by Mark Levin
“OK. One! Two! Three!”
Wham! Up he went. In fact, his mother had done so well that Benji wasn’t even ready for it. He shot up five and a half more feet, but to the left, scraping his head against the brick chimney wall, scuffing his face, and turning his glasses crooked.
“Watch it!” he said. “I almost lost my glasses!”
“Want to switch places?” Rebecca called up. “My back is already toast.”
“Oh, just shush up,” Maddy said. “Benji, can you reach the roof?”
Benji looked up. The pale blue sky was brighter. But he was too far away to shinny up.
“Sorry, no,” he called. “I can’t reach. We need Dad.”
“All right,” he heard his father call from down below. “Hold on, Hitchcocks!”
Benji wasn’t the only Hitchcock who was discovering newfound reservoirs of strength and courage on the vacation. To his surprise, he soon felt himself being lifted up even higher. Just like that, the cool morning air was on his face. He wobbled dangerously to his right, then managed to pull himself onto the roof. Then Maddy passed him an end of the curtain that his father had just ripped from the window. Quickly, Benji tied it around the top of the chimney.
“OK,” he shouted down. “We’re good!”
A few moments later, Maddy used the curtain to pull herself out. Now it was Rebecca’s turn.
“Hurry, Mom!”
“I wasn’t made for this!”
“Neither were any of us!” Roger said. “Just climb!”
Benji could make out the dim form of his mother moving slowly up the chimney, with his father below, pushing her up. Soon she was crawling out onto the roof, next to her daughter and son.
“OK, Dad,” Benji called down. “You next.”
Benji expected to hear his father’s usual plucky voice echo up the chimney. Instead, there was a loud grunt, followed by a bump and an “oof!”
“Dad?”
“I’m fine,” Roger said. “Just slipped. I’m coming up.”
“Hurry!” Rebecca said.
Benji, Maddy, and Rebecca peered down the dark chimney. Below, a dim outline of a man was trying to find a foothold, only to slip again.
“This isn’t good,” Benji said.
Then things got worse. Atop the roof, Benji, Rebecca, and Maddy heard the door to the room below creak open, followed by footsteps and a terrifying pop! pop! pop!
“What's that?” Rebecca asked tensely.
“Oh no!” Benji said. “I saw a shotgun in the living room!”
Rebecca went white. “Has someone shot your father?”
For a split second, Benji, Maddy, and Rebecca were frozen, too terrified to speak or move. But then Roger’s head suddenly popped out of the chimney.
“Dad!” Maddy said. “You’re alive!”
Roger hauled himself onto the roof. “Nothing like a few gunshots to give a guy motivation to climb.”
Another round of pops! pierced the air.
“Was it the old man?” Benji shouted.
Roger nodded. “Yep. And he didn’t pause to say hello.”
“Let’s get to that car!” Maddy said.
It was easier said than done. The roof slanted sharply downward. With no time to edge down on their backsides, the family had to take their chances on their feet. But no more than a step or two from the chimney, a flurry of pops! ripped a hole in the old roof. Just like that, the Hitchcocks found themselves looking into the room where they had been held captive. The old man was looking up through the barrel of the shotgun.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
The Hitchcocks danced to the roof’s edge.
“Down the drainpipe!” Maddy said.
One by one, they half slid, half fell to the ground, then moved quickly across the yard to the car.
“Keys!” Rebecca called. “I need the keys!”
Benji tossed them to his mom. “Here!”
In a flash, Maddy was in the backseat and Rebecca behind the wheel. Before Roger and Benji could make it in, the front door of the house flew open and the old man emerged, gun at the ready. Almost worse was what galloped after him: the giant dog, snarling madly, dragging the chair by the chain.
“Yikes!” Benji said.
At that moment, every bit of bravery the boy had exhibited that afternoon in the face of the dreaded beast disappeared. As if seeking payback, the dog ran straight for Benji.
“In the car!” Roger cried. “In the car!”
