Run

by Andrew Grant

  “What about your chains? You want to stay like that?”

  “The police can deal with them. Just call 911, and leave.”

  “No.”

  “Just go. I can’t bear to look at you. Have you got any idea—”

  “Yes, Carolyn. I do. LeBrock told me everything. That’s why I came back. Why I didn’t leave you here, like he did. And why I’m not going now. Not on my own.”

  “Roger told you?”

  “Last night. We talked. I know I screwed up, Carolyn. But I have a way to fix it. We can get out of this. Together.”

  “You have a way?” Her voice was shrill. “Excuse me if I’m not convinced, Marc. What’s your plan? Just tell me it doesn’t involve memory sticks or computers.”

  “Carolyn, don’t be a bitch. Stop fighting me on this. Did you see where the guy put the key?”

  “He didn’t use a key. It’s a padlock, Einstein. It pushes closed.”

  I stepped back toward the door, reached down, and felt for a pulse in the guy’s neck. Just in case. Behind me, I heard Carolyn sob. Then I checked the guy’s pockets. Found a set of keys. Fished them out. And identified the one that fit the lock on Carolyn’s chains.

  CAROLYN FLOPPED DOWN ONTO the Barcelona day bed that filled the corner of the room. Then she started to massage the red weals that ringed her wrists.

  “What are you doing? We need to go.”

  “I can’t do this, Marc.” She clamped her hands over her face, covering her eyes.

  “You have to. There’s no other way out.”

  “Hello! There’s a dead guy jammed in the doorway! A guy you just killed! What am I supposed to do?”

  “Just climb over him. He can’t hurt you.”

  “Can’t you pull him out? Move him out of sight?”

  “No. Because one, he’s wedged in tight and two, that would let the door close and you’d be trapped inside with no air supply, which would defeat the whole purpose of killing him.”

  “But I can’t just step on his corpse.”

  “You can. Pretend you’re onstage. Imagine he’s acting.”

  “Marc!”

  “OK. Forget that. Give me a minute.”

  I squeezed back out of the safe room and ran to the other end of the basement, frantically scanning the shelves. One of the large plastic boxes was labeled SKI CLOTHES. I tore off the lid. Pulled out a thick, yellow parka. Brought it back to the doorway. And threw it down, covering the guy’s face and torso.

  “There.” I gestured to Carolyn. “You don’t have to touch him now.”

  “Did you have to kill him?” She made no move to get off the bed.

  “It was him, or you. Would you have preferred to suffocate?”

  “No.”

  “Well, then. Come on. We have to get going.”

  “Can’t you call the police? Have them come and remove the body? They could wedge the door, and—”

  “There’s no time. That would take too long. And they’d ask too many questions. We need to move. Now.”

  “You go. I’ll wait for them here.”

  “I’m not leaving without you.”

  “That’s not your choice, Marc.” She glared at me. “It’s complicated. It’s not just the body. It’s … I don’t know if I can go with you. You’ve changed. I need time to think.”

  “Time is the one thing we don’t have, sweetheart. There are things I have to do, to make our escape work.”

  “Then go do them. I’ll meet you. Give you my decision then.”

  “What’s to decide? We need to stick together.”

  “Don’t push this, Marc.” It was the same tone of voice she’d used on Monday. Right before she walked out on me. “I’m telling you. I need time.”

  “OK. You’ll meet me. When?”

  “In an hour. At the house.”

  “Can’t be the house.”

  “Why not?”

  “Just trust me. Don’t go back there.”

  “What about Zapatista’s?”

  “That would work.”

  She stood and walked slowly toward me. Took hold of the edge of the door. Pressed her other hand against the inside of the frame. And catapulted herself over the body, her feet barely grazing the coat I’d covered it with. But when I tried to catch her, she pushed me away.

  “I’m going to drive around. Clear my head. And, Marc? Try to follow me, and we’re done.”

  Sunday. Early afternoon.

  I WASN’T CONVINCED CAROLYN WOULD SHOW UP UNTIL THE MOMENT I saw her car pull into the lot.

