He hoped her stepmother wasn’t involved in her father’s death, but he had a terrible feeling that Olivia Hzujak was exactly as wicked a stepmother as Jada suspected.
Troubled, Drake reached into the inside pocket of his ruined coat and pulled out the slim leather case that held a good portion of the reward money he’d earned in Ecuador. There was more in his bags, which were safe in a locker at JFK, and some in his wallet. The rest had been put into an account he sometimes used in the Cayman Islands. For now, what he had on him would be all they had at their disposal, so it would have to be enough.
He dropped the coat overboard and watched it floating, soaking in the water as they swiftly left it far behind.
So far, so good. They would ditch the stolen Chris Craft just north of the 79th Street Boat Basin-Jada’s suggestion-and stop by the apartment where she’d been hiding out just long enough for her to pack a small bag. Drake and Sully would have to improvise. They would pick up a couple of go phones-cell phones that could be loaded with as many minutes as they wanted, used, and then thrown away, all without creating an account that could be traced. Sully had suggested they call the marina and let them know where the boat would be, and both Drake and Jada had given the idea a thumbs-up. If they were ever caught, they would still be arrested, but a joyride would go over a hell of a lot better with a judge than outright theft.
From the apartment, they would head north. They needed to get out of the city fast but as under the radar as they could manage. Grand Central was no good just in case there had been cameras that had picked up their faces at the marina. So they would take a cab to 125th Street station in Harlem and board a Metro North train to New Haven, Connecticut, where they could rent a car. The ID they had used at the marina would be no good now, but Drake was counting on Sully traveling with more than one set of false identification.
Once they were in a car, he thought they would be all right. Drake knew a guy in Boston who could whip up passports and other ID for all three of them. They would take the ferry to Nova Scotia and then a boat over to mainland New Brunswick rather than face the greater scrutiny of crossing the Canadian border in a car. From there, another rental car would bring them into Quebec. Montreal-Mirabel International Airport was used almost exclusively for cargo flights, and he and Sully had friends there. They had needed to sneak themselves-and various acquisitions-in and out of North America on numerous occasions. He expected that it would all go off without a hitch.
Even so, he knew he would be on edge until they were in the air and on their way to Egypt and the archaeological dig at the City of Crocodiles. In Drake’s experience, the closer he got to the source of a secret-or a treasure-the easier it became to sense an imminent threat or perceive an enemy. People tended to reveal their true colors when things as valuable as treasure and secrets were at stake. He didn’t like snipers taking shots at him from rooftops or thugs hiding behind dark windows.
If someone wanted to kill him, he liked to know who it was.
It made it a hell of a lot easier to fight back.
On Tuesday night none of them got more than a few hours’ sleep in the back of the rental car before they arrived in Boston, where the forger had Drake and Sully’s new identities waiting for them. The forger was a third-generation professional they called Charlie, though they all assumed it wasn’t really his name. He’d had Drake and Sully’s photos on file, which allowed him to prep
their passports in advance, but he had to create Jada’s on the spot, along with various other items-everything from an American Express platinum card to a library ID.
On Wednesday morning they stopped in Portland, Maine, where Drake and Sully bought small duffel bags and several changes of clothes. By midnight they found themselves in a shabby motel near the cargo airport in Montreal, with one double bed for the three of them. Drake took an extra pillow and blanket from the closet and made a nest on the floor while Jada and her godfather took the bed.
They watched television, waiting to see if there might be some report of the violence in New York, but Montreal was a world away from Manhattan. That night Drake barely dozed, kept awake by the anticipation of the morning’s departure, after which he would finally feel like they had gotten away safely. Jada lay awake as well. Several times he noticed her curled up on her side, watching him with eyes that gleamed in the darkened room, but neither of them spoke.
Only Sully managed to sleep. He always seemed able to doze, no matter how terrible the circumstances. He snored deeply, sometimes exhaling loudly, his mustached upper lip trembling with the noise.
On Thursday morning, the flight they thought they had arranged left without them. Desperate hours passed before they were promised another. At last, late that afternoon, they were airborne, comfortably ensconced in a small compartment behind the cockpit.
Finally, Drake slept.
When he woke, with the muffled thump of Irish punk rock coming from the cockpit, he found Sully gone and knew his old friend must be up front with the crew. He lay quietly, watching Jada sleep. With the magenta streaks that framed her face, she usually had an air of confidence even in the middle of her grief. But now in the peace of sleep, she seemed vulnerable, and he had to wonder about the wisdom of their journey. Drake had known plenty of capable women-had had his ass kicked by more than one of them. They had been skilled fighters, survivors, totally able to take care of themselves.
Jada, in contrast, was a question mark. He hoped that she would prove just as tough and capable for her own sake and for Sully’s-and for his, as well. He didn’t want to see her hurt any more than she already had been. At the same time, he knew he would have to keep an eye out for Sully. The old man clearly thought it was his job to protect Jada instead of letting her protect herself. That kind of thinking could distract him enough to be fatal.
“What are you thinking?” she said, her voice a hush, barely audible over the loud airplane engines.
“Have you ever been in a fight?” he asked. “A real one, I mean.”
Jada frowned. “Not a real one, if you mean blood and bruises. Like a beatdown. But I hold my own in the dojo pretty well.” He arched an eyebrow. “Dojo? What do you study?”
“Aikido, mostly. Why?”
Drake smiled softly. Another woman who could kick his ass.
“You know, if we find it-this treasure, whatever it is-I already told Sully we can share it. Even split, three ways,” she said.
Drake would have been offended if the idea hadn’t appealed to him so much. Even so, he didn’t want her to think the potential for personal gain had been his motivation for helping her.
“Treasure’s always nice,” he said. “But that’s not why I’m along for this ride.”
“No?” She studied him as if trying to see behind his eyes. “Why, then?”
For the first time, it occurred to Drake how close they were. Reclined in their chairs, facing each other, only a couple of feet separated them. He could have reached out and touched her face. If he had been any closer, he could have felt her breath on his cheek.
“Your father was a good guy,” he said quickly. “I liked him. And Sully’s my best friend, so it’s not as if I could really say no.”
“You have before,” Jada reminded him. “Uncle Vic told me there was no guarantee.”
“Someone tried to shoot me. I take that personally. Historically, I’m not a fan of people who point guns at me, never mind pulling the trigger.”
“And that’s it?” she asked. “Those are the reasons you’re on this trip?”
Drake nodded, frowning. She was fishing for a different reply. What else did she want him to say?