Aubrey Perrault found her rest in the quiet of an unmarked grave in this northern Michigan enclave, a quiet Luke guessed she hadn’t known in her life. Every move she had made: urging Eric to flee with them, sticking close to Luke as he trailed the money, even, as his father told them, buying time for Jane to find Luke by insisting to Mouser that Luke didn’t have the money… all of it an attempt by her or Jane to gain control of the funds. The bombing investigators found fifty million wired into her accounts as part of the bombing investigation; the FBI had seized the money. Aubrey was connected, the investigators concluded, with the terrorist attack. Now the forensic accountants were trying to trace the money back to its source. Anonymous tips kept pointing back to a prominent Arab prince.
Luke watched the dappled light play on the water. How many names did Aubrey have? How many lies did she live? Luke wondered. He had been smart enough to fight the Night Road and win, but too blind to see she was no victim. She had been one of the architects of this carnage. It was strange to know she had stuck with him simply to help her find the money. If he’d found the hidden thumb drive in her presence, back in Chicago, she would have killed him and taken the file to Jane. Or if she’d checked her account balances, she would have seen the money and she could have taken it and run to Jane. They would have won.
Luke watched Frankie Wu on the fishing pier, reeling in an empty line. The past few days had been spent fretting over his father, recovering from surgery in a private clinic north of Chicago, one under Quicksilver control. That alone had made him realize the extent of this so-called loose network. They had money, they had resources.
But so did Henry.
‘Have you decided?’ His father wheeled his chair close to the door. Pale, gaunt, but he would recover, the doctors said.
‘On dinner? I say steak. We deserve a steak. Now that you’re up and chewing.’
‘Sounds good, but I thought more about what your future holds.’
‘I’m still a missing person.’
‘You don’t have to be.’
‘Don’t I? I hardly imagine Henry or the Night Road are going to let me walk back into my old life.’
‘We can do a great deal for you.’
Now Luke watched his father, who was not looking at him, instead studying his hands folded in his lap. He felt a weird whirlpool of love and hate rise in his chest. He’d spent the past days watching his father sleep, recover, slowly regain his strength. And had not yet heard an answer to his one question.
‘In gratitude for all you’ve done, Luke, Quicksilver can help you back into your old life.’
‘Is that how you make amends to me? Make all the trouble go away? You brought a lot of the trouble on me, Dad. This… war has been building my whole life, and I had no idea that I might be pulled into it. Other than you giving me a Saint Michael’s medal and warning me I might one day have to fight. Were you assuming I’d simply follow in your footsteps? Thanks a lot.’
Warren studied his splinted fingers, as though he hadn’t heard the sharpness of Luke’s words. ‘Eric’s already been identified as a money launderer since his murder. He screwed around with the audit records trying to cover his transfers. We can fake computer records, make it look like you had previous but innocent contact with him. That he thought you knew about his crimes and that he was pursuing you. We can clear your name in every way that it’s been muddied, given time.’
‘Make up a lie so I can live a truth? My old life wasn’t truth. It was all in the service of Henry. Because you left me behind. You abandoned us.’
Now his father met his steady gaze. ‘I never would have picked this life for you, Luke. It was why I left.’
‘Why you lied. Let’s call it what it is.’ Anger that he couldn’t control steamed up in him. Before he was shot they hadn’t had enough time to talk. Only for his father to say he was sorry.
‘Fine. Why I lied. But I thought I was doing the best for you and your mom. I didn’t want anyone coming after me to come after you. They killed everyone I worked with. Do you think they would have hesitated to kill my family?’
‘They? It was just Henry, Dad. He chased you off, you let him, and he slid into your life. For God’s sakes…’
‘I didn’t know it was Henry behind the attempt on me. I swear.’
For the past week Luke had danced around this truth, unwilling to discuss it until his father was stronger. ‘What you said about Mom. That he killed her…’
‘I will always believe he had a hand in her death. Your mother was a smart woman. She could have found out what he was doing. Confronted him. Knowing what we know now he must have killed her.’
‘But she would have never been in danger if you’d had the guts to stick around. If you’d put us ahead of your work.’
Warren reached for his son’s hand, but Luke stepped back. A horrible silence settled between them for a long minute, broken only by the hiss of the wind in the oaks.
‘Do you want me to be dead, Luke?’ Warren asked. ‘I can be. It’s what you know. You never have to see me again.’
‘You don’t get off that easy, Dad. You did this so you could go fight this secret war, save people, prove all your theories. I have to matter as much as your work does. I fought that war when you couldn’t, without any warning. But the war has to be worth fighting, for a personal reason. I have to matter to you. Why didn’t you stay in New York, meet me there instead of relying on Drummond to take care of me? If I’d been willing to hide under a false name, like Drummond offered, would you even have stepped forward to let me know you were alive?’
‘It wouldn’t have been necessary.’
Luke shook his head. ‘Even when I was in danger, you put Quicksilver’s interests first.’
‘No, not true.’ Warren paused, as though he didn’t know what words to use.
‘Just say what you want to say, Dad.’
‘I was afraid of your hate. I could bear being away from you, but I couldn’t bear knowing you hated me.’
The silence between them was thick for a long moment. ‘I don’t hate you. I don’t know that I understand you yet. I may never. But I will try. But I’m not sure what my next step is.’
Warren cleared his throat. ‘You can go back, try to have a normal life again, or-’
‘I can’t. I can either hide or I can help. I don’t want to hide, but I don’t like the idea of being drafted into Quicksilver. And I’m not sure I’m ready to forgive you, much less work with you.’
‘I deserve every bit of anger you want to shove down my throat. I’ll take it, Luke, and never argue that I could have made a better choice. But I want you to know, what you accomplished – the lives you saved… you make me so proud.’
Luke watched the water. He had wanted to delve into minds defined by destructive purpose. He had, but now he understood less about them than he had before. No amount of study or theorizing had prepared him for Henry, or Mouser, or Snow. Yet he had survived.
Had he known, at some level, this wind of change was blowing? Had he sensed, even as a boy, that his father carried many secrets? His search for his father, his delving into the terrorist mind, his surprising determination to carry the battle forward, where did that come from inside him? All of this horror had burned away the old Luke, and left a different man standing.