Trust Me (38 page)
‘And the access passes?’
‘Activated. That took a bit of fiddling with the master database. You cannot have substitutions of personnel, though. I cannot issue new picture IDs at this late date.’
‘I understand.’ Henry carefully inspected all twenty passes. They looked entirely genuine because they were. Ready-Able had just added twenty employees that had not been hired or interviewed, hidden inside an access pass database that held information about two thousand employees around the country.
‘The database audit was completed yesterday. I added the new records immediately afterwards. We should be good for two or three days. I hope your operation takes place by then …’
‘Not your concern.’
‘The company will be seen as a common element of the attack’s targets when Hellfire is completed.’
‘You will be extracted and sent wherever you like. Go to the airport, go to the Travport cargo office. They will smuggle you out of the country.’
‘Understood.’
The supervisor and Henry resealed the boxes, and loaded them into Henry’s van. Henry drove to a Travport satellite office and shipped the boxes to an address in Chicago.
This was the next to last stage before Hellfire could be launched. If only he had Luke under his thumb, then all would be well.
Henry’s phone rang, and he opened it, sure that it would be good news.
The car’s phone
rang as Luke pulled into airport parking. He hit the talk button. ‘Hello?’
‘Is this Luke?’ A man’s French-accented voice, the same one from Drummond’s phone.
‘Yes.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, but Drummond is dead. I’m sorry I couldn’t save him. He saved me.’
‘We mourn him more than you know. I can tell you he had a rewarding life.’
‘I have the fifty million the Night Road wants. I will trade it to you for information on my father’s past, and for you to set up Aubrey someplace where she is safe.’
‘I do not understand. Your father’s past?’
‘Drummond was investigating one of our attackers, a man known as Mouser. I want to know if Mouser is suspected of killing my dad.’
‘And what about you?’
A surprising certainty filled him. ‘I want to keep fighting these people. I want to join you.’
A pause, and then: ‘This is not your fight, Luke.’
‘It is entirely my fight. I don’t want to hide under a name somewhere and hope you defeat Night Road. I am in this fight.’
‘Luke, you fought hard for someone who was cast as simply a pawn.’
‘Are you in Paris? Because I found tickets for today’s flight. Drummond was supposed to bring me to Paris, wasn’t he?’
‘Yes. If we agreed it was best. But—’
‘Then I’ll see you soon.’ He switched off the phone.
The red-eye to Paris was close to full. Luke’s tongue felt like a rock in his mouth when he had to present his false passport, but the airline’s scans did not raise an alarm. Drummond had bought tickets in business class. The seats were plush, in a plastic and steel half-shell that let you recline without intruding on the space of the passenger behind you. He had the window seat and he kept his sunglasses in place, a cap pulled low on his head.
Drummond’s seat next to him remained empty. He gave a sigh of relief. He pulled Drummond’s medal from his pocket and studied it next to his own. Exact duplicates, in every detail.
This will keep you safe, his father had said. What exactly had that meant? Luke had taken it to mean a metaphysical safety, in the terms of a moral compass; but now he thought his father might have meant a more concrete promise. He put Drummond’s medal back in his pocket.
He ate the dinner of salad, lamb, couscous, and ice cream sundae. He pulled a blanket up to his chin and fell into a heavy sleep.
He awoke, hours later, as the breakfast service was being completed and first he saw out the window the spill of clouds over the French countryside. Then he sat up, rubbing his eyes under the dark glasses, and Mouser said, ‘You slept well. I didn’t.’
Luke blinked. It couldn’t be. But Mouser was sitting right next to him.
And then he gave Luke a twitch of a smile, the kind the devil might flex. Somehow that quasi-grin was worse than the thrust of a blade.
‘If you make a scene, you’ll ruin the flight for everyone else. In the worst way.’
Luke spoke past the rock in his throat. ‘How did you …?’
‘We both needed to get to Paris. There’s not an infinite number of flights.’
Luke let his gaze dart past Mouser’s aisle seat. The middle row was occupied by an older couple who looked like vacationers. Behind him were two businessmen, one asleep, the other immersed in a laptop. Everyone in their own cocoon.
‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ Mouser said in a soft whisper.
