd. And then I thought of the sticker and the code on
my dad’s latest book. Kristyn had said it unlocked a couple of excerpts of the new book. Maybe there would be enough information to give me a better idea of what was going on in Galena. I searched my phone for a bookstore. The closest one was five blocks away. I started to run.
• • •
It wasn’t hard to find my dad’s books in the store. They were piled a hundred high as you walked in. The store seemed to be preparing for the excitement surrounding my dad’s new book. His death was sure to bring more publicity too. Lots more.
I grabbed a copy of his fifth book, Miss Fire, and headed to the café. I purchased a Coke, a scone, and the book. I handed the cashier some more of my grandpa’s cash and felt bad as I looked down at the photo of my dad on the back of the book. I had never really gotten to know him. I’d always figured that we would spend time together later. I’d figured we’d make up for the lost years. But now that was impossible. And now I’d found out I didn’t really know my mom, either. Not really.
I sat down and peeled back the sticker on the front of the book to reveal a seven-digit code along with instructions to enter the code at CarsonKidd.com. I pulled my phone out and started to type in the website when the phone began to vibrate.
It was an incoming call from a private number.
I pushed talk.
“Do you seriously think you can run from the CIA?” It was Douglas.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
* * *
Douglas was right—what was I thinking? This was the CIA. The most secretive and powerful government entity on the planet. And Douglas had my phone number. He could easily have my phone tracked. He knew exactly where I was, and I’m sure he was only a block or two away.
I stood up to go. I could throw my phone in the trash and Douglas wouldn’t be able to track me, but where would I go?
I picked up my book and food and walked over to the trash. I was about to toss my phone in with my Coke and half-eaten scone when I realized what I had to do.
I had to go to Galena. I had nothing left in my life and nothing left to lose. I had to figure out what was going on there. Maybe I could get some proof that my mom was murdered by the Salvatore crime syndicate. Maybe I could get proof that my dad’s new book was a factual recounting of . . . of whatever.
I searched buses and trains from New York to Galena on my phone. It looked like the Greyhound bus was my best bet. The ticket cost $169. I hadn’t counted my grandpa’s cash, but I knew there were at least several hundred dollars in my pocket. I guessed that would be enough to get there and, and then . . . I don’t know.
I looked at the clock on my phone. It was just after four o’clock. The bus to Galena left in fifty-six minutes. The Greyhound station was across town. I needed to hurry. I threw my phone in the trash, left the bookstore, and started running.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
* * *
I got to the bus station with four minutes to spare. The bus was nice. Not first-class Singapore Airlines nice, but still nice. It had comfortable seats, Wi-Fi, and outlets built into each row. Not that it mattered. I was phone-less. But it wasn’t a total loss. The bus had over a dozen high school girls on it, and the pretty blonde across the aisle kept looking over at me. She clearly had no idea just how young I was. Aside from the Greyhound ticket agent assuming I was older than I was, talking to high school girls might have been the only other advantage of being six four in middle school.
“Where are you headed?” I asked.
“Northwestern in Chicago. We’re going on a school trip.” She smiled. “Northwestern has the top journalism school in the country, and we all work for our school newspaper on the East Coast.”
“What school do you go to?”
“Watercrest Academy,” she said.
“Watercrest? That’s the all-girl boarding school in Westport, Connecticut, right?”
“Yes, how do you know about Watercrest?” she asked.
“I make it a point to know the locations of all the all-girl schools on the East Coast,” I said.
“Oh, really?” She smiled.
“No.” I smiled back. “Not really.”
“How about you? Where are you headed?”
“I’m going to upstate Illinois. A little town called Galena,” I replied.
She lit up a little. “I love Galena. I was just there last summer for the hot air balloon races. It’s beautiful. Have you been there before?”
“Nope. First time. But I’ve heard it’s nice,” I lied. I had never heard a thing about Galena. “My name is Furious.” I extended my hand across the aisle and winced a little. Should I have given her my real name? What if she posted it online? I met the cutest guy named Furious on the bus just now. And he’s headed to Galena. The CIA would be sure to pick that up with all of their electronic spy equipment.
But now she was wearing the same look that everyone wore when I gave my name.