Terrified, Benji jumped—but in the wrong direction. Then he ran. Tripping on a hedge, he sprawled flat on the ground. He rolled over to see the giant dog bounding toward him, teeth bared, tongue flapping, a lion going after a lame zebra. Benji didn’t try to run. He didn’t raise his fists to fight. Swallowed by terror, he closed his eyes, fully prepared to be mauled. But then the dog’s wild barks changed to frustrated yips. Slowly, Benji opened his eyes and gasped. Yes! A reprieve! The chair had gotten caught on the beat-up tractor. The dog was frantically trying to get himself loose, pulling on the rope and sprawling backward.
“Run!” Roger called to his son. “Hurry!”
Benji didn’t need to be told twice. Up on his feet, he sprinted for the car. As another round of buckshot filled the air, he dove into the backseat next to his sister. By that point Roger was in the passenger seat and Rebecca was desperately trying to start the car.
“Is there gas?” Benji asked.
“Half a tank,” Rebecca said. “Come on!” she said, pressing on the gas. “Start!”
“Hold down the clutch!” Maddy said.
“You think I don’t know how to drive?” Rebecca cried. “I’ve been driving you for thirteen years!”
“Come on, people!” Roger said. “Time for a little teamwork!”
Blam!
Suddenly the family was covered with glass. The old man had blasted a hole in the back window. Now he was running toward them, moving with surprising speed.
“Whenever you’re ready, Mom!” Benji cried.
“Hold on!” Rebecca said.
The car finally started. Rebecca fishtailed up the dirt driveway. Benji looked out the shattered back window to see the old man take aim a final time. This time the shot went wide. But then Maddy saw the old woman hustle out of the house, holding a shotgun that was almost a long as she was.
“Duck!” Maddy called.
Blam!
Her shot grazed the car’s top.
“Floor it, Mom!” Maddy said.
“The pedal’s to the metal!” Rebecca said.
Maddy looked out where the window used to be. The old woman was once again taking aim. As she pulled the trigger, Maddy yelled, “Duck!” again. But the shot missed. Soon her mother had the old Honda barreling up the dirt road that led to the mountain. The woman fired again but was out of range. Maddy faced forward, gasping for breath, trying to calm herself.
“Incredible!” Benji said. “We got their car!”
“Yeah,” Maddy said. “And they aren’t going to have much luck following us in their old tractor.”
No sooner had she spoken than Maddy heard a terrifying roar. She looked over her shoulder just in time to see the old man burst out of the barn on a motorcycle.
“Oh, God!” Maddy called.
“Here he comes!” Benji said.
“Is everyone strapped in?” Rebecca asked.
“Just drive!” Roger said.
Rebecca cut the wheel hard. The car careened around a sharp curve.
“I am getting so sick!” Benji yelled.
“If you puke on me, you’re toast!”
“Come on, people!” Roger said. “How about a little togetherness?”
Maddy pressed hard against her brother as the car shot up the road. On one side the mountain rose high; on the other was a steep cliff. Her mom was all concentration, staring straight ahead, one hand on the wheel, the other on the gearshift. She took a sharp turn with a loud screech but stayed on the road and kept going up the mountain.
�
�Nice, Mom!” Maddy said.
Her mother smiled back in the rearview mirror.
“Bet you didn’t know I used to race go karts.”
“Really?”
Rebecca winked. Maddy sat back in her seat, impressed, then looked out the back window. Though her mom was pushing the Honda as fast as it could go, the motorcycle was gaining. Kicking up dust and a plume of black exhaust, the old man was soon in range.
“Let’s see what you have, Mom,” she said. “He’s coming!”
Blam!
The man fired but missed. He then wobbled violently but managed to right himself. Rebecca took a turn at ninety miles per hour.
“What’s he doing?” she called.
Now mother and daughter were a team. Rebecca the driver, Maddy the navigator.
“He’s still coming!” Maddy said. “Move left! Hard!”
Rebecca did as she was told just in time to bump the motorcycle’s front wheel, only not hard enough to knock him over.
