Gohl turned to him and raised an eyebrow. “You are just pawns, of course. I will interrogate you, and then we will negotiate with your government.”
Chapter Nine
“What did you do?” Patrick asked. His face was pasty, and his eyes kept darting away from his laptop camera.
Lila took a deep breath. “You wanted to sit on the video.”
“Darling, you don’t know what you’ve done. We’ve got to disappear. We must go so far underground that no one can ever find us.”
She’d thought that Patrick might be unhappy about the video, but she hadn’t been prepared for him to appear so… frightened. “You’re worrying over nothing.”
Patrick’s eyes flashed with anger. “Would you listen to me? Open the lockbox under your bed, darling. There’s a new identity in there. New papers. Credit cards. Some cash. Buy a bus ticket to”—he turned and typed away on his other laptop—“Kansas City. When you get there, buy a ticket to”—there was more typing—“Dallas. I’ll meet you there.”
“I don’t know anybody in Dallas.”
“That’s the point,” he shouted. “I’ve got to leave the UK.”
“Doesn’t Kim live in Dallas?” she asked. Kim was a recent addition to the DFA, a short girl with dyed black hair and terrible acne that had kept her inside as a child, which had given her time to become an expert in SQL injections. “I could crash at her place.”
“No!” Patrick shouted. “You mustn’t. Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t message anyone. Your name is Lucy Carmen now. You’re from Peoria.”
She turned to stare at her bed. Patrick had left the lockbox for her on his last trip. He said it was a surprise and that she had to wait until the time was right to open it. “You really left that stuff in there?”
Patrick slammed his fist against his keyboard. “You’re not listening.”
She jerked back from her laptop, shocked by the anger in his voice. “They can’t trace the video back to us.”
“Lila! You’re not…” He stopped. “There’s so much you don’t know.”
“You’re creeping me out, Patrick.”
“There are directions to a safe house in the lockbox. When you get to Dallas, take at least three different taxis around the city. Don’t get out in public places or tourist destinations. Take the final taxi to the safe house. There are rations in the kitchen.”
She shook her head. Patrick was speaking like a crazy man. “Rations?”
“Don’t leave the safe house, not even for groceries. No newspapers. No Internet access. Here’s the most important part. When you leave Chicago, turn off your cell phone. Take out the battery. Do the same with your laptop. You still have the Armageddon file?”
“Of course.”
“Good. We still have some leverage. Don’t access your laptop. Leave it unplugged. Lila! Are you listening? Don’t access anything!”
Her heart was pounding. She had been so sure he was paranoid, but now she was less certain. “Okay.”
“No electronic access to anything, Lila. Take a book to read. Don’t do anything else. Do you understand?”
“I get it. Message understood.”
“I’m not trying to scare you—”
“Well, you’re doing a shitty job.”
He attempted a smile. “Just do as I said, darling, and everything will be right as rain.”
“How long before you can get here?”
“A week.”
“A week?”
Patrick shook his head. “Just wait for me. I’ll tell you everything then. I love you.”
The Skype call ended, and Patrick’s account went offline shortly after.
When it came to hacking banks, Patrick had been fearless. Seeing him terrified shook her to her core.
Something is most definitely wrong. What’s the worst the government could do? Arrest us?
The image of the man jumping from the window flashed through her head.
Would they send a man like that after us?
She remembered stories of civilians being abducted from the streets of France and Greece after 9/11, horrifying stories of waterboarding and torture, all done in the name of the war on terror. The government had done it all in black sites, places the public didn’t even know existed.
But CIA black sites were in host countries…
Not even conspiracy theorists suggested that people were renditioned from Unites States soil.
Except…
A few DFA members had suggested it. Darlene had claimed that had been happening across the United States since 9/11. Then again, Darlene claimed most modern technologies came from reverse-engineered alien technology.
An old friend, Agent99, claimed a secret organization operated covertly, furthering the military-industrial-infotainment complex’s goals. Agent99’s claims, while just as wild as Darlene’s, were usually accompanied by facts that were impossible to verify or discount.
She rummaged around under the bed, found the fireproof lockbox, and tried to open it, only to find it locked.
Where did Patrick put the key?
Twenty minutes of searching and she finally grabbed the jar of thumb drives from the top of the refrigerator and dumped the contents on the table.
The key was on the bottom, and she fumbled with the lock. Inside she found a thick white envelope stuffed with twenties.
There must be five thousand dollars here!
Paper-clipped to the bottom of the money was a Dallas address, which she folded in half and stuffed into her bra.
Another envelope contained an Illinois driver’s license in the name of Lucy Carmen. According to the license, she lived in Peoria. It looked absolutely legitimate, with an authentic hologram.
How long was he planning this?
The more she thought about it, the more frightened she became. She started shoving clothes into a duffel bag until it was so full she could barely zip it shut.
She stopped and stared at her Dell laptop.
Should I?
She hadn’t been without a computer for more than a few hours since her teenage years.
I… can’t leave it.
The battery came out and went in her laptop bag, followed by the laptop, the external mouse, and, after a moment’s consideration, a box containing a homemade Wi-Fi antenna.
She took one last glance at her apartment. It looked less like her home and more like a dump full of computer parts. Computer parts covered the coffee table, and the desk and floor were littered with cases of Red Bull and half-smoked cigarettes. Except for the Einstein poster above her desk, the walls were bare.
I may have lived here, but this was never my home. My home is in cyberspace. That’s where I really live. That’s where I matter!
The Gulfstream was halfway over the heartland when Karen appeared on the monitor. “John’s transponder finally came online.”
“Where are they?” Eric asked.
“At the border,” Karen said. “Right where they’re supposed to be.”
“But?”
“They’re an hour late, and we haven’t heard from the driver,” Clark said.
“Do we have eyes on them?”
“We’re trying to get a Keyhole satellite on it, but that’s nearly impossible.”
The Keyhole satellites over Europe were no longer stationed in the same orbits as they had been during the Cold War. Repositioning one would burn precious propellant and take hours for the orbital adjustment, not to mention drawing unwanted attention from the NRO. “What about a drone?”