  I watched her park, then make her way inside the restaurant. But I didn’t follow her right away. I didn’t even switch off my engine until I was certain she was alone.

  ZAPATISTA’S IS ON the first floor of a broad, rectangular office building. The bar takes up the whole of the right-hand wall. Behind it is a giant mirror, partially painted with scenes from the Mexican landscape. Move while you’re waiting to order a drink, and your face suddenly appears from behind a cactus or a mountain. It’s quite a surprise, the first time it happens. Especially if you’ve already had a few.

  The area in front of the bar is dominated by a high, rough oak, refectory-style table, surrounded by twenty tall stools. It’s always packed in the evenings, full of younger customers. But that afternoon, it was deserted. It reminded me of a time, shortly after she joined the company, when Carolyn booked it for an AmeriTel Finance department party. It had been a disaster.

  The regular tables are scattered haphazardly throughout the rest of the space. Maybe a quarter of them were taken. Mostly by couples. There was the odd family. And at the far end, on her own in the restaurant’s only booth, I spotted Carolyn.

  “You’re late.” She was wearing the same dress as earlier, but had switched to a darker cardigan.

  There was a bang behind me. I spun around, and saw a kid flinging toys from his high chair.

  “Marc, take it easy.” She sipped her coffee. She was drinking it black. “Sit.”

  “What’s your decision?” I stayed on my feet.

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “It is that simple. Are you coming with me? Or not? Yes? Or no?”

  “You and your damn one-dimensional universe. You’re impossible. I should never have agreed to meet.”

  I took the seat opposite her.

  “Thank you, Marc. Look—”

  “Why’s that guy staring at me?”

  The man at the nearest table turned his head away.

  “No one’s staring at you. You’re being paranoid.”

  “I’m not. But all that matters is, are you coming?”

  “The truth, Marc? I don’t know. My world’s turned upside down so many times, I don’t know which way is up. My life’s been hanging by a thread. You weren’t around when I needed you. And when you were around, you only dug the hole deeper. Meaning I had to do things for myself. I got money. A new identity. An escape route. And now there’s a voice in my head screaming: Take it!”

  “Despite what happened this morning?”

  “Partly because of what happened this morning. I almost died!”

  “And your heart? What’s it telling you?”

  “You’re asking about my heart? Marc, please.”

  “I am asking. Because I’ve changed. I’ve made mistakes, and I’ve learned from them. I saved your life this morning. And with that guy out of the picture, things are different. There’s nothing to stop us being together. If you want us to be. Sweetheart, please. Come with me. Right now. Let’s go.”

  “Slow down. There’s too much to process! Have you learned? Maybe. Have you changed? Definitely. But look what happened at Roger’s! You’ve done messed-up things, Marc! Bad things. Maybe you’ve changed too much. I’m not sure who you are anymore.”

  “You said you wanted me to change. That I had to change, to be with you. At that French restaurant, on Monday night.”

  “Yes. I did. I meant it. But now you’re scaring me, Marc. There are stories all ove
r the Web about you murdering people. Karl’s dead. And the Homeland Security agent you set me up with? He was an imposter. What the hell was that?”

  “I haven’t murdered anyone. And the guy? I thought he was a real agent. He tricked me. It’s complicated. Come with me. I’ll explain while I drive.”

  “They’ll be looking for your Jag. It won’t be safe.”

  “I’m using the dead guy’s car.”

  “You stole a car? You see? This is insane. The Marc I married would never do that. If we’re going to have a future together, we need to straighten things out. We can’t just walk away and pretend nothing happened.”

  “Look, Carolyn, I know this has been hell for you. And I know a lot of it was my fault. But I’ve got it figured out now. We can disappear. Together. But we’ve got to go. Now.”

  “No. Not unless you can convince me the nightmare’s over. I can’t be running and hiding for the rest of my life. I’m thinking, maybe you could talk to someone? Like Homeland Security? Get some—”

  “They’re the last people I could talk to. There’s a database. When they check … they’ll find things. Records. Lies. About me. Incriminating stuff. We need to avoid them like the plague. And we need to get away from here.”