“Furious? What kind of name is Furious?” she asked.
“Yes, that is the question.” I paused. “I think my parents were either attempting to create a professional athlete, build character, or just really thought it would be funny to inflict me with this name. I imagine it’ll be a self-fulfilling prophecy someday.”
“A prophecy?” she asked.
“Yeah. I’m bound to be unbelievably furious after a lifetime with this name.”
She smiled. “Why don’t you ask them why they chose it?”
“Well, my mom always told me a story about me hitting the doctor in the nose when I was born, but I suspect she just made it up,” I said.
“Why don’t you ask her?”
“I can’t; my mom and dad are both dead.” Wow, that was the first time I’d ever said that.
She gave me a kind, long, sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. “And actually, I like your name. Mine’s Emma.”
“Emma? Whoa, now, that is an unusual name, isn’t it? That must have been quite the cross to bear growing up. How did you ever cope with such an unusual name? I can’t even imagine the trouble a name like Emma would’ve created for you.”
She continued to smile. She had a great smile.
“Well, Emma, any recommendations on what I should do in Galena? Since you’ve been there and all.”
“There’s actually a lot to do. They have great canoeing, hiking, and shopping. I went with my boyfriend’s family last summer. His parents live in Chicago and have a place at this huge resort just outside of Galena. And we spent a lot of time at Ulysses S. Grant’s house. My boyfriend knows a ton about history and stuff. He goes to Yale.”
So not only was she too old for me, she had a college boyfriend, too. This girl was way out of my league.
“Lucky him.” I paused and smiled. “Yale is a great school. So are your parents okay with you dating a college guy? Maybe you should seriously consider dating someone younger?”
“No, they’re cool with it. They like Andrew, and they know that high school guys can be so immature.” Then she quickly added, “No offense, though.”
None taken, I thought. I’m two years away from high school.
“So, Northwestern. You want to be a journalist? Are you thinking of going to Northwestern after high school?”
“Maybe,” she said. “Or I might look at Columbia. You know, to stay closer to Andrew.”
“You look like a journalist,” I replied.
“How do you look like a journalist? Curious? Inquisitive?”
“Patient,” I replied.
She smiled.
“Patient enough to hang in there and watch newspapers be replaced by the Internet,” I added.
“Ah, you’re one of those?” she responded, the smile now gone.
“Realistic about the future of newspapers?” I asked. “I mean, the day of the newspaper is gone. It’s dead. No one reads the newspaper anymore.”
“No,” she replied, “I meant that you must be one of those naïve people who refuses to realize that no matter the medium, it is the content that
matters. It is the research skills and the craft. That will never change. It will dress differently and take different forms. But the craft will always be just that—a craft.”
Now I smiled. “You’re right.”
“Of course I am,” she replied as her phone rang.
I looked out the window as she answered her phone. It was probably the Yale man.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
* * *
I figured there was no way Douglas and the CIA could track me now. I had no phone, no electronic devices, no credit cards. I had nothing to track, and I paid for my ticket in cash. After all the taxes and fees, I was left with just over $300. It wasn’t going to get me very far—but I was alive and safe, for the moment.
The bus went dark as we entered the Lincoln Tunnel. Cars were shooting by just inches from the bus. You’ve got to love New Yorkers. I wondered when I’d see New York again.
“So why Galena?” Emma was off the phone.
“Sightseeing, I guess. My family has connections there and I thought I’d check it out.”
“You’ll love it. Oh—” She suddenly bounced a little in her seat and spun toward me. “Make sure to check out The Atomic Toy Company on Main Street. They’ve got these awesome old toys. And the candy shop. It’s a serious old-school candy store. The owner’s family invented this candy called Chuckles or something. Anyways, they’re awesome.”
“Okay. Toys and candy—check.”
“Where are you staying?” Emma asked.
Good question, I thought. I had no idea. With three hundred bucks, I was probably staying in a cornfield.
“Somewhere cheap,” I replied.
“We stayed at this quaint little inn on top of the bluff overlooking the town.”
“I’m not sure I can afford ‘quaint.’ ”
“No, it really wasn’t much. You don’t get breakfast there, like at a B&B, but this cute old lady owns it. I think she just likes having people around.”