The girl scooted towards William on the bed.
“It’s just a matter of time now. Neve, how much longer on that SUV?” Rudd asked.
“I only dared to make one call on that landline. I don’t want to call again. They said it could be any moment. Might not be soon enough if the cops respond to a shot-up drone.”
“I’ll keep watch. Turn on CNN. See what they’re reporting. Hopefully they still don’t have a clue where we are. And the Memphis TV stations surely won’t respond to the shooting of a drone.” Rudd peered out again through the peephole.
Memphis, William thought. Halfway home to Nashville. Is that where we’re ultimately headed?
The TV flared on. Neve flipped till she found CNN, with the banner at the bottom reading, in bold red letters, “THE ABDUCTION OF WILLIAM CHANCE.”
“That should read ‘Part Two,’” Quincy muttered.
William frowned at him, watching the anchorwoman, who sported a hairstyle that could be seen on networks across the country, share the screen with video of both his trailer and of the Clinton National Airport.
“… it is still unclear the connection, but here’s what we know at the top of this hour. Following reports of gunshots being fired in a field surrounding the mobile home where it is believed that William Chance was living in central Arkansas, there were also calls of gunfire near Clinton National Airport. We are hearing from federal agents on the scene that there is growing concern that Mr. Chance has been taken hostage by armed abductors and is now missing.”
“And the spin begins,” Rudd said.
The anchor continued breathlessly. “We have team coverage of this breaking story, beginning with Maurice Muller at the mobile home just south of Little Rock.”
A reporter who looked like he had just graduated middle school but with a jawline straight out of a J. Crew catalog pointed to the trailer cordoned off by crime scene tape. “Kit, this continues to be a very active scene. At some point early this morning, many of the reporters here trying to get a comment from William Chance heard what sounded like bullets being fired on the other end of this cotton field. I can show you video of what our photographer captured before police moved us all back.”
The screen cut to shaky video taken from a distance down the road, quickly zooming in on William’s sunken Jeep. “This Jeep is believed to belong to William Chance, and the tires have been shot out. A short while ago, a spokesman from Little Rock police gave us a brief update. Take a listen.”
A tired-looking officer in glasses came onto the screen. “We can confirm that a Jeep parked not far from the trailer was fired upon. We are working in conjunction with federal investigators on the scene to determine what happened. But there is no evidence of anyone being hurt.”
Rudd shook his head. “Bastards. Moved the bodies before the cops arrived.”
The reporter was back on camera. “We can also tell you that two helicopters took off not long after the gunshots, and it’s believed those are federal agents.”
“Maurice, do we have any idea at this point why William Chance was even living in Little Rock? How long he had been here?” the anchorwoman asked.
“We don’t. But I can tell you, minute by minute, the crowd here continues to grow. One group of women tell me they drove all night from Idaho to see if it was true that Chance had finally surfaced.”
The anchor tossed her ever-so-perfectly curled hair slightly. “Thank you Maurice. The answer to why federal agents are on the scene of what appears to be a random shooting may be answered by what happened at Clinton National Airport. We continue our team coverage now with Susan Strandon outside the airport with the latest there. Susan?”
The reporter, whose version of the anchor hairstyle was growing limper by the second due to the humidity, motioned to the airport.
“It’s still unclear, Kit, why William Chance ended up here. All we can tell you is the FBI has released a photograph of a van that they say Chance was forced into.”
A photograph, clearly taken from the video mounted on one of the helicopters, showed the gray van as William, Lily, and Quincy were entering. Rudd, in his ski mask, was waving them in.
“Federal agents say men wearing masks seized Chance and forced him into the van. A FBI spokesman said they fear Mr. Chance is in real danger. And there is another astonishing element to this. If you look closely at that photograph, it appears that’s Quincy Martin. If his name sounds familiar, it’s because he’s the billionaire creator of all those new hologram functions on smartphones, and more recently, the ‘Beam Me Up’ app. The video shows he’s being forced into the van along with a little girl. And we’ve confirmed his private plane was parked nearby.”
Video then came up showing Quincy at the New York Stock Exchange, ringing the bell among cheering investors. For a brief moment, the video included images of a green hologram of Quincy beaming from the light of a smartphone.
“Susan, do we have any idea why Quincy Martin is there? And who this little girl is?” the anchor asked.
“We don’t.”
“Alright, thank you Susan. We want to bring in now Stephanie Stiller with Hollywoodextra.com, who broke the news of William Chance living in Arkansas, to talk about this whirlwind twenty-four hours—”
Neve muted the TV. “Well, the narrative is set.”
“Kevin, tell me you parked the van far away from here. Everyone and their brother is looking for it now,” Rudd said.
“I did. We need that SUV. Like an hour ago.”
“Keep your eyes up. The second somebody sees that SUV, we’re out of here.”
As the three continued to look out the window, Quincy moved closer behind William, whispering. “This might be a good time for little thing here to summon the dark side and kill them before they kill us.”
Lily turned her head into William’s shoulder and buried it.
“We don’t have much time,” Quincy said. “This cannot end well. Who are these nut jobs?”
William tilted his head and whispered back. “I don’t know.”
“Well, I do. I know plenty of them. Not all true believers are as stable as yours truly. I just didn’t know they came in a Fast and Furious version.”
“All that matters now is we remain calm and get out of here,” William responded.
“Hey, angel. Can you just make ’em collapse or something?”
“Knock it off,” William said. “Nobody’s killing anybody—”
Lily pulled back. “There’s a monster in the mountain!”
“What did she say?” Quincy asked.
“Lily, shh…” William reached out for her shoulder.
“There’s a monster in the mountain!” she pleaded.
“Screw this,” Quincy said, standing up. “Hey, whatever you shot us up with has really messed up this kid. She needs a doctor.”
“Sit down,” Rudd said, pointing the gun at Quincy.
“Rudd.” The woman motioned to the window. “Cops.”
The word sucked the oxygen from the room. Rudd made a slicing motion with his hand.
Minutes passed in silence, the three at the windows nervously fingering their weapons.
“Shit, here he comes,” Neve said.
Rush the door. Yell for help. William took a step forward when Rudd turned back to him, his palm raised in yet another angry, silent order.
A firm, loud knock rattled the door. “Memphis police. Please open the door.”
Rudd exhaled loudly, waiting a few moments. He then leaned on the door. “Hi officer, what’s going on?”
“You can’t shoot down drones. You’ve ruined a kid’s birthday. Open up.”
“Nicely done,” Quincy muttered.
“Just getting on my shoes, sorry,” Rudd said, flashing Kevin an angry look. “I’m really sorry about that. Drones aren’t supposed to fly over people. I am just a stickler for rules, don’t think it’s fair when they’re broken. But I promise it won’t happen again.”