“Which direction?”
Sam said, “I don’t care. Whichever way the next train’s heading.”
“Okay.”
Sam walked into the general store and returned a couple minutes later as the proud owner of a brand-new Nokia 3110C cellular phone — an updated version of the original popular Nokia from a decade earlier, and a tribute to those who just wanted a cell phone to make calls.
Ben returned. “I hope you didn’t spend all our money. There’s a train leaving for Martinsburg in half an hour. It costs nine dollars-fifty for a single ticket.”
“Great. That’ll do.”
Ben’s eyes lowered. As he ran them across the strange device in Sam’s hand, his face crunched up as though he was examining an alien device. “What is that?”
Sam lifted it up proudly. “This is what forty-eight dollars and fifty cents gets you these days in cellular technology.”
“What do you do with it?” Ben asked. “There’s no LCD screen. How do you access the internet?”
“You don’t.”
“Then what did you buy it for?”
“To make a phone call.”
“Really?” Ben was incredulous. “We’re down to thirty-six dollars fifty, because you want to make a phone call!”
Sam shrugged. “It’s an important call.”
“Who are you going to ring?”
“A good friend of mine. She’s good with computers. I have an idea she can help us out of this mess…”
Ben warned, “They might be tracking her calls.”
“Not this one.”
“Are you sure? They are the government; they can authorize anything they want. If this thing’s as big as you think it is, they won’t let a little thing like the Fourth Amendment get in the way of things.”
Sam shook his head. “Doesn’t matter if they do or don’t. No one can hack my friend’s system.”
“He’s that good, is he?”
“No. He’s a she. And she’s even better than that.”
Ben’s reply was immediate and emphatic, “Every phone can be hacked.”
“Not this one.”
“All right. If you say so.”
Sam said, “I do say so. Now pass me the photo of your family. I need to send her a copy.”
Ben handed it to him.
Sam stared at the old cell phone. It had an integrated 1.3-megapixel camera with up to 8x digital zoom that was considered extraordinary back in its heyday in early 2007. He placed the 2.5 x 3.5-inch photo that Ben had given him onto a park table and tried to take a picture.
The phone made an audible click sound as it snapped the picture.
He stared at the screen trying to make out the image. The 1.8-inch display supported a maximum resolution of 128 × 160. It captured a basic outline of the image, but Sam doubted Elise could do much with its resolution.
Ben looked over his shoulder. “You think she can see that?”
“Probably not, but it’s worth a try. Hey, stand still for a moment.”
Ben looked at him. Sam took another picture. This time it was of Ben’s face.
“Hey, what was that for?”
“Sentimental value.”
“Right.”
Sam dialed a phone number by heart.
“Yes?” a soft, female voice answered.
“Elise, it’s Sam! I’m alive but I need help.”
“What’s new?” Elise replied, teasingly. “I hadn’t heard you were meant to be dead. Weren’t you heading off on a vacation while the Maria Helena’s replacement was being built at the Quonset Shipyard?”
“I was.” Sam glanced at Ben and smiled. “Something held me up.”
“Oh Sam, when will you learn to take a break?” she chided.
“I’m working on it but I need your help.”
“Sure, what do you need?”
“We’re about to catch a train to Martinsburg. I need you to order something to be delivered from there to North Dakota. Something big. Something that will fit in a shipping container if you know what I mean. Also, you might want to add some food and clothes for us.”
“Sam. Of all the places you want to go right now, you’ve chosen to visit her?”
Sam stared vacantly at a pair of mallards diving for fish upon the glistening surface of the Potomac River, his mind much further away, recalling fond times long since passed. He shook his head. “It’s not about her. I need answers and right now she might just be the only person who can provide them.”
“All right. I’ll organize a shipment delivered to Martinsburg to be loaded on the next freight train bound for North Dakota.” Sam heard the staccato of fingers on keys, typing in the background. “The next freight train leaves at 3 a.m. I’ll text you with details soon.”
“Thanks. Now, I need you to find everything you can find on a man named Ben Gellie. I’ll text you an image of his face and his last known address.”
“Okay, anything else?”
“Yeah. There’s a photo of Ben with his parents taken in the seventies. I need you to locate the cave for me.”
“Have you tried Googling the image?”
“Yeah. Elise, we’ve tried the usual paths. Now we need your expertise.”
“Okay. What about his parents. You want to know where they are now?”
“That would be great. Their names were John and Jenny Gellie. They have a record with the CIA, but I have no idea what it says. The FBI says they’re terrorists. Something they did a long time ago.”
“Do you have a last known address?”
“I’ll text it to you, but I’m not sure it will do you any good.”
“How come?”
“They moved in 1978.”
“Any idea where?”
“No. They faked their deaths in ‘78.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks, Elise.”
“Sam.” There was a slight hesitation in her voice.
“Yes?”
“This man, Ben Gellie, is he dangerous?”
“I don’t know,” Sam said, looking him right in the eye. “But right now, the FBI believes he’s the most dangerous person in the world.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
The Secretary of Defense picked up the phone.
Without preamble she said, “Tell me you’ve got his body.”
“I’m afraid not, ma’am,” replied Devereaux.
“And what about Sam Reilly?”
“His body’s missing too.”
“Really?” The secretary took a deep breath. “All right. They have a forty-hour head start. With no money and nowhere to go, they can’t have gotten too far.”
“Agreed.”
“And Devereaux…”
“Yes?”
“This time make certain he’s dead for Christ’s sake!”
“Yes ma’am.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Tom Bower entered the private office at the Pentagon.
He had been picked up at the motel he’d slept at last night — although slept being the operative word, he did very little of it — while he awaited news direct from the helicopter wreck site, and was escorted by Special Agent Ryan Devereaux back to the Pentagon. On the way, Devereaux had said very little. His tone, curt and dispassionate, made it clear that it wasn’t going to be a friendly meeting. Tom figured the guy’s team at the FBI was in trouble. After all, it was their stuff up that made them lose a suspected terrorist and eventually get his best friend, Sam Reilly, killed. Maybe they were looking for a scapegoat.
Well, that wasn’t going to be him. He and Sam’s only involvement was that they were leaving the Secretary of Defense’s office at the time the man was trying to escape. It wasn’t like any of them could have chosen to do anything different.