Jeff Abbott - Trust Me

A truck barreled past him on the exit ramp, clearing him by inches, and he fell on the concrete and saw the tires just miss his outstretched fingertips. He looked up and the truck was past him, slowing at the end of the ramp, brake lights brightening. He cleared the ramp by hurtling himself over its edge, dropping fifteen feet to soft dirt. He went to one knee, weary with the cold, shaking and the adrenaline turning on him, burning like poison in his veins. He staggered back to his feet and caught his breath, the quavering in his legs finally easing.

He ran down the service road, the weight of the knapsack heavy on him.

They got Aubrey. He had to get her back.

He ran to the intersection where an all-night mart sat in a puddle of streetlight. He walked in and heard the soft sounds of Indian sitar music drifting above the shelves. A few minutes ago he’d been dodging cars, now he was shopping. He wondered if he looked shell-shocked. He bought a first-aid kit and a hot coffee and a bottle of water. He went to the bathroom and inspected his cuts. A thin shallow one marked his stomach – the concertina wire had nipped him where his shirt had been hiked and twisted. Another cut had sliced through the back of his jeans, a scoring across his calf and lower back that stung even more when he saw them. He smeared on disinfectant gel, applied adhesive bandages to the worst of the cuts, and swallowed aspirin. He downed the cold water in four long gulps. He drank the still-warm coffee and the heat began to seep into his blood, under his skin.

Luke left the mini-mart and walked away from the highway. He had to keep moving. But it was late and they would not stop hunting him. He did not feel panic; rather the calm of resolution.

He was going to take the war back to these people.

First things first. He was still entirely too close to the air park and the highway, and the Quicksilver team might have friends.

He found a taxi letting off passengers close to a bus station. He showed the cabbie the address for Quicksilver he’d stolen from the food manifest.

‘That address, you know what part of the city that is?’

‘That is near NYU in Greenwich Village,’ the cabbie said, after consulting a detailed map.

‘Let’s go.’

The cabbie informed him of everything wrong about New York, a city Luke had always enjoyed visiting. Luke sat in the back seat and listened only enough to make agreeing grunts when required for politeness. When they reached Washington Square, Luke asked the cabbie to let him out at the entrance to the park. Luke walked through the darkened paths and sat down on a bench. He surveyed the immediate area for trouble and police and saw only a drunk reclining on a bench thirty feet away, staring at the grass as though it held the secrets of the universe.

What will they do with Aubrey?

He imagined the worst for a long while and when the drunk approached and asked if he had five bucks, he got up and walked out of the park. He did not walk to the Quicksilver address. He found a small hotel that catered to New York University visitors and paid cash for a minuscule room. He registered under a fake name, Brian Blue, because a weird abstract blue painting hung in the lobby, and Brian was the name of the annoying neighbor who’d badmouthed him on the television news. He sprawled on the lumpy bed. He wanted to curl into the cocoon of sleep but he couldn’t. They had Aubrey. She had been kidnapped, again, and the thought of what she must be enduring burned. Being kidnapped at gunpoint, he knew, was not something you got accustomed to, even with practise.

He had thought he was taking them to safety. He wished he had talked her into going to the police; now she’d be safe. And he would be able to give up this fight, just vanish, run, find a nice big rock to hide under.

He stared out the window. Running was no life. Hiding was no life. He couldn’t give up, not yet. He had never felt so alone, even chained in the cabin. There, escape had been the only option he could pursue. But now, he could try to save Aubrey, or go to the police and surrender, or try and fight the Night Road and Henry.

He unpacked the knapsack. The useless gun, the laptop that he’d already picked clean. He pulled Eric’s key ring from his pocket. The Chicago Bulls toy basketball on the end of the ring caught on the pocket’s inside lining. He yanked it free.

There was a slight catch on the edge of the toy ball, under the Bulls logo. He hadn’t noticed it before. He worked his thumb on the catch.

The ball popped open.

Inside was a USB plug, the kind that slid into a computer port.

The other half of the basketball was solid. It was a hidden thumb drive; a portable way to carry computer files.

‘Oh my God,’ Luke said in the silence of the room. He powered up the laptop and logged in. Then he slid the secret thumb drive into the laptop.

The thumb drive appeared on the screen. Holding his breath, biting his lip, he clicked on it. Inside was a single file. He tried to click it open, but all he got was a dance of gobbledygook, glowing random numbers and letters, across his screen.

The file was encrypted.

Eric had started his career in bank operations; he would know about encryption. Luke knew then this must be the file that contained the whereabouts of the fifty million dollars. Nothing else could be so important. The thumb drive was Eric’s insurance in the face of certain death from the Night Road, his bargaining chip for Quicksilver. He’d simply carried it in his pocket.

This was the information on where the fifty million was hidden, and the key, he knew, to stopping Henry and the Night Road.

But he had no idea how he could access the information. The encryption key needed to be on the computer, and it wasn’t on this laptop.

He tucked the gun under his pillow; even empty, it reassured him. And he put the key ring under the pillow as well. Luke closed his eyes and the weight of what he knew he must do pressed him into fitful exhaustion.

As the darkness pressed against the windows, the eyes of the Night Road and Quicksilver kept watch, scanning every credit charge, every hotel database, looking for Luke’s name, Eric’s name, any sign, any mistake that would signal his location.

And while the thousand electronic eyes watched, he slept.

The day had nearly driven Mouser mad. Snow made a poor patient; she slept fitfully, waking often to worry if Hellfire would be canceled. Mouser kept waiting on the Night Road hacker to pierce the GPS database and hand him Aubrey and Luke. He’d paced tracks in the already questionable carpet of the South Chicago motel room. Snow alternated between uncomfortable sleep and watching him fret.

‘You had him in the basement,’ she said finally. ‘Is that what’s preying on your mind, baby? Because I had him in the woods and he got away from me.’

‘I’m not happy with how we’ve done. We can do better.’

‘Come here,’ she said. ‘Lie down next to me and see if you can’t calm down.’

He swallowed, thinking he shouldn’t. ‘I hate this waiting.’

‘I need a little more warmth than the blanket,’ she said. He lay down next to her certain she couldn’t want him, not after being shot in the shoulder. But she did. He was conscious of her bandages and was very gentle with her. The whole time her small mouth was a hard little O and he wasn’t sure if she was happy or angry until the savoring smile broke across her face at the end. Afterwards he watched the ceiling and thought: God sent her to me, to be my helper against the Beast. I’ve had bad luck with catching Luke but that all changes now. He’s running out of rope. He can’t go to the police. He can’t go much anywhere where the Night Road can’t find him.