“To the left again,” Maddy said. “Knock him into the mountain.”
Before Rebecca could bump him again, the old man took aim and calmly blew out the Honda’s left rear tire. The car skidded wildly to the right, then left. Maddy grabbed the door handle to stay in her seat.
Blam!
The old man shot out the right rear tire. Now the car was shooting sparks. Then it got worse. Up ahead, a truck appeared around a curve in the road, coming their way.
“Hold on!” Rebecca called once again.
To Maddy’s horror, her mother cut the wheel and crossed lanes, heading directly for the truck.
“Mom!” Maddy cried. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Saving us!”
The truck was coming closer and closer. Maddy closed her eyes as her mother bore down on the truck, daring it to switch lanes. Finally it did, swerving into the other lane at the last possible second . . . directly into the old man.
Boom!
Maddy swung around just in time to see the motorcycle tumbling over the cliff.
“Yes!” Rebecca pounded the wheel. “That’s ten years of car pool right there!”
“You kicked serious ass, Mom!” Maddy said. She squeezed her mother’s shoulder. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”
Rebecca patted Maddy’s hand and caught her eyes in the rearview mirror. “Thank you, Mads. That means a lot coming from you.”
Maddy smiled and collapsed back in her seat. Maybe she should be a little bit easier on her mother. After all, a woman who could drive like that couldn’t be all bad.
Chapter Fifteen
A short time later, Rebecca brought the Honda to a stop on the side of a deserted stretch of road by an unplanted field covered with weeds. The trip down the other side of the mountain had fully destroyed the car’s already flat tires, filling the air with the sharp smell of burning rubber.
“Well, so much for driving home,” Benji said.
Rebecca took a long look around. There was nothing on the horizon, not even a single house.
“How far from Paris do you think we are?”
“We were knocked out for most of the night,” Benji said.
“Great,” Maddy said. “We could be anywhere. We might not even be in France anymore.”
Roger sighed. It would be nice to know where they were, but it would be even nicer to know that they were safe. Yes, they had escaped the farmhouse and outrun the old couple. But who knew who else had been dispatched to capture them by now? Maybe someone with better aim? Roger glanced worriedly down the road. In the distance, a small speck was moving toward them: a pickup truck. No way was he going to let his family stay in the open as shooting ducks.
“In the ditch, everybody,” Roger said. “Now!”
Something had happened to the Hitchcocks over the course of their short, but adventurous, vacation. In their prior life, they had been a group that took their own good disorganized time to do anything or get anywhere. Now they had melded like an elite military unit. With no argument, they flopped into the ditch. Hidden, they watched the pickup come closer, then stop ten yards up the road. A middle-aged man got out, grabbed a suitcase from the backseat, and waved good-bye to the driver. The truck continued on its way, leaving a light trail of dust.
“What next?” Benji whispered. “Do we ask him for help?”
Roger weighed his options. The man was middle-aged, with grayish hair and a slight paunch. He seemed perfectly harmless, perhaps even friendly. Besides, what other options were there? He and his family couldn’t lie in a ditch for the rest of their lives.
“Come on,” Roger whispered. “Let’s find out where we are.”
If the man with the suitcase was surprised to see the Hitchcocks rise from the ditch—or that they were covered with soot from their trip up the chimney—he didn’t show it. Watching the Americans walk toward him, he nodded hello, then looked back down the road. Roger cleared his throat.
“Excusez-moi, monsieur? We’re lost.”
Once again, the man looked up at Roger. If he understood, he didn’t show it.
“Sweetheart,” Roger asked Maddy. “How do you say ‘lost’ in French?”
Maddy shrugged. “Beats me.”
“How can you not know that?” Benji said. “You’ve taken it for five semesters.”
Maddy waved her brother off.
“Shush up.”
“The truth hurts, huh?”
“Perdu,” Maddy said.
“Huh?” Benji said.
“‘Lost’ is perdu, all right?”
