by Harlan Coben
“You have to go,” Sondra said.
Wilde wanted to explain. “Someone is trying to find where I live.”
“Okay.”
“I mean, this isn’t some bullshit excuse.”
“I know,” she said.
“How long are you staying in town?”
“I’m leaving today.”
“Oh.”
“‘Oh’ or ‘whew’?” She held up her hand. “Sorry, that was uncalled for. I know you won’t believe this, but this is new to me.”
“I believe it,” he said.
“It’s not new to you though.”
“No, it’s not.”
“You didn’t sleep well,” she said. “You called out a lot. You rolled around like the blankets were binding you.”
“I’m sorry if I kept you awake.”
There was really nothing more to say. Wilde got dressed quickly. There was no kiss goodbye. There was no true goodbye. He preferred it that way. Sondra stayed in the suite’s other room while he got ready, so maybe she did too.
There was no time to travel on foot, so Wilde grabbed a taxi parked outside the Sheraton. He didn’t give the driver an address because he didn’t really have one. He had him drive up Mountain Road. Wilde rarely traveled on this stretch of highway. Too many bad memories. When the driver took the curve, the same curve David’s car had taken so many years ago, Wilde felt his hand grip the seat. He eased his breathing. The small white cross was still there, something Hester probably would have found unnerving if not ironic. Wilde had no idea who had put it there all those years ago. He’d been tempted to remove it—it had been there too long—but who was he to intervene?
“There are no houses up here,” the driver told him.
“I know. Just pull over when I tell you.”
“You going for a hike?”
“Something like that, yeah.”
Half a mile later, he gave the driver the signal. He handed the man a twenty for an eight-dollar fare and got out near the mountain’s peak. His small hidden road—the access point for his visitors—was closer to the mountain’s base. He normally climbed up the hill toward his home. Today he’d climb down, checking the security map on his phone as he did. From what he could make out from the motion detectors, his visitors were approaching the capsule slowly and carefully and from all sides with almost military precision.
Disturbing.
Why were they coming for him? And equally if not more important: Who was coming for him?
One might think it a stroke of luck that Wilde happened to be out the night of this invasion, but that wasn’t the case. If he’d been home, the alarms would have roused him. He would have taken off before they got within five hundred yards of the Ecocapsule. He’d long ago set up escape routes and hiding places, just in case anyone ever tried to get to him.
He could be gone in no time.
No one knew these woods like he did. In here, in this thicket, they would have no chance against him. It didn’t matter how many of them there were.
But the questions remained: Who were they, and what did they want?
Wilde eased down the mountainside, letting gravity make the journey easier. He veered to his right by a forked tree, toward the closest triggered motion detector. Being in the woods, amongst animals and wildlife, the motion detector could be accidentally set off quite easily. A deer goes by. A bear. Even squirrels or raccoons sometimes. But Wilde had a system, one alarm dominoing to the next before any warnings were issued, proving the movements had to be somewhat calculated and thus most likely human. Between the car parked on his road—ding one—and the follow-up triggers, he knew that this was no false alarm. It wasn’t one man or even two or three. More likely there were five or more.
Coming for him.
It was eight a.m. The woods were cool, that early crisp still in the air. Wilde moved with pantherlike quiet. He didn’t really have a plan here. It was mostly reconnaissance. Keep your distance. Learn about your adversary. Check out their positions and numbers.
Try to figure out what the hell they want with him.
He slowed when he reached the rock formation with a trigger motion detector. He checked the device, just to see if there was some kind of malfunction that might explain why so many had gone off. The detector was intact. He picked up the pace now.
And there they were.
Two men together working in tandem. Smart. One he could pick off, take out before he communicated with the others. But two would be much more difficult. They were dressed head-to-toe in black. They had their heads on a swivel, one taking the lead and looking forward, the other pulling up the rear. They stood far enough apart, so again they couldn’t be taken down by one assailant.
Professionals.
Wilde moved in for a closer look. They both wore earpieces. Probably communicating with the others. These guys were coming in from the north. There were teams coming in from the south, east, and west too. Assuming two men a team, that meant a minimum of eight opponents.
Wilde was good at tracking, obviously better than any of these guys, but that didn’t make him invisible. Overconfidence leads to mistakes. The men were armed. Their eyes constantly swept the landscape, and realistically, if Wilde wasn’t careful, there was a decent chance he could be spotted.
Every once in a while, the taller man checked something on his smartphone screen and changed their direction slightly. Whatever app they were using, it was clearly leading them to the Ecocapsule. Wilde had no idea what the technology was, but then again if someone wanted to find his home badly enough, there were tracking devices that would eventually lead them to it. He’d always known that. He’d prepared for it.
Knowing the men’s ultimate destination made it easier. Wilde didn’t have to follow closely. He veered off toward one of his safe boxes. He had six of them in the woods, all hidden in spots no one would find, all opened by using his palm print rather than a combination lock. This one was up in a tree. He climbed, found it taped under the large branch, opened the box. Wilde took out the gun. He was about to close it up without taking out the false identity papers, but then he thought better of it. Suppose he had to run?