‘Liar.’ He thought of Drummond, bleeding his life out. His father’s face boarding that plane.
Did you kill my father? Why are you a suspect, years later?
The thoughts blazed through his mind as if blasted from a flamethrower. His hands clenched into fists.
In his pocket was the secret thumb drive, hidden in the little basketball. The key to the money.
‘Why are you going to Paris, Luke?’ Mouser sipped coffee from a cup that sat on his fold-out tray. ‘I guess you need a vacation after all your adventures.’
Luke gave no answer. He had to get away. The pilot announced that they’d be landing in twenty minutes.
‘Do tell me. Because if I alert the attendants to the fact you happen to be traveling on a false passport - mine is legit, by the way - this was a giant risk for you. What would be worth such a risk, I wonder. I can only think that it’s the money. Eric wanted to go to Paris, too. You’re following that dog’s trail.’
I have to incapacitate him, Luke thought. Fight him here and get away without getting caught.
‘You give me the money,’ Mouser said, ‘and you walk. Our battle is over.’
‘I won’t, on either count.’
‘I don’t blame you for New York. I blame Snow. She rushed where she shouldn’t have.’ His gaze was steady on Luke’s face.
‘But I do blame you for Drummond. And—’ He stopped.
‘And what?’ Mouser hissed.
‘Did you ever …’ He waited as the flight attendant walked past. ‘Did you sabotage a private plane? Heading from DC to North Carolina? Ten years ago?’
The silence hung between him, Luke staring at him. The twitchy smile stayed on Mouser’s face.
‘No. I don’t know anything about planes or their systems.’
Luke watched him. He didn’t believe him. Terrorist psychology showed extremists did not like to admit a shortcoming in knowledge. It was a consistent thread. They were know-it-alls. A simple no would have sufficed. Luke had said nothing about the systems of the plane being involved. His tongue felt locked to the top of his mouth.
If Mouser was curious about the North Carolina question, he didn’t ask. ‘I’ve answered your question, you answer mine. Where is the money?’
He told his first lie: ‘Eric hid the money in a bunch of accounts.’
‘Give me the account numbers.’
Luke tapped his temple.
‘I don’t believe you memorized a bunch of bank account numbers. They’re long.’
‘I was highly motivated. If you kill me, you’ll never get them.’
Mouser looked at him. ‘You’re giving the info to someone in Paris. To get Aubrey back.’
‘Yes.’ And to keep the money away from the Night Road. He had no intention of funding terrorism. But he wondered: could he turn this meeting into a trap for Mouser? A way to give him to Quicksilver? The outline of a plan began to take shape in his mind.
‘You barely know that woman.’ Now Mouser looked straight ahead. ‘I barely knew Snow. Sometimes barely is all you need.’ He paused. ‘A college kid like you, you don’t want this kind of life. Give me the info on the accounts and you’re free.’
Tires hit pavement as the airliner coasted onto the runway.
What had Henry told him, a lifetime ago back in Austin, about his work?
You’re good at baiting the hook
. ‘I’m meeting Quicksilver. They have the capability to do a lot more damage to you and the Night Road than I ever could,’ Luke said.
The captain was announcing to the passengers that the plane would first taxi to the bus that would take them to the terminal. ‘You cut a deal with them.’
‘No,’ Luke lied. ‘They only want the money. So I have a suggestion.’
‘What?’
‘Come with me to the meeting. You can grab one of their people, find out what Quicksilver really is. But me and Aubrey walk. You get the money, you get your enemies.’
‘Why would you help me?’
‘Because I just want to be left alone. By you, by Quicksilver. The fight is between you two.’ Luke knew if he made a scene to get Mouser arrested in the airport, he’d be arrested too. And he wouldn’t ever find out the truth.
Quicksilver would be watching their every move. They have the resources; they’ll see Mouser coming well ahead.
And they’ll kill him
, Luke thought.
‘Me help you save your woman after you killed mine.’ Mouser’s whisper was so soft that as the plane parked and everyone stood to gather their belongings Luke could barely hear him. ‘I feel like I’m making a deal with the devil.’
Me, too, Luke thought.
Paris.