“See?” Rebecca said. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Maddy frowned. It was so like her mother. Hadn’t they just bonded in the car? Why did she have to undercut that with a tart comment? Why didn’t her mother remember what it was like to be thirteen and keep her mouth shut? Now it was Maddy’s duty to say something appropriately irritable in return.
But before she could, the man suddenly replied, but not in French or even English. Instead, his words had a guttural, Eastern European flavor.
The blood drained from Benji’s face. “Uh, Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“That sounded Russian.”
“It did,” Maddy said.
“Well, that’s ridiculous.” Roger laughed. “I mean, I don’t know where we are, but it sure the hell isn’t Russia.”
“Then maybe we’re in Chechnya,” Benji said.
“Oh, God,” Rebecca said, looking around the barren countryside. “We could be anywhere.”
Benji shook his head. “And we don’t even have passports. Which is all my fault.”
Rebecca rubbed his shoulders. “It’s not your fault, Benji. It’s my fault.”
Maddy’s eyes went wide. It wasn’t like her mom to admit a mistake. She must be even more scared than she thought.
“I said call Harry Huberman,” Rebecca said.
“No, no,” Roger said. “It’s me. I never should’ve suggested this stupid house swap.”
Maddy was mystified. An hour earlier her parents were blaming each other; now they were blaming themselves. This was adult behavior? Maybe they just felt guilty about how they had ripped into each other in the old couple’s home.
Then Maddy saw something.
“Hey, guys,” she said.
“No, no,” her mother was saying. “I shouldn’t have called Harry Huberman. I’m too trusting.”
“On the bus,” Maddy said. “Look.”
Her mother glanced down the road, then shielded her eyes from the sun.
“Do you see what I see?” Maddy asked.
“I think so . . . ,” Rebecca said.
By now Roger and Benji were also watching the bus rumble closer. Then they all saw the sign hanging over the front windshield. It read: Sofia.
Benji reached into his pocket and pulled out the paprika-covered note.
“Sofia . . . Bulgaria . . . ” He paused. “She’s not a person. She’s a place!”
The bus pulled to a hal
t by the side of the road and the door swung open. The middle-aged man picked up his suitcase and walked up the steps. The Hitchcocks hesitated briefly, then followed him on.
“Welcome to Bulgaria. How can I help you?”
It was three hours later. After arriving in Sofia, the Hitchcocks had found their way from a busy bus depot to the American Embassy. Now they were sitting in the cluttered office of a tired-looking agent, a balding man with grayish sideburns that inched down to a messy goatee.
“How can you help?” Roger said. “It’s a long story.”
“Make that a really long story,” Maddy added.
“Miles long,” Benji said.
The agent sighed. He had been hoping to take a lunch break. A long story was the last thing he needed.
“Let me guess,” he said. “You lost your passports?”
Rebecca smiled. “Yes, but that’s just the beginning.”
The agent frowned. There was something about Rebecca’s tone that told him he’d be lucky to get out for any lunch at all.
“OK,” he said with a grumble. “Let’s hear it.”
In twenty years at the embassy, the agent had interviewed everyone from suspected kidnappers to drug runners. But those cases had been fairly straight-forward: bad men and women who often had traceable criminal records. The Hitchcocks’ tale was altogether different. As Roger began their story, the agent took assiduous notes without looking up, his expression betraying no surprise. But as the plot thickened, the agent’s face began to show confusion, then anger. Was Roger and the family crazy or in true jeopardy? It was hard to tell. When Roger described their perilous escape up the chimney, he finally cut them off.
“Let me see if I got this straight,” he said, referring back to his notes. “You came from Chicago, did a house swap in Paris, and found a diary.”
“Right,” Roger said. “The daughter’s diary.”
The agent frowned again. “And the whereabouts of this diary?”
“We don’t know,” Maddy said. “We gave it to Harry Huberman.”
The agent twirled an irritated finger through his goatee. “A man you met atop the Eiffel Tower who claimed to be from the American Embassy.”