Better safe than sorry.
He slid back down the tree and made his way toward the Ecocapsule. He moved quickly now, wanting to arrive before the tentatively moving team he’d been following got there.
And then what?
He’d figure that out when the time came. He hurried ahead, moving with ease.
He located the hill approximately two hundred yards from where the Ecocapsule sat. He climbed a tree so that he would be high enough to look down on the clearing. He’d wanted to put the capsule in a denser part of the forest, but that blocked the sun, which made storing solar energy that much more difficult. Still, it would pay off now. Once he reached the top of the tree, he’d be able to see the men approaching from a safe spot.
Wilde grabbed a branch, pulled himself up, and looked down.
Damn. They were already there.
Four men. Surrounding the capsule. Armed. Two more—the two Wilde had been following—came into the clearing. So now it was six men.
The leader approached the capsule cautiously.
Wilde recognized him.
Wilde scrolled through his phone’s call history and hit the return-call button. Gavin Chambers was reaching for the Ecocapsule’s door when he must have felt the vibration in his pocket. He took out his phone, looked at it, glanced at his surroundings. He hit the answer button and put the phone to his ear.
“Wilde?”
“Don’t touch my house.”
Gavin took a harder look around now, but there was no way he’d be able to spot Wilde up in the tree. “Are you inside this thing?”
“No.”
“I need you to open it.”
“Why?”
“Something has happened. Something big.”
“Yeah, I figured that.”
“How?”
“Are you jok
ing? You have at least four armed teams circling my place in the woods. You don’t have to be a trained detective to figure out ‘something big’ has happened. So what is it?”
“The Maynards.”
“What about them?”
“I need to look inside your home. Then I need to take you to them. Are you nearby or are you watching me on some kind of camera I missed?” He looked up again, shading his eyes. “Either way, I’m not going to find you, am I?”
“No.”
“I’m trespassing on your turf.”
“Yet here you are.”
“Had to do it, Wilde. Had to flush you out one way or the other.”
“So now what?”
“I could take an axe to your house and see what’s inside.”
“Not your style,” Wilde said.
“No, it’s not. Tell you what. I’ll send my men away.”
“Sounds like a good start.”
“But then I’ll need to see you.”
Wilde didn’t reply. Gavin Chambers barked out some orders. The men complied without complaint. When they were gone, Gavin Chambers put the phone back to his ear. “Come out now. We need to talk.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“Another kid is missing.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
Hester still had the stomach flutters when she woke up.
The flutters had started last night at eleven p.m. when Oren had walked her to her door—he wouldn’t just leave her at the curb or even in that elevator, too much a gentleman—and kissed her. Or did she kiss him? Didn’t matter. It was a kiss. A real kiss. He wrapped one arm around her waist. Okay, yes, that was nice. But with the other hand—his big hand—with the other big, wonderful hand, he cupped the back of her head and tilted her face up and, in one word…
Swoon.
Hester melted. Right there. Hester Crimstein, attorney-at-law, knew that she was too old to melt or swoon or feel the same stomach flutters she felt when she was thirteen years old and Michael Gendler, the handsomest boy in her class, sneaked away with her at Jack Kolker’s bar mitzvah and they made out in the small room behind the rabbi’s office. Oren’s kiss was so many things at once. It surged through her, of course, making her heady and dizzy and totally lost in the moment, yet another part of her was outside the body, eyes wide open, watching in amazement and thinking, Holy shit, I’m being wrecked with a kiss!
How long had the kiss lasted? Five seconds? Ten? Thirty? A full minute? Not a full minute. She didn’t know. Did her own hands wander? She’d replayed the kiss—The Kiss, it deserved to be capitalized—a hundred times, and she still couldn’t be sure. She remembered her hands on his strong, round shoulders, how that felt right and safe and oh how she loved those shoulders—and what the hell was wrong with her anyway?
She remembered how soft The Kiss had started, how Oren started to pull away gently, how they came back together, how The Kiss grew hungrier, more passionate, how it ended so tenderly. He had kept his hand on the back of her head. He looked her in the eye.
“Good night, Hester.”
“Good night, Oren.”
“Can I ask you out again?”
She bit back several snappy rejoinders and went with, “Yes. I’d really like that.”
Oren waited until she was inside the apartment. Hester gave him a smile as she closed the door. Then, alone, she broke into a little happy dance. She couldn’t help herself. She felt both flighty and a fool. She got ready for bed in a daze. Sleep, she was sure, would not come, but it had, quickly, the adrenaline rush leaving her spent and exhausted. She slept, in fact, beautifully.
Now, this morning, Hester was left with the flutters. Just that. The flutters. Last night now felt surreal, like a dream, and she wasn’t sure whether this feeling was something she longed for or something she feared. Did she need this in her life? She was content already, satisfied in both personal life and career. Why risk it? It wasn’t just a question of being too old for such immature emotions. She was set in her ways now. She liked being set in her ways. Did she really want something like this upending everything? Did she want to risk hurt or embarrassment or any of the millions of things that could and probably would go wrong?