Luke had not been there since he was an undergraduate. He had accompanied his stepfather and his mother to Paris for a conference. At nineteen he had wandered the streets in blissful freedom - bookstores, bars, the expansive parks, the old student quarter near Notre Dame. He had loved the city, but it had been a brief affair, and he had not been back since.
But he hoped his brief familiarity with Paris would save him. Mouser had given no signs of even a basic comprehension of French beyond
oui
or
non
and that might be his salvation. Neither had a suitcase other than their carry-ons, and after a desultory check of their documents at passport control he and Mouser walked out into the dull gray morning, toward the taxi line.
He checked his cell phone as they walked outside and retrieved a text message:
Meet at the Eiffel Tower for Aubrey one hour after your plane lands
. Mouser grabbed the phone, read the message. Luke yanked the phone back.
‘But they don’t know I’m here,’ Mouser said.
‘No.’ But considering Quicksilver’s reach - it would not surprise him. But let Mouser be surprised.
‘The Eiffel Tower. How touristy,’ Mouser muttered in a low growl. ‘I’ll take your phone.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t want you calling them and letting them know I’m with you.’
He’d thought of trying to text just the word
Mouser
or
help
to the number that had just called him. To warn Quicksilver. He hesitated.
‘I will kill you the second you pull a fast one on me,’ Mouser said. ‘Give me the phone.’
Luke gave it to him.
Mouser put a steel grip on his shoulder. ‘Come on. I have a ride for us.’
The car sat in the parking garage in a back corner. Mouser found keys in a container locked under the bumper. It was a Mercedes sedan, gleaming, high-end.
He opened the trunk. Inside were bags and cases. Some were long and narrow, marked with the logo of a British golf club manufacturer. Luke figured they were not golf clubs. Weapons. Someone had given this man an armory and driven it to the airport for him. So Mouser had allies in France.
The Night Road was bigger than a mere group inside America. He had only researched American extremists, but if those domestic terrorists were linked to, cooperating with, other extremists around the world … the thought was frightening.
‘Get in the car,’ Mouser said.
Luke obeyed. Mouser didn’t slide behind the wheel; rather he seemed to be studying the phone. As though he’d gotten an email. He turned his back to Luke. Thirty seconds later he slid into the car, an angry look on his face.
Mouser roared out of the garage.
Mouser had taken one of the long cases from the car’s trunk. He slipped an earpiece into Luke’s ear, saying, ‘I’ll be able to hear your every word. Dump this and you’re dead.’
‘Where will you be?’
‘Watching. Don’t screw this up or I’ll shoot you, accounts or not. You play nice, you and Aubrey walk.’
No, Luke thought, you’re the one who’s going down. But he turned and walked toward the tower. When he glanced back, Mouser was gone. He had not counted on Mouser being able to eavesdrop on his conversation. This made his plan much harder. And if he dumped the earpiece, he had no doubt: Mouser would shoot him, and Aubrey. He had to think of another way to warn Quicksilver.
The base of the Eiffel Tower was broader and the plaza wider than Luke remembered. He saw French soldiers with assault rifles wandering the sprawling grounds, scanning faces in the scattered crowd of hundreds of tourists and sightseers, watching for the unusual or the threatening. A kiss of sunshine came through the late spring clouds.
His phone rang. He answered it.
It was Aubrey’s voice, scared. ‘Luke.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes. I’m going to give you your directions now.’ She steadied her voice. ‘Walk away from the river, away from the Tower, go toward the half-circle where the tour buses stop. You’ll see me.’
He could see in the distance, past the walkways and the low shrubberies, a wide loop of street, a double-decker bus parked, tourists not bothering to get off the bus but snapping photos of the grand tower. ‘All right.’
In his other ear, he heard the whisper of Mouser’s voice: ‘If you warn them, I’ll shoot first and learn to live without the money.’
‘Yes,’ he said, as if to both Aubrey and Mouser.
So much for his brilliant trap. He had brought this maniac to the meeting, and he could only hope that the Quicksilver people had spotted his uninvited guest. If they hadn’t … then he was going to have to talk through the meeting without handing over the encrypted thumb drive, get Aubrey, and figure out a way to get the Quicksilver people and Aubrey to safety.