Jeff Abbott: Trust Me

‘What did you call it?’ Henry gave him a smile as they boarded the parking garage elevator.

‘A Drive Down the Night Road.’

‘It sounds like a bad heavy rock album.’

‘Yes, but the subtitle’s pure jazz: A Continuing Analysis of Extremists on the Internet.’

Henry laughed. ‘Thanks for all your work on this, Luke. Seeing you was the best part of my trip; trying to convince my fellow academics about the threats we face was much less fun.’

‘Your peers won’t listen to you?’

‘I believe huge attacks are coming. But they’re treating me like I’m saying the sky is falling.’ Henry couldn’t keep the anger out of his voice. They walked toward the main terminal of the Austin airport; the spring breeze was cool but the sunshine was bright and hard against their eyes. ‘So. What about the job offer?’

‘If I take it, then my job is now to officially… think. Mom would be amused.’

‘Your mother would have been incredibly proud of you.’ Silence then, for always about ten seconds, when they both spoke of Luke’s mother. ‘Proud of us working together.’ They waited for a security officer to wave them across the walkway, stopping traffic with a gesture. Henry gave the officer a polite nod.

‘I’m not sure this is going to put my psychology degree to real use. But playing tag with the crazies is slightly addictive.’

‘Danger is addictive,’ Henry said. Luke thought Henry’s sense of danger was probably double-parking or placing a five-dollar bet at a casino. ‘But what your research is, Luke, is important.’ Henry stopped in front of the terminal. His sharp-planed face made a frown. ‘The hinges of history are at a critical turn right now, Luke. The world has grown far smaller than we ever dreamed it could be. It’s easier than ever for people with certain… violent intentions to find each other. You could help us find ways to understand them, and fight them.’

‘Us. I wish you’d tell me who your client is.’

‘Take the job and you’ll know.’ They’d stopped at the American Airlines check-in touch screens. Henry tapped in his info and the kiosk spat out his boarding pass. Luke followed him to the line of people waiting to thread through the security checkpoint.

‘I don’t want…’ Luke stopped.

‘What, son?’ Henry didn’t often call him son. Only when he was worried about Luke.

‘I don’t want a pity job offer, Henry. Just because you made a promise to Mom.’

‘Good, because pity doesn’t play with me. You’ve done brilliant work for me, Luke, on researching the, um, Night Road, as you charmingly call it. But I would never offer you a career out of pity for you. I respect you and my company far too much.’

Nice, Luke thought, how does that shoe taste? Your one family member offers you a job and you manage to insult him. ‘I didn’t mean that. I know you’re serious.’ Luke cleared his throat and his stomach gave a nervous lurch. ‘Yes. I’ll take the job.’

A surprising relief lit Henry’s eyes. ‘You’ve made me happy. And proud. Us working together, it’ll be, you know, cool.’

Luke couldn’t resist a smile. Henry’s definition of cool was singular. Monographs on political economics, treatises of the history of terrorism, all qualified as Henry cool. And maybe it would make their relationship easier… more adult. He wouldn’t be seen as just a kid any more. ‘You’re right. It’ll be cool.’

Henry did a poor job of keeping the happiness from spreading across his face. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow, and we’ll get the paperwork started.’

‘Thanks, Henry.’

‘Go home and get some sleep. Stay clear of the Night Road for a while. Hang out in the sunshine.’

‘I’ll miss shaking the tree and seeing the rotten fruit fall.’

‘You and me, we’re going to change the world.’

‘Tall order.’

‘We can change the world. Trust me.’ And then Henry shook his hand, gave him an awkward hug. Luke hugged him back. Then Henry turned and joined the security line.

Luke walked back out into the glare of the afternoon and headed toward the parking garage.

We’re going to change the world, Henry said. At least he didn’t lack for ambition.

Luke stopped at the edge of the parking garage, trying to remember where he’d left his BMW.

‘Luke, hey, how’s it going?’ A heavy arm went around his shoulder. A man’s face – thirtyish, brown-haired, a crooked, nervous smile – was close to his. Too close. Luke started to pull back.

A metal object darted into the small of his back.

‘Don’t yell, Luke. Don’t run. You have a very large gun against your spine. Can you stay calm for me?’ The man had pulled Luke close, so he could whisper in his ear. He was dressed in an expensive pinstripe suit, a conservative navy tie. His face was a little fleshy and soft; he did not look like a man who routinely carried a gun. Luke could smell his mint-drenched breath, his nervous sweat.

‘Don’t-’

The man pressed the gun harder into Luke’s back. Luke hushed. He could not remember how to breathe. Not with a gun in his back, against his spine, up under his jacket. This couldn’t be possible. It wasn’t happening.

‘You parked in row H. Let’s go. Easy. Stay calm.’

‘Take the keys. Just take them.’ Luke found his voice. He held up the BMW keys with a tremble. Panic swept through him. That was what you were supposed to do; just let them have the car. The car could be replaced.

‘No, you keep the keys, Luke. You’re driving.’

‘What do you-’

‘We’ve got places to go, people to see.’ He steered Luke toward row H. ‘It’ll all be fine.’

A family, young mom and dad, two daughters maybe six and four, approached them from a minivan. The younger girl was singing loudly off-key, dancing in the rows.

‘I’ll make you a deal,’ the man hissed. ‘You yell, you run, and I’ll shoot all four of them in the head. Be good and they live.’

This cannot be happening to me. Luke made his mouth a tight thin line. His skin prickled away from the gun’s barrel. He tried not to look at the parents’ faces while the girl mangled her tune with off-key gusto. He just kept walking.

Five feet away from the family now, and the man with the gun said, in a calm, business-like voice: ‘So, what I need for you to do when we get back to the office is to review all the accounts…’

‘Yes,’ Luke managed to say. ‘I understand.’ Every fiber in him wanted to run, to get away. But the family. Jesus. He couldn’t risk their lives.

The oldest girl, moving away from her sister’s annoying singing as it echoed in the concrete garage, met Luke’s eyes.

She smiled, and they moved past, the mother chiding the youngest, ‘Emma, okay, enough with the singing. Mommy’s getting a three-pill headache.’

‘Well done,’ the man hissed into Luke’s ear. ‘We’re going to get into your car. Fight or yell and I’ll shoot that nice dad dead.’ Luke heard a click in the man’s throat as he swallowed.

‘The car’s yours, just take it, please…’

‘Do as you’re told.’ He forced Luke to enter the BMW from the passenger side, awkwardly scooting across the gearshift, the gun firmly planted in his back. Luke settled into the seat and the man closed the passenger door.

‘What the hell do you want? Please just let me go…’

‘Drive. Don’t draw attention to us, or I’ll kill you and then I’ll kill whoever notices us.’ He pulled out a steel knife from a holster under his coat. The edge looked brutally sharp. Luke’s throat turned to sand. ‘You see? It’s worse than a gun. I can hurt you and keep you alive to hurt some more. Start the engine.’

Luke, hands shaking, breath coming in hollow gulps, obeyed. He told himself to stay calm. He thought of those long weeks he’d spent on his own, fourteen years old, running away from his grief, hiding from the police, walking along the back roads, hitching rides, desperate to get from Washington, D.C. to Cape Hatteras. To the beginning of the long stretch of ocean where his father had been lost. He’d seen knives and guns then, once, and he’d gotten away. He could get away again. The key was to wait for the right moment.