  “I don’t think so. We can’t do this on our own. We need help, to get all this weird stuff squared away. We need … You’re late!”

  Her gaze suddenly shifted to a point above my left shoulder. I spun around. And saw two men, almost on top of us.

  Peever. And the other agent from the supermarket.

  Carolyn may have called this getting help.

  But I had another name for it altogether.

  Sunday. Afternoon.

  PEEVER GRABBED ME BY THE ARM AND SHUNTED ME INTO THE booth, next to Carolyn. Then he took the chair I’d vacated and moved in close, cutting off any chance of escape.

  “You knew McKenna was an imposter.” I turned to Carolyn. “How?”

  “He told me.” She pointed at Peever.

  “You were working together all along?”

  “No. Only after the virus came to light, and you disappeared. He sought me out.”

  “And you sold me out. That’s why he’s here. That’s why you wanted an hour to think.”

  “No, Marc. He’s here to help.”

  “He’s here to bury me.”

  “Agent Peever?” Carolyn smiled, nervously. “That’s not true, is it? You said you could help my husband set the record straight. Get out from under all these false accusations.”

  “Forget what I said.” Peever shrugged. “I have new information. Bowman, empty your pockets.”

  “What?” Carolyn looked shocked. “This isn’t what we agreed.”

  “If your husband has nothing to hide, he has nothing to worry about. Just tell him to empty his pockets.”

  “No. I won’t. You promised to help.”

  “I am helping.” Peever kept his eyes locked onto me. “If we do this here, and your husband’s clean, we can have a different conversation. But if I have to make this formal …”

  “Marc?” Carolyn was wavering.

  I pulled out my cell phone and checked the time. Then I set it on the table, screen facing up, and took out my keys. I added the dead guy’s keys to the pile. And finally, McKenna’s black box.

  “What’s that?” Peever pointed to the device.

  “Something someone gave me.”

  Peever drummed his fingers on the table, then took a piece of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to me.

  “From this morning.”

  It was a shot from a security camera. At AmeriTel’s office. It showed McKenna and me leaving the node room.

  “Another attempt was made to infect ARGUS this morning, Marc. Through a USB port, this time. Twenty-seven seconds before that picture was taken.”

  I didn’t reply.

  “That box you were carrying. It has a USB plug, right?”

  “The box was McKenna’s.”

  “Because you were working with McKenna. Using your knowledge of AmeriTel to help him insert the virus.”

  I didn’t bother to reply.

  “Marc?” Carolyn gripped my arm. “Don’t stop. Explain it to him. Make him understand you had nothing to do with the virus. That McKenna tricked you.”

  “The virus is only part of the story.” Peever pulled out another photograph. It showed the carnage in my bathroom on Thursday evening. “Who was this guy?”

  “Marc?” Carolyn sounded shocked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You should know.” Peever jabbed at the picture with his finger. “You killed him.”

  “He slipped. Hit his head on the tile.”

  “And what did you do? Call 911? Get him an ambulance?”

  I shook my head.

  “No. You stole the guy’s car and used his credit cards. Not the hallmarks of an innocent man, Marc.”

  “I had no choice.”

  “Like you had no choice when you fell out with your partner?” Peever laid a third photograph on the table. Carolyn gasped. It was of the scene in my hallway, that morning. Minus the blankets. “We see this all the time. Eliminate potential witnesses. Then disappear. Is that why you’re desperate to lure your wife away? How much does she know about you?”

  I turned to Carolyn, but she wouldn’t meet my eye.

  “You’re done, Marc.” Peever gathered up his pictures. “You’re going to prison. For the rest of your life.”

  “You killed two men in our home?” Carolyn’s face was white.

  “There’s no way out, Bowman.” Peever produced an evidence bag, put his hand inside, and used it to reach for my keys. “The building’s surrounded. And now that you’ve killed your buddy, there’s no one to stage any fires. Or to ambush my car.”