Life was good, wasn’t it?
She reached for her phone and saw a message from Oren:
Too soon to text? I don’t want to look desperate.
Swoon. Swoon all over again.
She typed back: Stalker.
She saw the three dots signaling he was writing her back. Then the three dots vanished. She waited. No reply. She felt a brief surge of panic.
I was kidding! No, it’s not too soon!
No reply.
Oren?
This was exactly what she meant—who wanted to feel this way? Who wanted their heart in their throat and to be worried that maybe she did the wrong thing or that maybe this was just a game to him and hey, it was only one date and one kiss (The Kiss) so calm the F down already.
Her phone rang. She hoped that it was Oren, but the caller ID displayed another number she recognized. She pressed answer and put the phone to her ear.
“Wilde?”
“I need your help.”
* * *
Wilde stepped into view by the Ecocapsule. He held his phone in the air.
Gavin Chambers frowned at him. “What are you doing?”
“I’m on a live video call,” Wilde said.
“With who?”
“Whom,” a female voice coming from the phone said. “With whom. Prepositional phrase, sweet stuff.”
Wilde continued to walk toward Gavin. Gavin squinted at the screen.
“Hi, Gavin. My name is Hester Crimstein. We met once at a dinner party at Henry Kissinger’s.”
Gavin Chambers glanced up at Wilde as if to say, Really?
“Don’t make that face, bubbalah,” Hester said. “I’m recording all this. Do you understand?”
Gavin closed his eyes and let loose a long sigh. “For real?”
“No, for fake. I want you to know that if anything happens to Wilde—”
“Nothing is going to happen to him.”
“Cool, handsome, then we’ll have no issue.”
“This isn’t necessary.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s not, but when you have a dozen armed men sneak up on my client’s home—a home which you subsequently threatened to destroy—label me paranoid, but as his attorney—and just to make it clear for the record, I am your attorney, correct, Wilde?”
“Correct,” Wilde said.
“So as his attorney, I want this on the record. You, Colonel Chambers, approached my client’s home with armed men—”
“This is public land.”
“Colonel Chambers, do you really want to spend time arguing detailed legalese with me?”
Gavin sighed. “No, I do not.”
“Because I can do that. I’m not in a rush. Are you in a rush, Wilde?”
“I got all day,” Wilde said.
“Fine, sorry,” Gavin said, “no legalese, let’s move on.”
“Now what was I saying?” Hester continued. “Right, you approached my client’s home with armed men. You threatened to break into said home and even destroy it. Don’t roll your eyes. Me, I would have you arrested, but my client, against my high-priced advice, is still willing to talk to you. He seems to have what I would consider badly placed trust in you. I will honor his wants while also making our position on this clear: If Wilde is harmed in any way—”
“He won’t be harmed.”
“Shush, you, listen. If he’s harmed or held against his will, if I call him back and cannot reach him or you do anything other than what he requests, I will become a permanent part of your life, Colonel Chambers. Like shingles. Or piles. Only worse. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal.”
“Wilde?”
“Thanks, Hester. Okay to disconnect?”
“That’s up to you,” she said.
“Yeah, thanks.”
He hit a button and slipped the phone into his pocket.
Gavin Chambers frowned. “You called your mommy?”
“Wow, now you’ve hurt my feelings.”
“What I wanted to tell you was supposed to be in complete confidence.”
“Then call me on the phone next time instead of sending armed men.”
Gavin gestured toward the capsule. “I was a little surprised we found your place so easily. I figured you’d set up decoys. You ever read about the Ghost Army in World War Two?”
Wilde had. “The Twenty-Third Headquarters Special Troops.”
“Whoa,” Chambers said. “Label me impressed.”
The Twenty-Third, aka the Ghost Army, were an elite force of artists and special effects soldiers who worked “tactical deception.” They’d use stuff like inflatable tanks and rubber airplanes and even create a soundtrack of war, all to create the twentieth-century version of a Trojan horse.
“How did you find it?” Wilde asked.
“Drone with a sensor,” Gavin Chambers said. He gestured toward the Ecocapsule. “Please open the door.”
“No one is inside.”
“And opening it will prove that.”
“Don’t trust me?”
Exhaustion emanated from him. “Can we just check this box, please?”
“Who are you looking for?”
“No one.”
“You just said—”
“That was before you decided to blab to someone with a TV show.”
“She’s my attorney. If I tell her not to tell anyone, she won’t.”
“You can’t be that naïve.” Gavin Chambers looked off and shook his head. He was weighing a decision, but it was a fait accompli. There was only one way this could go. “It’s about Crash Maynard.”
“What happened to him?”
“He’s missing.”
“A runaway or—”
Gavin took out his gun. “Just open the goddamn door, Wilde.”
“Are you serious?”
“Do I look in the mood to continue this?” He did not. He looked like a worn garment fraying at the edges. “I told you that Crash is missing. Let me eliminate your hovel, so we can find him.”
