Henry went inside and gave a false name. The inside man, with the rank of supervisor, was expecting him. The two of them walked past the other supervisors and employees and headed for a storeroom at the back of the facility.
In the storeroom, the supervisor opened the box. ‘You can see,’ he began in Arabic.
‘English,’ Henry said. ‘I don’t wish to be overheard.’
‘Yes, well,’ the supervisor said in lightly accented English. ‘As you asked. Twenty surgical masks.’
‘It’s not uncommon for the employees to wear these?’
‘No. Cleaning can be a nasty job. They go with the uniforms. I have provided twenty, in the sizes you asked for.’
Henry looked at the uniforms. ‘The pocket here is big enough to hold a gun.’
‘Yes, a variety of models, I tested it myself.’
‘And the access passes?’
‘Activated. That took a bit of fiddling with the master database. You cannot have substitutions of personnel, though. I cannot issue new picture IDs at this late date.’
‘I understand.’ Henry carefully inspected all twenty passes. They looked entirely genuine because they were. Ready-Able had just added twenty employees that had not been hired or interviewed, hidden inside an access pass database that held information about two thousand employees around the country.
‘The database audit was completed yesterday. I added the new records immediately afterwards. We should be good for two or three days. I hope your operation takes place by then…’
‘Not your concern.’
‘The company will be seen as a common element of the attack’s targets when Hellfire is completed.’
‘You will be extracted and sent wherever you like. Go to the airport, go to the Travport cargo office. They will smuggle you out of the country.’
‘Understood.’
The supervisor and Henry resealed the boxes, and loaded them into Henry’s van. Henry drove to a Travport satellite office and shipped the boxes to an address in Chicago.
This was the next to last stage before Hellfire could be launched. If only he had Luke under his thumb, then all would be well.
Henry’s phone rang, and he opened it, sure that it would be good news.
The car’s phone rang as Luke pulled into airport parking. He hit the talk button. ‘Hello?’
‘Is this Luke?’ A man’s French-accented voice, the same one from Drummond’s phone.
‘Yes.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, but Drummond is dead. I’m sorry I couldn’t save him. He saved me.’
‘We mourn him more than you know. I can tell you he had a rewarding life.’
‘I have the fifty million the Night Road wants. I will trade it to you for information on my father’s past, and for you to set up Aubrey someplace where she is safe.’
‘I do not understand. Your father’s past?’
‘Drummond was investigating one of our attackers, a man known as Mouser. I want to know if Mouser is suspected of killing my dad.’
‘And what about you?’
A surprising certainty filled him. ‘I want to keep fighting these people. I want to join you.’
A pause, and then: ‘This is not your fight, Luke.’
‘It is entirely my fight. I don’t want to hide under a name somewhere and hope you defeat Night Road. I am in this fight.’
‘Luke, you fought hard for someone who was cast as simply a pawn.’
‘Are you in Paris? Because I found tickets for today’s flight. Drummond was supposed to bring me to Paris, wasn’t he?’
‘Yes. If we agreed it was best. But-’
‘Then I’ll see you soon.’ He switched off the phone.
46
The red-eye to Paris was close to full. Luke’s tongue felt like a rock in his mouth when he had to present his false passport, but the airline’s scans did not raise an alarm. Drummond had bought tickets in business class. The seats were plush, in a plastic and steel half-shell that let you recline without intruding on the space of the passenger behind you. He had the window seat and he kept his sunglasses in place, a cap pulled low on his head.
Drummond’s seat next to him remained empty. He gave a sigh of relief. He pulled Drummond’s medal from his pocket and studied it next to his own. Exact duplicates, in every detail.
This will keep you safe, his father had said. What exactly had that meant? Luke had taken it to mean a metaphysical safety, in the terms of a moral compass; but now he thought his father might have meant a more concrete promise. He put Drummond’s medal back in his pocket.
He ate the dinner of salad, lamb, couscous, and ice cream sundae. He pulled a blanket up to his chin and fell into a heavy sleep.
He awoke, hours later, as the breakfast service was being completed and first he saw out the window the spill of clouds over the French countryside. Then he sat up, rubbing his eyes under the dark glasses, and Mouser said, ‘You slept well. I didn’t.’
Luke blinked. It couldn’t be. But Mouser was sitting right next to him.
And then he gave Luke a twitch of a smile, the kind the devil might flex. Somehow that quasi-grin was worse than the thrust of a blade.
‘If you make a scene, you’ll ruin the flight for everyone else. In the worst way.’
Luke spoke past the rock in his throat. ‘How did you…?’
‘We both needed to get to Paris. There’s not an infinite number of flights.’
Luke let his gaze dart past Mouser’s aisle seat. The middle row was occupied by an older couple who looked like vacationers. Behind him were two businessmen, one asleep, the other immersed in a laptop. Everyone in their own cocoon.
‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ Mouser said in a soft whisper.
‘Liar.’ He thought of Drummond, bleeding his life out. His father’s face boarding that plane.
Did you kill my father? Why are you a suspect, years later? The thoughts blazed through his mind as if blasted from a flamethrower. His hands clenched into fists.
In his pocket was the secret thumb drive, hidden in the little basketball. The key to the money.
‘Why are you going to Paris, Luke?’ Mouser sipped coffee from a cup that sat on his fold-out tray. ‘I guess you need a vacation after all your adventures.’
Luke gave no answer. He had to get away. The pilot announced that they’d be landing in twenty minutes.
‘Do tell me. Because if I alert the attendants to the fact you happen to be traveling on a false passport – mine is legit, by the way – this was a giant risk for you. What would be worth such a risk, I wonder. I can only think that it’s the money. Eric wanted to go to Paris, too. You’re following that dog’s trail.’
I have to incapacitate him, Luke thought. Fight him here and get away without getting caught.
‘You give me the money,’ Mouser said, ‘and you walk. Our battle is over.’
‘I won’t, on either count.’
‘I don’t blame you for New York. I blame Snow. She rushed where she shouldn’t have.’ His gaze was steady on Luke’s face.
‘But I do blame you for Drummond. And-’ He stopped.
‘And what?’ Mouser hissed.
‘Did you ever…’ He waited as the flight attendant walked past. ‘Did you sabotage a private plane? Heading from DC to North Carolina? Ten years ago?’
The silence hung between him, Luke staring at him. The twitchy smile stayed on Mouser’s face.
‘No. I don’t know anything about planes or their systems.’
Luke watched him. He didn’t believe him. Terrorist psychology showed extremists did not like to admit a shortcoming in knowledge. It was a consistent thread. They were know-it-alls. A simple no would have sufficed. Luke had said nothing about the systems of the plane being involved. His tongue felt locked to the top of his mouth.
If Mouser was curious about the North Carolina question, he didn’t ask. ‘I’ve answered your question, you answer mine. Where is the money?’
He told his first lie: ‘Eric hid the money in a bunch of accounts.’
‘Give me the account numbers.’
Luke tapped his temple.
‘I don’t believe you memorized a bunch of bank account numbers. They’re long.’