Sally had done two other things to the computer. She had unscrewed the back panel, giving her access to the innards of the machine, and had carefully loosened the connection where the main power cord entered the machine, so that it wouldn’t start up. Then she had replaced the back entry with one additional detaiclass="underline" she had taken two drops of Super Glue and made sure that one of the screws that held it all together was completely locked in place. O’Connell might know how to fix the machine, she thought, but he wouldn’t be able to get into it. A police forensic technician would.
She quickly double-checked its position. It seemed to be just the way he’d left it.
Sally stuffed O’Connell’s computer into the backpack, next to the gun.
She looked down at her stopwatch. She was at eleven minutes.
Too slow, too slow, she told herself as she threw the backpack over her shoulder. She could feel the weight of the gun bouncing against her back. She took a deep breath. She would be back, before too long.
The cell phone on the car seat rang urgently. Scott had not been certain that he would get this call, but thought it highly possible, so he was fully prepared when he heard the voice on the other end.
“Hey, this Mr. Jones?”
O’Connell’s father sounded rushed, a little unsteady, but excited.
“Smith, here,” Scott replied.
“Yeah, right. Mr. Smith. Right. Hey, this is-”
“I know who it is, Mr. O’Connell.”
“Well, damned if you weren’t right. I just got a call from my kid, like you said I would. He’s on his way over here now.”
“Now?”
“Yeah. It’s about a ninety-minute drive from Boston, except he’s gonna be moving fast, so maybe a little less.”
“I will make arrangements. Thank you.”
“The kid was yelling something about some girl. Sounded real upset. Crazy almost. This got something to do with a girl, Mr. Jones?”
“No. It’s about money. And a debt he owes.”
“Well, that isn’t what he thinks.”
“What he thinks is irrelevant to our business, Mr. O’Connell, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. I suppose so. So what should I do?”
Scott didn’t hesitate. He’d expected this question. “Just wait there for him. Hear him out. No matter what he says.”
“What’re you gonna do?”
“We will be taking some steps, Mr. O’Connell. And you will be earning your true reward.”
“What do I do when he decides to leave?”
Scott felt his throat go dry. He could feel a spasm in his chest.
“Step aside and let him go.”
Hope sipped a cup of coffee while she waited for Sally. The bitter taste burned her tongue.
She was parked in a strip-mall lot, perhaps a hundred yards from the entrance to a large grocery store. There was plenty of traffic, but she was a little farther away from the entrance than she needed to be, having left perhaps two dozen parking spaces between her and the next car.
When she spotted Sally in her own nondescript rental, moving slowly through the aisles of the mall lot, she stiffened. She placed the coffee in a cup holder and quickly rolled down the window, giving Sally a small wave to get her attention. She waited for Sally to park two aisles away, then walk in her direction. She could see that Sally was looking around nervously, and she seemed pale.
Sally was already shaking her head. “I can’t let you do this. It should be my job-”
“We’ve been over that,” Hope said. “And things are in motion now. Making a change might throw it all off.”
“I just can’t.”
Hope inhaled. This was her chance, she thought. She could back out. Refuse. Step back and ask, What the hell are we thinking?
“You can. And you will,” Hope replied. “Any chance Ashley has rests with us. Probably any chance we have lies in each of us doing what it is we’re capable of. It’s as simple as that.”
“Are you scared?”
“No,” Hope lied.
“We should stop, right now. I think we’re out of our minds.”
Yes, we probably are, Hope thought.
“If we do not go through with this, and then the worst happens to Ashley, we will never, not for one instant of one day for however many years any of us has left, forgive ourselves for letting it happen. I think I can forgive myself for what I’m about to do. But for standing aside and letting something terrible happen to Ashley, that would be something we would carry to our graves.”
Hope took a deep breath. “If we fail to act, and he does, we will never rest again.”
“I know,” Sally said, shaking her head.
“Now the weapon. It’s in the backpack?”
“Yes.”
“There’s not much time, is there?”
Sally looked down at her stopwatch. “I think you’re about fifteen minutes behind him. Scott should be moving into position now, as well.”
Hope smiled, but shook her head. “You know, when I was growing up, I played so many games against a clock. Time is always a crucial factor. This isn’t any different. I have to go. Now. You know it. If we’re going to play this game, then failing because we weren’t quick enough would be a terrible thing. Just leave, Sally. Do what you’re supposed to do. And I will do the same, and maybe, at the end of the day, everything will be okay.”
Sally had many things she could say, right at that moment, but she chose none of them. She reached out and squeezed Hope’s hand hard and tried to fight back tears. Hope smiled and said, “Get going. There’s no time. Not anymore. No more talk. Time to act.”
Sally nodded, left the backpack on the floor of the car, stood a few feet back while Hope started up the car, and gave a small wave as she exited the parking lot. It was only a quarter mile to the interstate highway entrance, and Hope knew that she needed to move rapidly, to close the difference in time between her and Michael O’Connell. She made a point of not looking in the rearview mirror until she was well away from the rendezvous location, because she did not want to see Sally standing forlornly behind.
Scott pulled the battered truck into the student parking lot at a large community college some six or seven miles away from the house where Michael O’Connell had grown up. The truck was instantly absorbed into the general mix of vehicles.
After looking around carefully to make sure no one was nearby, he slid out of his clothes and rapidly pulled on an old pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, beaten blue parka, and running shoes. He jammed a navy watch cap over his head and ears, and although the sun was setting, he slid on sunglasses. He grabbed a backpack, made sure his cell phone was in his jacket pocket, and stepped from the truck.
His stopwatch told him that Michael O’Connell had been traveling just shy of seventy minutes. He would be speeding, Scott reminded himself, and wouldn’t stop for any reason whatsoever, unless he was pulled over by a policeman, which would only help the situation.
Scott hunched up his shoulders and headed across the parking area. He knew that a bus route was near the entrance to the school. It would take him to within a mile or so of O’Connell’s house. He had memorized the schedule, and he had the necessary change for a one-way trip in his right pocket, and the return trip in his left.