  “What else aren’t you telling me, Marc?” Carolyn’s stare was piercing. “I can see it in your face. You’re hiding something.”

  On the table my phone buzzed, and its screen lit up.

  u were right. 2 agents. blue dodge. now on ice. u have the name?

  Peever snatched the phone up and turned to me. “What the hell does this mean?”

  “It means my wife wasn’t the only one who put the last hour to good use. The text’s from a woman who worked for McKenna. She knows her boss is dead. She’s on a mission to find out who killed him. And she’s hell-bent on revenge. I told her if she showed up here, half an hour after I met Carolyn, I’d give her a name. I figured if we were gone—no harm, no foul. But if anyone—like you—kept us here, she’d be our ticket out.”

  Peever grabbed his own phone and tried to make a call. He didn’t get an answer. He tried a second number, and got the same result.

  “My guys had better be OK. And if you think I’m going to trade you for this woman, whoever she is, you’re crazy. You’re coming with me. I’ll have another team sweep her up.”

  “That’s fine, in theory. But here’s your problem. If I don’t go outside in the next ninety seconds and give the woman the name she wants, she’ll come in here. And I’ll tell her you killed McKenna.”

  “She won’t believe you. I’ll show her the picture of McKenna, dead in your house. I’ll tell her you did it.”

  “You can try. But who’s the more likely candidate? The guy she knows, who was helping her boss? Or the agent who was trying to catch him? And who hung around to take pictures? I know which one my money’s on.”

  “So what if she comes in?” Peever frowned. “There are two of us.”

  “There are five of them. And how many civilians in here?”

  Peever didn’t reply, so I got to my feet.

  “Wait. Whose name would you give her?”

  “The asshole who tried to kill my wife this morning. He’s already dead, so no one else will get hurt. His body’s at LeBrock’s house. In the basement. I’ll give you the address.”

  Peever shuffled his chair aside just far enough for me to squeeze past, but as I drew level his hand sho
t out and grabbed my wrist.

  “This isn’t over, Bowman. I won’t underestimate you again.”

  I pulled free and moved out of his reach. Then I turned to Carolyn. She was still in the booth, showing no sign of following me.

  “Sweetheart, this is it. Time’s up. What’s your decision? Are you coming?”

  Sunday. Late afternoon.

  BEFORE HIS DEATH, MCKENNA HAD OUTLINED THE PATH THAT would exist for me if I survived. It led to prison. And that wasn’t acceptable. Not with Carolyn by my side. And not with 6.4 million dollars in my trunk.

  The problem was the evidence against me in the ARGUS database. McKenna said I couldn’t run from it. And he said I couldn’t hide from it. And he was right.

  But he didn’t say I couldn’t change it.

  CAROLYN DIDN’T SAY A WORD on the drive to AmeriTel. Her face was an impenetrable mask. It wasn’t until I was about to step out of the car that her expression cracked and she finally broke her silence.

  “Whatever you need to do to get away, I’ll help you.” She spoke without looking at me. “But beyond that, I’m not making any promises. OK?”

  THE PARKING LOT WAS BUSIER than it had been at dawn, but only by a half-dozen cars. I took more encouragement from that than Carolyn’s halfhearted assurance. And remembering the friendly conversation I’d had with Pete the security guard, I figured it would be safe to head into the building through the main entrance.

  Pete was right there, standing behind the reception counter. He reached down and replaced a telephone handset as we walked toward him. And I could see from the way he squared his shoulders when he spotted us that something was very wrong.

  “Mrs. Bowman, good afternoon. Mr. Bowman, please stay where you are.”

  “Pete? What’s up?”

  “I know.”

  “What do you know?”

  “All about you. You shouldn’t be here. You were fired. And you’re wanted by the police.”

  “Oh, that. Don’t worry. It’s all a misunderstanding. Roger LeBrock and I have sorted everything out. It’ll be official in the morning, but in the meantime he asked me to take care of a couple of things for him. Urgent things. And listen. I’ve got his home number, right here. Why not call and ask him? Put your mind at rest?”